Afternoon Saints

Afternoon Saints

The Shirley Jangle 2xLP

(Kraak)

All-star improvisational drone which has all its bases covered: Lee Ranaldo on guitar, the pre-eminent avant-bagpiper David Watson, Christian Marclay on the turntables, and Günter Müller on percussion. None of these guys should need too much introduction, or reason to disbelieve that each other’s efforts wouldn’t jell into something substantial. The three sides presented here seem to make a real effort in combining a lot of disparate genres into one thoughtful whole. Marclay is the secret weapon in that regard, able to drop in any record he feels like; even with his manipulations in play, he’s the guy who brings the most tradition to the record. Ranaldo does great, understated tone work, Watson divides up between guitar and the pipes, adding percussive elements which are then bolstered by a Marclay sample, then realized into a drum pattern by Müller. Profound, convention-smashing work by veterans – you don’t get to be a veteran without learning how to play sounds this nebulous, this harmonious in relation to one another . Ranaldo’s etching on side four even works as a tribute to Marclay’s Record Without a Cover (don’t play it) (trust me). 500 copies, gatefold sleeve, striking artwork. (
(Doug Mosurock)

Alog/Astral Social Club

split 12”

(FatCat)

Astral Social Club/Glockenspiel

split 7”

(Krayon)

Reading from top to bottom (Lisa … Carol … Fremont): Norway’s Alog finds the medium between Amon Düül II, Fela, and acid electronics, landing on a sugar-smacked, galloping African groove and layering all sorts of textures and counter-rhythms atop this proud, shirtless jam. Really needs to be heard, and I think I’m gonna drop this next time I DJ and see what happens. Neil Campbell’s Astral Social Club has been the atavistic response band to his earlier collaborations with folks like Simon Wickham-Smith and Richard Youngs. Busted up hi-NRG dance riddims are shot into space and irradiated, from the dizzying (“Clarion Super-Cortex”) to the plangent (“Vurt Chorale #1”) to the violent (“Corby Kiss”) taking place on their side of this split. On the split 7”, their “Smash Crater #1” puts a donk on the entire affair, sounding like a chorus of children yelling loudly in the middle of a high-output plastic injection-molding facility, during which a rave sort of breaks out and the workers get scalded by molten polymers. Glockenspiel responds with defeated drone, fitted alongside long-delay percussion loops to make the track seem longer than it actually is. Hope this helps! ( (
(Doug Mosurock)

Bermuda Triangles

Reptilian Intervention LP

(C.N.P.)

Is Richmond, VA still a dirt-cheap place to live? I haven’t been around there in about seven years, but this Bermuda Triangles record came from there, and I’m hoping it’s evidence of the sort of well-kept secrets a mid-sized town can have in its paths of musical expression. Compared to what little overall worth is shaking out of cities where one’s overhead overshadows the ability to really open things up, Reptilian Intervention is a fuckin’ trip and a half. The brainchild of Jason Hodges (better known for his ‘90s powerviolence band, Suppression), this band pushes a heavy, tribal rhythmic agenda, the band weaves in a thick paste of delayed guitars, timbales, electronic blitter and a conspiracy-baked mindset (hear the refrain of the title track: “Rockefeller, Bush, Windsor/Rothschild and Kissinger/Blood-thirsty reptiles/From the same bloodline”). There’s even a sax on some of the tracks, which pushes their entire presentation really close to Houston’s dark rock trio Balaclavas. But where that band relishes in striking riffs and sentiments that detonate under a glamorous dusk, Bermuda Triangles runs in the paranoid prog-punk runoff of Nomeansno. Limited to 100 copies, in eye-searing silkscreened sleeves and with a CD copy. Give this one a shot. (
(Doug Mosurock)

Broke Beads

Wave High LP

(Bombay Cove)

Instrumental rock from Austin, playing it safe. Moody songs that tend to run long, with computer assisted ass-shaking to keep the kids from falling asleep. Not remarkable in any sense, that whole Miracle Whip on white bread sound done again. Why waste words, when the man-baby on the front tells you all you’ll ever need to know about not listening to this record, ever? No bueno. Green vinyl. (
(Doug Mosurock)

Los Buddies

s/t 7” EP

(Buddy Brand)

It makes me want to hurt strangers when mentally-touched folk, and especially the things that mentally-touched folk make or employ, spark the use of the faux-adjective “buddy”. It’s almost as infuriating as the scene parlance of “boo you!” to express discontent with another person’s actions. But I’m referencing loathsome vermin here, and I’m almost convinced that the members of Los Buddies occupy an altogether different personality-spectrum. Check out this passage from the handwritten note (always a nice touch) that accompanied this 7”: “Los Buddies are from Jackson, Mississippi. We put this out on our own Buddy Brand label. There are 150. All black. All vinyl. MP3 cards included. They are available via Goner Records and Florida’s Dying – or as a last resort, the band.” Why is that last line so funny? Seriously. Belying the band’s self-deprecating tone is one major fact, and it will have the proverbial needle scratching across then grinding to halt, the day of each reader … and yet, within the context of the dismal garage-pop realm, this is next-level shit. The hooks are sterling hitters that underscore everyday activities like driving a car, making this a sublime experience. Opener “UFO” and its dumber-than-dumb lyrics are nullified by a chorus that MUST have be stolen from the Last or the Only Ones or some other top-shelf hook royalty. When the hook sounds stolen but one cannot place the song of origin (because there isn’t one), that hook is most likely a keeper. Driving the catchiness is a noisy form of garbage-pop that doesn’t beat listeners about the head and neck with reverb but DOES employ all manner of FX boxes (or just one box as a modeler – nothing wrong with that). When the songs stop, the squealing and ringing barbs continue for a few seconds or fire up first before the power-pop propulsion takes over. This is being noted because the noisy nature of this record is yet another quality built with QUALITY instead of affected for future party conversation. “Hey, love the extra reverb on your single … it goes perfectly with the discarded early ‘90s personal computer photo collage you used for cover art.” There will be none of that when one of the 150 copies of this record is the topic of discussion! (
(Andrew Earles)

City Center

Spring St. one-sided 12” EP

(Quite Scientific Records)

Playing perfectly nice acoustic guitar-based pastoral pop from with occasional electronic flourishes, Fred Thomas’ City Center project makes some nice music that wouldn’t be out-of-place alongside similar artists such as Greg Davis, Mountains, and, hell, perhaps even Fennesz. Pretty decent, though not outstandingly great. Limited to 500, one-sided, screen-printed copies on clear vinyl. (
(Joel Hunt)

Cornucopia

Ultima LP

(Anarchy Moon/Sonora Disc)

Oppressive, naval wall of hurricane noise/drone out of Puerto Rico, a place where the residents know from hurricanes. Side A is immense, just a gutbuster of layered white noise, while Side B adds in queasy sine wave bass beneath prop plane engine scream. Backed hard; when this sort of expression gives you visuals totally on its own, you can’t help but get lost inside of it. Edition of 200, with silkscreened obi strip. ( (
(Doug Mosurock)

Coyote Slingshot

First Word of Evil Omens – VITIUM 7” EP

(Super Secret)

Well, let’s just take this zoological/biological fad to its logical manifestation of unknowing self-parody. Isn’t that the final stage in any movement’s pathetic home-stretch? Coyote Slingshot is the artistic moniker of Domenic Rabalais, an (obligatorily) small-town kid who tried really hard to freak out the square-johns in his small Midwestern hometown by wearing truck-stop Native American head-dresses and attaching coyote skulls to his homemade sleeveless t-shirt, which appeared to be his only piece of above-the-waist clothing. After all, his folks own three motels, four service stations, and two restaurants in town and he could buy the entire outlet mall if he wanted. The shirt has the Black Flag logo underneath the words “Neutral Milk Hotel.” The locals didn’t quite understand the cultural car-wreck imagined by the latter … a band t-shirt is a band t-shirt … at least it didn’t say “Impaled Nazarene” like the one worn by the one weirdo kid that’s still in town. After he had lived in Austin, TX for a few months, Mr. Slingshot sent some small records back to a few of the locals. Mainly family, but also that neighbor girl who was able to wear a D-cup by the time she was eleven. The songs on the record, they aren’t crap, when you can comprehend what the hell is happening. Everyone in town who heard it had the same concern: Did he keep the receipt for his studio time? Sure, it’s pretty impressive that he played every instrument on that record but it’s not like there’s much drumming to be heard on the little record, and something on the computer showed him how to record all of those instruments, and showed him how to dress like that, too. (
(Andrew Earles)

Dead Voices on Air

The Silent Wing LP

(Tourette)

Vacuous rivethead drone from former Zoviet France member Mark Spybey, who fails to achieve the dark ambient textures of his ‘90s releases like Shap. Tedious songcraft definitely plays a part in all of this. It’s 2010, and from the sound of these offerings, Spybey is stuck in 1999, which was quite a nice year, but hardly a place to reside now, as the progress made in this genre seems to have been lost on this guy. Perhaps DVOA has hopes that his fans don’t listen outside of the goth/industrial spectrum he used to inhabit, but that seems like a recipe for diminishing returns. Can’t find much to recommend here. 400 copies. (
(Doug Mosurock)

Dust Congress

Regurgitate Sunshine State one-sided 12” EP

(Paperstain)

This one-sided mini-LP (on baby-blue wax and housed in hand-screened artwork that looks like a hesher’s social studies notebook from 1989) reeks of rural idiot savantism and wafts in and out like a smacked-out Neutral Milk Hotel replete with banjo, trumpet, various rusty shit and probably some old mason jars filled with some kind of liquid your grandfather put in there back in the year Gimmel. Not sure what these guys have against Florida (except that it kinda sucks), but I do like these songs, especially this third track, “A Name Is a Diamond,” which is kinda awesome and reminds me of a slothier New Bad Things. There’s some 1920s flapper-type megaphone jams on here as well, for all you aficionados of the genre. Fans of Jeff Mangum would lap this excitingly-named Denton, TX group up, if they were ever to hear it. As an aside, all these years I thought his name was Jeff Magnum. Mangum is much more unfortunate, unless he pronounces it “mang-um” but I like to think he’s “Jeff Man Gum”… hey, if he ever decides to switch careers and make porno he’d be able to use his actual name. Thanks for reading. (
(Mike Pace)

Ensemble Orlando

At the Lake LP

(self-released)

In typical Murphy’s Law (not the band) fashion, the first real show of latent Thinking Fellers Local Union 282 respect would come from across the pond. Denmark lots-a-members outfit Ensemble Orlando formed in 2007 and proudly advertises a love of San Francisco’s greatest non-Steel Pole Bathtub export. But what really matters is that At the Lake expertly flies the flag of authentically-bent pop during an era when the charlatans and amateurs are flying the plane, while everyone (including those in their thirties or older that know better) gladly sits in front of the proverbial plates of shit being served, stuffing their faces like first-day-free ex-cons at a catered wedding. Some listeners or readers (who don’t plan on listening at all) will scoff at the fact that this album could’ve been time-machined from an especially adventurous corner of underground goings-on circa-1995. Hey, someone is buying all of the Thinking Fellers albums on eBay, and it’s not this writer (kept my originals …) It looks really awesome when the promotional organs of so many lesser acts of today reference a bunch of older artists that the collage-core set has memorized and understands as “seminal”, regardless of the past artists’ actual similarities to the entity being pushed. In the spirit of this, let it be known that the following artists really did inform Ensemble Orlando during the creation of At the Lake: Sun City Girls, Fly Ashtray, Furtips, Meringue, Uncle Wiggly, and you know whooooooooo … Highly, highly, recommended. (
(Andrew Earles)

The Equalities

On the Street LP

(Loud Punk)

Japanese re-enactment of early ‘80s streetpunk. Better than the Germ Attak record, at least, because it’s shorter. Live pic seats three Japanese punkers up front, leathers painted with the Adicts and Abrasive Wheels, so you know where you stand (unless you’ve never heard of those bands, in which case, this may not be for you). Most people know where they stand with this sort of thing: against the wall, in the pit, or elsewhere. Pogo your fuckin’ brains out dudes, I don’t care. (
(Doug Mosurock)

Famines

“Syllables” b/w “Got Lies If You Want Them” 7”

(Mammoth Cave Recording Co.)

Edmonton duo Famines speedbags two flat-out frantic Morse Code messages to your forehead. Guitar and drums rush forward at a breakneck pace, knocking everyone out of the way. They keep pushing forth on “Syllables” but the flip take some breaks for artsy recompense and solid, open-sky interplay at the bridge. Recorded with the fuzz on, for sure. Annoying how these Mammoth Cave singles just cut off at the ends of the songs, though, because I wanted to hear every second of this one. There’s another single, double 7” and cassette out, and I want ‘em all. Great hearing a band that has the parts and chops to rival most in the two-man (advantage) band format, is able to flex hard on their chops, and still finds a way to sound and play differently than most bands trying to figure it all out. Between this, the Radians single, that Bloodstains Across Alberta comp and the Outdoor Miners tracks I’ve dug up, something is definitely going on up north. Hot shit, sonny! (
(Doug Mosurock)

Fontana

s/t LP
(X! Records)

Sloppy, spastic, or confused hardcore LPs are always welcome, so long as they’re good driving (meaning, good for the car) records. By the looks of the cover, twee-tedium was expected, but that’s what expectations are for: a good dashing! Everything that makes this sort of record great: frustration, members are sick of everyone’s shit, everyday is a bad day, feel like a broke-dick dog by Monday morning even though you’re only 21, a sense of humor that’s worth a shit, and a band name that tricks people into thinking it might be one of those fake shoegaze/noise-pop bands assembled in a boardroom during the latter half of 1993. “Fellas, I like the striped tees, OK, so do you want to be on Seed Records, Grass Records, or SpinArt? The world is your polluted freshwater clam. Kidding, dudes! This is going to be awesome!” Truthfully, that latter attribute was just tacked on for the sake of observational humor, and no one thinks pathetic nonsense like that and no one buys Madder Rose or Dig or Sammy records but people should buy this record. Kudos for the song about Vietnam and the singer/guitarist’s non-ironic use of what appears to be a paint-splattered Charvel. Enter my gear-geek phase. Black vinyl. (
(Andrew Earles)

Freestone

“Bummer Bitch” b/w “Church” 7”

(Last Laugh)

Last Laugh is a new label run by Almost Ready’s Harry H., focusing on the legit reissue of KBD singles. It’s an idea that’s time has come; it gives people the chance to own pristine, nearly-exact copies of records that may as well not exist, and it acknowledges the efforts of forgotten musicians whose fame stems primarily from being insane enough to capture their spew onto vinyl in the ‘70s and ‘80s, and only recognized through bootlegs. “Bummer Bitch” appeared on the second volume of the infamous Killed by Death series, and plays as a more raw “Earache My Eye,” 90 seconds of scorching punk that was likely conceived as a parody, but actually meets and exceeds much of the punk rock that had surfaced up to that time (San Francisco, 1978). Not nearly as many people have heard “Church,” which was likely considered their A-side; it’s lumpy, somewhat arty progressive-ish rock that denounces Catholicism. Sounds like both sides were designed to piss people off, but only one of them’s worth listening to. But the one side that is legit, is like the MOST legit punk collectible, and this is as close as most of us will come to the real thing. (
(Doug Mosurock)