Cardiff Nil, demo TAPE
"Stretch" with its inhibited, Yorke-ish vocal, its irritable fidgeting
sub-Cardiacs changes and crisp live production is the score draw from
these four. The others suffer from 4-track murk but benefit from
interesting piano and trumpet enhancements, especially "Get ourselves
together" which sounds like a (contradiction alert) male Luscious
Jackson. andy_moore@uk.sonymusic.com
Pan Pipes, Transmission form CD
I'm convinced that South American pan pipe groups travel around the
city centres of Britain to ambush me with the only tune that pan pipe
and shrunken guitar bands ever play. It's probably the result of an
unlikely childhood trauma, but the merest hint of a pan pipe is enough
to send me into a cold sweat. So I'm not really the bloke you want
reviewing your record if you've called your band Pan Pipes...
At least there aren't actually any pan pipes on the album itself,
which instead consists of a kind of compendium of late 80s/early 90s
indie. "Child" has the tarnished sheen of Scorpio Rising's groovy
Spacemannerisms, "Planet gong" is The Cure in love on a Friday and, at
the other end of the week, "Kill your idol" adds a bit of metal to
Happy Mondayish baggy. It's an odd record but, for those who spent
their nights in indie discos 10 years ago and don't mind admitting it,
it's worth a pop. c/o Tabanelli Andrea, via lume 30/c, Bubano (Bo)
40020, Italy stage.vitominic.it/pan_pipes
www.toty@libero.it
Southall Riot, Quality goods (Victory Garden) 7"
If there were European warehouses---like the ones that used to handle
the butter mountains, meat heaps, tinned plum peaks and asparagus
hillocks---and they contained piles of pop bands by genre, then, next
to all the industrial-sized corrugated iron barns containing the
dancing seals that jig across our television screens all day long and
the slightly smaller units with your favourite indie chartsters
inside, you'll find a shed with a small sign on the door (a door that
has been forced open), which says "maverick, pop." If you were to look
inside you'd see a couple of dishevelled blokes warming their hands
around a candle and slotting their last 10p into the meter so they can
listen again to their latest record which veers from the trash glam of
"Kiss me robot, I love you" to the droning low-tech "Jeststream."
Round the back you might glimpse The Freed Unit waiting for their turn
on the candle. 24 Boscombe Rd, London, SW17 9JL.
The Freed Unit, Chewingumouth (Rocket Racer) 7"
"The idea is, there is no idea.. or something" said Gary when I asked
him about the FU philosophy. If a little ambiguous, it does at least
sum this bubblegum pink disc for me. "Chewingumouth" initially sounds
slightly out of trim, slightly too slow and even just plain slight but
after a couple of plays suddenly flips, like the stickers you used to
be able to get that changed picture when you tilted them in the light,
and the other view is a gentle acoustic (plus machine hum), pastoral
glide with killer psychedelayed chorus. PO Box 620173, San Diego, CA
92162, USA or PO Box 5083, Leicester, LE2 0WX freed.unit@bigfoot.com
Parlour Talk, Padlocked tonic (Acid Jazz) CD
More West Country than West Coast, Parlour Talk straddle the yawning
abyss between the Wurzels and the Beastie Boys like a hip hop
Colossus. With stylishly burred rhymes that include "Ruth Madoc" and
"paddock", Y-fronts, able semen, the choice between brown and white
bread and "choccadoobie!!!!", Scoutleader Deed and DJ Sir Beanz OBE
are cruising the Weston Super Mare prom in their stretch combine
harvester smoking a stalk of wheat and sucking, in a mean-looking
manner, on a stone bottle of strong cyder. The jokes run thick and
fast, the beats are crisp and correct, the references are parochial,
it's British hip hop, how can you resist?
Mazarin, Watch it happen (Rocket Girl) CD
Where the "Wheats" 7" is 3 minutes of folkish splurge loaded up on the
heady rush of Neutral Milk Hotel, "Watch it happen" is 35 minutes of
folkish splurge.. etc etc. But to leave it there would be unjust
since, even though "I should be sleeping" is cut from that same cloth,
there are moments here that could be lost Simon and Garfunkel demos
and touches of genius like "December's coming," a seasonally-affected
slur of electro pop. One of my albums of the year already.
Sonovac, Human Fly (Flesh) 7"
Looks like a dark psychobilly bootleg, sounds like the Meteors with
pedal-powered synthesizers and is in fact a Cramps cover/homage by the
Silver siblings. It's a glammy, dirty, grinding slowcore romp and,
apart from sounding nothing like previous Sonovac releases, it's just
about perfect. Look out for the Soft Verge album as well, also by Mike
Silver of Sonovac, it's neo-krauty electro with some class.
The Butterflies of Love, How to know.. (Fortuna Pop) LP
How to know the Butterfllies of Love? Through their record
collection---it's the only fair way. Shelf after shelf of cherished
vinyl, each disc caressed into a protective sleeve, cross-referenced
and filed alphabetically by genre, fill a whole room, the top corner
of each adjacent LP adjusted for perfect alignment. Exquisite
regimentation, perfection and affection, like the thin layer of dust
that settles between weekly cleanings, is in the atmosphere and woe
betide the visitor who displays less than the requisite level of
reverence and respect for the circles of shellac and the emotion
trapped in the grooves. Visitors are thus rare. But additions to the
collection are more so, the Butterflies being very particular about
what they admit into the hallowed treasury. The new entrant undergoes
a period of quarantine in which its character is dissected and its
craftwork is compared to the effortless skill that flows from prized
plates by Galaxie 500, gentle Velvets, The Chills, Big Star, Elliot
Smith, Spaceman 3... If it is viewed favourably, and few are
considered worthy, then it becomes a new favourite nephew and is
ceremonially recorded in the complex card index before being slotted
into its prepared position with a fingertip touch.
And if you think it's hard to get into the Butterflies' hearts, you
should try getting out...Every one of the 12 tracks on this debut
long-player is a sliver of soul extracted not with the swift slice of
a surgical scalpel but with a blunt and rusty hacksaw; each of the
songs is a gemstone cut so that the fire inside shines out, but
reflects more back in; and all of the 3-minute hymns to humanity were
only allowed onto the record once they'd been accepted into the
Butterflies' own home.
By Coastal Cafe, Me/It's the pixies (Pickled Egg/demo) 7"/TAPE
By Coastal Cafe have been the subject of excessive eulogy on more than
one occasion in this organ so I'll merely note that "Me" is 5 tunes
picked from their numerous demo tapes and one Will Oldham cover. The
originals are notable for two things: the higher-than-usual fidelity,
and Martin's attempt at Lydonesque sneer filtered through Albarnesque
petulance. It goes without saying that the second single from these
two Swedes is essential. "It's the pixies, they play tricks on you" is
the most recent demo and continues in the fine tradition of its
predecessors. Martin and Marilyn sit down somewhere with a selection
of instruments and an old, and preferably broken, means of recording
them. They mess around until they have a sound they are happy with and
then tear off three songs full of crackly underworked pop charm in
quick succession. Kapellv. 19, S-35262, Vaxjo, Sweden. by_coastal_cafe@hotmail.com
Man With no Pseudonym, direct/ Future Airlines, If surreal unite both TAPE
Instrumental hip hop with a side-order of slightly strange
atmospherics from the Man Who Should Really Take Time to Think of a
Name More Befitting Music of this Quality. Picks of his bunch are
"Nuns in space (dub)" (actually on a follow-up tape rather than this
demo) which boggles as you might expect and "My thinking" with its
stentorian scientist sample and strict beats.
Future Airlines---well, there's a Future Pilot already---turns out to
be a mate of the Man.. which explains the initially surprising
discovery that a version of "My thinking" appears on his tape in a
chuckling speed disco style. Better, though, and with a touch of the
Cuban Boys' irreverance, is "Centrifugal borse" in which the Magic
Roundabout theme is tossed around like Bronco Billy's nuts. MWnP: 61
Carroll Close, Newport Pagnell, Bucks, MK16 8QL or p.sellars@appleonline.net. FA:
25 North Square, Aberdeen or andrew.g.watson@btinternet.com
When, Psychedelic wunderbaum (Jester) CD
Definitely one for the Terrascope troupe, When are a duo, a sampler
and the words of Tom Wolfe and Aleister Crowley. Opener "Time ago" is
straight out of the Olivia Tremor Control top drawer, all
surf-psychedelia and schizoid shifts whereas "Extremist cow" and
"Snowful" up the technology ante with obvious beatbox and samples from
what sounds like those lavish musicals where dancing girls make
patterns with umbrellas for an overhead camera. The idea of combining
psyche and techno which was previously confined to trance music is
now liberated for rock and When are rejoicing in the freedom. "Young
feet flush" is operatic pomp and brass overload imploring the listener
to turn on, tune in and drop out, and the album's closing track,
"Track 10" is a bad trip comedown of merry-go-round blur. Voices of
Wonder, PB 2010, Grunerlokka, N-0505, Oslo, Norway www.vow.dk
Various, Verona del 99 (Elefant) CD
Elefants never forget. In this case, a gigantic memory recalls the
heady Sarah days of yore and the, ahem, illustrious history of the
Eurovision Song Contest with occasional bursts of what some might term
"good stuff." "She used to make me smile" by the Automatics revives
the early Stone Roses groove and gentleness, HD Substance's
10-year-old demo track, "Happy zombie," is floating europop twang; Le
Mans are sombre in a slyly trip hop-meets-budget synth way and Gasca's
"Mal ladron" slowly deflates like a less-confident Gulliver. PO Box
331, Las Rozas 28230, Madrid, Spain www.elefant.com elefantsales@elefant.com
Livener, The Long Lost ep (Intromit) CDS
The elegant ennui of "Long lost" pulls threads of Portishead's majesty
and mastery of soundtrack dynamics into a guitar band set-up. Record
Collector likened the band to the Auteurs and that's not far off the
mark either. The same track appears on the Intromit compilation, a
10-track sampler for this new Nottingham label, with the other
highlight being My Darling Nihilist's awkward Primussing about in the
form of "Crushed." PO Box 5828, Long Eaton, NG10 4PH intromit@freeserve.co.uk
Weird Uncle Betty, In porn we trust (Dune) CD
If Uncle Betty is either of the women on the cover then he certainly
is weird. I like to think he's the one with chubby calves squeezed
into white cowgirl boots because the vision of those legs stomping
across the dancefloor finally gives big beat some meaning for
me. Yes, "In porn we trust" is the tail end of the big beat animal,
subverted for extended play into a seedy underworld of perv samples
and titles like "Sticky fingerz,", "Betty's dirty peepshow" and
"Wet'n'shiny." Nothing you haven't heard before on your Fatboy, Chems
and occasional Prodigy tunes, but with a hint of the hump'n'grime of
Khan's recent porno album and a (dirty) sense of humour. Via Marconi
32, 50131 Firenze, Italy www.dunrecords.com or label-us@mail.dunerecords.com
Not from there, Juanita's cocktail party (Infectious) CDS
There was an NZ band called Lig doing the rounds a while ago. They
didn't really get anywhere but released a couple of good singles and a
so-so album. Not From There have nothing to do with Lig and come from
Australia---there's a gag in this somewhere---and I mention Lig only
because the title track bears some resemblance to them but beefed up
into a heavy rotten roller of grind and Sonic Youth. Also on this
single, "Las Vegas 2000" is an anti-lounge epic Suicide-slowed-down
slog. PO Box 2127, Ashgrove West, Australia, 4060 www.notfromthere.ml.org
Lazer Guided, demo CD
Easily the best yet from Lazer Guided who, freed from the temporal
restrictions of split singles, stretch into langurous chiming chordage
that, if honesty is to be the watchword, owes more than a passing debt
to the scene that once celebrated itself. No bad thing though, and
with recording quality also increased, songs like "New pop" point, if
not to quite such a lofty goal, at least the right (Dinosaur Jr)
direction. 10 Mellor St, Alleton, Derby DE24 9BX www.surf.to/lazerguided
The Understudy Inferior, Downtown heaven (Bedrm) CD
How much would you have to pay for an octopus with a cold? Sick
squid. Which, by a strange coincidence, is exactly the amount you'll
have to fork out for a copy of TUI's debut LP (at www.fly.to/kino-eye or r88647@bristol.ac.uk). I
mention this irrelevance (the octopus) because the absurd and
unexpected play a large role in "Downtown heroes," not least on "Bad
lover blues" which we liked a lot on the preceding demo and which
features a strangled guitar solo so obsessively awful that you have to
fear for Mr. Inferior's sanity. Elsewhere it's elastic, erratic
beatbox and guitarwerk that probably sounds EPIC on a tennis reacket
in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door but here sounds more like
Les Dawson on a tab of acid in front of 500 grannies at Wolverhampton
Civic Hall---but so strange, so specifically wrong that it
perfectly paves the way for the disturbing monologues about
schoolgirls wriggling on the high stools in science class. Direction
abruptly changes on "Tear the world down" which is teasmade techno: lo
on both fi and sophistication but refreshing for it while closer, "The
west" uses tear-jerking strings to lull the listener in and brings Les
Dawson back to a bit of piano to send them packing. A strange record,
but I like it. Kind of.
Zuno Men, I'm going to like you even if you hate me (Co-op) CD
It's skiffle really, played by 30-something men on trampolines for
people who go down the Bull and Gate just to watch the support bands
and rate them on a scale of 3-7 for Fall-similarity (nothing less than
3 is worth getting out of the bedsit for). Inspired by Beefheart and
anyone else with a skew loose, it's awkward pronk and prance, odd
lyrics, lengthy titles and lashings of cynicism ("Stay in with me" is
THE song for New Year's Eve, 1999). Not a million miles away from Gag,
and no surprise given that Gag personnel are involved, albeit on
different instruments. I suppose they'll hate me, but I like it.
16d Fraser Rd, Walthamstow, London, E17 9DD.
Cho'pin, Minkus (Pigdog) CD
"All recordings by Cho'pin except those that obviously aren't"
declares the sleeve in lieu of the usual copyright message, aptly
summarising the Cho'pin approach to toil on the audio mangle, an
instrument on which he/she/it wrings the changes so deftly that the
identity of source material is, erm, immaterial. "Minkus" is spawned
by the same parents as recent releases like Trash Records' "Mr
Million" compilation or Speedranch and Jansky Noise's "Execrate" both
of which decontextualise, deconstruct, defile and den defibrillate to
spark some life into the old musical dog. Think drum'n'bass despoiled
with lashings of overload and a dash of DHR noise, ECG blips and
crazy-ass nonsensical beatings. Then turn up to 11. Tremendous. 13
Parkgate Drive, Greatmoor, Cheshire, SK2 7DL arlo@freeuk.com www.vi21.freeserve.co.uk/pigdog
Robot, Super dynamic sound system (Pigdog) CD
From the same stable (sty? kennel?), Robot retain some semblance of
song and live instruments but no semblance whatsoever of sanity or
sequence, a combination which results in "Martian Eskimo," a squiggle
of squiggles, drum loops with timing deficiencies, weird samples and
amateur tape- manipulation scratchiness or "Hey hey" where learner
synth cuddles up to stumbling beats to form the background onto which
a juvenile Mark E Smith slaps gleefuls "HEY!"s through a Tandy
microphone. "Boo!" is the sound of R2D2 tuning, or maybe skinning, up
and "Space chant medley (Sun Ra)" is cosmic only in a fractured
hip-hop-at-the-end-of-the-universe kind of way. Also tremendous.
Speedranch and Jansky Noise, Advanced configuration power interface (ACPI) CD
Recorded at the Scala in March 99, "ACPI" is 30 minutes of SR and JN
putting their noise to the grindstone, live. Imagine testing a jet
engine in your bedroom while your dad takes a chainsaw to the rest of
the house and your little brother invites the hard kids from school
round to do dangerous things to cats. The filtered barrage is not
constant and, presumably as whatever instruments really make this
racket interact, occasional regularities emerge, rise to the surface,
pulse for a few seconds and then disperse, reabsorbed by the
aperiodicity and undulating hum/buzz. I find it strangely relaxing
through headphones and actually fell asleep while writing the
review...not something I would think you could say had you been at the
event.
Along with the gig the 30-odd samples on the CD are intended to be
manipulated by the "AudioMulch" software on the accompanying floppy
disc into your very own noise collage. Add to this the inclusion of
copious consumer detritus---unique to each disc---and you have what,
in the trade, we term a deal.www.listen.to/acpi
Electrelane, Film music (Indenial) 7"
What we're calling a Ronseal Record---it does exactly what it says on
the tin. Think stylishly-shot 60s spy fiction with organ heavy
soundtracks and you'll be in the right area. Heavier than the likes of
L'Augmentation, and less jolly too, we're talking "Funeral in Berlin"
territory.
22 Metre Band, Music for radio (AFD) CD
Punning band names (this one's a shortwave radio thing) are the bane
of a reviewer's life. It's hard not to form detrimental preconceptions
when you see one although 22 Metre Band isn't that bad considering I'm
expecting a tape from Spag Bollox to arrive any day now. The music
consists of modishly strange tunes interspersed with vaguely
intellectual experimentals (the resurrection of Frippertronic
tape/guitar effects, for example). "Americans in Europe" claims to be
the first track (...EVER!) to teach Greek as it plays and sounds like
a jazzy adjunct to the Art of Noise's "Close to the edit" suite and
"Central line" is a Fridge-like breakbeat monosurf. "Dynotron"
consists of bits of old jazz records and rippling synths with
percussion courtesy of Steptoe and Son's old wagon being pulled along
an unmetalled track by a charging bull. Around these rigid pillars
winds a menagerie of tape manipulations and radio snippets, tunes,
not-tunes and a track constructed from samples of the London
Underground (perversely not "Central line"). F3, 52 Fosse
Road South, Leics LE3 0QD www.oocities.org/SunsetStrip/Palladi
um/1752 nb@nme.com
Dopplereffect, Gesamtkunstwerk (International Deejay Gigolo) LP
It was something of a revelation when I discovered, ahem, a few years
ago, that someone other than Jimmy Saville and Dave Lee Travis could
be picked up on the radio in the kitchen. Once Janice Long and John
Peel had been discovered, a radio in my bedroom had them soundtracking
homework and falling asleep respectively. I picked up a few bands from
Janice Long but Peel was where it was really at for me. The strange
thing was that, at the time, he only seemed to possess three records:
the one that sounded like the Fall recorded too fast; the dub one; and
the one that sounded like this record by Dopplereffekt. Constructed
from trace elements of Kraftwerk and the NY electro that followed,
it's anonymous, primitive, minimalistic, perfectly-crafted, clinical,
Plastikman nostalgia, occasionally humorous in a fetchingly-stern way,
soft, strong and very long. Cold on the surface, yes, but so skilfully
programmed that the warmth of the machine in operation breaks through
and embraces.
Sand, Beautiful people are evil (Satellite) LP
As a theory it's flawed---a contradiction requires only a single
counterexample and here I am---but as a double album it's without
blemish, other than those purposely crafted, that is. At times like a
heavy air-raid, at others like a heavy Muslimgauze, a dub/jazz
bassline battle, post-rock-ish cyclicity, urgent Bullitt funk and a
touch of fragmented breakbeat. It's all tied down by fluid double-bass
and an inspired edge which might not make for easy listening but makes
taking the record off difficult.
Various, Barrio nuevo (Soul Jazz) LP
Ricky Martin might be living the crazy life but if he's your first and
only source of Latino spirit then it's you that's
loca. Luckily, Soul Jazz are on on hand with a timely
compilation that throws down 13 thick chunks of Latin funk, rock,
disco and soul, showing the breadth of cross- fertilisation that was
coming out of the Hispanic enclaves---the Barrios---of the major US
cities in the 1970s.
Bobby Rodriguez offers straight salsa in the vein of the more famous
"Mas que nada" (which might not, of course, be salsa);
Mandrill---along with War and Labelle, the most well-known artist on
the record---do the "Fat city strut" with seasoned Starsky and Hutch
swagger and a strangely psychedelic vocal break. Chakachas combine
tight Chic guitar with a clip-clop lope and brass on "Jungle fever"
and Jimmy Sabater's "Yroco" is a street jam bursting at the seams with
afro funk and sassy swing. "War is coming! War is coming!" sing War
with the power of James Brown, a hint of disco and the messianic
groove of Parliament, showing a band that had recovered from having
Eric Burdon (of the Animals) as a member in the early 1970s and the
Kongas' "Anikana O" is a lengthy early disco revision of a conga
symphony.
"Barrio nuevo" does not claim to be anything other than a selection of
cuts in which there's a distinct Latino element whether from emigrants
fusing their South American culture with those around them in North
America or an influence in the other direction. And in that it
succeeds.
Meme, Kinematic (Loca) 12"
In which pitched-down jungle thunders over cocktail glockenspiel and
the odd sample invites you to keep playing the record until you
understand it. A meme, if I remember right, is a theoretical
item of collective memory, passed between minds in a manner analagous
to the way that germs pass between bodies. Quite what "Kinematic" is
trying to tell us is anyone's guess but, given the graceful clamour of
the sound it makes while it does, I don't much care. www.audiophile.com/loca
Various, Modern music for motorcycles (Twisted Nerve) 10"
Also comes on a tape in one of those chunky boxes that computer games
were packaged in back when 16k was more memory than you could imagine
and rubber keyboards were the height of playground chic. Unless you
owned a Commodore 64, of course. Twisted Nerve were probably the kids
who had a Dragon 32; in on the thing and with arguably superior
equipment, but relegated to the fringes and destined to fall further
as the latest games failed to materialise on their machine.
The outsider mentality persists to this day and manifests itself in
these 7 tracks which tease strands of elsewhere from what would, in
other hands, be just there. Dakota Oak we already know; new
signings Alfie make chewed-bubblegum 60s pop; Sironical and label-man
Andy Votel's "Cock diesel" is tick-tock techno trapped in a tin box;
Mom and Dad sound like a glam FGTH recorded over a Barbie transistor
radio and Badly Drawn Boy turns up at the end for a wonky blues romp.
DJ Paedofile, The kids are alright (Trash) 12"
Following a fleeting appearance on the "Where the fuck is Mr Million?"
compilation, DJ Paedofile emerges once more, blinking, into the
daylight to deliver an ep's worth of disconnected thrum'n'waste which
fit well into the Trash aesthetic. It's a 9-track tantrum, a waspish
reflection of half-understood adult concepts in the form of a
regurgitation of half-digested adult media. Film dialogue and news
broadcasts are sampled and rendered context-less in the swirling
machinistic gyrations constructed from off beats and pieces. It
stutters and tilts and self-defeatingly aborts anything that seems to
be getting a bit of a groove on, replacing it with an icy blast of
white noise and shooting off in another direction. Music for the
disaffected (M)TV generation. www.trashrecs.com
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