Imagine this scene... as the lights dim a lone figure creeps into the spotlight, it's Bjork! and she's singing the song "It's A Hard Knock Life" from the Broadway musical Annie. Not such a farfetched thought when you think of how much Bjork seems to love Broadway productions, but on The Milk-Eyed Mender it isn't Bjork in the spotlight, it's SF sweetheart Joanna Newsom. Indeed, her voice bears much more than a passing resemblance to that of the Icelandic deity. Its childlike qualities are matched by some equally childlike wonky keyboards in one track, and the general twee simplicity of her music overall. One customer of ours offered the following description of Newsom: "the lovechild of Bjork and the Incredible String Band's Robin Williamson, born in Moominland."
This is the big-time Drag City debut for Ms. Newsom, who's homemade cd-rs we've carried in the past (from which some of this material is drawn, re-recorded). We'll freely admit that her rather cutesy, affected sub-Bjork-ish vocal style may be an acquired taste; it seems that seeing her perform in person makes a big difference, as everyone we know who has attended one of Joanna's solo shows has been entranced and enthused. Heck I think some of 'em fell in love. And love it or hate it, this album really IS all about her singing -- her voice and lyrics -- backed pretty much only by the angelic pluck/strum of her harp. Harp? That's right, Newsom is a classical harpist, whom you may already have heard on the Nervous Cop disc with the drummers from Deerhoof and Hella. This is much different than that, of course. It's Newsom's own thing...simple, folky music, her little-girl vocal stylings, and otherworldly, fairytale persona... something we suspect a lot of people will end up liking, once (if?) attuned to it. After all, "true beauty is difficult but rewarding" says the same customer quoted above.
Imagine this scene... as the lights dim a lone figure creeps into the spotlight, it's Bjork! and she's singing the song "It's A Hard Knock Life" from the Broadway musical Annie. Not such a farfetched thought when you think of how much Bjork seems to love Broadway productions, but on The Milk-Eyed Mender it isn't Bjork in the spotlight, it's SF sweetheart Joanna Newsom. Indeed, her voice bears much more than a passing resemblance to that of the Icelandic deity. Its childlike qualities are matched by some equally childlike wonky keyboards in one track, and the general twee simplicity of her music overall. One customer of ours offered the following description of Newsom: "the lovechild of Bjork and the Incredible String Band's Robin Williamson, born in Moominland."
This is the big-time Drag City debut for Ms. Newsom, who's homemade cd-rs we've carried in the past (from which some of this material is drawn, re-recorded). We'll freely admit that her rather cutesy, affected sub-Bjork-ish vocal style may be an acquired taste; it seems that seeing her perform in person makes a big difference, as everyone we know who has attended one of Joanna's solo shows has been entranced and enthused. Heck I think some of 'em fell in love. And love it or hate it, this album really IS all about her singing -- her voice and lyrics -- backed pretty much only by the angelic pluck/strum of her harp. Harp? That's right, Newsom is a classical harpist, whom you may already have heard on the Nervous Cop disc with the drummers from Deerhoof and Hella. This is much different than that, of course. It's Newsom's own thing...simple, folky music, her little-girl vocal stylings, and otherworldly, fairytale persona... something we suspect a lot of people will end up liking, once (if?) attuned to it. After all, "true beauty is difficult but rewarding" says the same customer quoted above.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
A necessary resurfacing of the NF Orchest. This was an East Bay post-noise project spearheaded by Jim Kaiser, Angela Hsu, and A.C. Way many years ago, marked by leaden electronics and acoustic dinscraping. The group found themselves with the rather trite problem of having too much on their plate - Kaiser performing almost constantly with Hsu, Thomas Carnacki, and irr.app.(ext.) amongst others; and Way taking up the cause of Maleficia, Carrion, and probably a few other blackened projects festering in Oakland warehouses. After five years since the last time we heard from the NF Orchest, the three found themselves plugged into the same PA at the Luggage Store in early 2010, where Kaiser bowed his trusted bicycle wheel, Hsu slashed across her violin, and Way produced all sorts of dread-inspiring, subterranean noises. The resulting sounds have the feel of being recorded way deep underground, with a molten snarl of hellish drone bubbling about atonal plucks and scrapes spiralling through phased delay patterns. Yeah, the violin improvisations in abandoned buildings do resonate with the Hsu / Kaiser end of the NF Orchest spectrum, but Way's heavy, black drones put this into an entire other catagory of spectral dark ambience.
NF Orchest is a Bay Area electro-acoustic / noisenik / improv trio centered around the activities of Angela Hsu, Andrew Way, and James Kaiser. While Hsu has connections with Mills College, Way and Kaiser have performed extensively around the Bay Area as French Radio with Bruce Anderson; Kaiser also records solo under the moniker Petit Mal. Bowed metals, damaged turntables, tumbled rocks, screeched violin pushed through squawk boxes, and the improbabilities of feedback all come together in the density of raw sound of NF Orchest that reflects the same interest in acoustic sonology as heard in Organum and Tony Conrad. Couple those influences with a eagerness to set off depth-charge rumbles, subterranean detonations, and Skaters-esque lo-fi dissonance, NF Orchest adds a particular noise-junk malice that is all their own. Yup, this is a super limited CD-R release of two live sessions recorded in July, 2005. Only 104 copies.
San Francisco sound-n-noise technician Brandon Nickell had been recording under the moniker Aemae for a number of years, but he's recently dropped that to go with his given name. It's been a couple years since Nickell / Aemae released a full album (well, there was a pretty awesome cassette on Black Horizon in 2009). But, he's been performing out quite a bit up and down the West Coast and working through his experiential research into auditory hallucinations. If these sounds are any clue as to what kind of hallucinations Nickell was having, they must have been unsettling to say the least. Analog synths, voice, and a hell of a lot of digital synthesis went into pierced electronic tones that Nickell generates, each honed to have a razor sharp edge to sheer your ears straight off. Digitally forged drones stream in every direct at the onset of the album, sharpened for skull scraping results. Even as these dissolve into creepy-as-hell vocal gasps detuned to low-end rumblings, Nickell quickly cuts to an unstable collage of slashing cacophony. Transitioning into a tempered set of recordings of mechanoid grinds, post-Oval digital splutter, and spatialized clank, the pierced rasping tones return to bring the album to a conclusion. There's definitely a connection to the eardrum rattling psychoacoustics that The Hafler Trio could generate, augmented with the aesthetics of Florian Hecker, CM von Hausswolff, and John Wiese.
One of two new releases on the Ge-stell label, run by aQ pal Cameron, who was also the man behind the Merzbild and Merz Tapes labels, the other is the latest from Chris Douglas, aka Dalglish, and then this one, a new 12" from another aQ pal, Brandon Nickell, who previously recorded as Aemae, and runs the Isounderscore label. On Skyline, Nickell explores a moody netherworld of pulsing industrial beatscapery, fractured avant hip hop deconstruction, post rave grooves and acid drenched rhythms, laying down fields of deftly programmed beats, and swaddling them in hazy swirls of melancholy shimmer, a series of strangely reflective backdrops for a constantly transformational rhythmic palette, churning and robotic one second, skittery and stuttery the next, the surrounding sounds though, strangely human, darkly melodic and almost cinematic, the beats less of a driving force oddly, and more a framework for Nickell's moody broodscapes, whether it's the lonesome raga like buzz of "Norvig Trajectory", the keening high end shimmer of "Quartz", or the pulsating retro-cold wave kosmiche of the title track. And even within these various permutations, Nickell manages to evolve and sculpt, transforming the opening droned out skree of the aforementioned "Quartz", into a gorgeously serene, hushed lowercase drift, or the beautifully blissful beats of closer "Tessellate" which lays out a slow motion rhythmic crawl over a background of rapidfire pulse, a darkly propulsive core, to what is otherwise languorous and strangely tranquil, a gorgeous, hypnotic closer, that leaves us wanting more more more.
Pressed on 150 gram transparent vinyl, mastered by Rashad Becker, housed in a silkscreened PVC plastic cover, with die cut slit, along with a printed transparent insert.
Over the course of a handful of releases, San Francisco electronic artist Brandon Nickell has revealed to us a number of facets to his sound, typically landing on the psychonautical side of digital abstraction and bitcracked noisemongering. The Art Of Memory finds Nickell eschewing much of the DSP-systems and laptop codeslinging in favor of modular synthesizers that reflected his infatuation with the rhythmic / IDM-inspired electronic music from the late '90s and early '00s. Tundra Dubs had approached Nickell on the strength of a tape he released concurrently with Holly Herndon's Car cassette on Third Sex a couple years back; and whether intentional or not, there are some parallels to the atonality, precision, sci-fi dystopian vibes, and compositional complexity between Herndon's acclaimed album Movement and Nickell's The Art Of Memory. The title track to this long ep bangs through a shuffled techno rhythm alternating taut step sequencing with glacially dark drones falling between Sandwell District's industrial reclamation project and early Alec Empire rhythm explorations. The 8 minute long workout "Progenitor" laces a skittering Coh / Thomas Brinkmann rhythm with witchy vocal elongations and bellowing drones, punctured with dry, whipcrack snares. The closing track "Sutro" takes after the monophunk of Reinhardt Voigt reprising the spiralling step sequences and arpeggiations from the title track as fractal patterns that splinter, dissolve, and blossom into infinity. Limited to 150 copies!
This silly local metal band, featuring members or ex-members of Fuckface, Dystopia and other Bay Area punk and grind outfits, shows us the way with their debut. Notorious for their (ironic?) usage of 1970's homoerotic imagery in flyers and now, on this release -- though that really doesn't relate to the music in particular. They call it sci-fi sex rock, and I guess that's a good (as any) description for their music. The guitars and drums are definitely in a hardcore or metal style, as are the screamy vox (with lotsa "fuck" and "whore" in the lyrics), but the pomp keyboards are as new wave as they are black metal. The songs are about things like drugs, robot girlfriends, and even "OJ's Wild Ride" (some topical humor kinda past its sell by date, there). Several are intended as parodies of various underground punk genres. Definitely kinda stupid, but lots of people like stupid stuff like this. Fun for fans of the Dwarves, the Accused, Antiseen, Crom, uh, and of course Rick the Desert Dick! (The star of several of the photos you'll find and enjoy in this cd package.)
We loved the last Night Marchers record, See You In Magic. It perfectly pushed all of those Rocket From The Crypt buttons, which had remain sadly unpushed for years, while at the same time soothing the hurt we were experience due to the recent dissolution of the Hot Snakes, 3/4 of which made up the bulk of the Night Marchers including of course Mr. John Reis himself, he formerly of Rocket, and of course the late great Drive Like Jehu.
On record number two, very little has changed, but then very little needed to. The songs are just as driving and catchy, the vibe maybe even more RFTC-like this time around, slithery and swaggery, lots of crunch and stomp, howl and slither. It took a while for us to make it past the opener, "Tropical Depression", which we found ourselves listening to over and over and over, the perfect mix of Jehu, Hot Snakes and Rockets, and while initially, the rest of the record doesn't quite reach such great heights, repeated listens seem to prove otherwise, as every song here reveals itself as a dark, twisted, gem, and within the framework of the sound these guys have mastered, they mix it up big time, frantic shuffles (complete with harmonica), pounding groovers, loping poppers, stonery blooz jams, catchy call and response jangle (with horns!), after listening to this whole record a bunch of times, gets harder and harder to pick a favorite, needless to say fans of RFTC, Hot Snakes and even Jehu (and definitely all three), will dig this big time.
Nire is the lovely folksy Bay Area duo Erin Morgan and Josh Hinton. The two snuggle up close and sing ever so softly in your ear. Their slightly cryptic lyrics are often quite reminiscent of Jeff Mangum, Daniel Bejar or John Darnielle as they're delivered in a withery hushed Elliott Smith-esque way. The gently picked and strummed guitar parts and piano key strikes almost threaten to drown out their voices. We think Vespers' highlights are the fourth song "Girl In The Moon" and the fifth "White Owl". The duo truly hits their stride mid-album, blossoming before our ears. Very intimate and liltingly pretty.
**SALE **SALE* *SALE**
2007 release by this weird band, now defunct. Sludgey noise RAWK plus jass plus... well folks have compared this to everything from Queens Of The Stone Age to Neil Diamond. Somehow we neglected to review these before. Whoops. 180 gram vinyl plus cd version included too.
On the same label that brought us the recent lp from SF blackmetal/blacknoize merchants Sutekh Hexen, comes this crusty, blackened slab of raw, primitive, feral heaviness. And, as the title suggests, there are in fact six songs, but they all sorta bleed and ooze into each other, blown out and in the red, each track a skull shearing slab of blackened crust punk crunch, D-beat pound wedded to grisly grinding riffage, the drums distorted and weirdly industrial at times, sounding more like metal on metal (maybe Pussy Galore style) than a proper kit, and the vocals, holy shit, total throat shredding hellish howls, all wound up into relentless onslaught of grinding, blasting, buzzing brutality. And somehow, the band still manage to cram some melody into their constant blackened barrage, the result turning this sick black slab into something strangely catchy.
The vibe is definitely more blackened punk, then punky black metal, the difference is really maybe too minor to quibble over. Needless to say if you like your sounds raw and heavy, primitive and in-the-red, punked out and black as fuck, then this stuff should definitely hit the spot. Fans of Ancestors, Bone Awl, Akitsa, Ash Pool, Malveillance, Acephalix, Harassor, Endless Humiliation, Dishammer, Trap Them and the like should definitely check these guys out.
LIMITED TO 350 COPIES!!!
If you've dug the songs of Hunx & His Punx, chances are you are a Nobunny fan even if you didn't know it, as he's the masked man responsible for writing most of the music for Hunx over the last few years. Besides giving musical inspiration to his friend Hunx, Nobunny has been a busy dirty garage pop peddler of his own. His raw and feisty live shows have become legendary, and with First Blood he's crafted his most immediate and catchy offering yet, with his trademark mixture of Cramps like grit, Ramones like bounce and Hasil Adkins outlaw garage prowess. We hope he's playing on Halloween as it would be so fun to all dress up like drunken bunnies and hop up and down to these songs in wasted and haunted delight.
Another fun outing of scrappy Jonathan Richman inspired stripped down garage pop from these local boys.
Man we wanted to rave on and on about Nodzzz's amazing single "I Don't Wanna Smoke (Marijuana)" possibly the catchiest song of 2008 but sadly the 7" went out of print before we could ever get our hands on it. But luckily these San Francisco garage popsters have this great new 12" out to fulfill our Nodzzz fix. Refreshingly energetic and punk in spirit, Nodzzz craft super catchy rudimentary garage pop that's equal parts sassy and bratty. With hints of Jonathan Richman's bravado and charisma along with shots of inspiration from the smarter side of garage rock as well as obscure new wave bands who we imagine the band collects tons of rare vinyl from. We're excited to see what the future holds for Nodzzz.
We've seen some pretty elaborate and unique packaging come through the store over the years, but this delicate and exquisitely hand made affair by local songstress Leyna Noel is really in a league of its own. She hand made each sleeve which comes in antique linen that she sewed individually and stitched shut, inside the lyrics and liner notes are printed on ledger paper from 1945. So much love and work went into making these lovely looking cd's that we almost didn't want to have to cut one open to listen to it. But luckily this is one of those great cases where the labor and visual aesthetic perfectly captures the warm and intimate songs contained inside.
From The Mouth of The Jar opens with the richest sounding Hammond organ and then Leyna takes the mic and matches that wave of warmth with her strong and gorgeous voice. With rich instrumentation throughout provided by Leyna and a cast of her comrades including members of Viking Moses, this is music that really is a step above most of the recent singer songwriter/folk sounds, never forgetting that it takes spirit and passion to make a song soar, and Leyna's songs ooze with so much genuine soul. Her delivery and arrangements conjure images of kindred spirits like Joanna Newsom, Edith Frost, Mira Billote (White Magic) and Cat Power. A record that really is like someone sharing with you an honest and thoughtful part of themselves, a feeling for you to cherish as you walk by their side, your spirit warmed by the true comfort they exude. The amount of time and work it took to construct these is baffling and needless to say there is a very small run of them so grab one while you can!
Our pal Weasel Walter (of tUMULt recording artists Hatewave, also the Flying Luttenbachers, as well as a million other noisy projects) recently wrote about this Noh Mercy reissue on his ugEXPLODE blog (weaselwalter.blogspot.com). We knew we couldn't really do a better job reviewing it, so we just asked Weasel if we could use his write up, and he was nice enough to say yes. So, take it away, Weasel:
Archival releases springing forth headily from bygone eras somehow make me infinitely more excited than anything being released from the present morass of overkill we currently endure. At the risk of sounding like a moldy fig, there are many elements missing from much of today's music in terms of what I want to hear. Punk came during the Seventies and said "Everyone can do it!" Unfortunately, everyone did it and now one has to dig even harder and longer to find contemporary jewels in this all-encompassing, instantly accessible, post-categorized modern mess.
Noh Mercy were a female duo based in San Francisco during the late Seventies. Their music is powerfully minimal, most often stripped-down to the barest elements of voice and drums, sometimes peppered with raw keyboards or guitar. Anyone familiar with this obscure group probably knew them from a pair of iconoclastic tracks appearing on the murky, elusive Earcom 3 double seven inch compilation on UK post-punk imprint Fast Product Records. The brazenly succinct assault entitled "Caucasian Guilt" from that record featured a panache and solidity which set it apart from the more atavistic musical standard of their New York No Wave counterparts; vocalist Esmerelda's vitriol showed impressive subtlety and range matching the kinetic, precise drum tattoos of co-conspirator Tony Hotel. This was a band as truly talented as they were weird.
The 2012 archival Noh Mercy release on Superior Viaduct begins with "Caucasian Guilt" and includes the other Earcom comp track ("Revolutionary Spy"), eight never-before-heard tracks from the same July 1979 session as well as four stunning live cuts from an August 1979 concert. The studio tracks were recorded in a basement, but they are appealingly transparent and unadorned, revealing the naked focus of the duo's performances. These ten tracks are based on raw invention, not production. Modern bands should take heed of this: ideas before technology. This is why the old shit sounds so good, folks.
After four tracks of the expected drum/vocal duets (including an amusing deconstruction of the Lennon/McCartney chestnut "Girl"), the throbbing "Lines" arrives as a refreshing contrast with Esmerelda essaying coldly over outbursts of percussive slide guitar racket and sour synthesizer. The following "Bloodhound Blues" is built on a foundation of jazzy tom-tom drum figures and squishy, phased keyboard chords. It is formally traditional in many ways, allowing the passionate vocals to run rampant. Unlike many New Wave poseurs of the time, Esmerelda could really belt out a tune with serious confidence. The melodramatic vocals are impossible to miss and her performances here are intense and colorful. "Cross The Line" and "The Meek Shall Inherit The Mess" continue in the fuller sounding, keyboard drenched mode, while "The Meek . . ." incorporates odd rhythmic meters and tempo changes that reveal musical ambition pushing beyond the other tracks in the "studio" set.
Anyone buying the vinyl version will miss out hard by not getting the four killer live tracks included only on the cd version. The other day I heard a clerk at a record store tell somebody wryly that "vinyl is back." Really? What I see is mindless clones paying 30 bucks for lame back-catalog bullshit that used to be in the dollar bin for decades before this dubious "revival" began. I can't believe how much money people are paying for this shit because they've been told "vinyl is back." Whatever. Congratulations, record industry. You have found a new wave of materialistic lemmings to wallet-rape. I guess, you know, records are, uh, "bigger" or whatever, so, go for it. All I know is I get to savor the frigidly perfect cd audio with the bonus tracks in my lonely little dungeon, sans all the pops and clicks and "warmth" some of you will inflict on yourselves in the dubious name of analog purity.
"Furious" kicks off the quartet of live tracks in a deranged, stop-start construction of barely-contained lyrical outrage and keyboard noise. The oddly idealistic anti-bouncer screed "Storm The Stage" ("...And those dudes with the flashlights/Yelling 'Stay in your seat'/Knock 'em out of your way/Kick 'em with your feet/'Cuz you'll be on that stage!") bubbles along amusingly without drums, Hotel manning an aquatically phased guitar in addition to vocals and keyboards. "Wicked Sister" and "Ode To Frances Farmer" operate vaguely within the same repetitive/motorik realm as beloved period LA synth-punks The Screamers, but once again Esmerelda's impressive pipes outclass the competition on the former while the vividly catchy dissonance of the latter instrumental is compositionally distinctive on its own terms.
Noh Mercy hit the skids and went their separate ways by 1980 without releasing a proper album. This great release expands the group's reputation quite ably with careful audio mastering/restoration of the old master tapes and a beautiful layout featuring great photos, liner notes and lyrics. Anyone interested in the top tier of so-called "post-punk" bands needs to run to this release post-haste.
It's a little difficult to consider Noisegate a metal band. Although their live persona, which features lots of slow motion headbanging while they hold down various keys on their samplers, clearly gives reason to peg them as metallers, a careful
After their caustic debut, "The Towers are Burning" (also on tUMULt), a record that explored an especially pummeling and punishing kind of ambience, Oakland based audio terrorists Noisegate abandoned the violent and corrosive clamor that peppered their first full length, and instead, created a dark and barren dronescape of ominous, slowly shifting deep resonance. Whirring and thunderous low end rumble underpins shimmering textures of glistening darkness and hazy tonal reverberations, grey and austere. "Suspended Animation" is a breathtaking arrangement of hum and buzz and chime. Stark and spatial, warm and mesmeric; feedback, voices, guitars, and bells are dismantled, reduced to tones and timbre, flowing like a murmering black river; bubbling up from a lost spring. A maudlin elegy, hypnotic and somber, funereal yet effulgent.
Reminiscient of the isolationist experiments and drone investigations of Lustmord, Organum, Zoviet France, Andrew Chalk, and Jonathan Coleclough.
Noisegate were a two man ambient wrecking crew, taking the crusty crush of Neurosis, and smearing it into desloate and apocalyptic stretches of pure droning malevolence. This, their first record, is easily one of the bleakest and harshest and gorgeously heavy records we have ever heard. Brutal and aggressive and furious, sometimes impossibly tranquil and serene, but even at it's most ambient, Noisegate still managed to imbue every minute of every track with some ineffable otherworldly forboding.
Four huge ominous dronescapes over the course of sixty minutes, interrupted by violent squalls of slow-motion pummel and 16 rpm grindcore. uneasy ambience and corrosive electronics nestled in a sea of suffocating drones and rib cage rattling hum. Sparse brooding nightmarish ambience punctuated by bursts of skull crushing walls of bass, guitars, tapes, samples and vocals. A monstrous and truly threatening din.
It seems like recently, the world has finally begun to openly embrace the joys of sludge-doom-death-drone or whatever you want to call it. Boris, Corrupted, SUNNO))), Earth, Marzuraan, Bunkur, Moss, Khanate, Nadja, nobody can seem to get enough downtuned sludginess, or glacial metallic pummel. And we couldn't be more thrilled. But if you were around the Bay Area way back in the late nineties, you might remember a band who were prime traffickers in such gloriously low end brutality, but who have seemed to have been completely forgotten.
That band would be Noothgrush, who back in the day, released records and toured with Corrupted, released tons of killer splits, and who were known to lay waste to tiny clubs all over SF.
Having broken up way back in 2001, and with almost their entire catalog out of print, Noothgrush seemed to be about a decade too early. If they were around now, we can guarantee people would be losing their shit (and tons of money on eBay) over this low slung, sludge rock power trio. And way before sludge nerds all over the world were smitten by the diminutive Wata wielding her mighty axe in Boris, Noothgrush were being driven by a young woman by the name of Chiyo, an equally diminutive rocker bashing the living shit out of her drums!
Sonically, there's a definite resemblance to early Corrupted. Huge plodding doom, massive downtuned guitars, riffs stretched out into near-drones, glass gargling vocals, a slow motion glacial black hole of crumbling doom destruction.
This cd collects the band's final studio recordings, all of their splits as well as a handful of unreleased material. The first half of their 'discography' was released on Slap-A-Ham and is now unfortunately out of print. But this 2nd part has most of our favorite Noothgrush material. The band really shone on their splits, and this disc collects all of their material from long out of print splits with Corrupted, Suppression, Gasp, Wellington and Carol Ann. Plus a handful of unreleased tracks. Hell yeah!
So completely and absolutely essential. Fans of SUNNO))), Boris, Corrupted and other plodding drone doom behemoths who somehow missed out on the glorious brutality that was Noothgrush can now see what they've been missing.
Includes a big booklet with liner notes, photos and lyrics.
Available again, this killer compilation of early material from legendary Bay area slo-mo sludge/doom crushers Noothgrush, who recently reformed and are about to play a show with the also together-again East Coast doomlords Winter.
Back in the nineties, Noothgrush were a ubiquitous presence, playing all the time, and releasing records at a crazy clip, splits to be precise, Noothgrush were the master of the split 7", sharing records with Corrupted, Gasp, Agents Of Satan, Deadbodieseverywhere, Black Army Jacket, Carol Ann, Wellington and more. And the interesting thing is the band never actually recorded a proper full length. In fact, the two 'albums' they released were both compilations, collecting all the comp tracks and singles. We reviewed Erode The Person, which is sadly now out of print again, which gathered up the later recordings of the band, and in the review we lamented the fact that this one was sadly out of print. Well it's available again, and is here to again remind the world, that there was some serious downtuned pummel and tarpit doomsludge creep happening LONG before Boris / SUNNO))) / Whitehorse and all the rest threw their dirge-doom hat into the ring. And like we mentioned before, Noothgrush were just about a decade too early.
So Failing Early, Failing Often, originally released on Bay Area powerviolence/fastcore label Slap A Ham, is brimming with Sabbath-at-16rpm dirgery and creeping blackened crawls, loads of feedback, the drums a glacial stumble, provided by the cute and diminutive Chiyo (she most definitely a nineties SF metalhead crush), the vocals a howled raspy bellow, lots of samples too, from movies, and politicians, the sound crusty and blackened, with many of the tracks here from the WAY early days, old demos and cassettes, which means the sound on those is even more filhty and lo-fi and raw. Punishing and heavy as fuck, droned out and dreary and druggy and so good, even all these years later.
Fans of the current crop of doomlords and dirge merchants, who somehow missed out on these guys (and gal) would do well to check this out. And if you loved Erode The Person, well this is the second part to what with EtP is essentially one massive compilation/career retrospective.
First release from this local band of psychedelic noise makers, featuring former aQ-er Andrew Brush, who was the mastermind behind blackened shoegaze noise pop weirdos the Mausoleums (the first Mausoleums cd-r has now been reissued on cassette, and can be found elsewhere on this week's list) and runs the Chaos Of The Stars cassette label.
Bread Money / Blood Money is a sprawling double album of murky distorted psychedelic jammage that sounds a bit like a twisted, extremely low fidelity mix of the Velvet Underground and Japanese psych legends Les Rallizes Denudes, the tracks are extended sprawls of minimal psych, minimal in arrangement and structure at least, but maximal in volume and intensity, the sound as much about the super distorted, blown out, in-the-red recording as the music itself, the group locking into almost bvnkvrfvnk style grooves (and yeah, at times it sounds a bit like a wilder, woolier German Oak), each track essentially a single part, looped and layered and repeated, a hard psych sonic mantra, stretched out into infinity, and like some of our favorite psych records, we can only assume that these tracks are just edits of much longer jams, as they often cut out abruptly, and start the same way, as if someone just remembered mid jam that they should push record on the tape machine. There also seems to be sax in there too, but buried in the mix, and essentially playing the part of another buzzy, droning layer. It's heady, heavy stuff, psych obsessives will be in heaven, and while the sound here is much more raw and lo-fi, anyone into the current crop of spaced out psych combos, The Heads, Carlton Melton, White Hills, Burnt Hills, 3 Leafs, Assemble Head In Sunburst Sound, etc. will likely dig big time as well!
Full length number two from these California drugged out psychedelic dirge rockers, who now count a member of late great Monoshock among their membership, which makes sense, as these guys whip up a similarly murky moody protopunk psychrock sound, but where NP's debut was a more noisy garage-kraut sci-fi psych rock blowout, Late Night does seem to sonically fulfill its monicker, crafting a darker dirgier moodier minimalism, the songs sprawling dark brooders, all whirring organs, pulsing processed guitars, swirling FX and reverb drenched vocals, that slip from hushed croon to almost soulful falsetto, all set amidst streaks and swirls, smears and blurs, a druggy late night sonic comedown, the record occasionally exploding into some propulsive crunch, or distorted pound, but spending most of it's time oozing and creeping, electronic rhythms wound around fluttery effected melodies, some sci-fi synths remain, adding a haunting cinematic vibe to the proceedings, pop songs melting and oozing from the speakers, for a super obscure reference, think the organ driven dour pop of the Velvet Monkeys, the same sort of moody meandery moonlit minimalism, dirgey ballads crossed with slo-mo garage rock, indie rock jangle slowed way down and transformed into something more twangy and maudlin, reminding us of times of Aussie post punkers Naked On The Vague.
We loved the first NP record, but we're digging this one even more, a killer collection of murk pop gems, hooks everywhere, but wreathed in gauzy creep and wheezy shimmer, blurred shimmery buzz and hazy spaced out psychedelia. A new favorite for sure!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
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Numbers, all by themselves, have a firm handle on taking the tools of punk rock and using them as instruments of total dancefloor destruction, making them prime candidates for re-interprations of their songs that highlight, rather than obliterate, their inherent status as dance tunes. Some of the tracks on this new remix album do just that, some don't, and as is to be expected from a remix album I guess, some of these tracks work a whole lot better than others, although overall, "Death" is really pretty solid. Most of the mixes here are in the hands of the good-humored glitchmeisters of the Tigerbeat 6 roster, many of whose aims seem to be more idiosyncratic than the simple forging of club-friendly tunage from the Numbers raw material. The best tracks, like Dymaxion's mix of "What Is The Product?" and Caro's take on "Intercom," fracture and extrapolate cold neo-disco from the already thumpin' Numbers beat. Gold Chains inserts himself, friendly and joshing like, into the musical dialogue on his take on "Prison Life" through the additional vocals; the party jams are duly delivered by Kid 606; controversial faux-teutonic trio Zeigenbock Kopf turn "I Like Having These Things" into, uh, a Zeigenbock Kopf song. It's a tribute to all the mixers that it's not immediately noticable that a couple songs are tackled more than once (or twice). Other remixers include Electronicat, Stars As Eyes, Dwayne Sodhaberk, Original Hamster, Kit Clayton, GD Luxxe, Dat Politics and Uprock.
MPEG Download: KID 606 "We Like Having These Things (Williamsburg Rmx)" [/audio/numberskid606rmx.mp3]
MPEG Stream: KID 606 "We Like Having These Things (Williamsburg Rmx)" [/audio/numberskid606rmx.m3u]
Here's a half-live, half studio half dozen from Numbers. The lo-fi live three were recorded in Oakland at a big ol' warehouse 'demolition' party. A messy, raucous EP that's sure to please fans, we'd imagine.
Here's the new one from the Numbers, those neo-New Wavers who are a popular part of the much-hyped San Francisco scene. Robotic dancefloor punk from ex-members of Xerobot, all quirky and jerky, yelpy and bloopy. If you're already into 'em this won't disappoint I'm sure. However, I have to say that a few nights back I happened into a bar where a Judas Priest tribute band was playing. I think they were named Sad Wings of Destiny, from up north someplace, though they looked liked they'd just stumbled drunk out of a Castro bar. And even though they weren't getting every song 100 percent right, they totally rocked. It was very punk and fucked up, spirited and fun and very very campy. The Numbers of course are going for a quite different sort of '70s / '80s retro vibe. But the point is Sad Wings of Destiny (or was it Screaming For Vengeance?) would have blown them off the stage. I'm not sure where I'm going with this, except to say that while the Numbers record is not necessarily bad, I liked a messed-up Priest tribute band better way better. They had the songs, they had the attitude, and never mind what's trendy. PRIEST!!
Remember that band Xerobot that were around during the Midwest No Wave craze of the mid nineties? Numbers is ex-members of Xerobot, and everybody is gaga for No Wave in SF right now. Catchy punk rawk, chaotic choppy guitar, screamy/shouty boy/girl vox though distorted makeshift microphones -- it's all good, but the amateurish homemade synth bleeps and token Moog distract from the totally fierce guitarwork. Influences definitely include Gang of Four and Wire. Ten songs, nineteen and a half minutes. Tigerbeat6. Down with the scene.
Long gone are the days of the bratty and sassy Numbers, when the band first hit the scene a few years back. These days Numbers have refined their love of electronic tinged rock, taking cues from sonic pioneers like '70s Brian Eno and early Gary Numan as well as some hints of Krautrock.
As always they have their Moogs and other rad instruments on full throttle (check out their awesome Octave Cat and the always handy shruti box, both of which help create lots of the drones that run through many of the songs on Now You Are This). With vocalist Indra singing lead on a majority of the tracks and irresistible momentum of that most of these songs, we could definitely see Numbers teaming up with kindred spirits Electrelane sometime in the future for a meeting of the musical minds that would make a lot of sense, and most likely sound fantastic.
Wow...This is their best yet! Their first for Kill Rock Stars (after three releases on Tigerbeat 6) and the shift in labels also marks a major shift in sound for this SF trio. While Numbers became known for their diy approach to electro-pop, "we're animals" finds them ready to move on and into different directions. The sound is much fuller and you get the feeling that lots of thought was put into making a full album as opposed to just throwing together a bunch of songs. In lots of ways this is sort of like their Milk Man (the Deerhoof album, that is). Guitars and keyboards which take their cue from early Eno rock albums with moments of washed out sounds that shimmer and sizzle. No more traces of gimmickry. What hasn't changed for Numbers is that their presence and energy is still undeniable. So nice to see when a band has the courage to make a change that might alienate their past fan base but in the process come out on the other end with a record so much better then if they had just continued to go through the expected motions.
If this split 7" had come out a few years ago, it would've probably seemed like a bit of an odd pairing, but these days SF's (formerly much more no-wave influenced) Numbers and Detroit's (formerly very singularly electro-botic) Adult. are soundin' pretty chummy. Where they've found their common ground is in the raw, retro punky pit. Both songs in this split 7" equation feature snarky female vocals and underlying herky-jerk rhythms. Adult. percolates a dark, itchy "Monologue" and Numbers proclaim at a slower tempo "Me Me" punctuated by choppy guitars. Sure to please fans of both bands.
Latest lp from local shoegazing psych duo of guitarist/vocalist Mason Jones (ex-Subarachnoid Space) and drummer Mike Shoun (Thee Oh Sees), both of whom augment Numinous Eye's sound with copious synths and effects. Amped up and/or blissed out, it's hypnotic stuff, some songs riding waves of distorted guitar and roiling drums, others more laid back and mellow, with gentle singing, these more song-y songs still featuring echoing, extended spacey guitar passages over steady, tasteful drum beats (Shoun in Caesura '90s era mode, his old post-rock band), with Mason's gentle, sensitive vocals drifting over top, hinting at Galaxie 500 - though some comparisons soundwise could also be made to the psychedelic stylings of fellow San Franciscans Wooden Shijps, as well as to some of Mason's pals in the Tokyo psych scene (previous Numinous Eye releases have featured contributions from members of Acid Mothers Temple and Up-Tight among others). Recommended - as is this list's other ex-Subarachnoid Space related release, by Eight Bells!
Vinyl-only, comes with digital download code though. And boy is it a thick slab of 180-gram vinyl.
Our pal Mason Jones (formerly of San Francisco space rockers Subarachnoid Space) is known for his Japanese connections as well as for his talent for heavy-duty, effects-laden experimental electric guitar improv. So we're not surprised to find him on this cd live in Japan, teamed up in three separate sessions with three different drummers: Tatsuya Yoshida of Ruins, Shirahata of Up-Tight, and Komatsu of... we're not sure, Mason help us out, is it Bloodthirsty Butchers?
Anyway, in all cases, it's darkly psychedelic, freely unfolding guitar/drums jamming, sometimes moody and droned-out, sometimes building up into a howling sonic miasma... when dueting with Yoshida (the only person on here who also uses his voice as an instrument) there's an expected element of progressive spazz.
As with all aRCHIVE releases, painfully limited and in fact already sold out at the label.
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From the get-go, John O'Brien's debut album Real Life sounds very much in the same sun-kissed, country-tinged vein as fellow Sfers Fojimoto. So it's not surprising that they've found each other - this album was recorded, mixed and co-produced by Marwan Kanafani of Fojimoto. Mr. O'Brien's boyish vocals also brought to mind those of Evan Dando of the Lemonheads. These are mostly warm and infectious pop songs with plenty of gentle strummy guitars, but there's also "Bottle On The Table" a rootsy raise-a-pint rollicker embellished with a little harmonica for good measure and the more solemn piano number "September 13" which also appeared on the "The Canvas Remembers September 11" compilation.
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Along with the roster of L.A.'s Plug Research, O.S.T. dispels any notion that West Coast electronica need be sunny and pleasant. San Francisco's maverick has also recorded for the Worm Interface label as Rook Vallard and here, sculpts malevolent soundtracks of distant washes of noise which have been pushed intensely into the foreground. Highly recommended.
Debut release from this mysterious local black metal horde, who have been seemingly operating well under the radar, as the announcement regarding the pending release of this record was the first time we'd heard anything about them, but their sound is definitely right up our alley, depressive and droned out, a mix of raw buzzing primitivism, and blown out almost psychedelic blackened drift, the band slipping easily from old school blasting blackness, to midtempo slow burn majesty, the guitars thick and layered and lush in places, but appropriately buzzy and brittle in others, the whole record underpinned by field recordings, wind in the tress, running water, most effective when laid beneath chiming clean guitars, unfurling a sort of melancholic folkiness, replete with haunting shimmery swells and distant reverbed trills, eventually exploding into some seriously harsh heaviness, a roiling blurry black churn, wreathed in swaths of soaring synth, a strange mix that turns what would otherwise be pure sonic violence into something much more spaced out and melodic.
There are moments of spidery post rock, and meandery clean guitar minimalism, the folk element constantly surfacing throughout, finally finishing off with what we expected to a brief instrumental outro (the way most black metal records finish) but instead, ends up being a brief but blown out blast of furious epic heaviness, that might be the best two minutes of the whole record.
Housed in super nice, silver on matte black sleeves.
Ol' Crazy Fingers (not really what they call him) Mick Barr is baaack. He of Orthrelm, Octis, Crom Tech, etcetera fame, a true fretboard wizard for the punkish underground avant-core set. If Lightning Bolt were Metallica, Mick Barr'd be Yngwie. Or something like that... y'know, it's hard to make a lot of sense when your brain is being subjected to the bumblebee chamber metal sounds of Ocrilm, so cut us a break. This latest Mick Barr masterpiece is a solo project, all three of its overdubbed Gibson SG guitar tracks laid down by Mick hisself in a maddening density of notes and harmonies, droning sheets and shards of sound. This is massive, and maniacal. Anoint is a seven-part composition for excited strings, a one-man Glenn Branca-esque guitar symphony done shred style. A beautiful, beautiful thing... though you can imagine it being recorded, and listened to, in the confines of a padded cell!
Ah, the sweeter side of John Dwyer. It's always been a struggle for Dwyer, between his sweat soaked spazz rock, club smashing, instrument battering side (Landed, Pink And Brown, Coachwhips) and his lonely boy, mix tape, bedroom, acoustic and sensitive side (OCS). Well it appears, that for the time being at least, with the end of the Coachwhips, OCS is Dwyer's main focus. Dr. Jeckel has regained control and banished Mr Hyde to wait patiently in the dakness....
Like the first OCS record, released on Andee's tUMULt label, this is a massive, beuatifully packaged double disc collection of beautifully ramshackle, intimate and home recorded lo-fi indie bedroom folk. However, unlike the tUMULt release, where disc two was a clattery, crunchy, crashing NOISE record, both discs here are chock full of simple strummed guitars, echoey percussiony, big empty room rhythmic clatter, distant distorted melancholy melodies, haunting reverby electric guitar, quavery falsetto vocals, drowsily affected jangle shuffling snare drums and hazy atmospheres....all occasionally peppered with swooping stuttering psych rock space effects, chirping birds, and creaking rattling soundmakers of all kinds. For fans of Sentridoh, Shrimper and all things 4-track, lo-fi, jangley, shuffley and strummy! The lp is is the OCS '3' record only, you gotta buy the double cd to get both '3' and '4'!
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This long out of print lp (originally released on vinyl via Yik Yak, then reissued on cd by Narnack) is finally available again on wax. 3 is one of the last of the early OCS records, before the OCS became Thee Oh Sees, and this one man bedroom project became a proper band, here's our original (slightly altered) review from WAY back in 2005, long before most of the rest of the world had gone crazy for Thee Oh Sees...
Ah, the sweeter side of John Dwyer. It's always been a struggle for Dwyer, between his sweat soaked spazz rock, club smashing, instrument battering side (Landed, Pink And Brown, Coachwhips, etc.) and his lonely boy, mix tape, bedroom, acoustic and sensitive side (OCS). Well by the time 3 was originally released, Dwyer's garage rock combo the Coachwhips had called it quits, making OCS Dwyer's main focus and setting the stage for the transition from OCS to Oh Sees. Dr. Jeckel has regained control and banished Mr Hyde to wait patiently in the background....
Like the first OCS record, released on Andee's tUMULt label (And still available!), this is a fantastic collection of beautifully ramshackle, intimate and home recorded lo-fi indie bedroom folk. However, unlike the tUMULt release, which included a second disc that was a clattery, crunchy, crashing NOISE record, the sound here steers clear of that sort of noisiness, and is chock full of simple strummed guitars, echoey percussiony, big empty room rhythmic clatter, distant distorted melancholy melodies, haunting reverby electric guitar, quavery falsetto vocals, drowsily affected jangle shuffling snare drums and hazy atmospheres... all occasionally peppered with swooping stuttering psych rock space effects, chirping birds, and creaking rattling soundmakers of all kinds. For fans of Sentridoh, Shrimper and all things 4-track, lo-fi, jangly, shuffley and strummy! Fans of Thee Oh Sees who missed out on the early years, would do well to check this out, and see where it all started...
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Who would have thought that the man behind the club destroying thud rock of now defunct Pink And Brown, the sweaty, hyper chaotic garage stomp of the also now defunt Coachwhips, the minimal metallic crush of the long buried Dig That Body Up It's Alive and the no longer with us hardcore faux-homo-house of Zeigenbock Kopf actually had a soft and sensitive acoustic-y side?? Well, he does, or did, and chose to drop all the above mentioned musical endeavors to focus all of his musical energy on the mysteriously monickered OCS (which would later eventually transform into the fuzzier garage poppier Thee Oh Sees!)
The ubiquitous John Dwyer, for it is he, offers up two discs of home recorded madness, culled from random tapes/performances from way back when, and damn if this isn't an unexpected surprise. Vascillating wildy between introspective, spaced out downer folk and gritty, hissing free noise crunch, OCS is a massive and unpredicatable ride through one man's damaged musical psyche.
Disc One, 34 Reasons Why Life Goes On Without You, or the "acoustic disc" as we like to call it, is made up mostly of solo guitar, recorded in random locations around San Francisco, so the gentle strumming and dexterous fingerpicking is often barely obscuring passing cars, slamming doors, hollered instructions to other players, and noisy housemates, adding another sonic layer to the already thick brew. Think: a seriously fucked up Fahey, armed with a four track, a casio, and an old beat up guitar. Think: an old Folkways 45 being played on a Fisher Price turntable and run through a bank of cheap effects. Gorgeous and shambolic, meandering and lovely, dark and unpredictable. The acoustic passages are constantly doing battle with an array of sonic intrusions, random snippets of found sound, bursts of angry buzz, tape drop out, random ambient happenings, malfunctioning casios, and distorted crooning. Mysteriously compelling.
Disc two, 18 Reasons To Love Your Hater To Death, or the "noise disc" as we like to call it, is a much more challenging affair, channelling the spirts of Borbetamagus, Skullflower, Albert Ayler, Throbbing Gristle and 100 years of NOISE into a shifting sonic noisescape of harsh squealing feedback, gorgeously gauzy and shimmery drones, ear piercing sine waves, distorted low end rumbles, huge washes of effected guitars, rhythmic pulses, darkly muted ambience, subtle barely-there melodies, inhuman vocalisations, massive Merzbow-ian walls of pummel, hyper minimal music concrete, alien lullabies and dreamy stretches of stygian gloom punctuated by bursts of hiss and hum. Intensely beautiful and challenging.
Ah, the many moods of John Dwyer, stepping outside the realm of costume rock and drunken sweaty swagger to lay bare a sensitive, if still sometimes quite noisy, soul.
add to cart [/images/addtocart.gif]/af4105.html Handsomely packaged in a hand linocut printed jockstrap cover, OCS vs Caroliner is probably not what you would imagine. This isn't a remix collaboration between John Dwyer and Grux, but a fight (recorded surreptitiously by another Aquarius customer on their minidisc recorder) between the two battling over flyer space on the event board.
Fretboard brainiac Mick Barr (of Orthrelm, Crom-Tech, Quix*o*tic, and Octis) is back with a new album from his solo manifestation Octis (and is also now living here in San Francisco, playing in the Flying Luttenbachers). Ocrilim is one 33 minute track of squiggly quasi-metallic guitar and drum machine. Electro-shock therapy too expensive? Try this! A tinny drone jabbed and jarred with manic outbursts of hyper spazz guitar, with which the drum machine can barely keep up. It's, in a word, maddening. And of course we love it.
