Missive 134
17-09-2007
Singled Out
Missive 134

For Kelly and Mark

‘Singled Out - bad to the bone’

This week marks the 30th anniversary of the death of Marc Bolan who tragically died literally days before his 30th birthday. It might be true to say that given the 50’s was the decade of Elvis, the 60’s owned outright by the Beatles then the 70’s was the decade of the Wizardy one, though the Bowie-philes in particular may argue the point Bolan was the face of glam, his period of going electric coincided with a marked change in fortunes for his recently trimmed from Tyrannosaurus Rex to plain old T-Rex outfit. Like Bowie - Bolsn had been a face on the Mod scene, had dallied with poetry, artiness and generally out there hippyness, one wit at BBC had even commented on his pretentiousness on a session log, yet like Dame Dave persistence in the face of adversity has its rewards. In many respects Bolan was the unwitting godfather of punk - okay the obvious traces go back to the Stooges, MC5 and the whole early to mid 60’s garage punk beat scene and maybe his children time scheduled TV show ‘Marc’ which aired the debut TV performances of Generation X, the Jam, Boomtown Rats and the Hot Rods and his invitation to the Damned to open for him on what was to be his final tour showcasing ‘Dandy in the Underworld’ (personally my favourite all the T-Rex outings) might be seen by the cynical as attempting to cash in on the latest bandwagon - its still nonetheless appreciable to note that the more pop orientated punk / new wave set owed a considerable debt and in many cases woe their T-Rex hearts on their sleeve. BBC has been doing its bit to mark the occasion by broadcasting a few specials and making them available on their listen again option via http://www.bbc.co.uk/6music/events/bolan/ where you’ll be able to rip two shows dedicated to Bolan’s sessions for the BBC, in addition there’s a documentary entitled ‘20th Century Boy’ tracing his career as well as featuring some super rare never before seen video footage. RIP Marc.

Okay the singles - as per usual we’ve kind of cocked up here - so to make amends there will be at least two more missives this week - a my space type special and a brief singles only type thing which will - we promise - feature all the releases we promised to feature this time around. Ho Hum.

Soutien Gorge ‘vizallasjelentes’ (boltfish). More wonderfully coaxed shy eyed electro pop from those nice people over at Boltfish HQ this time from Soutien Gorge who to the Hungarian authorities is better known as Andras Hargitai a 22 year old jack of all trades it seems, who when he’s not crafting lunatic overtures can be found either DJ-ing under the guise of Banyek or overseeing the release roster of his two labels - Bitlab and Complimentary Distribution - the latter a free download net imprint. As per usual this tasty slice of mood musing emotive electronica comes pressed on a dinky 3 inch CD and features five starry eyed suites that when listened to in one sitting give the impression of a voyage across an unmapped continent upon some far flung idyllic intergalactic heavenly body basking beneath the warming rays of twin suns. Twinkle some, fragile, playful and minimalist scores cut with the kind of simplistic un-fussed melodic structures to be found on ISAN’s delectable ‘Digitalis’ full length from a few years ago on this occasion deftly coaxed from their sleepy headed slumber by Manual (as on the quite beautiful title track). Hargitai crafts delicately mesmerising aural figurines that flicker, pop and shimmer - part trippy part comatose as though overdosing on their own ether driven bliss amid sweetly aligned corteges of clicks, crunches, whirrs and seductive after lights down tempo tenderness. ‘madarka’ opens the set an exotic lounge like teaser that initially comes across in texture akin to the dinky little lunatic lullabies that once emanated from the late 90’s Birmingham scene and that were much a one time feature of the Warp catalogue before dissipating sublimely to be interspersed by the spectral glides of Floyd-esque riffs and fluid symphonies. ‘tierchen liebe’ gently uncoils as though a Japanese playroom coming to life by nightfall to be wonderfully pierced by moments of tranquil rustic flurries. ‘strandra’ with its fattened slices of futuro funk squiggles and house-y vibes is the perfect morning after the night before hair of the dog tonic that imagines Biosphere sharing mindsets with a particularly chilled out Future Sound of London. ‘jo ej’ wraps up the set marking the journeys end, a wonderfully envisaged montage of spectrally charged trippy interweaves, pining riffs and chiming cascades - quite perfect if you ask me. Shame we missed those nifty Amorph and ENV (litre) releases though - suppose it gives us an excuse for record shopping as if we needed one. www.boltfish.co.uk

Grand Volume ‘History’ (Fat Northerner). You can tell the seasons begun in earnest when the likes of Fat Northerner start wheeling out their secret weapons. Debut release ‘history’ from Grand Volume is a panic attack stricken slice of psychosis consuming manic art pop the likes of which in all honesty in terms of immediately shocking the hackles into states of alarm hasn’t been ventured with such unswerving intensity since Queen of the Stone Age’s ‘feel good hit of summer’ wired our hi-fi into spasms of seizure fits. ‘history’ is a purified and potent two minute shot of zig-zagging agit fuelled insurrectionist pop devilishly spat out with intensely nagging furiously oppressive jarring riffs and pulse pounding punctuated rhythms that encircle your listening space with all the acute menace of vulture eyeing up potential carrion - think Gang of Four in a no holds barred face off with Shellac with the Playwrights as referees. Flip over for ‘fire come soon’ a head caving brutalised portion of Big Black inspired thickly gnarled swamp goo brewed up by the John Spencer Blues Explosion yet graced (roughly 3.30 I when the riffs start fraying) with that detached unravelling obtuse edge so much loved by Radiohead. Killer stuff. www.fatnortherner.com

The People’s Revolutionary Choir ‘Do you feel like I do?’ (Weekender). You’d be forgiven for thinking that by the rate that Weekender are flying out releases that they must have been privy to some sort of fore warning as to a near future shortage of vinyl and CD’s. This week has seen several more hotly honed well heeled slabs of stereo stylising fly through our mail box the first of which is this killer release fro the People’s Revolutionary Choir. In truth descriptive words like stunning don’t really do this particular nugget justice. Both cuts featured here reveal an ensemble fast tracking in confidence, maturity and a sense of their own relevance and worth whilst operating at the height of their mercurial powers. ‘Do you feel like I do?’ is an unabashed welterweight of feel good vibes that shimmers amid a honed lysergic haze, a kaleidoscopic gem of pulsating pristine psychedelicised pop borne of a chemically enhanced cocktail that draws upon the best moments found on the Stone Roses debut full length - namely ‘I am the Resurrection’ and ‘I wanna be adorned’ transplanted onto the cool as you like chassis of early career Charlatans while drafting in both Jason Spaceman and the Reid brothers to meter out their shade wearing uber cool essences at the mixing desk. Slowing the pace considerably and in turn upping the ante on their peers flip side features the titanic anthem in the waiting ‘painkiller blues’. This babe burns, blisters and hurts with the same unnerving precision as though an unseen hand had reached inside your chest cavity and started doing a spot of open heart surgery without anaesthesia. For references think of the bruised and abandoned sounding moments from debut album era House of Love magnified 10 fold and cultured with a freewheeling lazily drawn countrified jangle delicately inspired - or so it would seem - by Dylan, the Band and Buffalo Springfield and you still wouldn’t be any nearer to the aching weight this grieving beauty carries upon its shoulders. Deputy single of the missive. www.weekenderrecords.com

586 ‘Rags and Tags’ (self released). This lot have been the cause of much fuss in our gaff having appeared briefly in these pages once or twice via various compilations which though I can’t put my hand to immediately right this minute definitely came via a Tigertrap sampler (see missive 1170 and quite possibly an Artrocker cover mount. After a handful of long since sold out singles which you’ll no doubt be glad to hear we in fact missed - to much grumbling, 586 are its safe to say a band who don’t strictly play to the normal industry rules, in fact judging by these two deliciously twisted cuts they are for want of a better word or phrase the aural equivalent of playing murder in the dark in that you don’t know let alone possibly conceive where exactly the next attack is going to come from. Dispatching a to be admired wilful disregard for any notion of structure their sound isn’t so much catchy and infectious (which in truth it is) but rather more siege like. ‘rags and tags’ is a hyper active speed freakin’ music hall meets bizarre funhouse slice of abrupt kookiness shredded at pace by a remarkably breathless shambling styled zeal which from within the sound of squabble some barbed and spiteful boy / girl exchanges are flung with Deborah sounding like some impish hybrid made up of unravelling elements of Kate Bush, Wendy James and Lydia Lunch - one minute cooing the next creating like a dummy spitting adolescent. Better still is the absolutely damaged, demented and deranged flip side ‘out of control’, a cannibalised mash up tale of the evils of drink (from what I can gather) pitched with an abstractly wired to the back teeth attrition that summons up the spirits of the Cravats and the Cardiacs and sets them amid a teen opera undoubtedly suffering growing pains, if I didn’t know better I’d say it was this generations ‘defecting grey’ suffering under the influence skewed, stewed and spewed with the kind of unkempt hysteria last heard here via those early unhinged outings by the Pixies. All in all hopelessly acutely cute. www.myspace.com/586

Nothing Rhymes with Orange ‘Billy the Kid’ (Leftfield). Nothing Rhymes with Orange are a Miami based quartet managed no less by a certain Bill Aucoin who if memory serves me right was the man responsible for persuading a young Billy Idol to ditch Gen X and hop across the pond to become America’s token punk doll. Not that we’ll let that small detail influence our listening of this latest release by his latest protégées. There’s much to love and hate about ‘Billy the Kid’ - the press release being in my view the main culprit given that it parades these young chaps as though they are the latest of a new breed of Strokes like heroes to be lapped up and embraced by a UK market desperate for yankee bands sounding like Brit bands from ten years ago which lets face most of us hate Brit bands sounding like Brit bands from 10 years ago without needing the Yanks pissing on our parade - Oasis anyone. Once you realise that you need to take this promotional push with a degree of tongue in cheek then the record itself isn’t that bad - okay its nothing near the calibre of say - Ambulance LTD - but its in the same ball park. ‘Billy the Kid’ struts with a retro glazed sassiness, a deft piece of melodically astute skinny tied hip slinging tightly tenacious uber cool new wave stylised power pop that at various intervals manages to sound like ‘all mod cons’ era Jam doing lost and forgotten Kinks nuggets yet craftily threaded through with the easily identifiable daytime radio loving thrust of mid 80’s Bryan Adams / Glenn Fry sparingly decoded with jangling psych vibes. Over on the flip ‘magnolia’ reveals a hitherto sensitive side to the ensembles canon, the mainlining catchiness may well have been knocked down several notches yet in its place a slow to burn treasure assumes its place - measured and achingly anthem like this longing honey hurts like hell to reveal a creative pop dynamic at work seductively caressing the grooves with a streamlined sophistication borne of jabbing codas that endow a dub-esque vibe and a lingering bruised introspective aspect that one suspects in time will emerge as a curtain closing showstopper of some magnitude. www.leftfield.tv

Specialten - Issues 17, 18 and 19. Essential contemporary coffee table literature. Specialten is an exquisitely packaged arts / music / animation b-monthly housed in a stylish A4 card sleeve which contains within a limited art print, a programme of artwork and photography and a 2 hour DVD packed with cutting edge music videos, exclusive interviews / features, sessions and short films submitted by some of the leading movers on the underground scene. Issue 17 features videos by the delicately poised picture box sounds of Colleen, the quite divine the Last Town Chorus who you may well remember via that rather stunning limited 7 inch from the Fitzrovian imprint - here captured performing ’Brooklyn navy yard’ - elsewhere there’s the corking video that accompanies ’the owl’ by the excellently named I love you but I’ve chosen darkness and the quite frankly whacked out and bizarre going on in Subtle’s visual appreciation of ’mercury craze’. There’s a rare interview with ISAN, a session courtesy of Archie Bronson Outfit recorded at the legendary analogue only Toerag studios in London, a delightfully weird and obscurest animation entitled ’la niebla’ all about fog smothered flying sheep - don’t ask and a shorty with pensioner friskiness as its visual subject matter which we highly recommend is not good viewing while eating breakfast. Issue 18 comes replete with an art print by Woof Wan Bau and includes a rather distressingly graphic and thought provoking film that transplants the ’hunting’ mentality to the inner city. There’s also an interview with James Yorkston of Fence - but these days of Domino fame plus your usual dietary requirement of music video fixes the best of which come via Orichalc Phase (who is better known to friends and family as Demian Castellanos who these days goes under the name the Oscillation and whose psyched ’out of phase’ full length for DC we’ve just taken delivery of ) and Melodic all stars (well all star to be more precise) Output Message. Issue 19 comes adorned with a David Mathews print while Scout Niblett appears in session - pick of the videos come from Battles, Deerhoof and the quite exceptional Working for a Nuclear Free City. Also worth mentioning - an obvious twist in the tale short piece entitled ’the shovel’ and an excellent film entitled ’Hiro’ directed by Canadian filmmaker Matthew Swanson. A tale of re-arranged obsessions that focus’ on a Japanese collector of rare insects who unwittingly finds himself caught up in a confrontation with the local mafia, everything about the film works - from the dynamics in terms of its ability to shift pace from slow and settled to fast and threatening, its subtle humour - very much paying nods to Attention, its candid almost naive aspect, the accidental angel of mercy and bug like superhero references all combine to make it a very special thing indeed. www.specialten.com

And sticking with magazines and fanzines for a second - in the previous missive we mentioned a magazine called Pariah Child - dedicated to all things doom metal well Danny who is responsible for publishing this tome has been back in touch and this is what you can expect (his words not mine) - but our order is dispatched as of now - check out http://www.myspace.com/pariahchild - reviews to come in a future missive no doubt -

PARIAH CHILD #1 - £3.50 (UK) 6€ (Europe) $12 (Rest of World)
A new Doom Metal publication has been born! It is spread over 68 A4 pages, professionally printed, and limited to 500 hand-numbered copies. It contains lengthy interviews with Scald, Oak, Forsaken, Well Of Souls, Liquid Sound Company, Zess, Northwinds, Pentagram, Mirror Of Deception, The Gates Of Slumber and Litmus. There is also a wealth of news, reviews, illustrations and a Doom Shall Rise II festival report.

PARIAH CHILD #2 – £3.50 (UK) 6€ (Europe) $12 (Rest of World)
The second instalment of our cult Doom Metal publication is at hand! It is spread over 76 A4 pages, professionally printed, and limited to 500 hand-numbered copies. It contains lengthy interviews with Semlah, Burning Saviours, The River, Warning, Apocalypse, Hell, Pagan Altar, L’ Impero Delle Ombre, Minotauri, Eight Hands For Kali, Dawn Rider, Falcon and Earth Flight. There is also a wealth of news, reviews, illustrations, a Doom Shall Rise III festival report and Church of Misery tour diary.

Rock -A -Rolla #10 - features cover stars and regular attendees or so it seems - Sunn O))) along with Pelican, Sleepytime Gorilla Museum, the Liars and a feature on Neurot imprint plus all your usual reviews on what’s what in the world of metal, doom and noise.

Clash volume 3, issue 4 - these days minus the obligatory cover mounted CD -which we have to admit to missing is your indie kid version of the Face, this issue includes cover stars Foo Fighters, the Hives, Debbie Harry, Animal Collective and all your usual finger on the pulse fashion accessorising plus the round up of their ones to watch briefing which includes mentions for the Hat, Headhunter, the Rascals and on name alone a band who we feel we should be checking up on - Prinzhorn Dance School.

The Word #56 - still by far the best read on the block in our humble opinion has Dave Gilmour adorning the cover, Andy Gill pays his respects to the late Anthony H Wilson who sadly died of cancer recently, back from the dead Edwyn Collins speaks about his recent fight at the hands of two life threatening brain haemorrhages, there’s a feature on Anton Corbijn’s new movie ‘Control’ as well as an unhappy celebration for BBC Radio 1’s forthcoming 40th birthday entitled ‘Radio 1 is shite - alright - not arf’ - of course we josh a tad though admittedly it is and frankly we haven’t bothered with the nations favourite since Peel passed on cos - and pardon the French here - it’s fookin cack. Those unfortunate enough to acquire a copy of the Observers Music Monthly magazine which is usually a pretty nifty read will get the fawning opposite view point - though why they bothered is beyond me.

Art rocker #70 - bi-weekly trawl through the masses of skinny tied guitar clutching bands beginning with ‘the’ and recognised Doherty free publication has Pete and the Pirates on the cover, inside there’s features / interviews aplenty including the metros, lonely ghosts, the Whip plus all your usual reviews, live accounts, fashion spreads and a rather concise feature on the latest goodies being farmed out by Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace imprint.

Didn’t we just briefly mention the Jam in passing earlier….well….seamless or what eh?

Andy Lewis and Paul Weller ‘Are you trying to be lonely?’ (Acid Jazz). Pardon the French but f*ck me if this isn’t the best thing that Weller has done in nigh over 20 years. Forget all that exasperatingly dull ‘Wild Wood’ nonsense or the wincing needles in eyeballs ‘Stanley Road’ this was a Weller still coming to terms with the media lashing and fall out of the Style Council and yet being rediscovered by the dumped down baby generation. Frankly we thought he’d gone comatose. It’s been left to DJ / musician Andy Lewis to drag him out of his slumber, dust him down and give him something worthy of his Modfather moniker. The story goes such - Lewis drops off demos at a Weller gig - Weller so impressed by what he hears arranges a meet - two weeks later this baby is fashioned. ’Are you trying to be lonely?’ is a hip wiggling infectiously bracing slice of upbeat Stax / Northern Soul braided by banks of breezy brass fanfares, over this and cruising the sound of Weller’s soulful tones coalescing a priceless piece of toe tapping uber cool. Tagged to the end of the CD release there’s a Weller-less instrumental while over on the flip ’tell me once again you love me’ revisits in some respects JXL’s recalibration of Elvis ’a little less conversation’ though this time mashes up the combined essences of the Beatles ’drive my car’ with the 60’s brit popped vibes of the ‘Italian Job’ and serves up the funky bug bitten brew with an overtly fat throbbing booty bouncing skanking underpin. Rounding up the set the 60’s styled keys drenched ’the lazuli affair’ should appeal to shade wearing Gene Dayton Unit loving beatniks. Damn its good. Joint single of the missive. www.acidjazz.co.uk

The Star Fighter Pilot vs. The Colt 45’s ‘split’ (leaving home). Star Fighter Pilot AKA Martin Bryant has to acclaim managed to snuck away a few well heeled releases beneath his trusted utility belt that have revealed to a growing audience a sense of a genius in the making, his repertoire flits between concocting minimalist often barbed slices of introspective electro pop to all singing and dancing wide screened candy coated nuggets. ’Another penny’ is stupidly catchy morsel full of dinky 80’s styled electro signatures played on antiquated keyboards patched up with gaffer tape and purchased for a song at a Sunday morning flea market, comprising of cutely tingling pop codas this bargain basement love sick ode radiates with a glowing fuzzy warmth reminiscent at times of Fosca though its probably fair to say it’s Dollar for those who only come out after dark and live on the wrong side of the tracks. ’drunk with you’ is a brief throwaway slice of sub three minute fuzzed up punkoid electronics a bit like the Normal doing a warped cocktail made up of remnants of the Ramones and the Soft Boys if you must know. The Colt 45’s are much loved in our gaff we have to admit having had us smitten with their previous release which featured the adorably bleak ’Stockholm syndrome’ (see missive 123) they’re back with two more retro post punk glazed gems just for the asking. Again as previously two very contrasting cuts complete their side of the split release, ’rocket fuel’ may appear at first glance a tad lethargic and limp though several plays in it reveals a curious though playful nod in the general direction of bass slapping ex Joke-rs Brilliant as though found boogying amid a desolate and bleak swell with a seriously chilled out and anti-septic drilled cold hearted Penetration / Pink Military carving out sparse yet coolly blank despondency for the masses. ’dry London gin’ is the better of the twin set, immersing the listener in a shimmering spectacle of a doomly claustrophobic carnival of sound that provides for a superbly detached and isolationist edge that has you imagining a Derek Jarman styled revisionist take on ’Beggars Opera’ with the aural backdrops choreographed by Carter USM and featuring a PIL styled ’metal box’ era Spartan serenade with a pre pop star / Tellytubbies Toyah fused with Siouxsie applying nagging mantras. Somehow think you need this. www.filthylittleangels.com

Phosphene and Friends ‘See a sign defined’ (Pickled Egg). Been an absolute age since we had to Pickled Egg platters happily spinning around on the turntable - but worth - I feel - the wait because this is quite gorgeous. Phosphene is the post Electroscope vehicle for John Cavanagh whose releases, regular readers will note, have occasionally (and to seldom in our book) turned up in one shape or another in these very pages. ’I see a sign defined’ features a very special guest appearance on vocals of a certain Bridget St John of whom the musical aficionados among you will need no introductions. Often referred to as the English Nico, Bridget St John released a handful of acclaimed albums in a brief but productive 6 year period regularly working with the likes of Ron Geesin and John Martyn, her debut album ’Ask me no questions’ had the distinction of not only being the inaugural release for the late John Peel’s short lived Dandelion label but was produced by the bearded one. Sadly record sales and the affection of the record buying public did not follow acclaim and for the best part of three long decades St John retreated into obscurity. Like uncovering a rarefied and precious heirloom from a forgotten age hidden in cobwebs, dust and shyly hiding in the shadows of an old attic ’See a sign defined’ is a beautifully bleak baroque folk styled nugget wrapped in oddly affecting Farfisa (courtesy of Bill Wells) signatures and playfully crafted nursery room accents that hypnotically combine to numbing pastel hued grandeur. Invested with a deep sense of introspection brought about by St John’s trembling timbre it informs an eerie spectral majesty eliciting a message of hope a bit like a less cosmically inclined and bruised on the inside Stereolab seeking solace and relocating their space age bachelor pad to the homely and cosy confines of a tumble down woodshed. Replete with dream like soft psyche undercurrents and a tingling noire-esque classicism brought to bear by Isobel Campbell’s cello arrangements ’see a sign defined’ is all at once tearfully touching, tender and timeless - to be handled with care. Over on the flip the favour is repaid in kind as members of Nalle shimmy up to Cavanagh for a deliciously crooked retread of Bridget St John’s ’ask me no questions’. A gorgeously disorientating slice of freeform campfire folk that creaks, caresses, ebbs and flows with a particular fetching and distractive air tripped tenderly with wafts of harmonic interplays overlain across flurries of shimmering acoustics which we suspect fans of both the Virgin Passages and Animal Collective will no doubt lap up by the bucket load. www.pickled-egg.co.uk

12 Stone Toddler ‘Candles on the Cake’ (Amazon). Last time this lot appeared in these pages they were causing swooning attacks in the singled out record hut with their bizarrely catchy outing ‘twang’. This time of asking and with an album already in the can and out on the streets playing with the older kids entitled ’does it scare you’ this second side serving proves beyond question that no one quite has the creative invention let alone the brass balls to sound quite like these Brighton based dudes. ‘Candles on the Cake’ is an audaciously delirious tastily tailored carnival of odd pop that’s been cultured from a positive smorgasbord of discarded pop memories and wrapped in a honey toned mid 70’s soft pop, a flirtatious flotilla of sound deftly saturated in swirling keys that coax from hiding warming rays imported from the west coast only to splice them with moments of sinister music hall charm very much reminiscent of the intelligently impish Dawn of the Replicants and all gently bathed in subtle psychedelic washes invested with an overall haunted house like creepiness. Flip side features the instrumental version of the same cut which - though it may sound strange - actually comes across weirder without the words mooching as it does in a devilishly disorientating see saw like fashion - fans of Epicycle will swoon in admiration. www.amazonrecords.co.uk

Whole Sky Monitor ‘Harehills Chapel town’ (Firebomb Radio). Fucked up skewed maddeningly nagging detached head tripping gritty goo is probably as good a way as any to beginning describing the opening cut of this spiked and spitefully gnarled, twisted and undoubtedly essential three track debut. Wholeskymonitor are a Leeds based three piece who bleed agitation and who lace their sounds with so many reference points its difficult to nail them into any one satisfiable pigeon hole though principally amid the ravaged floorshow that unfolds perhaps the Fire Engines, Wedding Present and the Pixies loom large. Coolest thing on the council estate block - don’t bet against it - ’Harehills Chapeltown’ is vicious, a swarming and festering slice of unravelling hardcore styled angular art pop that all at once combines the chop chop psychosis of early career Killing Joke, the bludgeoning brutally unswerving underpin from Big Black’s ’Kerosene’, braided with the discordant chug of Black Francis at his most manic and welded fast on to a rapidly decaying mass of unhinged blues the type of which the proven forte of Jon Spencer. Caustic stuff. Equally unrelenting is ’Mary Moses’ - pitched with skin peeling attrition this scalding baby of wired mania sound like groove shredding riot served up at g-force velocity. And just to prove they aren’t a one trick pony of fast and furious deliverances the sassily jangle-some ’just let me talk to her’ sees them flexing their softer side for a spot of rampant 60’s styled garage beat pop replete with snaking struts and a chorus that the Hives et al would sell their soul for. Joint deputy single of the missive. www.firebombradio.co.uk

Seagull Strange ‘Love’s Sick Disease’ (Shifty Disco). Second cut culled from their recently released ‘better angels of our nature’ full length which we really must remember to nail as our own when we are next loitering about a record shop. Last found gracing these very pages to much joy with their previous release ’la la la ley’ (see missive 122) - ‘love’s sick disease’ as we mentioned way back then first caught our ear appearing on the perfectly packaged and highly recommended 3 CD set celebrating Shifty Disco’s 10th anniversary. It wouldn’t be putting to fine a point on matters in saying that this track is hurtfully majestic. A sorrowful epitaph for the emotionally cutting ripple effects that ensue from a dying love affair, sumptuously tender and decorated with a heart tweaking picture box dynamic, the bracingly bitter sweet ’love’s sick disease’ is a tragically beautiful and moving moment of classically scored filmic sophistication that swells with peaks of vividly breathless grandeur and falls with equal abandon into coldly steeled forlorn numbness all at once measured, haunting and enchantingly elegant. In addition the same cut can be found remixed by Will Brownlie who lessens the sting considerable and in its place applies a delicious dressing of trip hop beats and the kind of pulse racing stately string arrangements found on Stewart Copeland’s score for ’Wall Street’ and Kate Bush’s ‘Hounds of Love’. In many respects ’Sulla’s return’ is a swift come down in terms of resonating textures that’s not to say there’s anything terminally wrong with it, sure it has enough in the booty shaking can, fuzzily needling riffs and loosely moulded glam styled glazed signatures yet you can’t help feeling it lacks a certain degree of ummph which is why when compared to ’little son’ you’d be forgiven for thinking that the track had been hoodwinked and played as their own by a bunch of doppelgangers. ’little son’ is in truth the unbeknownst hidden nugget on this release a gorgeously off kilter fuzzy felted psychedelised gem that imagines Julian Lennon at work with the spirits of Marc Bolan and his father John crafting dizzily dream weaving montages set loosely around a near sedated and tripping variation of the Who’s ’Pictures of Lily’. Genius if you ask me. www.shiftydisco.co.uk

The band can be heard performing live on Tom Robinsons BBC6 show via the listen again option at www.bbc.co.uk

The Tacticians ‘Hardcore Porn’ (Setanta). Okay a few missives or so we featured this lots re-released ‘girls grow up faster than boys’ which frankly in our view is a more than adequate reason alone to have you scampering off to the local record shop fully armed and pockets - a - jangling with the contents of the loose change money box that you’ve pilfered from a younger sibling preparing to swap said tidy stash for a copy of the bands debut full length ‘some kind of urban fulfilment’ a copy of which we’ve had nigh over a week now and which has refused to play on all our playing devices (to much damn annoyance) yet mysteriously just this very day decided to kick into life when we lobbed it into our spanking new CD player - so be warned reviews are on the way. Okay were where we - ah yes ’hardcore porn’. Okay when we did feature ’girls’ last time out we happened to grumble that we missed the earlier ’hardcore porn’ outing. Well low and behold - upon unearthing a stash of unrecognised CD’s today (honest these things occasionally happen - its not like we are incompetent - which we are - there’s just so many of the blighters) we spied said release. A more quietly introspective affair than their usual trademark punch pop, this sweetly soft rambling tale of aching reminiscences at the centre of which the showers of numbing affection fall upon Kate a porn actress trundles along thoughtfully and tastily to the point it might just tweak the heart a tad and a cause something of a tingling flutter. Buy the ruddy album and be done with it. www.myspace.com/setantarecords

And that is I’m afraid your lot. Back very soon with a quickly turned out Missive 135 while in a day or so maybe sooner the appearance of Missive 136 which will be a my space special and will feature a plethora of ensembles attached to Dublin’s Slow Loris imprint as well as a stack of (mainly Italian) down tempo / 60’s soundtrack devoted sites.

As per usual thanks to all those who’ve made these musings possible - bands, press agents and labels - you know who you are. We love demos and vinyl on basically any format - if you have said goodies then please get in touch via email mark@losingtoay.com or snail - 105 shaldon drive, Morden, surrey, sm4 4bq, uk - or better go to www.myspace.com/thesundayexperience for daily (ish) updates and if you’re a band / label etc….hit us with a friend request and we’ll get back with a short review type mention in a future singled out missive.

Have fun and take care of yourselves.

Mark
X

Singled Out is a ’no shit - you do record reviews?’ production.