pick-up truck vocabulary: joe murray on crow versus crow, faniel dord, stefan jaworzyn/dylan nyoukis/seymour glass, the tenses & bren’t lewiis ensemble and the viper
March 17, 2017 at 8:37 am | Posted in new music, no audience underground | Leave a commentTags: bren't lewiis ensemble, bufms, chocolate monk, crow versus crow, crow versus crow editions, dante's ashtray, donk, dylan nyoukis, faniel dord, fonk, joe murray, seymour glass, skronk, stefan jaworzyn, the tenses, the viper
Crow Versus Crow – States (Crow Versus Crow Editions)
Faniel Dord – Faniel Dord (Dante’s Ashtray)
Stefan Jaworzyn, Dylan Nyoukis, Seymour Glass – My Disgusting Heart (Chocolate Monk)
The Tenses & Bren’t Lewiis Ensemble – Daughter of the Boot (Chocolate Monk)
The Viper – Art for Pain’s Sake (BUFMS)
Crow Versus Crow – States (Crow Versus Crow Editions) 3 inch CD and 20 page art-zine photo booklet
This beautiful package comes sandwiched between plain grey heavystock card; the sombre plainness a reaction to the vibrant colour inside perhaps?
I’ll start with the sound. The disc contains 17 minutes of the real Americana collected by Andy Crow on his 2016 road trip to southern states of the USA (Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Tennessee and Virginia – fact fans). As you’d imagine there is a rejection of any field recording cliché – this is pure extraction music with no toothless fiddle or Grand Ole Opry in sight.
State/states/state…
It’s a subtle and slow movement for sure: the opening static crackles makes way for a woven pattern of cicada’s rhythmic rustle and the liquid whoosh of passing cars. An occasional maraca-shake could be a deadly rattlesnake. The ‘tich-th’ of the owl a hi-hat sizzle that reeks of baked desert heat and sonic shimmer. But rather then present this slack-jawed and unexamined the mix builds a hidden momentum through increasing the thread count and rippling the fabric with a deft thumb.
The final movement drags lazy ears into unapologetic high-performance mode. A lonely buzzard calls out across the valley – the sound of the air around the recorder fizzes with unknowable purpose. An excitable preacher (my guess is via battered radio rather than a gaudy TV) adds the sort of paranoid verbals African Head Charge favoured era Songs of Praise.
It is of course a suggestion piece – with no literals to hang your baseball cap on the imagination picks up tiny clues and builds a personal narrative from the crumbs. My reality is not Mr Crow’s but what we now share is a gas station dream, a pick-up truck vocabulary.
States/state/states…
But as well as his ears he’s brought his eyes. Eyes that spy detail in the trash and the unloved, beauty in the unused and plain old decrepit.
It’s almost impossible to look at the booklet without adding today’s awful political charge and context but a deep breath helps to remember a time before this extra ladle of madness soup soured what was the American dream.
People are absent, but the hands of the hardworking and decent, the just making do, are all over these gorgeous images.
As Crow’s lens is drawn to the weather-beaten and well used the inference is communal – we are joined by the codes of work and play. And even when the work has gone and the players drifted home the traces we leave are still good. Not necessarily grand or initially impressive but honest and modest and well-intentioned.
Railway tracks vanish to a point, exposed brickwork bakes in the sun and corrugated metal rusts like soft brown blooms. A single word ‘sorry’ is inked onto a door frame.
States shows a land waiting for interpretation, a mythology waiting to be written.
Faniel Dord – Faniel Dord (Dante’s Ashtray) CD-R
The Scouser Sun City Girl deals us a full-deck of deranged approaches on this tasty self-titled release.
Micro-songs are played on dodgy keyboard, beer-stained piano and battered guitar then dripped though a lo-fi studio set up that adds a delightful scruffy edge to these enigmatic pieces.
Some arrive fully-formed; dripping with sarcasm and uncomfortable political questions like a Mersybeat Porest.
Others riff –out a tune that has always seemed to exist somewhere behind my ear until the mighty Faniel has just shucked it out with a blunt knife (for evidence see My Bowl of Skulls).
The shadow of Edward Lear inhabits Dord’s world in both word and deed. A lover of scatological shock and the innocently odd – both ends of the stick are jammed in the jellyfish mouth until the protoplasm pops.
But of course it’s not all yuks, ‘Zaidida’ concludes in deep Rembetika sorrow after a frantic three minutes and ‘Medusa’s gone Digital’ warns the Gorgons and their ilk the dangers of modern life – something I don’t think we do quite enough of.
Fans of Derek and Clive take note and click.
Stefan Jaworzyn, Dylan Nyoukis, Seymour Glass – My Disgusting Heart (Chocolate Monk) CD-R
Shock!
I never expected Jaworzyn, that long-haired, six-string Ascension/Skullflower wire-wrangler on this kinda gob-jaxx (see Nyoukis) / tape-huss (see Glass) melange. But more fool me eh? The iron banjo adds some rich, metallic DNA to this most lovable of three-ways.
Stunning!!
Opener ‘Frozen Tombs of Siberia’ is a medium-sized panic attack; part elephant seal growl, part rattling coffin nails, but all Skippy the Kangaroo incidental music. As you’d expect from these experienced heads the pace is stately, elements of bubbling vowel or chopped-to-john-o-groats guitar placed in a sonic Battenberg with a similar marzipan roughness. The closing seconds of this jam re-imagine a Tardis’ asthmatic ‘whump-whump’. Calling all BBC commissioning editors – get these lads in – you’ve been warned!
Astonishment!!!
Song title of the week is well and truly won by ‘Dirty Owl Teat’ and works like one of them Scandinavian open sandwiches.
- (rye cracker base) slow-mould guitar wrench, harmonic pimples and drumlins, a yeast of amp hum…
- (smoked herring topping) an expression of joy hissed through side-mouth bibbles, coughs and spaniel-like panting. Occasional v-words are the glace cherry.
And the Smorgasbord analogy still holds for ‘Slowest Emergency Team’ with oodles more tape-frot.
But it’s the closer ‘Gang-related Sneezing’ that really quivers my liver. This modest track is a stop-start-stop-start wrecking ball of un-sense tape-slivers. Neatly delivered in finely measured bursts that defy any conventional rhythm; pretty soon my arms and legs are tied up in Twister-esque contortions.
A test-card for the mind or an essential document of new solutions?
Whisper your answer in my hot pink shell.
The Tenses & Bren’t Lewiis Ensemble – Daughter of the Boot (Chocolate Monk) CD-R
Two long, long, long pieces of near psychic jam make up this extra-value 60 min disc.
A whole platform of players (note ‘em: Oblivia, Ju Suk Reet Meate, Lucian Tielens, Sylvia Kastel, Leroy Tick & Gnarlos) strike bowls, press buttons, crank up turntables and rattle cutlery in an infinite variety of ways. The label says…
‘spontaneous sound collage, bent improv, non-musical weirdness’
…and who am I to argue?
Of course it’s the group-think that makes this disc hover in an unnatural manner. The linkage of brown ideas and soupy ingredients interweave in an effortless stew.
And where ‘Authentication of Ancient Chinese Bronzes’ is a pointillist pin-prick on tightly ruled graph paper ‘Heroic Armor of the Italian renaissance’ is more of a flexible lake or a fake puddle. The difference is startling yet understated, like putting sugar in the salt cellar.
As I lay back and let ‘the music take me’ I picture several conflicting images: emoji torture, dry goods being bagged, the gritty feel of a military mess kit. But that’s just me! You may picture the red stone of Bologna or the broad green leaves of Portland but that’s the point innit? From a base of gentle tinkles and sound-scurf we make our own reality.
And at this point I start to doubt the sanity of reviewing such a subjective sound environment and ask you to point your finger here to listen to an extract and write your own damn review.
But, dear reader that wouldn’t be the RFM way eh?
Another couple of spins in different environments (making dinner, jogging through the park) reveal the onion layers. The surface complexity is really a carefully constructed chicken-wire framework to hang the softer, more feather-light sounds.
So…the clear-edged ‘clonks’ and ‘smaks’ punctuate the more ghostly ‘heshhh’ and ‘vumpf’ until, before you realise it a thousand bicycle bells are ringing you through The Arc De Triomphe.
Sacred Blood!
The Viper – Art for Pain’s Sake (BUFMS) CD
Vintage tape experiments from one Mr Richard Sterling Streeter and his long-suffering family and friends.
What strikes me first is the application of the universal language of mucking about. You know what I’m talking about; that finger heavy on the play/pause button, that snotty ‘la la’, the classic chopstick-on-margarine-tub click.
Are these early tape experiments (made between the years 1978 to 1982 according to my terrible maths) any less worthy for that? Well of course not. As a listener I’m humbled to be let in to this world and nostalgerise my own (now thankfully lost) juvenilia.
But before I get too comfortable and misty-eyed our old friend progress rears its head and the later tracks (for all are arranged chronologically) dig deeper into the heart of echo, reverse reel-to-reel wonk and real-live violin scraping.
Music Concrete is an old maid on ‘Ollidarma’ an infectious riot of bright stereo blossoms. Raw sound becomes the source itself as it whips though the tape heads smeared by speed or plummets down a wormhole of creepy reverb. I’m treated to a whole dossier of tape wonk with added ‘accidentals’ that seem to come from the 1940’s via a haunted dancehall and a coffee-jinxed auctioneer until the white-coated engineers start pulling chunks out the Revox machine creating whirring thrums and empty pings while George Harrison wheedles away his yolk-less omelette in the main studio.
The almost traditional instrumentation of ‘In a Garden’ makes be bark like a dog. Piano, bass, shuffling snare and lonely violin tug on those melancholic heartstrings like a Midnight Doctors jam. Pure longing and loss gets bowed out across the cat-gut until hot tears snake down my cheek. Crikey!
‘Dreams of Glipnorf’ the energetic closer starts rough-hewn like a callous but ends up boogieing like that Canned Heat out-take where Blind Owl really starts to lose his mustard.
Don’t fear the Viper!
-ooOOoo-
avian assault crew: scott mckeating on stefan jaworzyn and lobster priest
May 20, 2013 at 7:54 am | Posted in new music, no audience underground | 1 CommentTags: cameron sked, cara france, electronica, fuckin' amateurs, lobster priest, mike vest, new music, no audience underground, noise, psychedelia, scott mckeating, shock records, stefan jaworzyn
Stefan Jaworzyn – EP1 The Fucker / Dr. Smegmatic (12” vinyl, Shock Records, SX035)
Lobster Priest – Crucial Trading (vinyl LP, Fuckin’ Amateurs, #72, edition of 200)
And so, ladies and gentlemen, we come to the debut post from the third of RFM’s musketeers. Yes, Scott McKeating officially joins the trio of co-conspirators running this show today. Marvel at his account of old warhorse and Termite Club favourite Stefan Jaworzyn’s shock (ha, see what I did there?) return, grin with pained amusement at the heritage medium of vinyl making his balls ache and nod in vigorous agreement at his praise for Lobster Priest and Fuckin’ Amateurs, pride of the North East. Over to Scott:
Stefan Jaworzyn – EP1 ‘The Fucker’ / ‘Dr. Smegmatic’
Think Stefan Jaworzyn and you’d normally be thinking about the freejazznoise Ascension project, his Shock Records label and his time as part of Skullflower. Having just revived his revered Shock label after a decent hiatus, Jaworzyn’s first release there is a limited 33rpm 12” of his own electronic synth analogue material. Available as a single 12” or as part of a 3 x12” (and bonus cdr/art) subscription series, Jaworzyn is back and busy.
Riding an insistent rhythm, ribcaging in a sense of un-releasable pressure, ‘Dr. Smegmatic’ is an infected DNA coil of electronic loops and analogue pulses. Think crazy paced tectonics of post-industrial electronics, layers of blunt are jarred together like chipped bricks dropped from a tower block roof version of Tetris – with all the brutality that that image represents. This side is all about blunt force squelch; ‘Dr. Smegmatic’ is a locking/unlocking groove of a frantic mind state and a blur of oscillation and potential collapse. There’s a strand of sound in this track that sounds like dawn chorus gone ape shit, altered bleeps that sound like Hitchcock coaxed avian assault crews straining at their cage bars. This isn’t straight electronics by any stretch of the imagination; it’s the bleep-age fried eye experimentation of a triumphant analogue bludgeon.
The flipside, with the in your face title of ‘The Fucker’, is a comparatively looser affair – a blind melody line, a live cut-and-paste-and-let-it-loop improv over the adamant thudding of the track’s beat. Angry, exploratory and at the Beachy Head edge of confusion, Jaworzyn always manages to keep it back from the brink of din to remain be musical. Two fifteen minute pieces of two-fingers up analogue.
Available from the usual outlets such as Norman Records or email stefan.jaworzyn@ntlworld.com for purchase and subscription details.
Lobster Priest – Crucial Trading
A perennial grumbler, even the fact this Lobster Priest release is their best to date doesn’t turn my frown upside down – I find everything to do with vinyl a huge pain in the arse. There’s the storage issues, the fact it’s completely defenceless against a two year old and the need for it to be set up like an altar. Ridiculous format grumbles aside, this album was hand delivered by a passing Martin of FA, truly one of the North East’s no-audience underground’s most generous and thorough documentarians.
The two sides of this plastic grooved abomination highlight Lobster Priest’s different aspects, each side bulging with third eye nutrition. Where Lobster Priest have always reliably delivered the goods in the form of the purest grown Anatolian psychedelic dronerock, the addition of artist and keyboard player Cara France has broadened/weirdened their sound. Now with a Carnival Of Souls aspect to their sound, and the increased ability to run on grooves as well as the fumes of abandon, the already liberated guitars of Bong’s Mike Vest and Totem Recall’s Cameron Sked are even more free to scrape the VU meter’s limits. The A side, the epic ‘Suzie Fuckin’ Q Death Trip’, manages to transmit a great emotional ache through its melody while still kicking out the jams. The sound may be reaching for the skies of the sunscorched open plains, but there’s always been a further skewed aspect to Lobster Priest beyond that of psychedelia. They’re not so much tripped out as they are ragged and a little bit fire damaged, at the odd crossroads of expanded pupils exhilaration and closed eye wrecked. Lobster Priest’s huge guitar workout tracks are more than just the produce of stoners, more than just a retread of past glorious trails.
Crucial Trading’s flipside, ‘Live In Harran / Free Radio’, is the more experimental of the two cuts. Grown around hefty Turkish (?) radio samples, loops and tones as a constructed field recording of the soundtrack to a long hot desert road drive in a dust shrouded beat-up car this is just like being there. There’s no real attempt to tune the station in, the thing is merging up signals anyway and is pretty much broken, sounds slipping in and out of drones. It’s no World Music toe-dip either; it’s much more caustic and rhythmic than a mere ambient soundscape.
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