missive 125
16-07-2007
Singled Out
Missive 125

For Kelly and Mark

Singled Out - put the f**king on the record.

Delayed as usual and not without good reason - we decided after our faux pas with the Vichy Government single to retire from this writy type thing - okay stop cheering at the back. Several days abstaining from records and well maybe, just maybe we were getting a little long in the tooth and frankly we needed to grow up - and fast. But then one evening - feeling bored and looking for something to do we spied in the CD pile a copy of the Crimea album. Okay we thinks - give it a spin - haven’t heard it - might be useful background music. Damn - two tracks in - and we’d given up whatever piece of crap we were doing in order to fill in the gaps between leaving work today and arriving back there in the morning. Then of course there was the very excellent Serafina Steer debut - ‘peach heart’ the single culled from that full length you should find nuzzled towards the end of these scribbled bits.

And while we are talking albums can we also highly recommend the rather bonkers debut full length from Safety Word mainly for the fact that every discerning record collection should own one and secondly - and more importantly - its been driving us f**king nuts being that its so off the wall you could hate it with a passion- oh yeah and I’m certain I’ve seen somewhere that Static Caravan are casting a puzzled eye over them - I could be wrong but I’m not. All I need do now is to wait for the email from Geoff Static correcting me in no uncertain terms. Think Talking heads stricken by a serious bout of amnesia and tone deafness having to learn how to play their instruments all over again - frankly doesn’t even cover it by half.

Okay we open this particular missive with a heads up type link thing for a young London based trio which we suggest you cut a rather smart dash to pronto -

www.myspace.com/wearelarsenb - with an debut EP just out in the shops - the band have promised us a copy - so we won’t bother getting wordy about this until then other than just to say - think they’ve got themselves a future single of the missive in the making.

Windmill ‘Fit’ (Melodic). One of those rare occasions when the description sublime somehow fails to convey the true worth of its subject matter. Windmill is better known to family and friends alike as Newport Pagnell based musician Matthew Thomas Dillon. First appearing on our radar via that limited red vinyl debut ’Racing’ (which incidentally features in all its glory here) via those dudes at Static Caravan (see missive 100), Dillon has since signed on the dotted line for the equally tasty Mancunian imprint Melodic to date releasing the very excellent ’Puddle City Racing Lights’ full length. Culled from that album is ’Fit’ (here packaged up with the edit, the full and video version of the track) is a beautifully bruised low lit gem of a release comprising of a gently cantering heart sapping piano coda that’s divinely teased, torn and tenderly caressed by the sweetly dabbled concerto of withering strings and bracing brass arrangements. Liable to have you swinging from the rafters in sheens of overpowering euphoria or on your knees clutching rosary beads in one hand praying from the depths of despair with a bottle of Kentucky’s finest firewater in the other sobbing uncontrollably - a true rollercoaster of emotion done with calculated precision and a sense of a numbing unerring majesty all the time Mr Dillon sounding like Daniel Johnston fronting a supercharged ballad becoming Animal Collective - gracefully, glorious and grandiose. ’Racing’ - all the months down the line still sounds like the dogs what sits - crooked soft psyche equipped with a fuzzy florescent pop application almost seemingly whipped from under the nose of a certain Aerial Pink. www.melodic.co.uk

Guile ’Rock ’n’ Roll’ (self released). Really is the dogs bollocks this and something worthy of filing alongside those all important People’s Revolutionary Choir and the Shallow Call releases (the latter of whom seem to have gone strangely quiet in recent times). Guile previously appeared in these very pages way back at missive 100 with their stupendous ‘Yesterday’s Karma’ - the favoured b-side cut of their ‘Serendipity’ single for Salvation. This time around their half way through an extensive UK tour having spent the preceding months holed up in the studio with producer Gavin Monaghan (Cure, Jesus and Mary Chain, Wlldhearts, Miss Black America etc….) honing and expanding their repertoire of sound the first fruits of which can be heard on this killer four track EP. A glorious collection of swirling redemption blues is what you get for your money that veers sumptuously between dusty preacher man styled garage psychedelia and grove laden space blues. ’Rock ’n’ Roll’ opens the set which it has to be said proves to be the weakest cut here, still for all that they still provide more than a hint of class as to suggest that when they need to shake some action these dudes can deliver in spades blindfolded with their hands tied behind their back - think 13th Floor Elevators cutting a neat dash with Jesus and Marty Chain. Frankly trying to pick the bones out of the other three remaining tracks to decide which is the best cut is akin to being nailed to a wall and forced to decide which limb you’d like lopped off though forced to choose - ’I walk alone’ provides the centrepiece to the set. A certified brooding mother of a cut that loiters with intent at the fabled dust ridden cross roads that succumbed Robert Johnson packing several parts fuck you swagger hoodwinked from the Brian Jonestown Massacre whilst clutching a mojo bag brimming with the magical essences coursing through the blues many varying guises and evolutionary styles that circles with deathly foreboding intent everything from Johnny Cash to the Spacemen 3. A storm warring rumble blessed with a bone rattling widescreen presence that dips between Leone’s ’the good the bad and the ugly’ and Cox’s ’Straight to Hell’ and a skulking side winding riff that sounds like it was birthed by a union of Will Bunnymen and a sedated Dick Dale - file under gritty, dark, unbowed and magnificent and existing outside any normal notion of cool. Similarly cut from the same cloth ’Love around here’ is a stinging bruiser buckled with a crushing doom passion laden throb, raw and cut to the bone this honey scalds with its scarred simmering intensity. Slyly remaining in the shadows the acoustic ’140 hurts’ rounds up the pack, a withering display of scratched porch rocking rustic delta blues that pays homage to John Fahey and yet strangely taps into the same wavelength as to be found on the more quieter and introspective moments of U2’s ’Joshua Tree’ - very classy indeed. www.guilemusic.com

The Shaker Heights ‘Magna Doors’ (Matchbox Recordings). Damn good this from Oxford based quartet the Shaker Heights who on the evidence of this mighty twin set we suspect you‘ll be hearing more of in the coming months not withstanding the arrival of a debut full length in the shape of ’Magna Doors’ shortly. Culled from that aforementioned debut title cut ’Magna Doors’ provides for a stirring spectacle of heart pounding tempestuous storm orchestrating epic pop Opens with a subtle piano coda borrowed from Neil Diamond’s ’Forever in Blue Jeans’ as though softly bled through and charmed with trickles of soft kaleidoscopic psyche jangles and soon unfurls to rampage in a torrent of chugging guitars and sinew snapping tension picking up to a driving pace not a million miles in terms of stature and breathless blood racing velocity as Deacon Blue’s ‘Real gone kid’ though here sublimely threaded throughout with Will Bunnymen-esque like stratospheric cloud piercing search light riffs that a key moments dissipate into an arresting array of dreamily choreographed chiming hazes. That said and for all its sheer force of will and crushing dynamics our favoured cut is to be found over on the flip. ‘Pigment in the rally’ is sumptuously braided with an armoury of subtle hooks that gently wind you in all decorated by a bracing array of lush widescreen key backdrops and a superb backline of arrestingly arid western styled scores, vocals that sound like a latter career Tom Robinson fronting a collaborative tour de force that takes the anthemic sheen and ear for easily digestible toe tapping tunes of James and decodes it with the unerring knack for class and sophistication of Prefab Sprout - in short joint single of the missive. www.matchboxrecordings.co.uk

International Trust ‘Talk of the Town’ (Redlace). Ridiculously catchy to the point where we’re very much surprised that this cutie doesn’t come pre-packed with a course of jabs. International Trust hail from Leeds and this fun filled quartet of boot shaking beauties is the follow up to their much acclaimed ‘Bruce Lee’ debut from earlier in the year - which to much grumbling we missed - damn. Shoehorning more hooks into one disc than most bands can muster in a career and serving up more bracing chest beating terrace styled anthems than the assembled throng of the entire opening season programme of a Premiership match day attendance - International Trust it seems have an inescapable of knack of serving up slabs of inspired cock sure slamming three chord spiky punk pop classics in the making at will. Both the opening cut ’talk of the town’ and ‘Disneyland’ come replete with handclaps and the spirit of punks second wave oi crew - blessed with a front man whose vocal sounds suspiciously like Leatherface’s Frankie Stubbs and serving up crunching shards of at pace brittle pop, International Trust come across like Stiff Little Fingers squaring up to Snuff and opting to take the ridiculously memorable and drilled hook happy direction as was once the want of Dodgy though obviously here pre-packed and laced up with lashings of snotty nosed pogo-tastic fun for all the family. Best of the set though ’I can’t believe you fell in love (with a bastard like me)’ is your Baby Bird fronting Carter USM and decorated with sheens of bleakly icy key sweeps and a finger walking the frets funky bass underpin while the spiteful rabble rousing ’Show me the money’ wraps up the set and has you considering what if the Rutles crew instead of honing in on the Beatles for their satire had hooked upon the Pistols et al. All said and done a corking single. www.myspace.com/internationaltrust

The Vichy Government / Gay Against You ‘Split’ (Filthy Little Angels). More must have aural accoutrements for the hi-fi from those impish souls who know a thing or two about spanking tunes - Filthy Little Angels. This double headed nugget is part of their celebrated singles club series which you may remember we slightly touched on a few weeks back when we fell cock-a-hoop for that rather spiffing Shi-Sho / Hyperbubble split (the former who - we must admit we slightly cocked up in the information department last time out when we said their next outings - a cover of New Orders ‘True Faith’ on a Filthy Little Angels compilation entitled Nineteen Eighty Seven and not as previously billed on a comp via 1987 - man we is losing the plot). Anyhow back to the straight and narrow - latest split release on the super duper singles club roster comes courtesy of the Vichy Government and Gay Against You. This time pressed on 7 inches of lime green wax - the Vichy Government are the type of band that we here in the singled out bunker of joy feel are ready made and equipped with all the loveable elements to be our very own house band. Quirky agit pop with its tongue firmly lodged in its cheek, duo Andrew and Jamie craft deeply unsettling kindergarten fashioned bent out of shape and buckled fairground montages decorated with vocals that sound like they were fathered by a pairing of Ivor Cutler and John Gordon Sinclair doing sarcastic finger pointing Arab Strap routines.- ‘the blues will just have to wait’ is a barbed but affectionate slice of fuzzy candy pop draped in the mundanity of everyday life which frankly I blame the Pop Group for - not the mundanity of life but the Vichy Government’s warped melodic slant. ‘Heart shaped box’ equipped with their own imitable sardonic affair - this cutie is a darkly dipped whole heap of twisted mischief that oozes ‘fuck you’ sarcasm and put downs by the shed load that are all gathered up and bundled precariously upon a see-sawing child like Fisher Price like toy electronic backdrop - can you resist - be honest. Flip over for four tasty morsels from the rather infectious sounding Gay Against You who incidentally will feature again in these pages being that they appear on a rather smart split EP with Lonely Ghosts, the Tumbledown Estate and Munch Munch via OIB. Four tracks here that are best described as dippy, demented, bonkers beat driven noise-core - the retarded half cousins of Zea and Atari Teenage Riot - Gay Against You are duo Joe and Lachlann who prefer to be known as Germlin and Yoko Oh No (don’t ask me) and concoct in their spare time frenzied slabs of skewiff and wonky acerbic sounding power punk-oid pop - sort of Supergrass designed by Mattel if you like and delivered in the blink of a eye. ‘Princess Diana Walkman’ is particularly worrying and may well evoke I older listeners memories of 70 Gwen Party (whatever happened to them) while ‘Gold Unicorn’ sounds suspiciously like OMD’s ‘Genetic Engineering’ being given a bloody good kicking. All said and doe though its the inflammable agit core of the skewed ‘P Panda’ which gets our overall nod of approval - toy town torture with some tasty mid 70’s Queen -esque pomp thrown in for good measure - or should that be accident though overall to these ears sounding not unlike Sparks under going severe shock treatment. www.filthylitleangels.com

Various ‘split’ (OIB). And sticking with Gay Against You (see previously) - see we can do links as good as anyone else - pah - piece of piss. They feature on this superb 4 way split debut release for the small and wonderfully formed fledging OIB imprint alongside Lonely Ghosts, Munch Munch and the Tumbledown Estate. Pressed on seven inches of hot wired vinyl this release is the first of a planned series of splits drawing together a feast of ensembles some known, some not so known and some so unknown that friends, family and the taxman alike are unaware as to their existence. This particular release culls together four acts joined at various pints to the hip by their love of noise core of the Zea and Atari Teenage Riot type. The Tumbledown Estate open proceedings - not so much a band as such but a one man melody munching mischief maker by the name of Jim Morrison (cue momentary pause while you all start nudging each other with a impish wink wink whistling aloud ’Riders on the Storm’). ’Voodoo Wave’ is an unstoppably rampant buzz-sawing surf-tastic meets dragster candy pop mental as hell beauty that has you imagining what if the Jesus and Mary Chain as youngsters had discovered wedged down the back of the sofa in their Scottish living rooms vinyl nuggets by the Raspberries and the Stooges as opposed to the Velvets and the Beach Boys . This sugar coated west coast inspired babe plugs into the whole into the whole mid 80’s jangling guitars Creation scene to much aplomb - well tasty in our book. Next up duo Munch Munch who apparently initially set into action aspiring to be - in their words - an adult Lighthouse Family covers band - which sounds mightily smart to us. The excellently titled ’I see sexy dead people’ hiccups, stutters and races in a glorious haze of dumb-fuck discordance as though Blur had had their minds wiped and on forgetting how to play had been given a shed load of schizoid art pop records with which to fast track their new found sound - a bonkers brigade of warped keys held together by gaffa tape, unruly glockenspiels and a crafty punk like idealism for abandoning any notion of melodic structures - cutely caustic and well worth buggering up your hi-fi for. Gay Against You serve up ’wall wizards part 2’ (don’t ask me) - kaleidoscopic lunacy spiked with hallucinogens and crafted with a neat line in screwball splintered oddness to which the description avant garde / art pop frankly massively understates - very much possessing the mindset of the Animal Collective as though heavily immersed and influenced by the ‘SF Sorrow’ era Pretty Things - wilfully deranged and frazzled especially on the opening sequences where to these ears we swear we heard traces of the Beach Boys classic sound being disfigured in a way we thought was nigh on illegal as its dragged backwards through a blender - think an album worth of gear is a positive must. Rounding up the split set on this occasion Lonely Ghosts who unbeknownst to me previously is Help She Can’t Swim’s Tom Denney (you learn something everyday). ’Predictions’ is a walloping slice of edgily cast brittle candy pop which if we didn’t known better we’d have sworn was some heavenly collaboration between the Pooh Sticks and Teen Anthems with Carter USM overseeing mixing desk duties - blending shy eyed summer glazed acoustics with a slamming back line of no nonsense drilled to the decks frenzied keys this caustic cutie comes blessed with a chorus hook that literally brands itself on your psyche. More please. www.oibrecordsa.com

The Telescopes ‘Psychic Viewfinder’ (Trensmat). From the same label that brought us that stonking Mugstar 7 inch, past near forgotten legends the Telescopes return to the fray with another slice of squall laden sonic heraldry and head tripping bliss out interference from the ether. This cute and utterly limited package (we are led to believe there’s only a 100 of these babies around) which incidentally features a 7 inch slab of clear lathe cut vinyl housed in a superb looking wraparound sleeve and a CD of the same handy for those who foolishly pitched your turntables a few years back (you non believers) comprises of two sonic suites and (on the CD) an exclusive video of the band shot during an live appearance at Cork last summer. Those who found the ensembles last outing - the superb ‘Night Terrors’ set a little - shall we say - on the edge of insanity and happily peering into the deep may well look upon this slice of grating mind melting pyrotechnics a little out and beyond the normal map annotations of pop’s safer cosmos and to the extreme edges of the aural spectrum. ’Psychic Viewfinder’ is a full on 10 minute head drilling collage of droning feedback split into two suites no doubt deliberately done so for fear of your mind turning to mush. This detached and unsettling display is abstractly conceived, an impenetrable (musique) concrete wall of oscillating feedback shrieks and fractured manipulations that finds Telescopers Stephen and Bridget formulating a sinister and unnerving hypnotic groove that instantly recalls some of the more acutely extreme textures applied by Dreams of Tall Buildings as though found rummaging amid the unhinged psyche of Sonic Boom’s early career EAR outings being overseen and tweaked by Merzbow. Disturbed, eerie, esoteric and wilfully un-playful it may be, ’Psychic Viewfinder’ does at times sounds like magnified slabs of unearthly binary transmissions from the far reaches of the cosmos or then again music for hiding behind the sofa routines though if you ask us we’d say it’s a playground full of rusty swings in serious need of oiling ominously swaying in the death grip of the bleak night air - thoroughly recommended if only to scare the bejeezus out of the neighbours. Somehow I think they are playing with us. www.iolfree.ie

Isnaj dui ‘amacrine’ (smallfish). More worth putting the effort in to nailing them type gems from those rather fine bastions of all things electronica Smallfish - two more releases this time of asking - first up - cv 313 who feature about these pages somewhere and this delightful three track bouquet from isnaj dui. As usual the information is thin on the ground but we assume that isnaj dui and Katie English are in fact one and the same. Two releases to date (both of which gratingly - we’ve managed to miss) via here own f-box imprint (also home to Signals and Joseph K - no not that Joseph K who were incidentally spelt Josef - no this lot are by all accounts described as electro noise-niks - I dare say they will at some stage cross paths with our eager hi-fi). Anyhow Ms English also has a second full length due for release any day now entitled ’patterns in rocks’ for now this dinky little honey. As with previous Smallfish goodies this cutie comes pressed on a 3 inch CD - now doubt ridiculously limited and long sold out - if not why not is what we want to know. Incorporating a wealth of processed sound mediums English crafts a delightful though disturbingly gorgeous montage of impeccably sculptured dream like textures, the opener ’gently severed’ is particularly touched as such developed via - what sounds like flurries of treated bowed glasses (a la Angus MacLaurin’s ’Glass music’ for Bubble core a few years back) that are delicately decorated with finite braids of gently oscillating electronic swathes. Equally unsettling and hypnotically tranquil it is as though Hitchcock had employed the Radiophonic Workshop and Barry Gray (with his end credits ‘UFO’ mindset) to score one of his trademark suspense thrillers with a basic remit of it being set in space. The 8 minute ‘five years’ is all at once bracing, brooding and beautiful - not a million miles from Static Caravan’s Manuel - it provides for a cavernous ice tipped wide screen symphony - frail, detached, elegantly bleak and fractured and punctuated by teasing stutters and hiccups as though scratched - to be filed under treasonable. Last up ‘lieunb’ which sadly played once on our system and then refused to play ball -the blighter - however we were sneaky enough to pay attention and take brief notes while it lasted - a kind of Nordic daybreak celebration filtered via classically trod gaellic folk accents - speckled delightfully with sweetly breezy flutes that caress longingly pining in stratospheric formations - quite arresting if you ask me. www.smallfish.co.uk

Codex Machine ‘Man Vs. Monkey’ (Womb). Darn it - we really do lurve this record aside the fact that its thick spongey floor throbbing beats have near pureed our bones to mush its also had us proving that our feet really can shift and cut a cute shape even after we’ve nailed them to the ground. This beastly honey is gonna rip the backside of the coolest club floors in the coming weeks. Codex Machine are a trio of dj’s, producers and musicians - Ms Codex, Dellamorte and Speeding (one suspects not the names they were born with) who have hit upon the novel notion that the music they’ve been playing is crap and fancy a bit of the action themselves (hopefully Chris Moyles isn’t reading this - only joking - or am I?). We suggest cranking up the hi-fi controls for maximum throw wide open your windows with this and duly await the stampede of footsteps to your door from neighbours and passers by enquiring who it is, how do they get it and where from (we‘ve already had five callers - the noise environmental people - twice, an irate neighbour wanting to know why we‘d stop playing the Telescopes record, the local pop quiz team and a wandering Mormon who cried), a certifiable surprise summer hit if certain jocks manage to playlist it that is. ’Man Vs. Monkey’ is a skanking sampladelic sledgehammer, juicy grooves, floor splintering beats (damn we’ve already mentioned that bit - hey ho if it’s worth mentioning once etc…etc….), dub accents, down tempo chic and a whole sorte of reggae samples - think Gorillaz meets Wagon Christ on a Happy Mondays head trip - and all sumptuously wrapped with Toots and the Maytals classic from yesteryear ’Monkey Man’ being superbly driven through its paces - can you honestly ask for more. Strange really because if the answers no - then there’s three more cute cuts to come. Those fond of the immortal b/w comedy ‘School for Scoundrels’ may well be slightly amused by the faux 60’s styled BBC announcer meets meet Dunstan and Dudley spoken word samples on the min warping ’Controlled Relaxation’. Employing 70’s styled public information edits and underpinning it with a throbbing house styled array of electronica the type much loved at one time by both the Shamen and Yello - the tenacious trio carve out to sculpture a wig flipping head peeling noodler of some measure. ’S.P.Y.’ - don’t ask us what samples are used here - we still get shivers for cocking up on the - shall we settle for calling it - the Vichy Government / Nirvana incident. Weaving exotic textures that blend brass led funereal arrangements, tripping reggae nuances and dub workouts while having the brass balls to playfully include samples of the famous Marr strum from ’Heaven knows I’m miserable now’ - this irresistible babe is welded fast to a sumptuous down tempo hybrid that to these ears had us recalling that rather immense ‘Mysterious Pony’ set by Emperor Penguin from a few years back. ‘You can never escape the underground’ brings up the rear - a certifiable hip swerving booty shaking mama bitten by the groove bug - think Yello (again) gone Middle Eastern. Did we mention its like very essential? www.wombrecords.com

The Fiction ’EP’ (Self released). Don’t ask me why I make the tenuous connection but with a name like the Fiction we half expected this East London combo to have a touch of the Cure about them. How wrong we were though that said - maybe not so far off the mark as it appears given that the EP’s parting cut - the back to basics ‘78 again pogoing three chord rouser ’Don’t look in the Camera’ does nod generously in the general direction of Small Wonder era Smith and Co in their embryonic pre goth and pan stick guise - made all the more attractive by the fact that they sound like they’ve been tangling with a spiky and youthful Blur. That said this rather tasty 4 track EP shows more than a hint of one or two of the band members taking sneaky peaks at an older relatives record collection and making copious notes - aside the C-86 styled nods to the ’shambling’ bands of the era - Stump and Bogshed (which in our books is always a good thing) these little rascals plug in for some well heeled slices of ’Fiery Jack’ era Fall albeit swept of its swathes of caustic edge - non more so is this the telling case than on the opening ‘underground song‘ with its see sawing new wave spartan noodling and head wiring riffmanship. The Fiction cut up a fine line in neat toe tapping skeletal punk skiffle induced tuneage - we ain’t even going to tar them with the LDN brush - they deserve better, the mooching and insidiously catchy ‘Thames Beat’ in particular - perhaps the sets highlight - is blessed with snaking reggae fixated skank like rhythms that to these ears immediately recall to mind the much missed Parkinsons - while those with longer memories may well admire it for its ’Nowhere Fast’ era Chron Gen motifs. The darker toned ’Out is no place to be tonight’ is your austere jangles, post punk formations, poke you in the eye, snappy brief to the point and gritty no nonsense pogo type sort of thing that may well have you imagining the speeding blood rushing pop mentality of early career Buzzcocks being scratched, scarred and hollowed by the Gang of 4 - neat I think you’ll agree and certainly worth keeping an out eye for.. www.myspace.com/thefictionlondon

Larsen B ‘the treasured memories of cecil element’ (self released). Stupidly gorgeous and well worth dropping literally everything - (within reason of course) - and searching out right this minute. Quite frankly pop doesn’t get any cuter than this. Six slices of homely honey tipped gems (well five and one parting outro type interlude) are to be found snuggled up on this delightfully serene debut release which in our humble opinion would find a rather welcoming home amid Fortuna Pop’s stable of sophisticated sounds. Larsen B hail from London town - number in three and have an unnerving knack at crafting crackly pop that numbs to the core with its softly centred shy eyed beauty. Those of you who fondly take notes of such things - Larsen B is an Antarctic ice shelf that partially collapsed in 2002 while Cecil Element - the character referred to in the EP title was a childhood friend of the band and rector of the local whose tombstone bears the inscription ‘the treasured memories of Cecil Element’ - how do I know these things - well because it says so in the press release written by the band themselves and who are we to doubt the words of bands unless of course your name is Phil Collins but that’s an altogether different story which we’ll save for a very rainy day. Back to Larsen B - did we forget to tell you that aside the sounds of harmonicas, whistling, coughing, Theremins and the sounds of cigarettes being lit on records we’ve grown quite fond over the years for a spot of well turned in banjo If like me your equally minded as such then this release will sound like some heavenly answer to your wildest aural dreams being as it swathed in beguiling banjos. The set opens to the sound of the lazy eyed ‘red Indians and witches’ - scored with glazes of tenderly cultured albeit haunting stratospheric sheens of pining feedback echoes - themselves casting upon the overall setting an eerie part softly discordant edge - this honey is lovingly bathed and braided to the sounds of idle some rustic banjos themselves crafting a loosely inebriated off kilter texture to the proceedings that serves to instil upon you a warm fuzzy glow on your insides. The teasing ‘Atlantis’ is similarly touched, a gorgeously lolloping porch set gem replete with homely harmonies and a vintage thought forgotten song craft that endears, enchants and elopes with your heart strings. ‘Wonderland’ sounds like it was recorded in another age, an era of innocence perhaps, beguiling and exquisite it comes across like a seriously spectral and chilled out variation of the Earlies as though they’ve set up their base camp near Bonanza’s Ponderosa Ranch. Best of the set in our opinion ‘old rope’ which for want of a better description is Aztec Camera’s ‘Somewhere in my heart’ taken on a West Coast vacation to be warmed beneath honey tipped sky lines and tousled and teased into a sublimely elegant feast of drifting bitter sweet bubblegum pop by the Beach Boys. The Beach Boys reference points stretch their way into the utterly refined and defences down ‘pollen’ - intimate and sparsely textured this introspective hurter with its supporting cast of delicately flickering acoustics superbly updates Wilson’s ‘In my room’ which leaves the dinky ‘pirouette’ to close proceedings sounding just like it says on the tin. Joint single of the missive. www.myspace.com/wearelarsenb

Reasonable Doubt ‘Built to Resist’ (Casket). Absolutely stunning - be warned though this demonic babe takes no prisoners, vicious, baiting and ravaged the Kent based five piece excel at culturing hugely thunderous slabs of unrelenting torrential might that to experience first hand is to witness the apocalypse unfolding on your hi-fi. ’Built to Resist’ their debut release featuring five unforgiving beasts of fierce some heavy bearing metal grind core. Fusing Iron Maiden styled riffs with Carcass / Slayer-esque ferocity and welded from the front by a vocal that veers between demented and demonic the like of which rarely heard here since the halcyon days of Napalm Death and Extreme Noise Terror. With one keen ear on melody the other on mayhem Reasonable Doubt are part of a long line of bands who’ve re-invented the UK metal scene (Mendeed et al) and bloodied its ambition by threading itself with all the various sub genres hat have arisen in the last twenty years and in so doing casting aside the stereotypical image of spandex and v-shaped guitars. The searing aggression upon which Reasonable Doubt pitch their titanic tent is unrelenting even on ’Deadman’s switch’ almost their love paean for a doomed love if you like ends up being scarred in the inferno ultimately sounding more of a threat than an angst ridden plea. ’Ground level’ the opening attack line is thick with an impenetrable impending tension and a vice like grinding grip while the charging ’a new hope’ sounds like some unholy crusade led from the fore by Killing Joke. ’Before the end of time’ provides the set with its slowy - of course we joke - it is instead a heaving sinew snapping full throttle slow / quick, loud / louder frenzied mother while forced up against the wall and told to choose the best moment of the set we’d throw our hand in with the parting ’Gone’ - a ferocious mutation of all the four previous cuts into a caustic primordial soup that aside having you rightly coming to the conclusion that vocalist Tynman has serious unresolved issues while putting hairs where hairs shouldn’t exist will have you cowering in the corner expecting hell to erupt in your listening space any time soon. Frankly awesome. www.rdmetal.co.uk

Beyond all Reason ‘love crossed pistols’ Ad Altiora). From Reasonable Doubt to Beyond all Reason - neat eh - and just think some people think we just throw these things together and hope for the best - in fact they’re right we do. With an album already tightly tucked beneath their collective studded belts in the shape of ‘words of betrayal’ - four piece Beyond all Reason craft upon pulse racing riffs a polished sheen in MTV loving soft core metal that bulging with refined hooks cultured and sourced from the likes of Iron Maiden and Metallica - obviously aimed at the more mainstream elements of the metal market ‘love crossed pistols’ is drilled with an alluring array of bracing windswept wide screen presence which n turn just might encourage a whole generation of air guitar enthusiasts. ‘is this my last lie’ is in our humble opinion the best of the set a powerhouse of melodically easy on the ear grind pre-packed with needling riffs that at times recall Thin Lizzy in passing. Tagged to the rear of the set an acoustic version of the title track - which finds the band strangely more charged and touching than on the full blown original edit - its hurting beauty rising visibly to scratch the surface - quite sweet if you ask us. www.beyondallreason.com

The Defiled ‘The Defiled’ (self released). No sooner have we safely chained down and filed away the previous release (Reasonable Doubt) then up rears another scaling hot slice of skull splintering mayhem. The Defiled are a London based five piece who’ve been treading the boards of the live circuit these last 12 months sharing stages with the likes of Ted Maul and Dry Kill Logic no doubt terrifying and tantalising paying pundits in equal degrees. They fuse electronics to their armoury - and when I say armoury I mean f*cking armoury for the Defiled’s raging ravaged scapes are a deathly dark and unmercifully bludgeoning experience to behold at first hand - both discordant and demonic they eke a wary sickness the type of which loosely finds its roots in Killing Joke’s ‘Pandemonium’ (see ‘permanent reminder’) though obviously slightly less claustrophobic but equally challenging and threatening. The swamp fest ‘Red Tape’ the opening onslaught is a white hot and scathing bone crunching slab of grind / thrash / industrial metal replete with scatter attack firing line percussive motifs that veers between impenetrable slabs of brooding menace and bearing down hard and fast ferocity. The tormented ’the end of innocence’ the best thing here is your hiding behind the sofa type thing, spliced and splintered by the occasional trip hop glitch electronics this blazing bastard of a cut literally peels the skin straight off you face with its unswerving white knuckle apocalyptic velocity - frankly we need more of this in our life. www.thedefiled.net

Fall Out Boy ‘the take over, the breaks over’ (mercury). Disturbingly catchy and the third cut to be culled from their acclaimed platinum set ‘Infinity on High’. ‘the take over, the breaks over’ may not be as mercurial as their previous outing - the unfeasibly tasty ‘thnks fr th mmrs’ but this babe is braided with a deeply infectious snaking riff that literally mooches its way past your defences and in the process will knock the fence sitters straight off their safe perch, a throbbing underpin much loved and overdone in the mid 80’s by the likes of Mellencamp et al and honed together by a vocals that soars magically through the scales to unravel a sound that’s not so dissimilar to a beefed up Cheap Tricks with aspirations to be a hook heavy fusion of Average White Band meets Hall and Oates - I kid you not. Damn those hardcore types. www.falloutboyrock.com

My Octopus George ‘Rattlesnakes in Plaster casts’ (self released). Admittedly we’ve been a tad smitten by this rather spiffing CD since it stumbled into our life as a result of an exchange of my space messages. Each time we hear it - and we have heard it a few timers now - we keep coming across something that we’ve previously missed with the result of new reference points being adjusted and tinkered for which to keenly describe them. My Octopus George or MOG as they keenly refer to themselves are a London based quartet who across four tracks manage to shoehorn and step across some many generic divides as to have you dizzily delirious. Part punk pop, pub rock, art rock, power pop and soft psyche one thing that is for certain is that they don’t kowtow to the usual idealistic fads and fashions of the bright young things of today. Don’t ask me why - but My Octopus George remind me very much of Blur - without actually sounds like Albarn and Co -put it down to the chemistry of styles they engage with - but there’s definitely something there of the Essex chaps that I can’t put my finger on for certain. That said to describe My Octopus George (great name eh? Very Barrett-esque) is to say they concoct off kilter and off road pop that sets its camp up in a place familiar to pop but rarely visited. ‘Baby’s like a pendulum’ is deliriously skewed and crooked as though a super group formed and conceived from the meeting of mindsets between Dr Feelgood and They Might be Giants that’s been out for the Pretty Things and the Cardiacs to beautifully butcher and equip with a skewiff fringe (just check the full throttle ‘Defecting Grey’ styled end credits) with ‘Outlandos’ era Police courtesy of Stewart Copeland rewiring the resulting collage with a loon personality. Classy beat pop slightly worse for wear from being buckled out of shape. The surreally titled ‘Tyrone - the fat Orang - utan man’ sounds like its stepped from inside the weirdly wonderful set of BBC’s criminally underrated ‘Might Boosh’ studio - think highly charged, disposable throwaway punchy punk pop trundling at pace in the style of the Buzzcocks though spliced with the Modern Lovers. The melodically astute ‘Will it make me new?’ has a curiously smart Squeeze-esque charm about it yet it’s the slow burning ‘the last chance’ which wraps up the set that proves to be the sets sly little nugget - a softly unfurling cutie with looping pastoral flurries - this fractured honey keeps changing perspective and dynamics incorporating towards its close subtle rays of buzz sawing fuzz - you can imagine in time this proving to be a crowd pleasing show stopper of some measure - goes without saying - heartily recommended - deputy single of the missive. www.myspace.com/myoctopusgeorge

Ddd ‘Trojan horse’ (white heat). Third outing for Darryl Woollaston in his ddd guise following a killer brace of ultra limited releases for the one hundred imprint with ‘Knives’ (featured at Missive 103) and ‘Can’t Explain’ (missive 67). Now relocated to the equally cool as f**k White Heat - home of Comanechi (whose debut I seem to recall us featuring in these very pages many moons ago) the wired to the teeth Untitled Music Project (who frankly crap on everything from a great height) and if we’ve heard right soon be fond bedfellows with he rather inspired One Moe Grain (whose debut full length on the well tasty Victory Gardens is hogging rights on the hi-fi of late) - ‘Trojan Horse’ comes adorned on seven inch of heavy duty wax with a stupidly limited pressing of just 500 - so you’ve been warned because this will flee the coup in no time. Equal parts fractured and fried ‘Trojan Horse’ is the bastard love child of an illicit bleak rain drizzled late 70’s night time bunk up between the detached post Pistols Lydon / P.I.L. and the fractured minimalist electro punk of Suicide. Sparse, caustic and austere in texture Trojan Horse’ is a unwavering slice of schizoid dragster drone set to a repetitive mind warping mantra that deceptively mainlines directly into the same noise pop dialect as once preached by ‘Never Understand’ era Jesus and Mary Chain to insidiously hit the point each and every time. Flip the disc for the equally challenging ‘Wall to Wall’ which cloaks itself in thick molasses like sheens of claustrophobia that serve up like a thick primordial soup, unrelenting and skittish this stuttering slab of gnarled and fuzzed grind sounds like vintage Eddy Cochran decoded and dispatched by a serious warped Ministry set to a ravaged and fraught clock worked underpin. Essential of course. www.whiteheatrecords.com

It’s a buffalo ‘Divorce Song’ (akoustik anarchy). A tad late with this cutie mainly for the fact that the blighter went for a walk leaving us just for a change with the press release - typical isn’t it. But hey by way of recompense and due mainly for the fact that when we did nail this gem then up popped through the letter box two more little treats from Manchester’s finest imprint - and hey what the hell we couldn‘t resist. You may remember us raving wildly about this lots debut ‘Broken Toy’ release from a little while back and follow up twin set continues the trait in fine style. it’s a buffalo are four young scamps from Manchester who drive home an unforgivably delirious talent for melodically memorable little nuggets of wistful Californian styled gold, chiming riffs spliced with softly trod countrified accents invested with drifting harmonies and delay reaction hooks that once heard wander off into the recesses at the back of your psyche only to return and happily haunt you hours after you’ve lovingly filed away the record - and did we mention the natty sing-a-long chorus’ and the coalescing snazzy swagger - thought not - well you’ve been told now. ‘Divorce Song’ is a twinkle some thing decorated with dinky bell chimes and sounding not unlike Johnny Marr doing laid back Gram Parsons motifs in a Go Betweens stylee - subtly twisted bitter sweet pop that rumbles gently to the sound of a mid West steam train replete with tasty end credits lyrical interplays that nod ever so slightly in the general direction of the Beatles ’I am the Walrus’. Flip side features ’Somewhere in Range’ - think Lloyd Cole rewired by a barn dancing hoe-downing, pissed as farts on moonshine and optimistically loved up Pavement. Jauntily breezy toe tapping beat pop type ditty - above and beyond that there’s not a lot you can say about it except its damn smart and you should own it - expect a whole albums worth of similar surly starlets in the very near future. www.akoustikanarkhy.co.uk

Neil Burrell ’Ooompa Zoompa’ (Akoustik Anarkhy). Kids - this is the must have hi-fi accessory this summer. Wired, weird and wonderful - Akoustik Anarkhy have done themselves proud - not that they ever lack in that department anyway especially when they keep turning out a back catalogue that features the likes of Soft Priest and Islands Lost at Sea et al. Latest pre season summer signing to the Akoustik Anarkhy all star academy is one Neil Burrell - who according to the press release the Akoustik crew stumbled upon accidentally when they caught him playing a live set in Manchester many moons ago - an event which allegedly they made up the audience in its entirety. Three years of coaxing, chatting, flattering and threatening have finally paid dividends in persuading Mr Burrell to come out from his bedroom bunker with a box full of tunes (an album is slated for November release) the first fruits of which are this rather fine twin set. The duo clock in at a miserly 5 minutes in total - so be warned - blink and its over - but then in this case we aren’t talking Extreme Noise Terror who afforded with the same time line could probably concoct a whole album and even have time to nail down a rousing extended epic centrepiece stretching to - ooh - say 1.15. Warped and weird, eccentrically eerie and oddly enchanting ’Ooompa Zoompa’ is part menacing, magical and mad - one of those rare moments of classically drilled English psychedelic that sounds like its tripped from a David Lynch remake of ’Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’.(yes it takes it’s cue from the keynote Oompa Loompa’s rather catchy work mantra from Dahl’s book / film / screenplay). Lovingly braided with idyllic backdrops of cascade like tumbling rustic threads this crooked gem is all at once absurd, awkward and audacious - adopting a mindset of Lear’s nonsense poems and mirroring the type of fried eccentricity of the likes of Barrett, Stanshall and pre T-Rex fairies and elves obsessed Bolan - Burrell crafts a weird and fried haunting fabric of sound - kind of ‘Teddy Bears Picnic’ I the grounds of an institute for the criminally insane - worryingly good and scatty with it. Flip over for the less surreal but equally wayward and frail ‘Evelyn’. Tenderly bathed with lingering pastoral wraps this cutie imagines Nick Drake’s ‘Bryter Layter’ being remodelled and styled by ‘Gigglegoo’ era Freed Unit - wistfully fanciful in a way that only Barrett and Hitchcock could ever be. A must. www.akoustikanarkhy.co.uk

Autokat ‘Innocence’ (Akoustik Anarkhy). With each passing release Autokat just keep turning it on, shifting perspective and dynamics, culled from their recent debut long player ‘late night shopping’ which we here either missed (improbable) or lost (almost a given certainty judging by the mini mountain ranges of CD’s), ‘Innocence’ sees then turning up the heat on their peers and bearing their teeth. Blessed with a throbbing and pulsating dynamo made up of a honed to perfection locked down and frenetic proto post punk grind and welded fast to a disco decimating underpin, ‘innocence’ is tattooed with a striking snaking riff and tightly wound with a tense heavy load baring swagger that’s enough to crush you to a husk or else have you swooning in the aisles. Over on the flip the previously unreleased and stunningly aloofly majestic ‘Short Circuit’ looms large. Apparently inspired after witnessing first hand an unsettling air rage incident - this honey is equipped with a darkly set edginess that’s strangely cut and carved with a potently statue-esque pop formula the like of which 12 months ago you’d have never imagined from Autokat. Beset with see sawing obliquely austere needling riffs and a crunching underpin that together coalesce sublimely to bear down on you with an unbridled intensified menace while imparting a stalker mentality as though a bollock dropping rewrite of the Police’s ‘Every Breathe you Take’ had been commissioned by an evil ‘Nightmare’ era version of A Flock of Seagulls all set to a shrieking array of stratospheric sky pining riffs at the close which aside given it a Radiohead ‘OK Computer’ texture serve to choreograph superbly the unravelling psychosis within. Frankly the joint single of the missive - anything less would be unthinkable. www.akoustikanarkhy.co.uk

Cv313 ’subtraktive’ (smallfish). As previously with these 3” CD releases from the eclectic Smallfish imprint this nugget is strictly limited to just 100 copies and will believe you me fly off the racks due to clambering demand
if previous releases from the mysterious cv313 are anything to go by - those limited pressings via the Echospace imprint having sold out in an instant - which we must hasten to grumble we missed out on to - darn. ‘Substraktive’ is a 15 minute transcendental odyssey of sorts. Steeped with mid 90’s electro ambient sound-scapes, Subtraktive’ literally terra forms and shape shifts in momentum to assume depth and texture, astral plane-ing signatures or a deeply mesmerising voyage to the recesses of the mind’s eye - you decide, what’s not in dispute is the lunar-esque oceanic soup that this mind melting gem seeks to impart by way of cleverly fused dub techno nuances shipped in directly from Detroit. Also seek out Dpress Industries’ ‘Black Series - Volume 1’ (currently doing the rounds and again on ultra limited press) which features remixes of Blunt by cv313 and soultek. Absolutely essential as though your very kudos rating depended on it. www.smallfish.co.uk

The Electric City ‘Sleeping with the Enemy’ (Distorted Punk). Massive sounding, slick and pre-packed with the kind of breathless swagger that you feel before to long will have their peers oozing with envy. This cutie features three humungous and towering slabs of retro sounding rock pop. Electric City are a quartet who it seems have a penchant for carving out stadium stunners at the drop of a hat, big brutally brazen slabs of fist clenching melodic rock that sizzle with ambition and shimmer with passion laden tension. Fired up from the front by riffs that sound like they’ve been trousered straight from the leathers of Billy Idol’s 6 string talisman Steve Stevens - in fact no more is this better in evidence than on the opening cut ’sleeping with the enemy’ - harnessing the same energy and possessing the same radio rumbling transatlantic dialect as ’Rebel Yell’ this seismic slice of full on proto pop slams in with blood rushing haste, replete with breathless flashes of 80’s styled motifs and a wickedly catchy looping side winding riff. ’Electric City’ - the best thing here is quite frankly the sexiest thing to have taunted our hi-fi since White Rose Movement’s ’Love is a number’ - smoulders, stings and soars in equal measures literally oozing sex as it glides across the turntable, cutting more style and swerve than a Milan fashion house this crunching gem is solidly crafted around a maddening clockwork groove and a deliciously irresistible buzz sawing zig zagging grind. ’Devil in my Head’ brings up the rear guard - racking up the tension several notches into the bargain, this bitter and bruised love ode cuts deep amid a frenzied and ravaged windswept backdrop of jabbing riffs and tormented turbulence. Frankly its quite a scary thought to think they can risk two certifiable killer cuts on the flip side which in all honesty most bands in their peer network would happily shed hind teeth for and throw out as leaders - makes you wonder what they have in their bottom drawer locker. Stunning. www.myspace.com/electriccitymusic

King Kayak ‘Demo’ (Self Released). And I think apologies are long overdue to King Kayak for the lateness in this write up because much to our embarrassment we’ve had this a fair old while - loving it so much that we seriously forgot that the point of receiving it was to review it. Ho hum. To be perfectly frank this is an inspired and invigorating three way slice of effervescent pop of quintessential Mancunian groove. King Kayak are indebted in the main to ‘Plane crash’ era Inspiral Carpets ‘Where have you been?’ is heavily invested and awash with front loaded Hammond’s sourced at the local seaside haunt that serve to decorate all before it in soft psychedelic swirls amid jabbing skinny tied riffs - kooky and alarmingly catchy to the point that I’m surprised that the likes of Akoustik Anarkhy or Art Goes Pop haven’t picked up on it yet because the sounds pervading from the general direction of King Kayak seem well ripe for wide spread exposure - soft 60’s inclinations wrapped delicately in new wave hooks and delivered with a honey dripped driving pop zeal. ‘John’ the best thing here by a lender head count of votes is eye pokingly catchy and stupidly infectious - a rollercoaster of frantically delivered ska underpins, uber cool struts and swirls of caving hammonds that collectively appear to have been supplanted into the mindset of a ’White Coats’ era New Model Army themselves the subjects of a pop DNA infusion. Wrapping up the set with what appears a little ditty entitled ’A loved B but…’ (surely that can’t be right eh? It‘s the handwriting that‘s to blame - no doubt a complaint email is looming large on the horizon) - anyway whatever its called think Robert Lloyd joining forces with Lloyd Cole and the Commotions to concoct maddening wonderful skiffle tastic soul pop invested with elements of the LA’s, Cherry Boys and er - the Kane Gang. Buy this right now. www.myspace.com/kingkayakmusic

Serafina Steer ‘peach heart’ (static caravan). The more observant among you may be all to aware of our fondness for the work of Serafina Steer as found on her debut album - just released - ‘cheap demo bad science’ is a thing of unfailingly eerie and ethereal beauty, agreed not your normal standardised formulaic pop - instead a collection that bewitches and enchants with each passing listen rewarding you time and time again for your patience and interest. Sometimes abstract, sometimes absurd yet unceasingly alluring ‘Peach Heart’ one of the sets best moments is perhaps one of three cuts vying for the albums nominal centrepiece. Dark yet beguilingly so, the minimalist ‘Peach Heart’ with its delicate brush strokes of pastel hued classical accents is a past macabre and delightfully haunting love song as though conceived and scripted by Edward Lear for Tim Burton to bring to life. Flip the disc for the previously unreleased weeping rose ’mano e mano’ which finds Steer in her trademark tip toeing vocal mode hazily hopping without a care in the world as though like some kind of distracted angel all the time sounding somewhere between Laurie Anderson and Vashti Bunyan - the melodies per usual impeccable, dainty, soft and tender and to these ears sounding not unlike the type of fanciful figurines you’d hear emanating from a bashed and buckled vintage musical box. Quite unnervingly divine if you ask me. www.staticcaravan.org

And well that’s your lot for now. Expect more of the same in a few - okay next weekend - right then its agreed then - by next weekend it is - wherein there will be a sack load of goodies including some stunning stuff from the Heron label, the puzzle, the Brazilian girls mister v, lovvers,the courteeners, elephant sky, purest spiritual pigs, andy walker and a whole wad of stuff that we no doubt promised last time out to do this time in - hapless work shy fops that we are. As per usual check out for updates on the Technicolor bite sized and bolshie www.myspace.com/thesundayexperience wherein you can send us friend requests which we’ll no doubt somehow manage to lose, misplace or indeed if you are really lucky - ignore.

Till then it only leaves me to say many thanks to all those who’ve made these ramblings possible - you know who you are even if I don’t.

Take care of yourselves.
Mark
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