Finally we've managed to get our hands on some of these cd-r's by Andee's new favorite band, Sunburned Hand Of The Man (you may remember me gushing at length about their recent 'Headress' lp a few lists back), and these cd-r's, if anything, are even better than the lp! Sunburned Hand take the tribal clatter of the No Neck Blues Band (with whom they share members) and add all sort of other elements: seventies folk, droning krautrock, creepy ambient soundscapes, free jazz, stumbling free rock thud, and some actual ROCK! And come up with a totally otherworldy sound. Space-y, folky, dark and drone-y, dreamy and ethereal, driving and relentless, creepy and scary, morose and melancholy, all in the space of a single record. Bizarre instrumentation and a way with sound make SHotM heirs to the modern ESP/krautrock/psych/freerock throne!
Mind Of A Brother, recorded in 1998, is the first cd-r in this proposed series of fifty, and it's probably the most ambient. Dreamy and wispy, guitars fade in and out, echoing into nothingness, shakers shake out simple almost imperceptable rhythms, guitars play serpentine leads that are buried in murk and grime, while hums and whirrs set the foundation for these sonic explorations. Every once in a while, the drums kick in, a simple, rock rhythm, but the added rhythmic oomph pushes the sound into classic krautrock territory, motorik and propulsive, and the ghostly guitars seem to take a more solid shape as if in response to the drums new found purpose. The record ends in a primitive sort of ritual, guitar swells and warm washes of thick tones with wailing Yoko Ono-ish vocals. Some really heady and amazing stuff from this Massachusetts band!
Finally we've managed to get our hands on some of these cd-r's by Andee's new favorite band, Sunburned Hand Of The Man (you may remember me gushing at length about their recent 'Headress' lp a few lists back), and these cd-r's, if anything, are even better than the lp! Sunburned Hand take the tribal clatter of the No Neck Blues Band (with whom they share members) and add all sort of other elements: seventies folk, droning krautrock, creepy ambient soundscapes, free jazz, stumbling free rock thud, and some actual ROCK! And come up with a totally otherworldy sound. Space-y, folky, dark and drone-y, dreamy and ethereal, driving and relentless, creepy and scary, morose and melancholy, all in the space of a single record. Bizarre instrumentation and a way with sound make SHotM heirs to the modern ESP/krautrock/psych/freerock throne!
The humorously titled Piff's Clicks, also recorded in 1998, is the second in SBHotM's proposed 50 cd-r series, and this one is a lot less dreamy than the Mind Of A Brother cd-r. The sound here starts off way more primitive and active, a sort of outsider-psych-folk, with simple shaker rhythms and spastically plucked, heavily reverbed guitars, with wild shouts and what sounds like the calls of dolphins. Reminiscent of Reynols at their most rocking or Jandek as far as the guitar sound. The record sort of blisses out as it progresses, with wailing horns and distant blues melodies, chiming harmonics and space-y soundscapes, clattery percussion, muted wah wah guitars and dark ambient drones. Think: a hillbilly Tangerine Dream, or a space rock band playing twentieth century classical, or musique concrete played by the Godz or the Fugs. This stuff is so good. Can't wait for the next 48!!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Out of the blue, this slab of heaviness is now available on vinyl! A real swank package with new artwork courtesy of the UK's Dirter. Here's our review of the original cd release from 2001:
The world's first, best, only, (and last?) EARTH tribute band oozes forth with their second album. Some might question if there was more to be accomplished in their emulation of the glacial "power ambient drone" metal practiced by Earth, but this album should quell any skeptics -- it's slower and lower and sets yet another standard for heaviness. Thus, probably an essential addition to the collections of AQ's extreme doom fanatic patrons! And this time the boys in Sunn go beyond their obvious Earth worship to acknowledge another influence: one of the four lengthy tracks found here is a cover (or, an interpretation, anyway) of a Melvins tune! Recommended.
The final installment in Daymare's comprehensive SUNNO))) reissue campaign, and probably the most eagerly anticipated, not just because 00 Void is one of their best, but because the extra bonus disc features the original record reimagined and recontextualized by dadaist sound sculptors Nurse With Wound.
00Void is in fact, SUNNO)))'s first proper album, the preceding Grimmrobe Demos, being just that, demos, but sonically, it picks up right where Grimmrobe left off, huge undulating slow motion riffscapes, epic, majestic, glacial, ominous and black hole heavy. Although it hardly seems necessary at this point, for those who have managed to somehow avoid SUNNO)))'s sonic influence, SUNNO))) began life as the world's first, best, only, (and last?) EARTH tribute band, emulating and bowing before the glacial "power ambient drone" metal of Earth, creating a little cult of the dronedoomdirge faithful, long before the hipster set caught on, but this record, as much as Grimmrobe before it made a case for SUNNO))) as their own entity, sure they owed every aspect of their sound to the band they were birthed to honor (still do really), but they managed to subtly imbue that same sound with their own influences and experience, creating something even more slow and low if that were even possible, setting yet another standard for heaviness.
So on 00Void, SUNNO))) indulge in pure unfettered doom, loosed from any sort of rhythmic constrictions, unmoored from traditional song structures, letting riffs and tones and pure vibrations emanate from their wall of speakers, like some monstrous black tuning fork, almost more a physical sensation than an aural one, but those movements of blackdrone infused with a musicality that blossoms slowly the deeper you allow yourself to sink. Suffocating, pummeling, crushing, oozing, but also soothing and beautiful. Maybe one of our favorite SUNNO))) records for sure. And if the pure grim heaviness of the three originals wasn't enough, 00Void also includes a cover (or, an interpretation, anyway) of a Melvins tune! Another band who were dabbling in slow motion heaviness long before it was cool...
This deluxe Japanese reissue is gorgeously packaged as always, swank matte finished textured paper gatefold, printed inner sleeves, insert with liner notes (all in Japanese), but most importantly of all, a whole extra disc, a complete reworking of 00Void by Nurse With Wound. Most folks probably never even made it this far in the review anyway, the mention of NWW remixing SUNNO))) in the first paragraph probably had most people scrambling for the add to cart button, but for folks who stuck it out, it's well worth rebuying 00Void again for the extra disc, as it's a fantastic disc of haunting drones and abstract soundscaping, constructed using the glacial doom of SUNNO))) as the building blocks, which is surprising considering how shimmery and serene much of this is.
The opening track is one long slow billow of sound, gentle clouds of muted metallic reverberations, deep resonant chiming tones, soft smeared bass notes, all blurred into a creeping drift, that is more Chalk or Coleclough than SUNNO))). The second track is evenmore abstract, isolating, or adding voices, peppering the dreamy drone with strange metallic clang, moaning horn like bleats, sprays of hiss and buzz, all over a warbly wandering bassline, the vocals driving the song at points, a nasally croon entangled in the tracks gauzy gurgle, the bass getting thicker and thicker, coated in grit and grime and hiss, the vocals effected and almost demonic, breaking glass, weird industrial clatter, and lots and lots of hisssssssss.
The final track, another gorgeously minimal drone, the sound of SUNNO))) smeared and blurred and muted into a hushed thrum, soft subtle layers shifting and blending, warm and rich and textured but simple and spare, near the end, voices and radio static surface, but still barely audible, another whispered layer beneath a sea of tranquil hushed whir. Pretty dang cool, even if it's fairly far removed from the sound of the original, but then again, that's sort of the mark of a good remix as far as we're concerned.
Be warned, we got a bunch but they'll probably go quick, so when we run out, be prepared to wait for us to get more from Japan.
Yet again, proving that you haven't really owned a Sunn 0))) record until you've bought it at least twice, preferably three times, here comes two more blasts from the dark side of the doom, what many consider to be Sunn 0)))'s finest moments, their debut, The GrimmRobe Demos, and record number three, Flight Of The Behemoth! Both expanded with over the top new packaging, gorgeous Japanese style mini lp gatefold style cd sleeves, inserts, printed inner sleeves, but most importantly a whole disc of unreleased material!!
The GrimmRobe Demos was the first most of us had ever heard of this supposed Earth tribute band, their debut disc in a cardboard sleeve, wrapped in a black trash bag silkscreened with the Sunn 0))) logo in metallic gold, the sound a filthier, sludgier version of Earth's classic 2 album. We were in doomdirgedeathdrone nirvana. And still are. After a million Sunn 0))) wannabes, the GrimmRobe Demos still sound as heavy and sludge-y and as gloriously grim as ever.
The packaging is of course fantastic, a super thick gatefold mini lp style sleeve, printed in that deep blue and silver, inside a HUGE booklet affixed to the front, with extensive liner notes, in English and Japanese, including a looooong essay, Ode To The Grimmrobe, by Seldon Hunt. Each disc is in a plastic sleeve housed in a full color printed sleeve, the disc proper has more images like those inside the gatefold, while the bonus disc has a flyer and photos from the live show within. So yeah, Sunn 0))) performing live, back in 1999, when they were still an opening act (opening for Angel Rot, who?), 25 + minutes of crumbling low end destruction, gritty and grimy and filthy, a massive roiling morass of downtuned guitar rumble and shimmering feedback, gorgeous and of course brutal, and capturing Sunn 0))) near the beginning. Fans will of course want this, the packaging, the essay, the killer live show, but just like Flight Of The Behemoth, folks who missed out on the GrimmRobe Demos the first time around, should must definitely rectify that situation RIGHT NOW.
Of all the SUNNO))) cds, and there have been a LOT, this remains perhaps the closest to the original template of worshipping Earth II to a T. Which as far as we're concerned, at least sonically, is a very very good thing. Earth tribute band? Sunn? Huh? For those confused, or new to the world of Sunn 0))), let's elaborate.
Once upon a time, there was Earth, a slower than slow, heavier than heavy Sub Pop combo that took the Melvins molasses drone riffing over the edge. Turning sound into something so slow and physical you could almost feel it more than hear it. They disbanded, disappeared, and since then they've resurfaced, albeit with a new, WAY less sludgey sound, so it was and IS up to the dudes in Sunn 0))) (get it, Earth, Sunn, there's also a Sunn tribute band called Moon) to revisit, and resuscitate Earth's genius genesis (back when Kurt Cobain used to play with 'em!), and thus, Sunn 0))) deliver what could be a part two to Earth 2, loooooong tracks of primordial dirge, humming and rumbling and crumbling and moving like a blackened glacier, riffs sprawled out over minutes instead of seconds, a slowly churning propulsive murky low end beast. One track is even named after Earth leader Dylan Carlson. And of course, as we mentioned above, the band name Sunn is derived from the proximity in the solar system to Earth, but also, and maybe moreso, the amps of choice for both outfits, appropriately so 'cause it's the amps more than the guitars that you hear here. They're not covering Earth tunes here, but are basically following the same formula towards drone metal godhead. Essential for all devotees of the ultra-heavy!
We know lots of you SunnO))) fanatics missed out on the various versions of the GrimmRobe Demos 2lp. So we're happy to report that we finally got a bunch more of these in. Supposedly the LAST pressing, on good old black vinyl (the best sounding BTW). Not sure how long they'll last, so act fast.
Now all serious connoisseurs of depression, death, doom and utter grimness have reason to celebrate. No, we're certainly not talking about G.W. Bush's second-term inauguration! It's music we're going on about, and for fans of that brand of heavy, doomful drone that we know so many of you AQ-customers are, this IS good news: the re-release of the debut album from not-so-dynamic doom duo SUNNO)))! Yes! So log off of eBay, save your ninety bucks (that's what Southern Lord says the original cd was going for) and thank 'em for at last reissuing this disc, previously out on Hydrahead subsidary HH Noise Industries back in 2000. And yes, there's a BONUS TRACK. Sixteen minutes and forty seconds of bonus track entitled "Grimm & Bear It"...those jokers. That brings this album to over 72 minutes in length, perfect for enjoying your own mini-coma in its ambient embrace. Of all the SUNNO))) cds since, this remains perhaps the closest to the original template of worshipping Earth II to a T.
For some "historical" perspective (and for any who are puzzled, to explain that last comment), let's revist our original review of this disc, upon its first release:
"Whoa, an Earth tribute band! Y'know, Earth, the slower than slow, heavier than heavy Sub Pop combo from a few years back, the band that took the Melvins molasses drone riffing over the edge. They're not around anymore (and weren't that great toward the end anyway) but this project (featuring members of Burning Witch/Goatsnake/Engine Kid) revisits Earth's genius genesis (back when Kurt Cobain used to play with 'em), for some long long tracks of primordial dirge. One track is even named after Earth leader Dylan Carlson. And of course the band name Sunn is derived from the amps of choice for both outfits, appropriately so 'cause it's the amps more than the guitars that you hear here. They're not covering Earth tunes, but are essentially following the same formula towards drone metal godhead. Essential for all devotees of the ultra-heavy!"
And as some of you have mentioned to us, the Southern Lord website lists a super limited purple vinyl version, but those are available only via direct mailorder from Southern Lord and are most likely gone already anyway.
Now all serious connoisseurs of depression, death, doom and utter grimness have reason to celebrate. No, we're certainly not talking about G.W. Bush's second-term inauguration! It's music we're going on about, and for fans of that brand of heavy, doomful drone that we know so many of you AQ-customers are, this IS good news: the re-release of the debut album from not-so-dynamic doom duo SUNNO)))! Yes! So log off of eBay, save your ninety bucks (that's what Southern Lord says the original cd was going for) and thank 'em for at last reissuing this disc, previously out on Hydrahead subsidary HH Noise Industries back in 2000. Now this classic comes packaged in a jewel case, instead of a spray painted hefty bag sleeve. And yes, there's a BONUS TRACK. Sixteen minutes and forty seconds of bonus track entitled "Grimm & Bear It"...those jokers. That brings this album to over 72 minutes in length, perfect for enjoying your own mini-coma in its ambient embrace. Of all the SUNNO))) cds since, this remains perhaps the closest to the original template of worshipping Earth II to a T.
For some "historical" perspective (and for any who are puzzled, to explain that last comment), let's revist our original review of this disc, upon its first release:
"Whoa, an Earth tribute band! Y'know, Earth, the slower than slow, heavier than heavy Sub Pop combo from a few years back, the band that took the Melvins molasses drone riffing over the edge. They're not around anymore (and weren't that great toward the end anyway) but this project (featuring members of Burning Witch/Goatsnake/Engine Kid) revisits Earth's genius genesis (back when Kurt Cobain used to play with 'em), for some long long tracks of primordial dirge. One track is even named after Earth leader Dylan Carlson. And of course the band name Sunn is derived from the amps of choice for both outfits, appropriately so 'cause it's the amps more than the guitars that you hear here. They're not covering Earth tunes, but are essentially following the same formula towards drone metal godhead. Essential for all devotees of the ultra-heavy!"
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Whoa, an Earth tribute band! Y'know, Earth, the slower than slow, heavier than heavy Sub Pop combo from a few years back, the band that took the Melvins molasses drone riffing over the edge. They're not around anymore (and weren't that great toward the end anyway) but this project (featuring members of Burning Witch/Goatsnake/Engine Kid) revisits Earth's genius genesis (back when Kurt Cobain used to play with 'em), for some long long tracks of primordial dirge. One track is even named after Earth leader Dylan Carlson. And of course the band name Sunn is derived from the amps of choice for both outfits, appropriately so 'cause it's the amps more than the guitars that you hear here. They're not covering Earth tunes, but are essentially following the same formula towards drone metal godhead. Essential for all devotees of the ultra-heavy! Each disc, with a handsome paper sleeve cover, comes sealed in its own spray painted hefty bag!
It was inevitable really. The Japanese masters of Orange Amp-powered drone-sludge and the robed priests of low end doom. How could it not happen? In fact, if you remember the 2005 April Fool's AQ list, we actually jokingly predicted this epochal event! Although in our version it also included Earth, each band playing one note of the world's heaviest E chord.
The real question was never IF it would happen, it was when. And how. Especially how. C'mon, how on earth can you fit that many amps in a recording studio. They must have used an airplane hanger, either that or they filled a high school gymnasium with Sunn and Orange stacks and microphones, and actually played in an entirely different room.
Regardless, it happened, and it sounds as good as you might imagine. Both bands completely compliment each other. SUNNO))), whose slow motion riffing borders on pure ambience, is given a serious propulsive shove, with more structured riffing and the addition of DRUMS!!! Boris get dragged back into the gloriously glacial tarpit of their older records, discarding their current garage rock rrrooooaaar for that classic slow motion doom trudge. However you look at it, it's basically the best record either band has put out. It's like an EVEN heavier SUNNO))), with bigger riffs and pulverizing doom rock drums, and of course wailing psychedelic leads. For Boris, they've taken their blown out grooves and dipped them in tar, added a million more pounds of guitar firepower and made the best Boris record since Flood.
But it's not all pulverizing doom riffage. There's plenty of dark droning ambience too. Huge stretches of swirling guitar rumble, dreamy swaths of wispy steel string shimmer. murky and haunting, processed vocals and minor key melodies swimming in a black sea of echoey ambient guitars and sizzling cymbal shimmer. The strangest track is probably "The Sinking Belle (Blue Sheep)", sort of the Boris / SUNNO))) version of a torch song, with FX smeared piano, strange buried rhythms, and hushed vocals, like a doom metal Mazzy Star.
The closer "Bloodswamp" is 14 minutes of churning downtuned guitars and shimmering Sunroof! like ambience. No riffs really, or if they are there, they're stretched into thick streaks of black fuzz. A furiously epic coda to a fucking amazing record.
The first 5000 copies come with a bonus disc titled SatanOscillateMyMetallicSonatas (a nod to Soundgarden, there?) that features a single 28 minute track called "Her Lips Were Wet With Venom" guest starring Dylan Carlson from Earth! Before we go any further... are you thinking what we're thinking... April Fools? SUNNO))) and Boris And Earth!!! And I bet you at least some of the bonus track is in E!! Boy, did we call it. And actually Atsuo from Boris confided in a friend of AQ that indeed, part of the reason they got Dylan to guest was because of that April Fool's review! How cool is that?!?
Anyway, the bonus track is a monstrous wall of churning guitars, with occasional howled almost death metal vocals buried way down in the mix, and languorous Earth Hex-like twang guitar draped lazily above a churning blackhole ambience. So good.
Besides Dylan Carlson of Earth, there are lots of other guest performers including Jesse Sykes, Joe Preston from Thrones (also ex-Melvins, ex-Earth), Kim Thayil from Soundgarden (aha) and Rex Ritter from Jessamine.
Packaged beautifully in a mini cd style gatefold, with AMAZING cover art, black on black with weird muted color and text printed in glossy varnish and metallic gold, both bands be-robed and standing in a cornfield, a full color booklet attached to the inside, a metallic sticker on the front, each copy individually numbered.
It's a strange musical time lately, with pretty much every cool band we loved in the eighties and nineties reforming, many of them recording brand new albums, lots of them performing classic albums in their entirety, and while we're usually not all that psyched on the reunion thing, we have to say, we were pretty thrilled to get to see Slint, and some of us are going to see the Get Up Kids next week, and who could possibly complain about seeing the Butthole Surfers or Killdozer or Jesus Lizard? Sure, they were better back in the day, the energy is different, back then they were young and hungry and had something to prove, now they're moms and dads with jobs and many are probably doing it for the money, considering they're probably gonna make more reuniting for a few months now than they ever did in years of recording and touring.
Plus there's a whole new generation of music fanatics, who missed out on arguably some of the best music ever, many of whom love bands who wouldn't even exist if it weren't for all those bands that came before.
One reunion that folks have been clamoring for since mere moments after breaking up, is for emo legends Sunny Day Real Estate, and while it only took a decade, it looks like the band will in fact finally reunite, and tour, and yeah, we'll probably all be there, freaking out when they play the hits, and speaking of the hits, maybe more exciting than the reunion, is the deluxe reissue of SDRE's first two albums, Diary, and LP2, both absolute classics, redefining the template for modern day indie rock / emo, and like Slint, SDRE were most definitely a band that launched a million other bands. Odds are most folks have these discs already, but if for some reason you don't holy shit are you in for a treat. Heavy, mathy, emotional, catchy, totally rocking, and just absolutely incredible.
Diary, originally released back in 1994, is another one of those records that is so front loaded, you could be forgiven for owning this record and nor making it to the end. Even now, we have to fight the urge to play the first few tracks over and over and over. But fight on, cuz the second half is just as kick ass.
"Seven" and "In Circles" are probably SDRE's best known songs and for good reason, two of THEE most perfect indie rock jams ever. The guitars lines are tangled melodic, the riffs crunchy, the drums complex and pounding, the arrangements complex, with plenty of starts and stops, little bursts of manic chug, streaks of chiming shimmer, the vocals so anguished and passionate, high and reedy, but still a little rough and ragged, keening and on the verge of breaking, slipping from whisper to howl and back again, really, if you've never heard these guys, just listen to the sound samples, and if you're not immediately smitten / obsessed, then heck, we're not sure what else to do for you.
"In Circles" is the prettier half of the opening one-two punch, with that immediately recognizable looped guitar intro, before slipping into some shimmery stripped down almost slowcore, but with a fantastically soaring, epic, majestic, hands in the air, heartbreak chorus, which ranks up there as one of those all time goosebumps, hair on the back of your neck, tearjerker, air guitar, indie rock musical moments, and a testament to its power is that it has that affect EVERY time, and still does 15 years later.
So after listening to those two songs 20 or 30 times, force yourself to continue on, you won't be disappointed. "Song About An Angel" is another slow brooding drift, that has one of the coolest stop start staccato bridges ever, as catchy as any other song's chorus. "47" had it been pushed forward a little in the playing order, might have been part of that irresistible replay opening salvo, with an incredible main melody, and verses that somehow manage to be even catchier than the catchy chorus. And don't let all this poppiness and catchiness ward off you heavy music folks, all that pop is tangled up and intertwined with some serious heaviness, plenty of heft and crunch, some incredible guitar playing, wild mathy, almost metallic drumming, and again, all wound up into highly unconventional song structures.
We could go on and on and on, the rest of the record is just as awesome, there are a handful of brooding slow burners, but even those are peppered with some seriously emo blowouts, not a bad one in the bunch, it's not hard to see why we all freaked out about this band when this record first appeared, and none of its power or emotion or energy has been blunted by the passing of time. Not in the least.
The reissue features two bonus tracks, from the awesome and long gone Thief, Steal Me A Peach 7", which predated Diary by about a year, and if anything is even heavier and more dense, the perfect sort of bonus track, melding seamlessly with the album proper (and one thing we notice listening to the 7"s tracks is how much SDRE sometimes sounded like a WAY heavier, way more rocking Decemberists!). New fancy gatefold digipak packaging, with that iconic Fisher Price Little People parody artwork, featuring those conical people shaped toys, set in depressing environments, like in a kitchen with the toast burning, amidst a not so happy family, a couple sleeping far apart in their bed, in surgery, at the scene of a car accident, etc. Also includes all new liner notes and interviews with the various band members.
One complaint about the cd packaging though, the digipak comes in a slipcover, which is always cool, but the slipcover has the record title, band name, and some random text about bonus tracks and the producer, stuff that should obviously have been on a sticker but is printed over that super cool artwork, and unfortunately, you can't toss the slipcover, cuz it's the ONLY place where the track listing is printed, thankfully, the lp version does not make the same mistake...
It's a strange musical time lately, with pretty much every cool band we loved in the eighties and nineties reforming, many of them recording brand new albums, lots of them performing classic albums in their entirety, and while we're usually not all that psyched on the reunion thing, we have to say, we were pretty thrilled to get to see Slint, and some of us are going to see the Get Up Kids next week, and who could possibly complain about seeing the Butthole Surfers or Killdozer or Jesus Lizard? Sure, they were better back in the day, the energy is different, back then they were young and hungry and had something to prove, now they're moms and dads with jobs and many are probably doing it for the money, considering they're probably gonna make more reuniting for a few months now than they ever did in years of recording and touring.
Plus there's a whole new generation of music fanatics, who missed out on arguably some of the best music ever, many of whom love bands who wouldn't even exist if it weren't for all those bands that came before.
One reunion that folks have been clamoring for since mere moments after breaking up, is for emo legends Sunny Day Real Estate, and while it only took a decade, it looks like the band will in fact finally reunite, and tour, and yeah, we'll probably all be there, freaking out when they play the hits, and speaking of the hits, maybe more exciting than the reunion, is the deluxe reissue of SDRE's first two albums, Diary, and LP2, both absolute classics, redefining the template for modern day indie rock / emo, and like Slint, SDRE were most definitely a band that launched a million other bands. Odds are most folks have these discs already, but if for some reason you don't holy shit are you in for a treat. Heavy, mathy, emotional, catchy, totally rocking, and just absolutely incredible.
Sunny Day Real Estate's second record, self titled, often referred to as 'the pink album' due to its simple all pink cover, as well as being known now as LP2, was released in 1995, mere months before the band broke up (for the first time), and it's easy to hear in the music, the sound is much less immediately catchy than Diary, a bit darker, a grower for sure, all the sonic elements are still present, the same spidery chiming guitars, dense complex arrangements, soaring chug heavy choruses, Jeremy Enigk's plaintive emotional wail, and hooks, they're there all right, but they sink in slowly, over repeated listens. Over the years, LP2 has become just as powerful as Diary, in some ways even more so, with its overall sound more wrought with tension and emotion, the songs more minor key and somehow more sad sounding. And thus even, maybe a bit more emo.
There are some 'hits' here too. "Theo B" is frantic, with a cool lurching tempo, weirdly angular guitars, and some seriously intense vocals. "Red Elephant", is a slow burning post rocker, with a soaring chorus, rife with chiming guitars and dense drum pound, but with a weary, worn vibe, like much of the record, a strange undercurrent of impending doom. Definitely darker than Diary, but instead of that being a weakness, it's most definitely the record's strength. "Waffle" might be our favorite track here, a meandering low end slither, all woozy bass and Slint-y guitars, a sing songy tempo, a gorgeous main melody, and some truly beautiful voice-about-to-crack vocals. Then there's "8", which sounds like it could have been plucked right off of Diary, and like the single bonus tracks on Diary, reminds us again how much SDRE sometimes sound like a super heavy emo Decemberists. The strange thing about LP2, is that it's really back heavy, with some of the best SDRE songs EVER, tucked way near the end of the record, which makes sense in a way if you consider LP2 to be a sort of continuation of Diary...
The thing is, as long as we've had these records, they seemed more like 2 halves of the same record, a sprawling concept record, one side lighter, one darker, perfectly complimenting each other, both on their own practically perfect, but combined, pretty much one of the greatest song suites in second wave emo for sure, but maybe even in indie rock history all together.
After this record, frontman Jeremy Enigk would discover Jesus and go on to record some awesome solo records, 1/2 the band would go on to play in the Foo Fighters, and the band would get back together 4 or 5 years later, and record two more SDRE records, both pretty great, but nothing really compared to the magic of this one, and Diary.
LP2 features two bonus tracks, each single B-sides, and both again, pretty kick ass, and both surprisingly dark and heavy and EPIC.
All new deluxe packaging, gatefold digipak, printed inner sleeve, and a massive booklet with all new liner notes, and an interview with the band members.
In my book, Matthew Bower can do no wrong. In fact, Bower and his whole noisy orbit are untouchable: Total, Skullflower, Ax, Ascension, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Derv, Jazzfinger, and of course Sunroof! Sunroof! (exclamation point mandatory) continue
Superbugger is a new duo made up of Antony Milton (Mrtyu, the Stumps, Nether Dawn, Sunken, ) and James Kirk (Sandoz Lab Technicians, Gate), both of whom have a long history in the NZ underground, and who in Superbugger, pay homage to the NZ bands that came before, most specifically the Dead C, Superbugger's sound a similarly blown out, in-the-red, crumbling pop flecked noise rock, as well as some sonic worship for the Japanese bands that pretty much invented psych-noise heaviness, Les Rallizes Denudes, Mainliner, White Heaven and the like. Sans headphones, listening to Superbugger, might be akin to the vacuum or the dishwasher, a constant barrage of grey noise, of staticky buzz and blurred thrum, but strap on some headphones, or crank those speakers, and let this corrosive psych-noise blowout wash over you. Wild squalls of psychedelic shred, caustic sheets of feedback, listen heard and you'll hear drumming, and vocals, melodies, there are definitely pop songs at the heart of some of these jams, while others take that pop element and tear it apart, spreading it out beneath a sky full of black noise and amp melting buzz. We hear plenty of Skullflower too, this definitely sounds like it could be some lost Broken Flag cassette reissued, which is high praise indeed, and while both of these guys have dabbled in psychedelic heaviness, Superbugger seems to be the culmination of these guys' quest for pure psych-noise nirvana, which is almost achievable just by listening.
Fans of any of the above mentioned bands, or anyone who loves cramming their ears full of blown out psych and noise rock crush, preferably both, will definitely find much to love about Supperbugger..
Nine years is a seriously long time, but with this latest Superchunk record it might as well have been nine months, heck even nine weeks. It's like they never left. Nine years since their last record, but listening to Majesty Shredding you'd never know it. Yeah, it's a cliche, but in this case it's true. Hardly any bands make it 20 years, and even fewer sound this good after two whole decades, and the crazy thing is that while there are a million bands that sound like Superchunk, or at least have been TRYING to sound like them, the truth is, that nobody sounds like Superchunk. The songs, the sound, Mac's voice, the harmonies, the melodies, Superchunk are definitely one of those rare bands who have a totally unique sound, not so much in that their sound is unlike anything that's come before, instead they've just taken a sound, in this case, a fuzzy punky pop, and made it all their own, refining it and twisting it into a shape that is distinctly and uniquely Superchunk. Don't believe us? Have a listen to the opening one two punch of "Digging For Something" and "My Gap Feels Weird", two songs that stack up against pretty much anything the band has ever recorded. "Digging For Something" is the single, and it makes sense, totally catchy and hooky and super rocking, but also totally classic nineties style college rock, as if they wrote it back in 1991 and only just got around to recording it this year. Cool spidery guitar melodies, loose wild drumming, and a chorus that KILLS. But then there's "My Gap Feels Weird", supposedly a song based on a random post dental procedure comment, but one that could speak just as easily to the gap between these elder statesmen of indie rock, and the current crop of pop punk contenders, but whatever it means, it's possibly the raddest Superchunk jam in years, rollicking and rambunctious, with a cool weird hooky chorus, complete with some cool falsetto vox and a a verse that manages to be just as catchy as the chorus! We'd love to break down the rest of the record more, but these first two track have been on nonstop repeat play since this first came in. But fear not, as we dig deeper and deeper into the rest of the tracks, it's obvious, like past Superchunk records, it's all killer, no filler. Now excuse us while we go back and listen to this again from the top!!!
It's pretty much impossible to overestimate the importance of North Carolina's Superchunk on the indie rock landscape, by now most folks, even those with just the most fleeting interest in popular music, are probably familair with these scrappy punk pop indie rockers, heck, Superchunk frontman Mac McCaughan was recently a special guest on NPR's Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, which is about as mainstream as it gets. Yet even now, playing festivals, headlining huge shows, showing up on NPR, selling thousands and thousands of records, the band still SOUNDS the way they did when they were a little DIY rock band from Chapel Hill, and the music is just as energetic and fun and crazy catchy, which makes sense really, Superchunk definitely did it their way, 20 years and still going strong, van tour after van tour, sweaty club shows, lots of 7"s that many of us still treasure, and let's not forget, launching, and to this day still running, one of the coolest (and one of the most important) indie labels around, Merge Records.
But as they say, it's all about the music, and holy crap, does Superchunk make some of the catchiest, hookiest, most rocking, supercharged indie rock around. STILL. But if there was a pantheon for greatest indie rock records of all time, up there alongside Slint's Spiderland, Pavement's Slanted And Enchanted, Sunny Day Real Estate's Diary, Guided By Voices ' Bee Thousand, etc, we would most definitely have to include Superchunk's second and third albums, No Pocky For Kitty and On The Mouth.
While their 1990 self titled debut included the ALL TIME indie rock anthem "Slack Motherfucker", the band's first single and perhaps defining moment, everything great about Superchunk got even greater with No Pocky For Kitty. The sound tighter, more rocking, the songs EVEN CATCHIER. Every single track on No Pocky is an indie rock classic. The opening salvo of "Skip Steps 1 & 3", Seed Toss" and "Cast Iron" is pretty impossible to beat, the crunchy LOUD guitars, the pounding drums, Mac's high emotive vocals, and hooks, all over the goddamn place, so catchy it plays like a greatest hits more than an album proper. Jangly and bittersweet, gorgeous melodies, incredible lyrics, all of these songs destined for mixtapes for sure.
And remember when we said those first three songs were tough to beat? Well, that's only if you don't consider the rest of the record. Highlights include "Punch Me Harder" is a driving distorted rocker, with ridiculously hooky guitars, and a chorus that kills, and a verse that's just as catchy, and record closer "Throwing Things", which is just so perfect, midtempo and dreamy, with a keening main melody that will get stuck in your head forEVER.
Easily one of our favorite records ever, indie rock or otherwise!
It's pretty much impossible to overestimate the importance of North Carolina's Superchunk on the indie rock landscape, by now most folks, even those with just the most fleeting interest in popular music, are probably familair with these scrappy punk pop indie rockers, heck, Superchunk frontman Mac McCaughan was recently a special guest on NPR's Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, which is about as mainstream as it gets. Yet even now, playing festivals, headlining huge shows, showing up on NPR, selling thousands and thousands of records, the band still SOUNDS the way they did when they were a little DIY rock band from Chapel Hill, and the music is just as energetic and fun and crazy catchy, which makes sense really, Superchunk definitely did it their way, 20 years and still going strong, van tour after van tour, sweaty club shows, lots of 7"s that many of us still treasure, and let's not forget, launching, and to this day still running, one of the coolest (and one of the most important) indie labels around, Merge Records.
But as they say, it's all about the music, and holy crap, does Superchunk make some of the catchiest, hookiest, most rocking, supercharged indie rock around. STILL. But if there was a pantheon for greatest indie rock records of all time, up there alongside Slint's Spiderland, Pavement's Slanted And Enchanted, Sunny Day Real Estate's Diary, Guided By Voices ' Bee Thousand, etc, we would most definitely have to include Superchunk's second and third albums, No Pocky For Kitty and On The Mouth.
On the Mouth was Superchunk's third record, originally released in 1993, and was in the unenviable task of following up the near perfect and crazy iconic No Pocky For Kitty, but it's like the band was already totally prepared to wipe that skeptical smirk of the faces of all non bleievers, cuz right out of the gate comes "Precision Auto", maybe one of their raddest jams yet, fast and furious, with those immediately recognizable intertwining crunchy guitar harmonies, and then yeah, another chorus any other band would sell their souls for. And like No Pocky before it, the band basically dares themselves to keep the rest of the record as kick as and cartchy as the opener, and damn if they don't toally pull it off. Some of our other all time Superchunk faves are here, "Mower", a loping hook filled churn, with thick buzzing bass, crashing guitars a verse and a chorus both competing for the catchiness crown. And then there's "The Question Is How Fast", a ridiculously anthemic jam, as supercharged as anything they've written, but also subtly moody, with woozy serpentine melodies, more kick ass drumming, and a cool halftime lead-in straight into another killer chorus, and at the risk of getting way too repetitive, just more hooks and more catchiness...
Seventeen years later, and On The Mouth could have come out yesterday, and somehow still sounds better than about 99 percent of the the other indie rock out there...
We've long been fans of Canadian 'supergroup' Superconductor, long before Superconductor member Carl Newman went on to front Zumpano and then New Pornographers, but don't be expecting any sort of pop here, although those pop sensibilities do seep into SC's twisted experimental noise rock. Infamous for their seven (7!) guitarist lineup, these guys kicked out some seriously kick ass jams, heavy, rhythmic, dynamic, walls of guitars, pounding octopoidal drums, howled vox, but somehow, catchy as hell too. We reviewed their classic Bastardsong a while back, their last, and poppiest record, but we just discovered that our distributor still had copies of this, SC's 1991 debut ep, which still kills, and sounds heavier and hookier than most of the bands today, and includes one very aQ jam that knocked us for a loop.
It had been a while since we heard this, but got one in and threw it on, and wait a second, we recognized one of the songs, riffy and heavy, and then the vocals, a super distinctive wail, and it dawned on us, it was a cover of Japanese '70s hard psych gods Flower Travellin' Band's "Satori", and it was awesome, not that far removed from the original, the vocals spot on, just a bit buzzier and heavier. And we were struck again by what amazing music nerds these guys were. The cover of Bastardsong was a parody of Iasos' new age classic Inter-Dimensional Music which we just listed a while back, and here they were covering Flower Travellin' Band WAY before any of us had heard them. And it's that music nerdery that informed the music of Superconductor and elevated their sound WAY beyond bash and crash noise rock. So yeah, the FTB cover here is worth the price of admission. But the rest of the songs rule too, "Bushpilot" is ridiculously hooky and catchy for being a weirdly mathy chunk of noise drenched indie rock, a should have been nineties underground hit if there ever was one. "Ride The Big Penis", besides having an amazing title, also boasts some serious churning riffage, and some skull caving drum pummel, which leads directly into "Clamhammer" (these guys had a way with titles), another melody infused slab of noiserock, that sounds a bit like Sonic Youth mixed with Unsane mixed with Polvo, angular and buzzy and sludgey and blown out. Finally, the group finishes off with "Riffmania", which is as advertised, chugging, buzzing riffage wrapped around some BIG drums, with the multiple guitarists adding all sorts of psychedelic squiggle and layered buzz, not to mention some seriously distorted in-the-red vocal howls (about as far removed from the New Pornographers as can be), the song gradually splintering into crumbling slabs of disembodied riffage, swirls of feedback and wildly loosening drum damage.
Oh did we mention the amazing confusional cover art, how about the names of the band members: Dream Whip, It's On You, Thighmaster, He Who Is Named, Flying Fist, Noise Annoys, El Impacto, Sweet Bitch, Delicious Warm, and weirdest of all... Alan Smithee (the pseudonym movie directors use when they don't want their own name on a film!).
We love these guys, and this might be their finest moment, heavy and hooky in equal measure, tongue lodged firmly in cheek, but seriously ruling!
Once again we discover that a band we love, a band whose records we won and dig big time (all of em!), is totally under represented on the aQuarius site. It's unavoidable really, there are only so many hours in the day, which are WAY out numbered by the amount of records released every week. Anyway, enough making excuses, let's just try to right one of those wrongs.
A new record from UK bombastic glam power pop trio Supergrass, and with Diamond Hoo Ha, they just might have come up with the most kick ass track of their career with the (sort of) title track "Diamond Hoo Ha Man" a furious White Stripes-y garage-glam stomp, all big crunchy guitars, buzzing synths, swaggery vocals, pounding drums and a massive HOOK! If there were any justice, this track alone would propel Supergrass to the kind of acclaim they receive everywhere else but the US. We literally can't stop listening to this song. Over and over again, as if it was the only good song on the record. But it's not. Not even close. Which should definitely tell you something. The second track, "Bad Blood" is another killer, slithery and sexy, with another bombastic chorus, all minor key and crunchy, another should have / could have been a hit.
The rest of the record gradually returns to the classic Supergrass sound we already loved so much, a heady blend of T-Rex, David Bowie, Elton John, rambunctious and wild and rocking, but super well crafted and subtly elegant. But man, that opening salvo floors us every time. If you've yet to check out Supergrass, do yourself a favor and start with this one, and listen to it over and over and over (as if you'll be able to help yourself). You'll be converted in no time!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
This record was quite an unexpected surprise. Knowing that Supermachiner is half of the band Converge, we were expecting some sort of hardcore metal mayhem, but were pleased to find something much more subtle, but still super ass kicking. Dark and shimmering soundscapes of fragile chimes and drones that slowly build into hypnotic and pounding tribal freak outs ala Neurosis, and break down into minimal post rock rhythmic workouts ala Godspeed. Pretty amazing actually.
Supersister were a seventies Dutch prog group who released a quartet of classic albums, but none more classic than this, their 1970 debut. And this, Present From Nancy, is so goddamn good, if we had our way, we would have ordered a ton of these and made it a Record Of The Week, or at least PROG Record Of The Week, although it's more like a contender for Prog Record Of The FOREVER!! But sadly, we've been unable to get more than a few at a time, even now we have less than ten copies, and while we should be able to get more, it might take us a while, but we figured it would be better at least that a few of you prog freaks were able to get your hands on these, rather than no one at all.
So what's got us all hyped up? What's so great about Supersister? Just listen to the three sound samples, easily one of the best one-two-three punches in classic prog. A dense relentless, super technical ELP-ish workout, with manic piano, fuzzed out organ, incredible complex drumming, impossible time signatures, killer melodies, some amazing flute leads, and yet even at its most manic and relentless it manages to be both jazzy, groovy, heavy and catchy as hell! In the title track, flutes flutter wildly over the bass piano drum jam locked in beneath, with the band occasionally exploding into awesome flurries of piano and flute before the band bursts back into action. Then there's "Memories Are New", with its warm looped fuzz organ, and lilting vocal, thick crunchy fuzz guitar, and again some incredible drumming, and a way with composition that manages to make even the most obtuse time signatures and strange arrangements flow perfectly. Finally, "11/8", named for the time signature we suppose, is another dense acrobatic instrumental workout, the organs and synths fully fuzzed out, even the pass is super distorted, working through rapid fire flurries of notes, the drums somehow locked in tight, with the synths occasionally stuttering into skittery buzz, before the track devolves into heavy downtuned chords and tinkling piano, so dynamic and varied and again, the rare sort of prog that gets stuck in your head like a pop song. AND THAT'S JUST THREE SONGS.
The rest of the record continues in a similarly proggy vein, but gets even weirder, adding all sorts of dark shimmering drones, bizarre bits of a capella, pounding fuzz guitar jams, dreamy drifty almost new age sounding soundscapes, and this reissue tacks on two singles, the first one sounds like the Zombies or some other sixties/seventies dream pop outfit, with a B-side that is SO bizarre, a woozy organ driven jam, with a heavily accented spoken word story about an alien or something, complete with processed alien voices. The other single is an Elvis style honkytonk jam that is also truly bizarre, while the B side is a Doors-y groove, with weirdly crooned vocals and warm organs, and what can only be a kazoo solo. This band did get increasingly goofy with each record, almost too much to take by the end, but Present From Nancy is Supersister at their heaviest and grooviest and proggiest. And definitely remains one of our favorite prog jams EVER.
These are always the hardest ones to write. The bands we've loved for years, the songs we've been listening to for decades, with no need to think beyond the pure visceral enjoyment of the sounds, just years of getting lost inside the music, and with music like this, going deeper and deeper with every listen, never a need to put that sonic magic into words, but still championing these sounds for all we were worth, but instead of a lengthy essay or diatribe, it was an insistent "YOU NEED THIS!" Or "You've never heard anything quite like this." Or even still "This is probably one of our all time favorite bands, and if you haven't heard this music, you have been missing out."
Years of finding copies of these long out of print gems in used bins and bargain bins and even dollar bins, because this was not popular music. As much as we loved it, and obsessed over it and played it for everyone we knew (and not everyone felt the same unbridled passion for these sounds that we did) and as much as often as we gave those occasionally discovered used copies to anyone we thought might love it as much as we did, there was no real hope for this band to reach the heights as a Sebadoh or a Pavement, even though they swam in the same sonic waters, for the Supreme Dicks were their own peculiar musical beast, one whose pop was subtle, whose noise was chaotic, whose vocals warbled and cracked, whose recordings were of extremely low fidelity, whose performances were loose and ramshackle, but whose magic would not have existed, certainly not in the same way it did, had all of those random elements fallen (im)perfectly into place. Thankfully they did, and we have this, years later, a lovingly compiled collection of the complete recorded works of Massachusetts indie folk outsider rock weirdos the Supreme Dicks.
The Dicks experienced a brief bit of popularity in the mid-nineties, finally seeing their debut record released, especially notable having formed all the way back in 1982, and during the years 1992-1996, the band released two albums, one ep, one single, one split single and a collection compiling the early works that predated their proper debut, it's all included here, and is darn near overwhelming all gathered up in one place, especially considering that ONE song in, and we already had chills. Such is the power of the Dicks, who sonically seemed to situate themselves somewhere between the Palace Brothers, Silver Jews, Yo La Tengo, Pavement and Sebadoh (Lou Barlow even pops up on a Dicks jam or two), their sound an eerie psychedelic folk, a stumbling abstract primitivism, raw, and a bit warped, always seeming to teeter on the edge of collapse, that tension, that inevitable doom, rendered in sound and somehow woven into the fabric of their unique sound. Later, that sound would evolve to include sonic elements that would seem to be drawn from krautrock groups like Ash Ra Templ or Popol Vuh, but it's hard to say whether that was intentional or happenstance.
Their first album, The Unexamined Life, is probably the Dicks material that would be the least alienating to the casual listener, rooted in indie folk, the arrangements simple and spare, the instrumentation standard, but that's where the familiarity ends, as the Dicks forge their own path, and one song into their debut, seal the deal and establish themselves as masters of this arcane and unique to them musical form. "In A Sweet Song" gently tumbles into motion, all spidery acoustic guitar, delicate and crystalline, the vocals a sung/spoken warble, frought with emotion and tension, the drums stumbling, a lo -fi pound, in swoop more guitars, a brief bit of psychedelia, all druggy slippery melodies, and the clang and jangle of loud guitars, slowly building, a wild tangle of competing melodies that give us chills every time. The lyrics haunting and heartfelt, building again to a seriously rad jam that sounds like it was lifted straight out of a classic Pavement jam, pressed onto a 7", left in the sun, and then played back on an old Sears turntable, all warped and woozy and so so so wonderful. Even nearly 20 years later, nothing can touch this. And so goes The Unexamined Life, a bizarre collection of fractured folk music, fragmented and abstract, multiple vocalists, keening high about to crack warbles, and deep croons, fluttering flutes, hazy soft focus psychedelia, lilting and gently pastoral one second, weirdly chaotic the next, sawed strings, total super catchy jangle pop nestled amongst twisted Jandekian slowburn outsider folk, blown out super distorted psychpop melting into what sounds like some sort of bastardized classic rock, like the Grateful Dead via Faxed head, the tape crumbling, the sounds seeming to decay, even though the music itself is fairly straight ahead, finally finishing off with the appropriately titled "Strange Song", a sprawl of slow building tripped out psychedelic free noise freakout most modern bands would KILL for.
Workingman's Dick was originally released on Freek Records in 1994, and collected all of the early Dicks recordings, and is a glorious hodgepodge hinting at what was to come, not that far removed from their debut, if anything a bit more experimental, the timbre of the sound and the quality of the recordings varying from track to track, the sounds slipping from freakfolk to murky dirgery, and from haunting skeletal folk to Sentridoh like experimental fuckery. It's maybe the most difficult listen of the various releases, but also contains some of the band's dreamiest gems. This Is Not A Dick, was recorded around the same time as their final record, but was a lot like Workingman's Dick in that it was cobbled together from recordings made between 1987 and 1994, and much like Workingman's Dick, is sonically varied, opening with some abstract psychedelic drift, all grinding guitars and chiming melodies, a freaky lo-fi basement jam that is surprisingly and fantastically (although subtly) unhinged, and from there on out, the band slips from dreamy strummy shimmer to garbled crumbling experimentation, one of our favorites being "Marks Phonecall From Orgoneland", which is a dreamy little Avarus like microjam that's all whistling and tinkling chimes, skittery rhythms and hushed percussion, all accompanied by the phone call in question, a strange spoken word rant over a clattery No Neck Blues Band like clamor, the other being "Harmonic Convergence (Live At L'Oasis 1987)" which is a cool collection of recordings of the what sounds like various clubs between songs, lots of silence, clinking glasses, a recited poem with plenty of jeers from a sparse crowd and the band requesting someone to come up and play drums for them. Weird and wonderful.
Finally, the band released their last record, The Emotional Plague, in 1996, and this is where the band's warble folk and psychedelic crumble becomes a bit more expansive and far reaching, the above mentioned perceived influence of Ash Ra Tempel and other like minded outfits, transforming the group's sound into something more lush and lovely, and marginally less difficult. Marginally. Opener "Synaesthesia" is a haunting bit of droned out psychedelic drift, thick low end rumbles, chiming melodies, distant skeletal guitar melodies, the song starting out dark and powerfully minimal, but seeming to gradually fall apart as the track progresses, which leads right into the first proper song, the production notably more polished, the guitars ringing out, the drums not buried in the mix, but the sound still a little off kilter, slightly atonal, a little off key, the song a gorgeous lilting almost ballad, that builds to a full on psychrock freakout, and then peters out, leading directly into a nightmarish stretch of ominous FX drenched psychdrone creep, atonal and warped and warbly, eventually morphing into what almost sounds like some lost Neil Young outtake, unexpected for sure, but quite cool. And The Emotional Plague is where this already hard to describe band gets even more difficult to understand, let alone describe, most of the elements were present on past recordings, but here sound reimagined, and reinvented, repurposed even, the band seemingly able to reel of some perfect, delicate folk music like they could have been making music like that all along, but as if to say "why the hell would we?!" they immediately take the sound and pull it apart into a stumbling alternate dimension Pink Floydian dirge that manages to be psychedelic, but also some sort of twisted indie pop, all fused together into something that is both and neither. The tracks on The Emotional Plague are longer, some nearly 10 minutes long, which let the Dicks explore and ramble and stretch out, weaving tranced out sprawls of repetition, of looped mesmer, of smoldering psychedelia, of hushed delicate dreampop drift, of haunting backporch alien Appalachia and of brooding, almost orchestral majesty, replete with horns and haunting spoken word, and a twisted deconstructed coda, "Green Wings Fly Adventure (Showered Reprise) an elegiac final movement, the perfect way to end such a mysterious and strange record, and an even more perfect way to lay to rest one of the strangest, most incredible, and under appreciated bands of the last two decades.
This deluxe reissue includes most of the original artwork, new liner notes, tons of rare photos, and tacks on a couple B-sides and a handful of unreleased jams, but even without those extras, this collection gathers up one of the most beautifully baffling and bafflingly brilliant bodies of work from one of our favorite groups of the last 20 years. And while we did our best with the above review, it's hard to stress just how utterly recommended and essential this really is!
And vinyl folks, while the whole set was not pressed on vinyl, the two proper albums were, so both The Unexamined Life and The Emotional Plague are available on vinyl (deluxe double lps to boot!) for the first time EVER.
These are always the hardest ones to write. The bands we've loved for years, the songs we've been listening to for decades, with no need to think beyond the pure visceral enjoyment of the sounds, just years of getting lost inside the music, and with music like this, going deeper and deeper with every listen, never a need to put that sonic magic into words, but still championing these sounds for all we were worth, but instead of a lengthy essay or diatribe, it was an insistent "YOU NEED THIS!" Or "You've never heard anything quite like this." Or even still "This is probably one of our all time favorite bands, and if you haven't heard this music, you have been missing out."
Years of finding copies of these long out of print gems in used bins and bargain bins and even dollar bins, because this was not popular music. As much as we loved it, and obsessed over it and played it for everyone we knew (and not everyone felt the same unbridled passion for these sounds that we did) and as much as often as we gave those occasionally discovered used copies to anyone we thought might love it as much as we did, there was no real hope for this band to reach the heights as a Sebadoh or a Pavement, even though they swam in the same sonic waters, for the Supreme Dicks were their own peculiar musical beast, one whose pop was subtle, whose noise was chaotic, whose vocals warbled and cracked, whose recordings were of extremely low fidelity, whose performances were loose and ramshackle, but whose magic would not have existed, certainly not in the same way it did, had all of those random elements fallen (im)perfectly into place. Thankfully they did, and we have this, years later, a lovingly compiled collection of the complete recorded works of Massachusetts indie folk outsider rock weirdos the Supreme Dicks.
The Dicks experienced a brief bit of popularity in the mid-nineties, finally seeing their debut record released, especially notable having formed all the way back in 1982, and during the years 1992-1996, the band released two albums, one ep, one single, one split single and a collection compiling the early works that predated their proper debut, it's all included here, and is darn near overwhelming all gathered up in one place, especially considering that ONE song in, and we already had chills. Such is the power of the Dicks, who sonically seemed to situate themselves somewhere between the Palace Brothers, Silver Jews, Yo La Tengo, Pavement and Sebadoh (Lou Barlow even pops up on a Dicks jam or two), their sound an eerie psychedelic folk, a stumbling abstract primitivism, raw, and a bit warped, always seeming to teeter on the edge of collapse, that tension, that inevitable doom, rendered in sound and somehow woven into the fabric of their unique sound. Later, that sound would evolve to include sonic elements that would seem to be drawn from krautrock groups like Ash Ra Templ or Popol Vuh, but it's hard to say whether that was intentional or happenstance.
Their first album, The Unexamined Life, is probably the Dicks material that would be the least alienating to the casual listener, rooted in indie folk, the arrangements simple and spare, the instrumentation standard, but that's where the familiarity ends, as the Dicks forge their own path, and one song into their debut, seal the deal and establish themselves as masters of this arcane and unique to them musical form. "In A Sweet Song" gently tumbles into motion, all spidery acoustic guitar, delicate and crystalline, the vocals a sung/spoken warble, frought with emotion and tension, the drums stumbling, a lo -fi pound, in swoop more guitars, a brief bit of psychedelia, all druggy slippery melodies, and the clang and jangle of loud guitars, slowly building, a wild tangle of competing melodies that give us chills every time. The lyrics haunting and heartfelt, building again to a seriously rad jam that sounds like it was lifted straight out of a classic Pavement jam, pressed onto a 7", left in the sun, and then played back on an old Sears turntable, all warped and woozy and so so so wonderful. Even nearly 20 years later, nothing can touch this. And so goes The Unexamined Life, a bizarre collection of fractured folk music, fragmented and abstract, multiple vocalists, keening high about to crack warbles, and deep croons, fluttering flutes, hazy soft focus psychedelia, lilting and gently pastoral one second, weirdly chaotic the next, sawed strings, total super catchy jangle pop nestled amongst twisted Jandekian slowburn outsider folk, blown out super distorted psychpop melting into what sounds like some sort of bastardized classic rock, like the Grateful Dead via Faxed head, the tape crumbling, the sounds seeming to decay, even though the music itself is fairly straight ahead, finally finishing off with the appropriately titled "Strange Song", a sprawl of slow building tripped out psychedelic free noise freakout most modern bands would KILL for.
Workingman's Dick was originally released on Freek Records in 1994, and collected all of the early Dicks recordings, and is a glorious hodgepodge hinting at what was to come, not that far removed from their debut, if anything a bit more experimental, the timbre of the sound and the quality of the recordings varying from track to track, the sounds slipping from freakfolk to murky dirgery, and from haunting skeletal folk to Sentridoh like experimental fuckery. It's maybe the most difficult listen of the various releases, but also contains some of the band's dreamiest gems. This Is Not A Dick, was recorded around the same time as their final record, but was a lot like Workingman's Dick in that it was cobbled together from recordings made between 1987 and 1994, and much like Workingman's Dick, is sonically varied, opening with some abstract psychedelic drift, all grinding guitars and chiming melodies, a freaky lo-fi basement jam that is surprisingly and fantastically (although subtly) unhinged, and from there on out, the band slips from dreamy strummy shimmer to garbled crumbling experimentation, one of our favorites being "Marks Phonecall From Orgoneland", which is a dreamy little Avarus like microjam that's all whistling and tinkling chimes, skittery rhythms and hushed percussion, all accompanied by the phone call in question, a strange spoken word rant over a clattery No Neck Blues Band like clamor, the other being "Harmonic Convergence (Live At L'Oasis 1987)" which is a cool collection of recordings of the what sounds like various clubs between songs, lots of silence, clinking glasses, a recited poem with plenty of jeers from a sparse crowd and the band requesting someone to come up and play drums for them. Weird and wonderful.
Finally, the band released their last record, The Emotional Plague, in 1996, and this is where the band's warble folk and psychedelic crumble becomes a bit more expansive and far reaching, the above mentioned perceived influence of Ash Ra Tempel and other like minded outfits, transforming the group's sound into something more lush and lovely, and marginally less difficult. Marginally. Opener "Synaesthesia" is a haunting bit of droned out psychedelic drift, thick low end rumbles, chiming melodies, distant skeletal guitar melodies, the song starting out dark and powerfully minimal, but seeming to gradually fall apart as the track progresses, which leads right into the first proper song, the production notably more polished, the guitars ringing out, the drums not buried in the mix, but the sound still a little off kilter, slightly atonal, a little off key, the song a gorgeous lilting almost ballad, that builds to a full on psychrock freakout, and then peters out, leading directly into a nightmarish stretch of ominous FX drenched psychdrone creep, atonal and warped and warbly, eventually morphing into what almost sounds like some lost Neil Young outtake, unexpected for sure, but quite cool. And The Emotional Plague is where this already hard to describe band gets even more difficult to understand, let alone describe, most of the elements were present on past recordings, but here sound reimagined, and reinvented, repurposed even, the band seemingly able to reel of some perfect, delicate folk music like they could have been making music like that all along, but as if to say "why the hell would we?!" they immediately take the sound and pull it apart into a stumbling alternate dimension Pink Floydian dirge that manages to be psychedelic, but also some sort of twisted indie pop, all fused together into something that is both and neither. The tracks on The Emotional Plague are longer, some nearly 10 minutes long, which let the Dicks explore and ramble and stretch out, weaving tranced out sprawls of repetition, of looped mesmer, of smoldering psychedelia, of hushed delicate dreampop drift, of haunting backporch alien Appalachia and of brooding, almost orchestral majesty, replete with horns and haunting spoken word, and a twisted deconstructed coda, "Green Wings Fly Adventure (Showered Reprise) an elegiac final movement, the perfect way to end such a mysterious and strange record, and an even more perfect way to lay to rest one of the strangest, most incredible, and under appreciated bands of the last two decades.
This deluxe reissue includes most of the original artwork, new liner notes, tons of rare photos, and tacks on a couple B-sides and a handful of unreleased jams, but even without those extras, this collection gathers up one of the most beautifully baffling and bafflingly brilliant bodies of work from one of our favorite groups of the last 20 years. And while we did our best with the above review, it's hard to stress just how utterly recommended and essential this really is!
And vinyl folks, while the whole set was not pressed on vinyl, the two proper albums were, so both The Unexamined Life and The Emotional Plague are available on vinyl (deluxe double lps to boot!) for the first time EVER.
These are always the hardest ones to write. The bands we've loved for years, the songs we've been listening to for decades, with no need to think beyond the pure visceral enjoyment of the sounds, just years of getting lost inside the music, and with music like this, going deeper and deeper with every listen, never a need to put that sonic magic into words, but still championing these sounds for all we were worth, but instead of a lengthy essay or diatribe, it was an insistent "YOU NEED THIS!" Or "You've never heard anything quite like this." Or even still "This is probably one of our all time favorite bands, and if you haven't heard this music, you have been missing out."
Years of finding copies of these long out of print gems in used bins and bargain bins and even dollar bins, because this was not popular music. As much as we loved it, and obsessed over it and played it for everyone we knew (and not everyone felt the same unbridled passion for these sounds that we did) and as much as often as we gave those occasionally discovered used copies to anyone we thought might love it as much as we did, there was no real hope for this band to reach the heights as a Sebadoh or a Pavement, even though they swam in the same sonic waters, for the Supreme Dicks were their own peculiar musical beast, one whose pop was subtle, whose noise was chaotic, whose vocals warbled and cracked, whose recordings were of extremely low fidelity, whose performances were loose and ramshackle, but whose magic would not have existed, certainly not in the same way it did, had all of those random elements fallen (im)perfectly into place. Thankfully they did, and we have this, years later, a lovingly compiled collection of the complete recorded works of Massachusetts indie folk outsider rock weirdos the Supreme Dicks.
The Dicks experienced a brief bit of popularity in the mid-nineties, finally seeing their debut record released, especially notable having formed all the way back in 1982, and during the years 1992-1996, the band released two albums, one ep, one single, one split single and a collection compiling the early works that predated their proper debut, it's all included here, and is darn near overwhelming all gathered up in one place, especially considering that ONE song in, and we already had chills. Such is the power of the Dicks, who sonically seemed to situate themselves somewhere between the Palace Brothers, Silver Jews, Yo La Tengo, Pavement and Sebadoh (Lou Barlow even pops up on a Dicks jam or two), their sound an eerie psychedelic folk, a stumbling abstract primitivism, raw, and a bit warped, always seeming to teeter on the edge of collapse, that tension, that inevitable doom, rendered in sound and somehow woven into the fabric of their unique sound. Later, that sound would evolve to include sonic elements that would seem to be drawn from krautrock groups like Ash Ra Templ or Popol Vuh, but it's hard to say whether that was intentional or happenstance.
Their first album, The Unexamined Life, is probably the Dicks material that would be the least alienating to the casual listener, rooted in indie folk, the arrangements simple and spare, the instrumentation standard, but that's where the familiarity ends, as the Dicks forge their own path, and one song into their debut, seal the deal and establish themselves as masters of this arcane and unique to them musical form. "In A Sweet Song" gently tumbles into motion, all spidery acoustic guitar, delicate and crystalline, the vocals a sung/spoken warble, frought with emotion and tension, the drums stumbling, a lo -fi pound, in swoop more guitars, a brief bit of psychedelia, all druggy slippery melodies, and the clang and jangle of loud guitars, slowly building, a wild tangle of competing melodies that give us chills every time. The lyrics haunting and heartfelt, building again to a seriously rad jam that sounds like it was lifted straight out of a classic Pavement jam, pressed onto a 7", left in the sun, and then played back on an old Sears turntable, all warped and woozy and so so so wonderful. Even nearly 20 years later, nothing can touch this. And so goes The Unexamined Life, a bizarre collection of fractured folk music, fragmented and abstract, multiple vocalists, keening high about to crack warbles, and deep croons, fluttering flutes, hazy soft focus psychedelia, lilting and gently pastoral one second, weirdly chaotic the next, sawed strings, total super catchy jangle pop nestled amongst twisted Jandekian slowburn outsider folk, blown out super distorted psychpop melting into what sounds like some sort of bastardized classic rock, like the Grateful Dead via Faxed head, the tape crumbling, the sounds seeming to decay, even though the music itself is fairly straight ahead, finally finishing off with the appropriately titled "Strange Song", a sprawl of slow building tripped out psychedelic free noise freakout most modern bands would KILL for.
Workingman's Dick was originally released on Freek Records in 1994, and collected all of the early Dicks recordings, and is a glorious hodgepodge hinting at what was to come, not that far removed from their debut, if anything a bit more experimental, the timbre of the sound and the quality of the recordings varying from track to track, the sounds slipping from freakfolk to murky dirgery, and from haunting skeletal folk to Sentridoh like experimental fuckery. It's maybe the most difficult listen of the various releases, but also contains some of the band's dreamiest gems. This Is Not A Dick, was recorded around the same time as their final record, but was a lot like Workingman's Dick in that it was cobbled together from recordings made between 1987 and 1994, and much like Workingman's Dick, is sonically varied, opening with some abstract psychedelic drift, all grinding guitars and chiming melodies, a freaky lo-fi basement jam that is surprisingly and fantastically (although subtly) unhinged, and from there on out, the band slips from dreamy strummy shimmer to garbled crumbling experimentation, one of our favorites being "Marks Phonecall From Orgoneland", which is a dreamy little Avarus like microjam that's all whistling and tinkling chimes, skittery rhythms and hushed percussion, all accompanied by the phone call in question, a strange spoken word rant over a clattery No Neck Blues Band like clamor, the other being "Harmonic Convergence (Live At L'Oasis 1987)" which is a cool collection of recordings of the what sounds like various clubs between songs, lots of silence, clinking glasses, a recited poem with plenty of jeers from a sparse crowd and the band requesting someone to come up and play drums for them. Weird and wonderful.
Finally, the band released their last record, The Emotional Plague, in 1996, and this is where the band's warble folk and psychedelic crumble becomes a bit more expansive and far reaching, the above mentioned perceived influence of Ash Ra Tempel and other like minded outfits, transforming the group's sound into something more lush and lovely, and marginally less difficult. Marginally. Opener "Synaesthesia" is a haunting bit of droned out psychedelic drift, thick low end rumbles, chiming melodies, distant skeletal guitar melodies, the song starting out dark and powerfully minimal, but seeming to gradually fall apart as the track progresses, which leads right into the first proper song, the production notably more polished, the guitars ringing out, the drums not buried in the mix, but the sound still a little off kilter, slightly atonal, a little off key, the song a gorgeous lilting almost ballad, that builds to a full on psychrock freakout, and then peters out, leading directly into a nightmarish stretch of ominous FX drenched psychdrone creep, atonal and warped and warbly, eventually morphing into what almost sounds like some lost Neil Young outtake, unexpected for sure, but quite cool. And The Emotional Plague is where this already hard to describe band gets even more difficult to understand, let alone describe, most of the elements were present on past recordings, but here sound reimagined, and reinvented, repurposed even, the band seemingly able to reel of some perfect, delicate folk music like they could have been making music like that all along, but as if to say "why the hell would we?!" they immediately take the sound and pull it apart into a stumbling alternate dimension Pink Floydian dirge that manages to be psychedelic, but also some sort of twisted indie pop, all fused together into something that is both and neither. The tracks on The Emotional Plague are longer, some nearly 10 minutes long, which let the Dicks explore and ramble and stretch out, weaving tranced out sprawls of repetition, of looped mesmer, of smoldering psychedelia, of hushed delicate dreampop drift, of haunting backporch alien Appalachia and of brooding, almost orchestral majesty, replete with horns and haunting spoken word, and a twisted deconstructed coda, "Green Wings Fly Adventure (Showered Reprise) an elegiac final movement, the perfect way to end such a mysterious and strange record, and an even more perfect way to lay to rest one of the strangest, most incredible, and under appreciated bands of the last two decades.
This deluxe reissue includes most of the original artwork, new liner notes, tons of rare photos, and tacks on a couple B-sides and a handful of unreleased jams, but even without those extras, this collection gathers up one of the most beautifully baffling and bafflingly brilliant bodies of work from one of our favorite groups of the last 20 years. And while we did our best with the above review, it's hard to stress just how utterly recommended and essential this really is!
And vinyl folks, while the whole set was not pressed on vinyl, the two proper albums were, so both The Unexamined Life and The Emotional Plague are available on vinyl (deluxe double lps to boot!) for the first time EVER.
We didn't know too much about Surachai, or his record Plague Diagram, but from the way it was described to us, as a one man electronic / metal outfit, whose sound was equal parts black metal, doom metal, powernoise and avant garde, we were sorta convinced it would be right up our alley (and yours), and now that we're finally hearing this stuff, we're pretty sure we were right.
The metal sounds remind us of the more mechanical / industrial groups like Godflesh and Pitchshifter, the sound churning and chugging, the rhythms, precise and clinical, hard to tell if it's a real drummer or a machine, but it hardly matter, this is some serious heavy, downtuned crush, and even in the first track, there are hints that this is more than just a metal record. Little stutters here and there, chirps and glitches and squelches, subtle at first, before eventually, the metal dissipates, leaving a weird bit of black ambience, all bleating horns, looped low end, hazy shifting drones, fluttering backwards effects, gradually growing more and more abstract and tripped out, before giving way to the second track, which opens with a flurry of soft chaos, machine like rhythms erupt as do buzzing riffs, those bleating horns seeming to still be present, underpinning the relentless chug, the vocals harsh and howled, the arrangement mathy and precise, and then again, out of nowhere, the song splinters, and is barraged by strange electronics, mysterious sound effects, before slipping into another expanse of ambient drift, all muted distorted glitch, heaving low end melodies, all strangely cinematic.
The rest of the record plays out similarly, a churning and chugging electronic flecked metal gradually decays eventually leaving some sort of glitched out sonic shadow, a tangle of dense pulses and layered shimmer, of staticky squelches and grinding blackened melodies, the final few minutes of the record maybe our favorite, a strange sort of slowed down demonic IDM, all chirps and hisses and whirring, that gives way to an almost Aphex Twin sort of melodic drift, albeit just a bit twisted and slightly atonal, sounding a bit like a demonic Christmas Carol, before gradually being overtaken by another squall of black buzz.
Includes lots of strange guests: Richie Devine, Nordvargr, Otto Von Schirach and others, and is pretty nicely packaged, pressed on 180 gram clear vinyl, housed in a thick PVC plastic sleeve, with a printed insert and a sticker. LIMITED TO 500 COPIES.
Most of us went to see Surf Nazis Must Die back in the day (the day being 1987) based entirely on the movie title, and the awesomely over the top poster which featured a a nazi with a machine gun in one hand, his other hand a metal claw, on a surfboard, pierced by a chainsaw, riding a wave, about to land on a terrified bikini clad beach bunny on another surfboard, the beaches burning in the background, with the legend: "The beaches have become battlefields... The waves are a warzone!"
Who could resist? Certainly not us. Although it's been a while, but if memory serves, the plot was pretty goofy, like most Troma movies. An earthquake destroys the West coast, neo nazi surf punks battle for control of the beaches, but when a boy is killed, the boy's grandma breaks out of her nursing home for REVENGE! It got a rating of 1.5 stars on IMDB, and 1 star on Rotten Tomatoes, but we remember it being pretty funny. What we did NOT remember was the soundtrack, which has never been available until NOW. And you would think a Troma movie from the eighties would have an appropriately cheesy soundtrack, you might be surprised by John McCallum's score, which is very creepy and synthy, a little bit John Carpenter, a little bit Tangerine Dream, swirls of synth buzz, and moody minor key melodies, some squiggly FX. Lots of the tracks are tense and driving, that very classic 'chase scene' sound, with programmed drums, the vibe sort of soundtracky but new wavey, for sure Carpenter fans, and folks who've been digging this new renaissance of retro-synth music, will flip for sure, even without seeing the movie. And while that original poster was so cool, the new artwork is pretty bad ass, a huge chrome skull, floating in a blue sky over the Pacific Ocean, above two crossed surfboards (skull & crossboards?), with the legend: "Welcome To California"...
LIMITED TO 800 COPIES, housed in nice thick jackets, with new liner notes from McCallum, the director, and various crew members. The new artwork was done by McCallum too!!
A bit of a surprise, this here record. Folks from Yume Bitsu and Landing (two bands I think are ok, but not any big deal) have pitched in and come up with this little gem. Epic space rock full of dark drones and shimmering washes of My Bloody Valentine-ish
Ikuus is the full length debut from this one man experimental black metal 'band' from Finland, although calling it black metal might be a stretch, cuz like much of the black metal from Finland, Suruni's sound is beholden to so much more than blast and buzz, in fact, the majority of the record is spent drifting, jangling, creepy, swirling, it's definitely raw and lo-fi, and the vibe is haunting and mysterious, but it's more a sort of stumbling avant gloom rock, with plenty of clean guitars, distorted drumming, and when the buzz does come in, like on the opener, it doesn't so much transform the sound into something blacker, as add more moodiness, the buzz more diffuse and atmospheric, the sound lumbering back and forth between a spidery almost Slint-like lope (right down to the whispered vocals), to something more distorted and blown out, replete with some aching, almost bluesy leads, and the vocals, when they finally do come in, a distant howl, all the sounds blurring and bleeding into a glorious, almost psychedelic and chaotic whole. And that's just the first track. If we had to whip up some band math, we might take Varghkoghargasmal's 'wooden metal' and the slow doomed out experimentation of another Finnish favorite of ours Opium Warlords, but then with some twisted poppy jangle, a la Circle Of Ouroborus, and even some metalgaze, as much of this does have that sort of sun dappled, blissed out vibe, not to mention samples and field recordings.
The second track is another hushed sprawl of mesmerizing minimalism, all simple clean guitar strum, and stumbling skeletal drumming, and again, there's some blackened buzz, but like the first track, all it does is add texture and density, if anything, the sound gets even prettier, laced with more aching leads, and more ethereal atmosphere.
That said, there is some black buzz scattered throughout, but then there's also HARMONICA!!! Some tracks devolved into punky blackened plods, others blossom into hushed heartfelt shimmers, and some, like the twisted "Akana", sound like some sort of harmonica driven sea shanty, albeit one wrapped in sheets of gristly distorted guitars. But it seems always, the sound eventually settles into that haunting, gloomy, almost post rock sound that opened the proceedings, it's easy to imagine lots of these tracks as part of the score for some experimental com in of age indie art film, you can picture Gummo like kids, wandering through forests, or living in run down trailer parks, the sound evocative and emotional, a black metal that seems mostly removed from the tropes of traditional BM, sonic and otherwise, instead, taking some of those elements and using them to craft a sound that's super unique, strangely introspective, and beautifully, beautifully strange.
We'd been hearing rumors about this band for ages, a new group featuring ex-members of late great nineties post/noise rockers Unwound, who were easily one of our favorite bands EVER. And while we were were prepared to be disappointed, we were actually super pleasantly surprised. The sound definitely has some Unwound too it, but it's WAY popper, and to these ears actually sounds a bit like the Melvins in places, certainly the vocals. But the music itself is some weird nineties beholden post punk / noise rock, with a serious Black Flag vibe throughout, plenty of Greg Ginn-ish guitars, the sound dynamic, and intricate, certainly some post/math rock going on, but then in the middle of a tense post punk jam, the song will blossom into impossible poppiness. Just check out opener "Divine Mob", which is super Melvins-y in the beginning, and unfurls some tense droned out guitar melodies, and some motorik drum pound, before the chorus delivers s hook that KILLS, and then that chorus gets all pulled apart, the vocals wrapped around angular guitar noise and more drum pound.
Frontman Justin Trosper of Unwound is reunited with the original drummer from Unwound (now on guitar), so there's bound to be some Unwoundisms, but Survival Knife is a whole different beast, they actually sound like the kind of band that 15 years ago major labels would be losing their shit over, scrappy, but still pretty polished, noisy and heavy, but also plenty catchy and poppy, lots of broody minor key churn, even some shimmery acoustic guitar strum in the mix. Ultimately, this is just a killer slab of nineties beholden post punk / noise pop, that fans of Unwound will definitely love, but really, anyone who grew up on groups like Sonic Youth, The Swirlies, Sebadoh, and all that Homestead / Touch And Go / Dutch East stuff, this will definitely hit the spot.
Finally, the debut full length from this Bay Area black metal / blacknoise duo, who in recent months have garnered a whole lot of hype, based on a flurry of killer (albeit insanely limited) releases, and a recent West Coast tour, which found the duo playing outside of the Bay Area for the first time ever. And while we've raved about everything we could get our hands on from these guys, this is definitely the band's finest moment, albeit, weirdly their least noisy. But noisiness is all relative. Cuz this is still plenty noisy, it's just compared to some of their previous releases, and their blistering liver performances, this stuff is far removed from that black metal Merzbow sonic attack that defined their early days.
Here, the noise takes a backseat to the black metal, which is actually a good thing, the riffing, and prerecorded blast beats, weaving a woozy washed out buzzscape, which on their own, would make the sound a sort of soft focus Wold, all washed out and blackly buzzy, but over this blackened foundation, the duo add heapings of noise, the vocals, processed to oblivion, sound like gouts of white hot buzz, more guitars, extra layers of blackness, it's as if the black metal core is at the center of a swirling cloud of jagged, caustic blacknoise, the two seeming to function independently for the most part, but the band create dramatic dynamics with the twisted mix, which finds, various elements dropping out, only to erupt and explode back into action moments later, or the black metal riffing getting fused to the blacknoise creating a harsh wall of sound, which just as quickly separates leaving the blast and buzz to pound furiously, shadowed by streaks of hiss and hum, the sounds dramatically stereo panned too for further twisted effect.
The stretches of ambience are darkly effective, as are the weirdly mournful clean guitar parts, the band obviously capable of creating mood and mystery, and when the buzz kicks in, none of that mood or mystery is lost, instead, it's absorbed into the frenzied black chaos which transforms the sound into something more than noise, more than black metal, it's a darkly epic, strangely textured assemblage of buzz and blast, howl and pound, the sound a living black entity, sonic chaos given form, this is the real transcendental black metal, all should be worshipping before the altar of the priests of Sutekh Hexen.
LIMITED TO 350 COPIES!!!
The debut demo from these East Bay doomlords gets a deluxe vinyl reissue, and will be the first time most folks get an earful of Swamp Witch, and in a seriously overpopulated scene, SW definitely do their own thing, in fact, from the first few seconds, we were a bit thrown off, cuz the vibe was way more stonery and classic metal, not sludgey or really even all that doomy, we were ready for some soaring eighties style metal vocals to swoop in, they definitely would have fit, but before that can happen, the song shifts gears and slows to a lurching crawl, accompanied by some demonic vokill bellows, some serious stonery sludge, but then that opening riff resurfaces, and adds some serious melody to the proceedings, this time with added sort-of-leads, but it's what keeps this from being just another slab of boring doom, and it's that push and pull that makes the track so good, the band easily shifting from that lurching crawl, to the more propulsive classic metal rocking and back again, the cool thing being that you can almost feel the pull of the opposing sound the whole time, the sludge-y parts sound like they desperately wanna explode into melodic metal, and the melodic metal parts feel like they're on the edge of being sucked into the black tarpit dirge of the sludge parts. Then at the end it gets sort of psychedelic, with some crazy, sorta shrieked vocals. Such a killer track, definitely worth the price of admission right there. Then there's the second track, which is a bit more traditionally stonery sludge, but with a KILLER main riff, that again, slows down to an absolute slo-mo creep, a chugging, churning crawl, and so it goes again, the band lurching from stonery dirge to creepy crawl, finally culminating in an outro that's all swirling psychedelic feedback.
The sidelong flipside is a doozy, the brooding title track takes ages to get revved up, building lots of tension, the vibe super cinematic, all swirling feedback, and groaning bass rumble, keening melodies, all blurred into smeary swaths of mournful minor key sound, and when the song kicks in, it's MASSIVE, so heavy and blown out, some seriously brutal ultra doom crush, the sound remaining mostly entrenched in a tarpit dirge, the variations this time for the most time arrangement wise, some mathy chugging, a slightly more midtempo, groovy stretch, with some killer psychedelic guitars, which eventually bliss out into another feedback drenched guitardrone finale.
So killer. Not sure how we haven't heard these guys before now.
And if these three tracks are still somehow not sludgey enough for you, do some searching on the internet, and you can find a killer 'chopped & screwed' version, which finds the whole thing slowed way down, fucked with, looped and layered, stuttery and staggery, replete with weird scratching and DJ manipulations, as well as woozy, pitch shifted DJ Screw like vocals. Wish they would have pressed up an extra lp and included this version too...
Super nice packaging, a heavy gatefold sleeve, with a little baggie with two buttons, the lps pressed on 180 gram vinyl. Also includes a poster, a patch and a download code!
The latest masterpiece from these aQ-beloved musical misanthropes has moved well beyond the already boundary stretching sound of their previous album The Seer, and continues in a similar direction, shedding elements of song, and moving closer and closer to pure sound, with most of the tracks here unwinding like free form / free rock explorations, with only the barest hint of structure to keep them from drifting into utter shapelessness, but even then, whatever sonic constraints that are put in place, seem to be disregarded most of the time, the resulting records is hardly a rock record at all, but a gorgeous collection of brooding soundscapes, allowed to sprawl and ooze and drift and build, almost like an even more ephemeral / abstract Godspeed, and yet somehow, the tracks here are infused with an intensity, and sonic dread, that marks this as pure Swans.
That said, the opener "Screen Shot" might be the most curious of all the tracks here, as it's centered around a baseline, and drum part that are without a doubt, bordering on 'funky', so much so that before we even heard the record, people we posting online that the new Swans sounded like Primus. Which weirdly enough just made us want to hear it more. And when we finally did, well, we could definitely see that, but only Primus slowed down and stretched out and infused with a terrifying malevolence, and really, that funkiness become something else in a matter of minutes, some mutant strain of grim grooving bunkurfunk, that sounds more to us like Skull Defekts, and Michael Gira's vocals a dead ringer from the shamanistic conjuring of Defekts collaborator Daniel Higgs, but before you know it, the song blossoms into something even more tripped out and psychedelic, a swirling piano loop, jagged shards of guitar, eventually exploding into a wild cacophony that could go on forever, but instead burns bright and quickly fades out. An intense, invigorating start to what just might be the best of the modern Swans records.
There's not a track here that's less than 5 minutes, with the bulk closer to 15, and one clocking in at a stunning 34, and as mentioned above, they've done away with traditional compositional concerns, and have instead endeavored to craft their own modern minimalism, and it's truly stunning, from the slow core creep of "Just A Little Boy", that sounds a bit like the Necks via Woven Hand, but stretched out into one extended slow motion balladic dirge, laced with some truly terrifying vocals, to the atonal lope of "A Little God In My Hands", which sounds like multiple New Orleans jazz bands playing at once, before settling into a gorgeously creepy march, all glimmering electronics and swirling melodies, and some twisted call and response vocals.
Then there's the record's centerpiece, the 34+ minute "Bring The Sun / Toussaint L' Ouverture", which lurches right out of the gate as maybe the most rocking song here, a lumbering drum heavy riff, that instead of turning into a song, just locks into an endless hypno-rock cycle, that you never want to end, and for a while, it seems like it never will, before eventually setting into another apocalyptic swampy creep (and again reminding us of Woven Hand), before beginning and epic, majestic slow build, a vocal chorale draped atop a dark cacophonous roar, that gets almost metallic before dissipating into a free rock sprawl, all long tones, and drones, moaned vocals, and warm electric piano shimmer, as well as some FX heavy percussion, and finally a wild freaked out psychedelic squall. Disc one ends with a hushed horror ballad, all moaning distant horns, and sinister vox, and atonal melodies swirling throughout. And most bands would hang it up there, but this is the Swans after all, so we're only halfway there.
The second disc begins with a twisted bit of malformed Tom Waitsian weirdness, all groovy percussion, swirling junkyard ambience, and some strange vocals refrains, before erupting into some swampy garage rock swagger, slithery and sinister, distorted and psychedelic, the sound layered and dense and seriously fierce. From there on out, To Be Kind seems to open up into some sort of alternate universe rock opera, brooding ballad gives way to horn flecked death march dirge, wild kraut-funk groovery grows more and more atonal, pocked with elephant bleat blasts, and feral vocal bellows, long stretches of kosmische drift, and jazzy piano shimmer slowly evolve into another bout of swampy swagger, "Nathalie Neal", a piece that's drum driven and intense (and named for an aQ pal!), before finally finishing off with the title track, a haunting, subdued finale, all dramatic croons and whispery chordal drift, that bursts into a full on freakout, blistering arcs of distorted guitars wreathed around pounding drum damage, and billowing swirls of psychedelic noise, the rare piece of music that is as exhausting and exhilarating to hear, as it presumably is to play.
Totally transcendent, dizzyingly ambitious, stunningly executed, and thus utterly and totally recommended. Creepy baby face cover art too! And, while they last, we've got the Deluxe Edition, which comes with a live dvd, featuring performances of several songs from this album along with renditions of "Coward" and "The Seer". That's if you get the double cd, your other option is the swank triple vinyl, but no dvd with that, but it does have a download.
We'd been hearing a lot about this band, lots of folks calling them the 'next big thing' which tend to make us pretty skeptical. But the descriptions made us think we'd actually probably dig it, and we do. Like a lot of recent faves, Swearin' channel that while nineties indie/college rock sound (Nirvana, Dinosaur Jr., the Pixies, Pavement, etc.), and sound like they would have been our favorite band back in the day, and since it seems folks our age, never really got over THAT sound, they definitely have potential to be a new favorite. The sound is definitely derivative, but that's the point right? To these ears, sometimes Swearin' sound like a super charged Blake Babies, with Dinosaur Jr. guitars, and at others, like Pavement crossed with Sebadoh, and really, we'd be hard pressed to think of better band math than that. And although aping a sound is pretty easy, with the right gear, and the right recording, it's not nearly as easy to come up with the sort of SONGS to go with the sound. But Swearin' have it dialed in. With multiple vocalists, boy AND girl, they kick out the nineties indie rock jams, like, well, like it was still the nineties, swaggery and slackery, noisy and a little bit shoegazey, fuzzy and distorted, loose and ramshackle, jangly and hooky as hell, it's hard not to love, and really why try not to. A BIG TIME new favorite around here for sure. For fans of the Pixies, the Swirlies, Pavement, Dinosaur, Liz Phair, Superchunk, Sebadoh, Built To Spill, the Breeders, the Silver Jews and all the rest...
There definitely seems to be a pattern developing with recent Records Of The Week. The Loop reissues a few lists back, The Telescopes last time, and now Swervedriver. We hadn't really noticed at first, we were just so damn excited that so many of our favorite records were getting reissued. And while it might seem a bit strange to be looking back instead of forward, most of the music we love now wouldn't even exist if it weren't for these bands, or if they did they'd sound WAY different. And the thing is, the aQuarius list is in no way comprehensive and complete, as we only started doing it about 12 or 13 years ago, which means everything pre-1995 or '96 is not represented, which is a huge bummer since the late eighties and early nineties are the very times that defined most of us musically. Thus we've done our best to review reissues of lost classics, or even not lost classics, from those eras, eighties metal, shoegaze, grunge, nineties college rock, the list of records we discovered during that time, that STILL resonate and kick ass could fill up a hundred aQ lists. So instead of dwelling on the fact that these are not actually new, let's just consider then records we loved, and still love, and records we're convinced folks out there who are too young to remember, or may have just missed out the first time around, will probably also love, records that had they been released later, would have no doubt been showered with adoration on the aQ list. Which brings us to a unanimous aQ fave, UK heavy shoegazers Swervedriver.
Calling Swervedriver shoegaze is a bit misleading, they were tangentially part of that scene, and their sound definitely had a bit of drift and shimmer to it, but unlike the rest of the shoegazers, Swervedriver were HEAVY. Super rocking, their wall of guitars was not ethereal and ephemeral, it was crunchy and distorted and thick, and besides all that, they wrote some of the catchiest songs ever. EVER. The sort of songs that explode into frenzied psychedelic shoegaze freakouts, but just as quickly slip into a dark chugging grooves with hooks that stick in your head like crazy, and parts the still to this day illicit shivers, even after a hundred listens. Rare is the band who can define a sound, and a scene and then totally transcend it.
For those new to Swervedriver, they definitely share much in common with their shoegaze scene compatriots My Bloody Valentine, Ride, Catherine Wheel, Chapterhouse, and the like, but as mentioned above, that shoegazey haze was just one element in their arsenal, and not at all the main one, that would be the dueling guitars, heavy and crunchy, melodic and lush, soaring one second grinding and chugging the next, often tangled into gorgeous harmonies, or layered to create thick walls of sound, those formed the basis of their sonic blueprint, over which they crafted incredible hook filled songs, some washed out and swoonsome, others hard and jagged and HEAVY. The vocals melodic but still plenty rough and raw, perfectly complimenting the heavy guitars and pounding drums, an impossibly perfect balance between heavy and pretty, hooky and hard, which is precisely what makes Swervedriver, one of our favorite bands ever.
Mezcal Head was Swervedriver record number two, released in 1993, and featured a slightly altered lineup, that if anything made the band sound even heavier. Almost like Raise part two, with the hooks dialed back again, and the heavy guitars cranked, but again, like on Raise, it's hard to pick any losers, every track here is catchy and heavy, and sounds like Swervedriver and nobody else. And as if to balance the heaviness, there are a handful of tracks more dark and drifting and almost mellow, interspersed between the bursts of shoegazey heaviness.
"Duel" is definitely the one here, the band's biggest hit, and it's easy to see why, with an incredibly heavy main riff, and swirling effects all over the place, the vocals a lazy drawled afterthought, and the hook, totally destroys, and still gives us chills, the second half is much poppier, with the song growing gradually more mellow and washed out, a sort of low key space rock outro.
Then there's "Last Train To Satansville", with another killer main riff / hook, and some truly haunting vocals, lots of effects too, in fact this record found the band's obsession with pedals becoming even more evident, with various elements wreathed in delay and reverb and flange and phaser, and impossible combinations of all four, creating swirling clouds of psychedelic shoegaze space rock, a sound even more expansive than on Raise. The rest of the songs, while maybe not as immediately catchy, are still fantastic, the sort of songs that become later favorites, one at a time. Whatever song was least listened to, gets rediscovered and blossoms before your very ears, making you wonder why the heck you weren't obsessed with THAT one in the first place. That's the magic of this record, and of this band. Both Mezcal Head and Raise are essential, two parts of a larger ever evolving whole, so buy one at your peril, because no doubt you'll eventually find yourself needing the other.
Like Raise, totally essential, WAY recommended, and absolutely required listening.
For the reissue of Raise, they tacked on 4 extra tracks, B-sides, outtakes, which includes is one of the best Swervedriver songs ever, "Planes Over The Skyline", a Japanese bonus track on the original release, a B-side we think, but holy shit, if the band was kicking out B-sides of this caliber, it's no wonder their records proper were so mind blowing.
New packaging, a deluxe 6 panel digipak with a thick booklet packed with photos and new liner notes from the band.
There definitely seems to be a pattern developing with recent Records Of The Week. The Loop reissues a few lists back, The Telescopes last time, and now Swervedriver. We hadn't really noticed at first, we were just so damn excited that so many of our favorite records were getting reissued. And while it might seem a bit strange to be looking back instead of forward, most of the music we love now wouldn't even exist if it weren't for these bands, or if they did they'd sound WAY different. And the thing is, the aQuarius list is in no way comprehensive and complete, as we only started doing it about 12 or 13 years ago, which means everything pre-1995 or '96 is not represented, which is a huge bummer since the late eighties and early nineties are the very times that defined most of us musically. Thus we've done our best to review reissues of lost classics, or even not lost classics, from those eras, eighties metal, shoegaze, grunge, nineties college rock, the list of records we discovered during that time, that STILL resonate and kick ass could fill up a hundred aQ lists. So instead of dwelling on the fact that these are not actually new, let's just consider then records we loved, and still love, and records we're convinced folks out there who are too young to remember, or may have just missed out the first time around, will probably also love, records that had they been released later, would have no doubt been showered with adoration on the aQ list. Which brings us to a unanimous aQ fave, UK heavy shoegazers Swervedriver.
Calling Swervedriver shoegaze is a bit misleading, they were tangentially part of that scene, and their sound definitely had a bit of drift and shimmer to it, but unlike the rest of the shoegazers, Swervedriver were HEAVY. Super rocking, their wall of guitars was not ethereal and ephemeral, it was crunchy and distorted and thick, and besides all that, they wrote some of the catchiest songs ever. EVER. The sort of songs that explode into frenzied psychedelic shoegaze freakouts, but just as quickly slip into a dark chugging grooves with hooks that stick in your head like crazy, and parts the still to this day illicit shivers, even after a hundred listens. Rare is the band who can define a sound, and a scene and then totally transcend it.
For those new to Swervedriver, they definitely share much in common with their shoegaze scene compatriots My Bloody Valentine, Ride, Catherine Wheel, Chapterhouse, and the like, but as mentioned above, that shoegazey haze was just one element in their arsenal, and not at all the main one, that would be the dueling guitars, heavy and crunchy, melodic and lush, soaring one second grinding and chugging the next, often tangled into gorgeous harmonies, or layered to create thick walls of sound, those formed the basis of their sonic blueprint, over which they crafted incredible hook filled songs, some washed out and swoonsome, others hard and jagged and HEAVY. The vocals melodic but still plenty rough and raw, perfectly complimenting the heavy guitars and pounding drums, an impossibly perfect balance between heavy and pretty, hooky and hard, which is precisely what makes Swervedriver, one of our favorite bands ever.
And Raise one of our favorite -records- ever. Released in 1991, for anyone our age, or thereabouts, it was pretty difficult to not see Swervedriver everywhere, MTV, 120 Minutes, college radio, when Raise came out it was like nothing we had ever heard before, incredibly catchy and hooky but so rocking. And the songs, shit, most bands would give anything to have written "Son Of Mustang Ford" or "Rave Down", or heck, anything on Raise. But yeah, let's take "Son Of Mustang Ford". Plenty of folks will recognize it within seconds, that pounding rhythm, the thick layered guitars, and that main guitar hook, immediately exploding into an almost Treepeople (pre-Built To Spill) guitar tangle beneath killer vocals, before returning to that opening groove. Furious, and dark, and minor key, but so epic and kick ass, total head banging air guitar shoegaze nirvana. Then there's "Rave Down", their other big hit, that displays Swervedriver's other sonic side, guitars that a languorous and sunbaked, but still distorted and heavy, the song woozy and lilting without losing any of its power, and a change that still gives us goosebumps almost two decades later.
The thing with Swervedriver was that even though they had actual hits, the record was packed with could have been should have also been hits. Pretty much every song is hooky and heavy and catchy, not a weak track in the bunch. "Sandblasted", "Sci Flyer", both heavy blissed out rockers, "Feel So Real" sounds almost like a tougher heavier Lemonheads, with it's sweet little main melody and total pop main hook.
Totally and absolutely essential.
For the reissue of Raise, they tacked on 4 extra tracks, B-sides, outtakes, and damn if they don't sound just as kick ass as the album tracks proper. New packaging, deluxe 6 panel digipak with a thick booklet packed with photos and new liner notes from the band.
Brand new album of electronic flecked tribal spaced out druggy free folk krautrocky weirdness from the Belgian "Funeral Folk"collective known as Sylvester Anfang (now spelled with a 'Y' instead of an 'I' for some mysterious reason) who have continued to evolve with every record.
The now out of print Satanische Vrede lp introduced us to these guys, with a garish lp sleeve featuring the band shirtless, wearing white hoods, holding goats on leashes, an image that somehow reflected the music inside disturbingly accurately. A primitive, ritualistic, orgy of abstract percussion, tripped out psychedelia, wandering free folk, some serious space rock, and a hint of something blacker and much more sinister.
This is only technically the second proper full length, but things have somehow gotten even more space-y, more druggy, more krautrocky, and thus more ROCKING. The record does start off with a strange sonic ritual, all mysterious spoken word, squiggly electronics, chaotic noise guitar backdrop, tons of effects, streaks of feedback, long swirling tendrils of whirring shimmer, but then BANG, the record launches right into "Na Regen Komt Sondvlred" mid-jam, as if someone just walked in on the band and pushed record without the band even noticing, locked as they were in full on transcendental space psych jam mode, relentless motorik skeletal beat, warm warbly low end pulse, and guitar, LOTS of guitar, distorted and wah wah'd the fuck out, flitting from moaning croonsome melodies to dense tangles of freaked out chaos, the whole sound and vibe so druggy and trippy and divine. The first band we thought of was German Oak, as this also sounds like it could have been recorded in some massive underground stone bunker, then Hawkwind, then some mix of the two, a seemingly endless mind expanding, speaker melting ur-jam, and we're only two songs in!
The two part "The Devil Always Shits In The Same Graves" is a massive twenty minute songsuite, that seriously smolders, the guitars twangy and Morricone-esque, the vocals a distorted scowly growl, the guitars spidery and sitar like, buzzing lazily, the melodies Eastern sounding, the drums laid waaaaay back, like listening to the Wooden Shjips at 16 rpm, but turned way down, for some late night bliss out. The second half is almost like a mirror of the first, but doused (dosed?) in noise and delay and distortion, a blurred lysergic Hawkwind outro rendered in effulgent streaks of buzz and fuzz, even more abstract and drone-y and space-y than the first part.
The four tracks in between cover a lot of ground, although never straying too far from that psychedelic buzz drenched krautrock that forms their core, from warm languid muted dronescapes, a thick smear of undulating effects laden warble over what sounds like a buried pop song, to still more white hot (outer) space rock dirge-ery, thick ropy basslines supporting swirling garage fuzz organs and tangles of psychguitar as well as dense clouds of malfunctioning electronics and haywire effects, to dense swells of super intense spacekrautdronegroove that could/should go on forever, to long stretches of glistening high end guitar shimmer and moaned sorrowful vocals, all wrapped in soft billows of dreamlike delay, to woozy garage kraut dirges, all detuned riffage, and pounding machinelike pulse, blurred buzz and otherworldly effects.
The whole record seems to melt together into one oozing organic meta-sound, a glorious extended space jam with a trajectory set somewhere in the distant future, a dizzying journey through innerspace, a slow burning series of sounds, fragments of the whole, sent spinning into the ether, streaked with starlight and glimmering reflectively in the muted glow of distant suns, a glorious bit of space rock, beamed to earth, into a clearing, in the middle of a forest, lit by firelight, channeled through the figures gathered there, surrounded by a stone circle that on closer inspection is revealed to be a haphazard assemblage of amplifiers, the cords running along the dirt of the clearing like black vines, the various figures hunched over, each wielding some sort of implement, their movements downright demonic in the firelight, and the sounds that come drifting out of the clearing even moreso....
Try as we might (and see above, we are obviously trying!), words hardly do these sounds justice. One of the best records of the year so far for sure...
On his latest solo album, the distinguished gent David Sylvian is joined by guests guitarist Derek Bailey and Christian Fennesz for an elegant and understated, hazy and mesmeric, minimal masterpiece. Never that much of a Japan fan, and to be quite honest, not all that excited by any of Sylvian's previous solo albums, I (Andee) have to say this record blows me away! It's so slow and dark, and gorgeously ephemeral. The songs are barely there, just these luciously hazy expanses of dark and shimmery sound, quivering echoes of reverbed guitars, and smeary wisps of warm harmony, with the vocals lazily draped atop the rich sonic tapestry, melodies unfurling at their own, slow motion pace. The overall sound and structure are very reminiscent of Mark Hollis' brilliant and barely-there solo record from a few years back, but the vocals remind me quite a bit of Mark Eitzel, in timbre and in delivery, but much more slurry and world weary (if that were possible), and fronting Stars Of The Lid or Oval instead of American Music Club. And while Fennesz is only on one track here, you wouldn't be faulted for thinking he was all over this record, as there's plenty of glitchy lushness and processed warble that bears quite a resemblance to his laptoped guitarscapes. My only complaint, and I'm sure I'll get a ton of grief for this, is Bailey's guitar playing. It still sounds to me like a third grader picking up a guitar for the first time. And it comes dangerously close to disrupting the late night lovliness and effortless fluidity of the record. Luckily, Bailey's 'purposely' retarded plucking gets absorbed into the swampy, swoony lushness that surrounds it. For a record I hadn't even planned on listening to, this is turning out to be one of my new favorite late night listens! Highly recommended.
Released on Sylvian's own label Samadhi Sound.
Ultra technical and weirdly melodic death metal with lots of changes and super harsh distorted vocals. Sounds pretty mean, until the ridiculous keyboards kick in. Then it just gets weird. It's still heavy and fierce, switching back and forth between pounding blast beats and mid-tempo eighties-style metal, but the metal is generously sprinkled with wanky keyboard solos (ala Children of Bodom) and insane squiggly Morbid Angel leads. Awesome and bizarre.
We've all been a bit obsessed with Varghkoghargasmal since we first got our hands on the Call Of The Raven cassette, a stumbling confusional chunk of what the band calls 'wooden metal', one of us was so obsessed, that he released a full length Varghkoghargasmal record on his label (Andee, we're talking to you!), which took that wooden metal sound even further, creating a gorgeously evocative foresty black metal assembled from wavery warbly keyboards, off kilter drumming, and strummed clean guitars. But we never stopped to wonder what that wooden metal would sound like in a more traditional black metal setting, blacker and more distorted, more frostbitten more grim, well, now we don't have to wonder, as Varghkoghargasmal mainman (and only man really) Avenger, has unleashed this dark opus, the latest from his -other- one man band Szarlem, ominously titled Night Of Blood, and you know what? It sounds exactly how we would have expected, exactly how we had hoped. The same sort of Viking tinged stumbling bizarre loping black metal, that in its wooden form played out like some sort of fractured krautrock, but here, imbued with fire and frost and black buzz, it becomes an awesomely fucked up collection of midtempo black metal weirdness.
The guitars are thick and crusty and distorted, churning and chugging, the vocals a WAY up in the mix maniacal growl, and the drums, just like in Varghkoghargasmal, wander and stumble, adding a whole other element to Szarlem's sound, giving the proceedings a sort of black metal Shaggs vibe. But rather than sound fucked up and demented (well, it still does actually), it flows perfectly with the rest of the sounds, with the music, the whole thing a woozy warbly, off kilter, blackened stumbling lope, sometimes locking into an almost punkish groove, other times unfurling slow burning Burzumic sprawls, some of the tracks laced with haunting keyboards, fluttering little Casio melodies draped over the lurching blackness below, the best moments are when those keyboards lock in with the guitars and conjure up haunting harmonies, creating creepy almost Goblin like black metal buzz, but those moments are fleeting, as the tracks usually slip back into some thrashing blackness or meandering buzzing drift.
Lo-fi, raw and demented, dark and emotional and weirdly epic, this is some truly inspired, truly unique outsider black metal. And is thus WAY recommended.
A split release between bad ass French microlabel Basses Frequencies, and Szczepanik's own Sentient Recognition Archive label, The Chiasmus is Szczepanik's latest collection of dronology, and the first proper cd we've had (quite possible his first proper cd release entirely). We've long been fans, being the dronelords and ladies we are around these parts, and past Szczepanik joints have demonstrated a mastery of the drone, creating surprisingly lush and lustrous expanses of low end minimalism. On The Chiasmus, Szczepanik continues to move ever deeper, ever darker, five long tracks, each a different variation of drone, drifting from minimal black shift, to near Pop Ambient bliss.
Record opener is cavernous, epic, Teutonic and slow shifting, peppered at the beginning with bits of glitch and hiss, the song soon settles into an uneasy sprawl, ominous and dangerously grim, but still somehow warm and expansive and enveloping. The second track shifts gears completely, unfurling a gauzy bit of chordal shimmer, all warm and sun dappled and delicate and gauzy, gentle tranquil melodies played out over minutes instead of seconds, a little Eno for sure, as the song drifts and flutters and hovers dreamily in midair. The final three tracks hover somewhere in between, deep moaning post industrial whirs laid over dense metallic buzz, the two layers slowly seeping into one another like some blackened sonic spill, deep bell like tones ring out, their tones frozen in time and stretched out into softly undulating sheets of sound, slightly reflective and iridescent and kaleidoscopic, glimmering and glistening underneath some alien black sun, and finally, a loooooooong stretch of grinding muted buzz, spreading out in slow motion, it's black shimmer infused with streaks of melody, as if some strange black seas was slowly growing warmer and coming to life before our ears.
Fantastic, gorgeous stuff. Essential listening for the drone obsessed...
So many bands use periods like they use umlauts, just throwing them into to make their band name seem more fucked up or evil or grim. So we fully expected that T.O.M.B. were doing just that, until we discovered it does actually stand for something: Total, Occultic, Mechanical, Blasphemy.
Which is in fact a pretty good name for these guys. Cuz this is indeed some seriously occultic mechanical blasphemy. This one man band from Pennsylvania is one of the new breed of black metallers, with a healthy appetite for NOISE, but in T.O.M.B., that appetite is sated in a fairly unique way. Every song here was recorded in a different location, various places in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, all in some way spiritual, whether they were the location of some tragedy, or perhaps they are supposedly haunted, each one adding their vibe and spirit to the recordings, not to mention their bizarre acoustics.
The tracks here range from blown out blurred dronemusic, thick with distortion and buzzing guitars howled vocals, and tons of reverb from the huge concrete environs, while others are more straight ahead blackened buzz, but even those tracks are far from straight ahead, the two disparate sounds often getting all tangled up in one another, or even overlapping, the more metal parts slipping from loping mathy black metal to furious thrashing, cool start stop dynamics, haunting minor key melodies...
But the best tracks are definitely the ones that sounds like some fucked up grim metal band set up at the bottom of some cistern or on the wide open floor of some burnt out factory. The drums a machine like pulse, the guitars a howling cloud of droney buzz, the vocals just adding to the din, every once in a while bits of guitar drifting to the surface, some tracks it sounds like the band is playing in another room, very much like it sounds standing right outside the door of a club, but way more murky and washed out. Because of the field recording aspect, the sound quality varies dramatically, and tends toward the raw and lo-fi, but that's the point, it's the industrial city version of Nordic bands recording in the woods, this is band out in 'the wild', incorporating the surroundings into their sound, almost creating a new kind of USBM, this is definitely not for everyone. The sound is damaged and really strange, the metal here is plenty buzzing and blasting, but more often than not is wreathed in reverb, or buried in murk, or just plain fucked up, but awesomely fucked up. Headphones help for sure, there's so much to hear, so much going on beneath the noise and within the black buzz. Definitely one of the coolest weirdest black metal records so far this year...
Sweet! This is the sort of thing that makes for a good Record Of The Week both 'cause of how it sounds (always the biggest consideration of course!!) and also 'cause the back story is pretty cool, too. We'll start with that. T.R.A.S.E. stands for Tape Recorder And Synthesizer Ensemble, a name that, if used by a band nowadays might seem just a bit unimaginatively straightforward & blandly self-explanatory, or perhaps meant ironically academic-sounding somehow. But when you learn that T.R.A.S.E. were a DIY "ensemble" masterminded by a precocious British schoolboy back in 1981, making experimental electronic home recordings that sound not too far from stuff such modern-day outfits as Emeralds and Umberto and Soft Moon would be doing years later, then the name becomes fairly endearing, eh? Just take a look at the cover photo, two skinny teenagers, one looking kinda cool in T-shirt and shades, standing with electric guitar in hand, the other kid in sweater and jeans, looking a bit dorkier as he sits amidst a cluttered array of electronic keyboards, amplifiers, reel-to-reel tape machines and other assorted audio gear. The latter teen is T.R.A.S.E. founder Andy Popplewell, most definitely an A/V geek at his school, who put together his own six-channel audio mixer at age 16 following plans in a issue of Practical Electronics magazine. Being into both sci-fi soundtracks and new wave music like The Human League, Ultravox and Gary Numan (one of the tracks here is a Tubeway Army cover) it wasn't long before that mixer, and other gear he built, like an "Elektor Chorosynth", was put to use to record his own music. Kraftwerk, Jean-Michel Jarre, and Giorgio Moroder where among his other inspirations. T.R.A.S.E. recorded one unreleased cassette lp called Electronic Rock, and the deep diggers at B-Music/Finders Keepers have compiled tracks from that tape here along with other home studio / real studio / demo tracks by Popplewell and T.R.A.S.E., 14 total cuts of adolescent outsider synthsplorations, all tick-tocking drum machines and swells of droning synth, adorned with phaser and fuzz FX, replete with gentle melodies and warped "cosmic" soundz. These tracks are mostly instrumental, though a few have vocals, like the Messethetics-ish downer electro pop of "Talk To Me" and the sad, fuzzy "Unrequited Love". So much primitive shimmering synth beauty, the more abstract of the tracks glistening rhythmically, the more song-like coming across like lo-fi coldwave cuts.
Perhaps the best recommendation we can give this, is that playing it in the store, generally results in customers asking about it and buying a copy. Probably the best "long lost tapes" release of vintage unknown electronica since that Rodion G.A. record!! One of those serendipitous discoveries, occasioned by a fortuitous meeting between Andy Popplewell and Andy Votel of Finders Keepers.
The cd booklet includes color photos and vintage synth kit adverts, alongside detailed and very revealing liner notes penned by Popplewell himself, who in the wake of T.R.A.S.E. later became a BBC radio engineer, now works in audio media restoration, and who currently studies conspiracy theories and other esoteric knowledge in his spare time.
Fyi, we momentarily had an import vinyl version of this a while back, but it took 'til now for the cd to materialize, glad it finally did, though it's too bad we don't have the vinyl anymore (maybe again, someday?).
Second album from these obscure, grim black metallers. While not well-known, we really dug their debut ("Nattestid....") as an extremely well-executed slice of true black metal in the classic tradition, and this disc offers more of Taake's majestic dark-forest hymns. The songwriting operates within genre norms, but with much interest and variety, employing raspy lead vocals, clean choruses, fast parts, slow parts, strong melodies, and diverse instrumentation. They make use of piano and even jaw harp! The "boing boing" of that in the album's third track may seem humorous, but is really unsettling.
Runic warriors of rock n' roll, Taake join the likes of Kvist, Khold, Nagelfar, Potentiam, and Keep of Kalessin in the ranks of AQ-fave black metal acts that lack the hype of the Emperors and Dimmu Borgirs of the world, but are equally worthy of your attention. So, this album gets a definite thumbs up from AQ's own runic warriors Allan and Andee. It's one they'd play for curious and open-minded non-black-metal fan friends. Meanwhile, black-metal otaku, get this while you wait for the new Satyricon.
In a recent show of photography by Peter Beste devoted to Norwegian black metallers, we were happy to see Taake's Doedsjarl Hoest pictured alongside better known musicans from bands like Immortal, Enslaved and Carpathian Forest. Hoest and Taake certainly deserve to be in such company, and they're definitely one of the current Norwegian bands really keeping the flame of blackened Viking metal flickering. We've been fans of these runic warriors ever since their debut Nattestid... in 1999, getting even more into 'em when their second album ...Bjoergvin... came out three years ago, and now are excited that the third installment in the Taake trilogy, ...Doedskvad, is at last here! (Those other two, by the way, seem to have gone out of print.)
...Doedskvad surely equals its predecessors, upholding tradition (theirs, and that of cold, grim black metal in general) by offering up some seriously epic rasp n' riffage that's mostly majestically midpaced but sometimes thrashes forward at a headbanging, drums-blasting gallop. Really excellent, really cult. Think something along the lines of older Enslaved, with the torched cathedral architecture of Weakling and some Cradle of Filthiness in the vocals. And it should be mentioned that Hoest and comrades Lava, Corax and Mord are joined by a slew of guests, including Helvestekommandant Nattefrost of Carpathian Forest, Taipan of Orcustus and someone amazingly (or amazingly stupidly) named "Discomforter"!
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Finally the way too limited Ribbons Of Dust cd-r's get a proper cd reissue. Three volumes, each a 3" cd-r, from one of our favorite abstract drone outfits going. We raved about all three installments, so if you missed out on any or all, or just want to upgrade to actual cd, then now's your chance.
Seems like the impetus for starting a cd-r label must be born from a similar need to create music yourself. Considering how many microlabel bosses are also serious sound makers in their own right (Campbell Kneale and Celebrate Psi Phenomenon, Antony Milton and PseudoArcana, Brad Rose and Digitalis, etc.) Makes sense, a passion for discovering new music can be fed directly by making that new music yourself. Taiga Remains is the solo electric guitar project of Alex Cobb, who also happens to run Students Of Decay, a pretty badass cd-r label. Volume 1 of Ribbons Of Dust is a slow moving, bleary eyed, slow moving morning of a track. The guitar is rendered riffless, instead it's transformed into a sparkling glistening glimpse of a sun dappled expanse of still water, foggy and fuzzy, a dream world of shimmering muted high end drift and warm soft hum. Reminds us a bit of ex-Souled American axeman Scott Tuma, and his abstract slow motion soundscapes. So totally lovely and blissfully otherworldly.
Volume 2 is made up of huge billowy clouds of dense but soft electric guitar drift. Melodies played out over minutes instead of seconds. Ambarchi meets Fennesz but with the bones removed, leaving just a drifting ghost of the guitar. It's hard to even think of this as a guitar. There's no strumming, or picking, or bowing, instead it's nothing but shimmering and glistening and sparkling and reverberating and drifting and shining and floating and twinkling and slowly fading away...
The final volume is all about late night, disembodied slow shifting guitar glimmer. Huge soft clouds of warm chords, thick swells of reverberating steel strings, minor key drifts of shimmer and whir, very oceanic, like drifting on some soft sleep sea, each note another gentle swell, lulling you into a state of complete bliss out. So beautiful.
Packaged in a super striking silkscreened origmai style fold over cardstock sleeve with a printed insert.
FINALLY BACK IN STOCK. THE ULTIMATE DRONE RECORD.
We love this record so much. The Taj Majal Travellers are so utterly mind blowing. This is a double cd reissue of this legendary Japanese psych ensemble's second lp which has been unavailable for several years now, but when we did have it in stock, if anyone asked about drones, this is the record we would always suggest. One of the most hallowed artifacts of the psych-rock collector scum scene (originals on vinyl could set you back more than $1000!), this album is an epic higher key improvised drone extravaganza, all performed live on beaches and deserted hills in Sweden, India, Iran and England. Slow, complex, irregular throbbing waves of sound, broadcast through distant loudspeakers and recaptured and reincorporated. Feedback, time-space lag, horns, echo machines, and primitive handmade electronic devices all contribute to the ever shifting clouds of sound. So unbearably awesome. And this is not electronic music, or studio based carefully constructed drone music, this is massive and organic, dreamy and natural, waves of sound drifting through sun and sky, rain and fog, trees and electrical wires, the shape of the earth, the temperature, the wind, all affecting the sound, changing the timbre ever so slightly, band members spaced out over hundreds of yards, improvising on an impossible grand scale, the earth as their stage, nature as their recording studio, a deliriously abstract sound world of subtle drones and drifting ambience. Imagine some long hairded seventies Japanese psych rock combo, but filtered through the Jewelled Antler Collective, jamming with Chris Watson, set up on sandy dunes, grassy knolls, forest glades, each not necessarily -playing- their instruments, but instead coaxing sounds from within the instruments, setting those sounds free and sending them skyward, watching it drift downwind, where a bandmate snatches the sounds and coaxes complimentary sounds from his instrument, sending a sonic respone, until these messages, these sounds weave into and around each other, the sky full of warm warbly mysterious sound. Psychedelic for sure, but more a sort of eyes closed, mind open dream drift drone psychedelia. ONE OF OUR ALL TIME FAVORITE RECORDS!!
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Yay! Another old favorite finally reissued and back in stock. We first listed this back in 2000, and we still love it more than ever. First we had a Drone Syndicate edition, then a more expensive one on Walhalla, and now the DS version has been repressed, at the same cheaper price (though it lacks the liner notes, photos, and overall fancier packaging of the Wahalla one).
In the AQ canon of all time essential artists, of groups who have shaped all the music that followed in their wake, somewhere very near the top spot would be Japan's Taj Mahal Travellers. This sprawling seventies psych drone unit led by Fluxus legend Takehisa Kosugi, were crafting gorgeous abstract drone drenched ambience long before most of the current crop of dronesters were even born.
The Taj Mahal Travellers were masters of the organic, of vibration, texture, timbre, utilizing bowed cymbals, violins, loudspeakers, tape loops and all sorts of unique source material, this collective created some of the most enduring and unique psychedelic music ever recorded. Their music and performances were the physical embodiment of a philosophy, a way of life more than just simple 'playing music.'
It's hard to imagine the Skaters or Birchville Cat Motel or the Yellow Swans or even Wolf Eyes without the Taj Mahal Travellers. Often referred to by the press as "La Monte Young on acid", in a review of another, unfortunately out of print TMT album, we described their sound as "epic higher key improvised drone extravaganzas performed on beaches, deserted hills in Sweden, India, Iran and England. Slow, complex, irregular throbbing waves of sound, broadcast through distant loudspeakers and recaptured and reincorporated into the sound. Feedback, time-space lag, echo machines, and primitive handmade electronic devices all contribute to the ever shifting clouds of sound."
The music of the Taj Mahal Travellers thought is stubbornly indescribable. No words can possibly do justice to the spirits they were able to invoke, the atmosphere they were able to create, dark and dense and mysterious and ominous, but at the same time beautiful and brilliant and epic and spacious.
This double cd features nearly 100 minutes of improvised droning captured live in Stockholm, Sweden in 1971, the group (minus Kosugi for some reason) run stand-up bass, tuba, trumpet, select percussion, violin, flutes, mandolin, harmonica and synthesizer through primitive tape loops and delay effects for an awesome ritualistic performance, predating the likes of Zoviet France and about a million others by decades!
The live sound is just as amazing as their records, which makes sense since their albums were essentially documents of live aktions.
The first disc is a single nearly hour long low end ritual, strings buzz and reverberate, as do voices, and bits of bowed metals, all beating against each other and creating all manner of cosmic vibrations, all accompanied by simple bells, or a single plucked note repeated over and over. Near the end, the vocals are soaring, and the tones have become long buzzing streaks, with plenty of spacey echo and strange damaged FX, it's hard to hear this and not wonder where in the hell Sunburned Hand and No Neck get off, these guys were creating the same sort of primitive primeval sounds, nearly 4 decades earlier, and with so much more depth and emotion. The fact that a music so minimal and abstract can be so utterly moving is testament to the Travellers' unparalleled skill.
Disc two is much less low end rumble, and more a dizzying swirl of strange sonic events, here the horns are in full affect, sounding like a herd of alien elephants, moaning and bleating, the tones stretched out and draped across all manner of lower register rumbles and whirs. Percussion surfacing now and again like an angry rattlesnake roused from a midday nap, or a swirling cloud of tiny buzzing insects. Vocals drift in and out, shamanistic and chant like, moaning out strange melodies, mostly low and throaty but sometimes like curious feline mewling, all intertwined with the various other drawn out sounds. An incredibly intense organic ritual, purified by its intransitive nature, the improvisation guaranteeing that each performance belonged to the time and the place as much as the players. Absolutely and utterly breathtaking.
Absolutely essential, and probably more recommended than nearly any record we've ever reviewed!
We could find out almost nothing about this bad ass art pop trio from Seattle. Other than, well, they're from Seattle, they're a trio, their record is on the same label that released the Pretty & Nice record, and they were named for some weird executive car developed by Chrysler in the eighties. Oh and apparently the drummer is a teenager who still lives with her Mom (OK, we did find something out about them on the web). The art pop thing we just figured out on our own about 2 seconds after throwing this disc on.
The label sent us a press release, but it was jam packed with all sorts of surreal dadaist mumbo jumbo, we sort of wanted to reprint it here, but it's loooooong, and heck, it really has nothing to do with the glorious racket these guys (and gal) kick up.
Angular guitars, yelped almost new wave sounding vocals, lots of effects, tons of reverb and delay, some notes and vocal parts get looped and spin off into the ether, the guitars chug and chime and even jangle, the bass is rubbery and has a distinctly Joy Divisiony vibe. The overall sound is jittery and manic, frenetic and frenzied, Bouncy and brittle, lo-fi and off kilter. Lots of early nineties college rock reference points but filtered through the cracked lens of the current lo-fi noise pop movement. Folks into stuff like Wavves, Blank Dogs, Gary War and the like might find TT to their liking as well.
Passages get repeated over and over, turning cracked no wave pop into something much more abstract and mesmerizing, songs explode into furious squalls of freaked out mathy blow outs, guitars soaring, drums splattering all over the place, the vocals desperately howling along, hooks are there, but are wrapped in delay and buried in the murky mix, some of the tracks so drenched in effects that they seem to blur before your very ears, only to suddenly snap back into focus and stumble through an awesomely dense tangle of atonal guitar and stuttery drum damage. Warm synths warble woozily, draped over crunchy riffage and sea sick melodies, the whole record a sprawling chaotic swirl of fractured pop, that we can't seem to stop listening to.
Not sure how we discovered the Basses Frequences, and yes that is correct. Basses Frequences. Maybe an email, a recommendation, a chance discovery on the web. It hardly matters, what is important is that we DID discover them, and with the first handful of releases, we're already convinced they might be one of our new favorite cd-r labels.
Not only is the music amazing, but the packaging is totally elaborate and handmade, and quite original, some of the releases in metal tins, this one, the first release from a person / group called Tamagawa, comes in an oversized envelope, with an assortment of small cards and a huge folded cardstock replica of a mini stage lamp, which you can cut out and assemble and store these three mini 3" cd-r's in. Wow.
But cool packaging is never enough, the music on these here discs is divine. And quite varied, from warm washed out ambient dreaminess, to buzzing crumbling drones, to squiggly spaciness, to gorgeous glistening sun baked post rock, to reverb drenched guitar drift, to thick super distorted dirgedrone, and each of those allowed to shift and shimmer, change shape, and alter sound, transform from one into the other, and then back again, the drone is definitely the root of the music here, but even that is sometimes relegated to whirring way off in the distance, while harmonics sparkle and rhythms shuffle, but just as often, the drone wipes the slate clean, and all the OTHER elements drift and whirl in the background while the drone rumbles and buzzes.
The recordings are gorgeous, the sound crystalline, even at its heaviest and most distorted, the music still glows warmly, the edges soft and rounded, the vibe gentle and tranquil, meditative and hypnotic.
Way recommended for fans of drone and drift, of post rock and abstract ambience, and folks who are obsessive about releases from PseudoArcana, Digitalis, Students of Decay and other like minded labels, might just have to add Basses Frequences to that list.
LIMITED TO 200 COPIES! Packaged in an oversized sealed envelope with printed cards and a replica cut-out-and-assemble stage lamp!
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Another release in Tiliqua's Erotic Oriental Sunshine series of Japanese erotic music from the sixties and seventies. We reviewed Kokotsu No Sekai from Japanese sexy action heroine Ike Reiko a few lists back, and now we have Modae No Heya from seventies bondage / S&M queen Naomi Tani, who recorded and released this album in 1979 to commemorate her withdrawal (ahem) from the world of porn.
And what better way to commemorate that sort of life change than with a record of Iroke Kayoyoku, a bastardized version of a more popular Asian music of the time, sexed up with chanteuse like crooning, and most important of all, an amazing array of moaning and groaning and cooing and giggling, as if in the throes of EXTREME passion.
Tani's take on Iroke Kayoyoku is similar to Reiko's (in fact it's not tough to imagine a sort of Eastern hit factory, churning out these discs, ready made for some sexy thing to croon and purr over...), a strange blend of easy listening soundtrack music and spaghetti Western themes, with lots of soaring strings and epic arrangements, sultry saxophones and twangy guitar, but unlike Reiko's disc, Modae No Heya is much more Asian sounding, with plenty of distinctly Asian instrumentation and Eastern melodies.
Anyone who has seen their fair share of Asian cinema and classic kung fu movies, will find the sound instantly recognizable. And for a record that is supposedly a vehicle for her sexy presence, Tani surprisingly spends a lot of time just hanging back and letting the music swoon and soar. But when she does take part, it's in a super intimate whisper in the ear, a playful purr with plenty of giggling and occasional bouts of passionate groaning.
Erotic and wild, moody and mysterious. And pretty darn bizarre. And of course, highly recommended for all fans of sounds both strange and sexy!
Packaged in a super deluxe Japanese miniature gatefold style cd sleeve, with a printed obi, saucy nude photos of Tani on the cover, and extensive liner notes in English and Japanese!
ULTRA LIMITED!!! Only 1300 copies pressed. Already almost sold out, so don't dawdle...
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For those of us who came of musical age in the nineties, especially lots of you avid aQ list readers, odds are you were way into noise rock, labels like Amphetamine Reptile, Touch And Go, Homestead, and bands like Jesus Lizard, Chokebore, Unsane, Vertigo, Lubricated Goat, the God Bullies, godheadSilo, Hammerhead, Jawbox, Killdozer, Arcwelder, Janitor Joe, King Snake Roost, we could go on and on, but if that either looks like your record collection back in the day, or reads like a current iTunes playlist, odds are you're also probably familiar with Tar. Tar were a band from Chicago, who existed from about 1988 until 1995, and not only made some amazing records, but also released some of the most kick ass singles of that era. And for some reason, never hit it big like some of those other groups. Like another favorite of ours, Arcwelder, Tar toured like madmen, made record after record, and while attaining a pretty decent cult following, remained pretty solidly underground.
So in swoops Henry at Chunklet, to wake folks the fuck up to what they may have, and most likely DID, miss back in the day. And like it says in the liner notes, and as mentioned above, as great as Tar albums were, their best songs seemed to end up on singles, which makes this singles collection arguably the best Tar record there is, which is saying something for sure.
The sound will no doubt be familiar to fans of all the above mentioned bands and labels, the feeding back, wildly distorted guitars, the tight muscly drumming, the yowled vox, indie rock infused with some serious punkiness and noisiness, thick jagged riffs wrapped in sinewy basslines, some tracks crazy catchy, like a pop song in noise rock's clothing, others obtuse and aggressive and fierce and fucked up. Lots of mathy tension, post rock sprawl, these guys were so goddamn good, and listening to this chronologically, it's crazy how they transformed from a feral noise rock beast, into seriously killer songwriters. Just listen to the clips below. We made sample of our favorites, but even those were tough to pick, cuz pretty much every song here KILLS. And that AC/DC cover is a doozy!
The packaging is of course over the top, colored vinyl, with a huge 12"x12" booklet with tons of liner notes, lots of famous folks you know reminiscing on how great Tar were, notes on each track, and each single, lots of rare photos, a ticket stub and more. Also includes a download code for the record proper AND for a bonus collection of rare live tracks. Absolutely and totally essential!!!
