missive 161 - part 2 14-04-2008 This Et Al ‘the figure’ EP (on the bone). Indeed just what the bogie doctor ordered - 4 slabs of monolithic might from This Et Al. The attending press release doesn’t mince its words stressing that these gems are their ‘finest work to date’ - well they would say that wouldn’t they. But then they do have a point because the four tracks that feature on the ‘figure 8’ set (incidentally pressed on ten inches of wax - just in case you needed any further prod like persuasion) grow unerringly in stature and elegance the further in you go. From the brooding and blistered to the turbulent and tortured This Et Al rampage through the gears crafting out symphonic crescendos of orchestrated attrition, the moods within freewheeling between the anxious and the frenzied (‘figure eight‘) coalescing superbly to the majesty and mercurial (as on the parting ‘(the tale of) frosty Jackson’). Within the crushed landscapes sonic references are acutely honed into an agitated tear stained armoury of harmonic maelstrom that sees them nodding with equal measure towards Radiohead and 50hz. The sore thumb of the set is the opening cut ‘figure eight’ - a ravaged white hot disruption that spurts, cuts and stings with acutely frayed angst - barely breaching the sub two minute ticker tape - this dislocated babe is a mass of frenzied and unravelling attrition rooted to the spot by a snarling and snaking fuzzed up dragster grind after which the aural landscapes from therein settle and transform into something esoteric. ‘medicine hammer’ is sadly the worse for wear on our copy playing wise that is - however from what we can salvage this sweetly bitter beauty coils around an almost hymnal texture steadfastly aced with a cooling simmer like shimmering that soon begins to shed its skin to assume density and tension (before sadly going AWOL due to a CD fault). Alas gremlins aside the wounded ’Ice Age’ tailgates similar trajectories to the much loved i like trains, crafted within wells of obliquely stratospheric hazes there’s an affecting and touching tenderness about its wares numbed with a sense of a unfailing futility that’s soured and dappled with crushed regret. All said and done nothing quite holds a candle to the parting instrumental ’(the tale of) Frosty Jackson’ - an Olympian titan braided with hollowed cascades that sweetly caress and entwine momentarily dispersed by soaring chorus’ of heaven bound sonic pines that cast sky piercing figurines in the star lit voids, a darkly beautiful prime cut of prickling post rock that sounds to these ears like it was whipped from the arse pocket of Workhouse that all at once appears statuesque and seismic - a glorious colossus. www.onthebonerecords.com
Looker ‘Spit for your shine’ (Self released). To much gnashing of teeth it seems we missed out on this lots well received debut full length released last year as well as the attending brace of singles which followed in hot pursuit earning this lot a deserved amount of acclaim. Single number three sees ‘spit for your shine’ giving the radio airwaves a bit of whipping with another slice of goodly wholesome boot tapping beat pop that strangely enough manages to have an unerring knack of being able to care freely wheel amid the contrasting landscapes of both 60’s styled folk rock (maybe its an age thing and the ears are going but there’s definitely an underlying Cambridge thing going on wrapped and sugared with Curved Air styled accents) and threaded by the momentary appearance of some neatly appreciated Link / Reverend Horton Heat sourced riff pyrotechnics. Of course all this is sublimely distilled in an austere wrap of wiry post punk needles and decorated by a kind of seriously off the rails twisted euphoria which in our books is no bad thing. That said we are rather smitten by the advent of the far stronger flip cut ’born in the desert’ - a superbly executed slice of candy twisted shade wearing 60’s psyche pop replete with zig-zagging fuzzy hooks, drafts of west coast dialects aplenty and girl harmonies that sound like they’ve made for break out from Spector’s 60’s sound factory and found themselves falling headlong through a time loop. Add in to the mix the peppering of chopsticks styled needling riffs, buzz sawing underpins and 50’s bubblegum wraps and what you have is a cool as f**k slice of sassy lysergic dipped beat pop that from where were listening sounds not unlike the Adult Net shimmying up to the Raincoats and the Go Go’s to ransack the back catalogue of soft pop sun children Wendy and Bonnie. Essential in case you wondered. www.lookernyc.com
Captain Phoenix ‘Stand by’ (grand canyon). We’ve long admired the work of Captain Phoenix since first being caught under their spell via a pre release taster CD little over a year ago. Proving time and time again they have enough slow burning epics in their locker, their adeptness at capturing that rare and timeless song craft borders on the exquisite with their songs mellowing between the hurtful, power crunching and mercurial MOR all at once acting as miniature anthems and consolatory arms of hope to the lonely, the uncertain, the timid, the sinned against and those devoid of the means for a way through. To date they’ve already posted two classics in the making - the tear arsing ‘pistols and hearts’ and the absolutely crushing ‘loneliness’. the debut album ‘life.temper.riot’ is already in the can and due for street action next month from which this little slice of ‘f**k you I don’t need this’ middle finger prodding taster is culled. ‘stand by’ is your classically drilled ‘rising from the shadows’ and facing off the demonic foibles of everyday existence set across three mixes - the radio (the comically mistimed censorship) version, the bog standard single edit (with expletives) and a frankly stonking re-drill by Eddy Temple Morris. With ‘stand by me’ Captain Phoenix prove once again their adept knack for crafting out boot tapping whistle happy bitter sweet feel good beat pop. Embellished with more hooks than a far eastern label adorned cloth making sweat shop and lightly garnished with the kind of assured presence and rooted with the quietly mercurial and crystalline turn of melodic craftsmanship more in common with artists who’ve been plying their trade in the face of the public glare for eons, this little beauty is drafted with an affecting push pull west coast subtly braided with a sweetly acidic after taste that to these flirts in realms sumptuously threaded with elements of Todd Rungren and George Harrison while all the time peppered by sprinklings of Beach boys florets. As to that aforementioned Eddy Temple Morris re-drill - an ultra cool recalibration threaded with sparsely broken and minimalist treatments set to an alarmingly addictive and dislocated futuro funk groove that body pops across skittering beats and what sounds to these ears like demented diode doodles scampering for safety amid some cosmic laser attack. Well tasty.
And the video……
The Panics ‘don’t fight it’ (Passport). Taken from the ensembles home grown label released ‘Cruel Guards’ (via Dew Process), ‘Don’t fight it’ has all the trappings of a classic single in the making (well at least in our gaff anyway). Now hooked up to a UK licensing deal with new imprint on the blocks Passport (a label set up to promote Aussie talent across the UK and which incidentally has connections to Matador label) ‘don‘t fight it‘ provides the fledging outlet with its 4th release following outings for Love of Diagrams, Children Collide and Snowman. Now it’s the turn of the Panics to do their stuff and do their stuff they do - ‘don’t fight it’ is a numbing gem of heart hurting chest beating realisation dusted down with the servicing of a trippy hymnal framework into which 60’s styled organs and brass laden montages hoodwinked from classic era Stax / Motown are fed in that once drawn together coalesce into a disturbingly slow burning epic of trembling proportions - all at once succulent and bruised this shy eyed hidden in the shadows babe soon unfurls into a redemption laced re-assuring fanfare of triumphant grooves that seductively radiate with an inner warmth leaving you dizzy, fuzzy and totally arrested. Flip the disc for the equally inspired ’get us home’ - a glorious dust tipped Western styled gem which it seems takes its source inspiration from the classic ’ghost riders in the sky’ (a song covered by everyone from Cash, Eddy, Dale to Crosby, Ives and Lee) and festoons the arid hazed Mexicana landscape with some delicately mercurial Morricone montages and 70’s styled sweeping disco strings - does it for us anyway. Joint single of the missive. www.thepassportlabel.com
Also check out http://www.myspace.com/thepassportlabel - where you can check out the rather superb ‘you are a casino’ from Snowman which unless our ears do deceive sounds like an effervescent snake winding up front Triffids cut to the quick with some snazzy booty shaking rama lama.
And while we are at it the video - well that goes something a lot like this…
Kids love lies ‘Demo 08’ (self release). This one nearly slipped the net mainly due to the fact that our un-trust worthy PC somehow managed to dump our original review of it causing us to have to delve through the piles of CD’s to dig it out again - which in fairness is no great problem given that this four track demo is a bit of spanker. There’s a pathological cuteness applied to these four cuts from Kids Love Lies - a two girl / two boy quartet fronted by Ellen - as they wire insidiously under your skin to set about eroding your vital signs. Curbed with a raw and potently primal venting of snaring anxiety they drill out hi-octane angulated post punk goo with such adept admiring acuteness that it literally pins your earlobes back with its unerring force. Initial listens have them keenly rooted in the Yeah Yeah Yeah‘s camp though scratch a little deeper beneath the surface and there’s the same bruised affliction of that simmering choked blistered blues fury that was the hallmark of ’Dry’ era PJ Harvey especially on the frantic panic seized ‘Paranoia‘ with its strangely subtle Sabbath-esque grinds as though found shimmying with the Blackhearts. ‘morning after’ opens the set braided by howling bent of shape, frenzied and fraying hackles rising scarring needled riffs that to these ears sound not so dissimilar to the twisted stateside grooves crafted by Sink and Stove’s the Vibration and Controller. Controller over which Ellen’s vampishly helter skelter vocals cutely flex wrapped in a growling hyper tense mania. ’Hex’ the parting cut is darkly smothered in an affecting icy edgy all the time bridged by an unravelling pulse pounding austere underpin though for our money its ‘under the bed’ that proves by far the demo sets most defining and best moment. This hollowing understated beauty had us recalling on more than one occasion moments plucked from the Smiths hallowed early career back catalogue to such an extent that we actually ended up digging out the debut platter ’the smiths’ for re-acquaintance. Add to that a sweetly bitter wrapping of serenading chugging guitars that see saw with affectionate nods to ’Tommy’ era Wedding Present and you have yourself a bit of a gem in waiting. www.myspace.com/kidslovelies
Souther Still / Yard ghost ‘split’ (open plan). this cute thing arrived a few weeks back without so much as an introductory fanfare or indeed a press release and proceeded unhappily to lose itself in the legendary record mountain much to our overwhelming embarrassment. Excuses aside his really is a smart limited release split that by rights should be on the radar of the most acutely tuned in record lover. Souther Still hail from London, number in 4 - two Brits and two ex pats (of native New Zealand) - to date they’ve quietly released two full lengths to whispering acclaim in the shape of ’Dizziness and Darkness’ and ’the open plan’. ’Sump of love’ - their side of the split release bargain is a sublimely rambling moonshine moocher that shuffles and ambles across the dusted country folk / blues backwaters distilled with a lazy eyed hue and pepper corned within lilting sun drenched porch lit rustics that melodically marinate the early 70’s essence of Nesmith, Parsons and Buffalo Springfield into a woody wholesomely breezy and slyly off kilter affectionate affair. Yard Ghost feature on the flip with the seductively sumptuous ‘sweethearts of the zodiac’ who also hail from London and could number either 2 or 5 - it’s a tad hard to make out via their my space page. That aside no previous releases tucked under their collective belts from what we can gather though don’t be to surprised if as expected we get a corrective email shortly advising me of a shed load of recorded gear in need of love and attention. ‘sweethearts of the zodiac’ is one of those disquieting affairs in the sense that it seems so fragile rather than twisted and odd. Coiling cascades of rootsy lovelorn motifs cast decorative warmth filled shadows into the dying embers of the passing days night assuming sky and though we hate the phrase and term there is something very Americana in feel about this bewitching and lulling beauty as it breezily canters appearing lost in its own hermetically sealed sweetness all the time speckling your head space with a strangely alluring hypnotic lilt that to these ears has a bounteous feel of a more up beat Red House Painters shimmying with a chilled down time styled Sparklehorse for some sort of mystical boat tripping odyssey. www.openplanrecords.com
Idle Lovers ‘big impression’ (pop grooves). More crookedly flawed and deceptively tasty tuneage this time provided courtesy of the debut outing from Hackney’s Idle Lovers. Like some swiftly applied surprise attack the Idle Lovers are up and about you close and personal and then off even before you’ve had time to draw breath, two tracks 5.24 in total duration might initially appear a little lightweight in the value for money stakes but its what they do with the finite time space that makes this an alarmingly tasty first appearance. Sounding not unlike a particularly revved up ‘my aim is true’ era Elvis Costello - albeit spiked and sent hurling at a breakneck speed, ’big impression’ is a boisterously frantic slab of knee knocking jarring beat pop resplendently pre-packed with the kind of life affirming exuberance that quickens the pulse and makes you feel all fuzzy, of course its dangerously acute and becoming and served at rapid fire pace kinda like an attitude laced Housemartins that’s its okay to like bled through with pinched needling shanty like riffs who’ve been sourced directly from the Fire Engines with a smidgeon of essences drawn from the Nightingales and peppered with a succulently radiating warmth of subtle west coast harmonies - damn fine in our book - who said the Faces? ’Heart condition’ over on the flip is our preferred cut, crookedly infectious terrace styled chorus’, frazzled riff pyrotechnics, goofy hooks and a barricade storming kick botty brittleness that at times had us imagining some heaven sent secret collaboration between the Modern Lovers, Wreckless Eric and the Buzzcocks being admirably overseen by Bogshed. www.myspace.com/theidlelovers
WOW ‘Common Species’ (metal postcard). Another release that’s been out for a while and so far unintentionally ignored by us mainly due to the fact that it somehow got lost amid the piles of stuff arriving here. Those of you who love your electro slightly dipping below the out there regions of left field minimalism may do well to check this out. WOW are Australian boy / girl duo Bree and Matt who it seems have a thing for acutely icy and primal no wave / new wave dialects, their retro recipes disturbingly consumed by edgily paranoiac detached accents and bearing down with a de-sensitised monochromatic knowingness, all at once caustic, acerbic and fractured ‘common species’ is a futuristic mantra of sorts - a scuzzed up minimalist dada death disco ball, channelling into the same backwaters as the likes of Cobra Killer, Client, the Droyds et al yet informed by the likes of the Normal and Front 242 - cold, emotionless and numbed - though we suspect kitchen appliances will think upon it as a dirty little beast. Flipside ‘when you’re dead’ in stark contrast still operates amid the post punk territories though this time applies the shock treatment dial a little more freely wiring into the bargain some rather nifty ‘Movement’ era riff underpins and some dashingly sassy skinny tied adorned needling jabs nailed firmly to a circular floor throbbing dynamic which by its close appears to be reaching a panic stricken critical mass. Frankly all considered cool record collections need this. www.myspace.com/metalpostcard
Some videos from the 80’s….ha ha -
The regents (see earlier) ‘7 teen’…
The lotus eaters ‘first picture of you’….just damn fine…..
More scousers…..The icicle works ’birds fly’ …
Landscape ‘norman bates’ - still sounds way ahead of its time - this actually figured high in the charts at the time….
The lovers speaks ‘no more I love you’s’….
And something from the 90’s - the much missed Ned’s Atomic Dustbin with ‘until you find out’
And was this the best shoe gaze / dream pop record ever. Discuss. Kitchens of Distinction ’the third time we opened the capsule’ - as near to perfect as you can get….
And lastly mainly because we haven’t heard for yonks….renegade sound wave ‘probably a robbery’
And that’s your lot for a few days - there will be two quickly turned out missives by the weekend - a short and brief my space type thing followed in hot pursuit by an even briefer singles round up which will include for once all the things that we’ve been promising on previous missives - oh dear.
Updates via www.myspace.com/thesundayexperience - email mark@losingtoday.com and snail mail via 105 shaldon drive, morden, surrey, sm4 4bq, UK.
Thanks as always to the unnamed - without whose help these rambles and musings would not be possible - for those looking for someone to blame we have their names pinned on a piece of paper glued to our front window.
Till next time (whenever that may be) take care of yourselves
