missive 163 - part 6 02-07-2008 Singled Out
missive 163 - part 6
for Kelly and Mark
Bristle Weather ‘the oblivion seeker’ (October man). Apologies being late with this - we’ve heard already that October Man have sold out of this at source though the more savvy among you should be able to source yourself a copy or two from other trusted outlets such as Norman records (don’t worry we’ll be there too as it seems we’ve missed out on both the Sceneslow and like kisses of thread releases - damn). Anyway one of the reasons this got overlooked - and this is not a piss poor attempt at an excuse was because it is pressed up as a dinky 3 inch CD - during our unearthing of it we also came across at least one Smallfish release, something by Cheju, a few outings from envizagae so expect plenty of electronica groove in the next few missives. For now release number 28 for the esteemed October Man enterprises comes courtesy of Bristle Weather which is the creative psuedonym of Russian musician Eugeny Trifonov, previously unknown to us which shouldn’t really come as a great surprise to regular readers of these passages, limited to just 30 handsomely packaged copies all pressed on dinky 3 inch cd’s. As with those crucial Smallfish releases (see next) this comes without any press release which is fine by us given that it makes us do a spot of research the result of which we’ve discovered that aside his Bristle Weather alter ego, Mr Trifonov occasionally dabbles in what he describes as a spot of ’industrial / dark ambience’ under the guise of Ribbon - a distinctly darker proposition whose deeply whose deeply ominous ’lgn’ you can access for gratis via the OLN imprint by following the link http://70.87.68.194/~pakot/olnlabel/blog/oln/2007/oln-al/- its excellent stuff providing evidence indeed of Trifonov’s creative abstract use of spaces, textures and sound manipulative techniques and something that we feel will appeal greatly to fans of Pimmon (whatever happened to him?). Back with Brittle Weather though, four tracks feature within ’the oblivion seeker’, crafting out thought provoking moments frozen in time, Trifonov excels at creating beautifully forlorn idm drone scapes - at least that the case on the opening salvo ’NT’ - minimalist, pensive and beautifully haunting lunatic montages tapered by glitchy beats and strangely out of sync time signatures make this something of a willowy and lulling gem eerily cast in an exotic air that’s both tearfully melancholic and lonesome. In sharp contrast ’apathy’ is more abstract in intent and texture, braided by what seems like a galactic typewriter tapping out binary communications into the vast void this chilling slice of coldly detached blip core is one best played with the lights on. Parting shot ’nothing came’ ass the title may well hint is heavily beset with a sense of loss cast as it is by an unfailing and inescapable colatitudes as it shuffles almost despondently with lethargic hesitancy to leave you numbed and emptied of emotion. However its left to the radiance casting ’yellow air’ to provide the set with its best moment, the oppressive aural sculpturing within tenderly bleached by a delicious cortege of opining looping ether drilled celestial swirls that arc and chime in celebratory harmony. Bit of a gem if you ask me. www.freewebs.com/octobermsanrecordings
Cyan 341 ‘hex’ EP (Smallfish). And so to the small but well formed Smallfish label. This little cutie pressed up on the now standardised 3 inch CD format is strictly limited to just 100 copies and is bound to fly from the labels racks one suspects before it gets a chance to hit the streets. Cyan 341 is the alter ego of Zainetica better known to friends as Mark Sreatfield who in recent years has released a considerable body of work that has managed to surface on some of the coolest imprints on the cutting edge scene of electronica including Boltfish, u-cover and en:peg to name just three. Cyan 341 sees him freewheeling his more dance cultured persona - this fruity little slice of mesmeric ambience had us wobbling on our lunar axis and finds its feet distinctly in Detroit techno realms deliciously cooking up some damn fine transcendental tuneage. Should appeal principally to fans of mid 90’s era Biosphere, 808 State (especially the parting ‘#ff00ff’ - don‘t ask us), FSOL and most surprisingly late 90‘s styled Derrick May who we detected buzzing intermittently between the grooves). Its stunning stuff, layered loops of chilled out groove cast with futuro funk dialects, disembodied phased vocals and seriously fat ‘n’ juicy bass underpins especially on ‘#ff0000’ - each track building slowly in texture and adding to the previous as though evolving on a theme to which culminates sumptuously in the aforementioned parting ‘#ff00ff’ - a delicious slice of spectral like seductively layered subterranean dub funk peppered with exotic florets and a gorgeously laid back down tempo calm - crank this baby up at the dead of night for a spot of sophisticated nocturnal amour. More of the same please. www.smallfisdh.co.uk
The Vivians ‘a human angle’ (electric toaster entertainment). I know I keep banging on about this until we are literally royal blue in the face - but where the hell re all these corking releases coming from? Debut twin set from Scottish quintet the Vivians is another neat and nifty slab of skinny tie, hip hugging, hi-fi humping guitar strut pop. ‘A human angle’ is a cock sure cutie primed and armed to the teeth with a potent power pack of short fuse riffology, locked grooved sparring motifs brought to bear by the pummelling onset of the twin turbo assault attack guitars that assume an incurably immediate radio friendly dynamic that at times to these ears anyway veer close in origin at times to Steve Stevens speaker rattling craftsmanship on ‘rebel yell’. However for us it’s the flip cut that provides the treat, ’divided we stand’ blending elements of the Scars, Fire Engines, Josef K and the Gang of 4 this unrelenting panic stricken post punk beauty barely gives you a chance to draw breath as the bob and weave of search light styled angular white funk dialects insidiously bore into your psyche as they frantically chop chop between the grooves with urgent glee. www.myspace.com/theviviansdivided
Rosabella Gregory ’water’ (crown music). Okay accepted its not the usual thing that we go for here but it with thanks to Kate at Quite Great who obviously feels that we need to broaden our musical horizons and rightly so I suppose given that we’re not so stupid as to not be able to spot a becoming talent when we hear one. Along with her twin sister Dina a child protégé by all accounts who forsook academia to pursue her muse to study at the Royal College of Music. Achieving many glittering awards and notices throughout her career both with and without her sister ’water’ marks her official debut outing. Blessed with a beguiling angelic vocal that tip toes between quietly sensual and delicately demurring the attached press release passes out comparisons to both Morrisette and Amos which agreed is pretty much unavoidable given the huge shadow that both these artists cast over female songwriters though by our reckoning the flip cut ’what angel’ (the best moment here) belies traces of both Cyndi Lauper and Sarah McLachlan let loose amid vivid floral corteges of brontean sweeps and tenderly arresting backdrops - all at once willowy and touching this honey is best served listened to in the stillness of the night in order to embrace and enhance its fragile, poised and sublimely sophisticated traits. Not to be grumbled at ’water’ is no slouch when it comes in the graceful stakes, braided beautifully by a lulling undulating wide screen aspect of cantering piano motif breathlessly arrested by sweeping string arrangements that collectively seek to smother you in a mystery filled velveteen lushness that evokes at times distant memories of the more tender moments found on Kate Bush’s first two full lengths. www.rosabellagregory.com
Shindig #vol 2 issue 5 - current issue of the quite ridiculously essential psych, garage, beat and power pop bi-monthly Shindig is possibly their best yet featuring inside an extended appraisal of the much overlooked and underrated the West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band and as if that wasn’t enough to prise the entrance fee from your mits elsewhere within there’s a rare catching up with Jackie Lee who is probably best known for her sound tracking vocal on the 60’s tv series ’white horses’ which for those who either weren’t born at the time or more worryingly actually forgot about it we’ve managed to nab one of those you tube type links below - we’re so good to you. Somewhere else there’s a feature on Mellow Candle whose Alison O’Donnell can be found lurking amid this missive with her duet with the Owl Service - seamless eh? Shindig’s continuing serial on groovy head films from the 60’s and 70’s goes on abound this time of asking managing to dig up a whole heap of stinkers a la ‘Wonderwall’ and ‘beyond the valley of the dolls’, there’s also word gear on the Pink Fairies and Mad River the latter of whom we must admit by putting our hands up to say we’ve never heard of - shameful I know - oh yea and a disappointingly short piece on how jazz was spiked with the psychedelic tang - we’d love to hear more.
That promised ’white horses’ title sequence…..
Uncut #135 - we’ve only just nailed our copy so haven’t had a chance as yet to get through it in any great detail though there’s a superb though admittedly lightweight feature on George Harrison of whom we will agree was probably the most important Beatle - after le Ringo of course. Alice Cooper is the subject of this months ’an audience with…’ while a quick rustle through the pages reveals a ’making of…’ feature about Blondie’s a career in arenas jumpstarting ’heart of glass’ and a Stone Roses ’spike island’ spot along with all your usual reviews which strangely enough on this occasion they haven’t told us exactly how many on the cover - or am I confusing that with the Q and Mojo.
Sugar drum ‘1 of 1’ / ‘absence of friends’ (self released). Apologies are indeed due on this occasion, in fact we couldn’t apologise enough as this re-affirms any notion that you may have had that we are work shy fops - indeed on this occasion we have even managed to exceed in disappointing ourselves at such an oversight. Okay here’s the root of all the fuss. 2 CD’s are sent to us last year - and when I say last year I don’t mean the tail end - I mean last year - 12 months ago - okay. Said CD’s are played and loved at the time but due to one thing or another no write up is forthcoming, handwritten notes are made with a view to said typed appraisal. Alas CD’s go wandering as do the handwritten notes (to date the notes still haven’t been found). An occasional recent spring clean unearths said discs. Now we are in a quandary. Do we casually ignore them because lets face it 12 months to do a write up is like - taking the piss. Or do we brace ourselves, keep our integrity in tact and bugger it - go with a ‘we are only human after all’ plea and hope our fawning apology will be accepted. Honesty they say is the best policy and anyway with tunes of this calibre - frankly we’d have had sleepless nights suffering with guilt if we didn’t somehow make amends. So there you go - that’s the reasons out of the way. Sugardrum is better known to family and friends as musician Nigel Bunner who from out of his leafy Surbiton based bunker crafts daydreaming slices of drifting carefree acoustic pop bathed in both intimate and tender sparkles of quietly assuming grace whilst dashed delicately with a becoming pop fluency. Two EP’s feature here - ‘1 of 1’ is the more considered of the pair in comparison to ‘absence of friends‘ an admittedly neutered affair that is until ‘aunt agony‘ manages to loom into vision braided by the lilting rustic florets and the caressing interweave of boy / girl vocals you can imagine this being a truly sumptuous affair if it were treated to the lush symphonic arrangements as applied by Kirby to Drake . Accompanied by guitar and cello this four track set assumes a more noire-ish glow, beautifully crafted liberally dashed with tumbling cascades and delicate dustings of bitterly sweet sugar rushes with tracks such as the melancholically introspective ’1 of 1’ and the dauntingly elegant ’easily pleased’ hinting at a blossoming talent on the rise and its to the ’absence of friends’ set that that very talent comes into full view, featuring 5 cuts (there’s an unaccredited version of ’new york, new york’ tagged to the end - a ghostly, graceful and gorgeous thing succulently pierced with a mellowing majesty more typical of a latter career Paddy McAloon). The set opens with the frail and fragile ’motorway song’ a beautifully conceived slice of drift pop peppered by accordions that imagines a heaven bound spectral collision of Dream Academy and the Go Betweens yet its from ’limbo’ on that Bunner’s confidence, stature and demurring song craft comes into being, this church like beauty equipped with hushed vocals and the lull of watery guitars is a gorgeously laid back life affirming pop portrait that emerges from its initial fog bound haze into a quietly majestic and measured aching love note. ’Absence of friends’ the title track is without doubt the jewel in the crown, flighty pastoral florets, vocals a la Tim Buckley and a stately fragile persona make this a touching gem in the making, the shy eyed undulating craftsmanship giving way to the sumptuous moments of flowering vibrancy of the beautifully conceived bouquets of Nick Drake like thoughtfulness. ’sleepwalk’ rounds up what is an eloquent and elegant set - upon a bed of flickering celestial mirages and pillows of heaven crested chorus’ this intimate beauty albeit exasperatingly brief is a sweetly coated moment of faraway rustic bliss. www.sugardrum.co.uk
Vanadium ‘EP-ic’ (self released). This little blighter finds itself lucky not to have been catapulted through the air at speed as though hoisted into the void by a Herculean athlete styled thrust given that we initially misread the bands name as Van Halen - mind you we blame the type set on the sleeve, the fact that it was dark when we struggled to view the name and most importantly we are stupid. Not that we - I hasten to add - have any particular gripe again the big hair scissor kicking 80’s Gods of the riff in fact most nights you’ll find us huddled up in our latest trendy band logo t-shirt indulging in a spot of forbidden pleasures listening to Dave Lee Roth - of course a fresh supply of eyeball piercing needles are forever at our side but then that’s another story and not a very interesting one at that. Which not so neatly brings us to Vanadium who caused this hullabaloo in the first place - I‘ll supply an address at the end so you can send your well worded complaints venting your displeasure. By all accounts Devon based quartet Vanadium have been around in one form or another since 2003 - several line up’s later some tweaking of the sound and defining of their own style which they refer to as ’new new wave of british heavy metal’ (don’t ask - really - don’t ask) fast forwards the story to the present. Freebasing on Iron Maiden riffs especially on the opening salvo ’thin ice’, Vanadium craft a punishing aural assault riddled with apocalyptic tension lacerated by hell bound cross weaving vocals that scowl between something recently unearthed from the bowels of hell to something touched with crusading valour - beneath all this an unrelenting black hole of frenetic veneer scalds and scars as the chop chop style riffs needle away frantically wrapped in sombre foreboding. ’the fallen’ as you’d rightly imagine from such a title is a crippling mass of hollowing futility drowned amid the reins of a battle scarred aural artillery. ’save the day’ initially changes tact and texture, slowly unfurling like some faux Coverdale / Whitesnake slab of MTV loving soft rock, occasionally erupting in to passages of spiked hopelessness bleached with an inescapably sludge fest like down cast claustrophobic air before changing lane to evolve into a cavalry coming over the hill racing solo climax. Leaving the best until last - don’t they always - ’broken man’ is a howling and festering slab of labotomising metal headed scorched earth agitation, raging riffs see saw menacing acting as a support cast to the ritual like doom laced sermon exacted throughout delivered by a vocal no doubt left out too long distilling in kerosene and partaking in a diet of broken glass - titanic stuff. www.myspace.com/hatual
The Cedar Falls ‘Abandon’ EP (self released). Power driven MTV mauling groove from trio the Cedar Falls marks for what is for us a quality debut release with the press release rightly noting a close affinity with Sound garden a point not lost on us. In terms of mood, emotion and apocryphal dynamcism this four track calling card is head and shoulders above the normal ‘metal / heavy rock’ releases we get to hear. The Cedar Falls excel at crafting out blistered shards of ravaged and gridlocked skin peeling scorched and scarred metal headed grunge bluesas deftly displayed on the opening salvo the searing ’abandon’ and while ’twilight’ may well be considered the EP’s centrepiece blessed as it is by a brooding to blistering gear shifting dynamic for us the sets best moments are the two beauties assuming defence positions to the back of the release. The fringe parting down but un-bloodied locked grind of ’unity’ gets our unquestioned vote blessed as it is with its Maiden-esque montages and pummelling drills of angst spiked assaults while the parting acoustically tendered ’a place to stand’ reveals a hitherto sensitive side to their song craft. www.cedarfalls.co.uk
Midasuno ‘Sister Temptation’ (Sugar Shack). An altogether different prospect comes courtesy of Midasuno of whom we don’t mind admitting that we were more than a mite smitten by this lots debut full length ‘songs in the key of fuck’ in particular the track ‘a machine the rhythm thief’ - a head jarring beauty spiked with a furious gridlocked groove much reminiscent of old school Queens of the Stone Age. Pulled from the same set its opening salvo ‘sister temptation’ gets a much deserved outing in its own right and sees Merthyr Tydfil’s finest spanking the hi-fi good style, a howling beauty that sounds for all the world like its crawled straight out a hell pit. Blessed with a ravaged unravelling psychosis ‘Sister Temptation‘ is all at once, vicious, stricken and discordant, this potently flame torched skull fuck lunges menacingly with a punishing aural carnage of bludgeoned industrial accents, snarling metal dialects and spiked eruptions of thrash metal tyranny that combine together to rain down on you without mercy or sanctuary. Will reduce your listening space to rubble. Flip the disc for two cuts culled from a live session commissioned for by BBC Wales, ’taste the virus’ first spotted occupying groove space on Midasuno’s ’til death do us party’ EP, this babe is spiked with a skin flinching demonic edge replete with a bass heavy gridlocked and grizzled groove making it something of a furious fuzz laden black hole while ’reactions’ culled from the current aforementioned full length shapes up to be a nifty slice of volcanic tempest orchestrating goo. www.myspace.com/midasuno
Violet Violet ‘bring bring the dawn and bike till morn’ EP (NRONE). And how we do love these three impish felines, previously swooned upon when their ‘love this band’ 7 inch loomed large on our turntable (see missive 145). The perfect antidote for those labouring with tiredness at the way femme pop has been hijacked by young singer songwriter lasses pitching fey and maudlin pop badly out of tune with lyrics a la ironic (apparently) swiped from the note book of a nursery attending family member and a cutesy cute aren’t I clever attitude and the endless conveyor belt of boy bands sharing jeans, names and the same three chords. Dragging their brand of skewif punk pop in tow Violet Violet are a cherry picked amalgam of all the great attitude laced girl bands of the last three decades, ostensibly leaning towards riot grrrl in style and presentation their crooked craft exploits, distils and enhances past hi-fi heroes the Waitresses (none more so than on the ridiculously infectious ‘one little problem‘), Shonen Knife, L7, Hole, the Shaggs, Sleater Kinney and more besides and rewires their spirit and essence into playfully undernourished slices of barbed pop. Five aural paint bombs feature here split across a double vinyl package that’s been split into two releases - the first just out the second due to hit the racks later this month. Deliciously sprinkled with kooky caterwauling harmonies ‘Spicy noodle treasure’ seesaws and zig zags amid angular accents and a wayward wonkyness much reminiscent of the Babes in Toyland albeit stripped of Ms Bjelland’s curdling screams while older listeners familiar with the bands of yore such as Expelled, Ejected and Hagar the Womb will be much loving of the threadbare lo-fi potency of the audaciously catchy ’cereal reflector’ though repeat plays had us much mindful of early career Xmal Deutschland which I’m sure you’ll agree is a pretty neat trick to pull off. Skull burrowing insidious wiring chords are the order of the day for ’Twin on twin’ which opens the set for the second part of the release, hyperactive skulduggery much in tune with the Slits - though that’ll be the Slits aided and abetted by a very youthful Siouxsie though in our humble opinion it’s the twin sets final cut (and briefest moment) ’pick your point’ that earns its stripes as the collections best moment, irrefutably sparse in design pierced by the finger jabbing corkscrewing of repetitive needle worked riffs and a cutely affecting nonchalant attitude - why aren’t they massive we wonder? www.nrone.co.uk
Sukie ’Pink-a-Pade’ (new slang). Hell we must need the bumps on our head feeling for not having got to this sooner. Ridiculously catchy and irresistibly cute with it. These cheeky pups (totalling 4 in number) hail from Kettering and may just have delivered a spanking twin set to soundtrack the promised summer (you know that sun type thing - yellow, round, found in the sky - though if your name is Morrissey apparently shining out of your arse - hides behind clouds - when seen is often warm). Anyway seems that Sukie have a knack for the turning of a melodic phrase, rooted with a disarming pop sensibility ’pink a pade’ is so stupidly catchy it should be illegal, deliiously dinky beat pop with the emphasis on pop, this cutie is a wickedly wayward throwback that blends a seesawing musical hall demeanour with a dislocated skiff-ladelic persona that sees elements of the Small Faces cast into the melodic melting pot alongside Cockney Rebel and then blessed with a skewiff fringe arranging radio friendly hook happy immediacy that quite frankly once within earshot of your hi-fi’s stylus will require superhero strength with which to prise it away from its greedy mits. Flip the disc for the equally rascal-ish ’fairies’ - a breathlessly restless skinny tied party pack shoehorned to bursting point with sun filled radiance whilst eliciting an impossible to ignore desire to tap toes wildly. So audacious it shouldn’t be allowed. www.myspace.com/wearesukie
The Talks ‘picture this’ (all our own records). The latest line in young gentlemen packing guitar cases stuffed full of top turntable tunes and a swaggering intent to win over your undying affection. Sadly not a cover of the old Blondie chestnut, this particular ’picture this’ is the eagerly awaited debut release from the hotly tipped beat pop combo the Talks who it seems have already managed to fill up their autograph books with admiring glances from the likes of Mick Jones, Alan McGee and Robert Plant while various radio heads have been turning over airtime for them to riotously entertainment the airwaves. ’picture this’ is your genuinely articled from the heart slice of skiff-ladelic hip swerving, skinny tie wearinhg toe tapping pristinely primed pop, cast with drop dead hooks, life affirming sing-a-long chorus’ and a swooning combination trading punch you out pop sensibility. Nuff said our kid. Flip the disc for the far more fanciable ’faces’ - blessed with a barricade storming frenetically festooned driving dynamic that to these ears at least sounds like the resulting offspring from a one night bunk between early career Supergrass and the Sultans of Ping, so fiercesomely effervescent and in your face its liable to drag you kicking and screaming around your listening space just for daring to be in earshot of it. Ridiculously cute. www.myspace.com/thetalks
The International Submarine Band ‘Blue Eyes’ (Sundazed). Rarely is it our fortune to lay our hands upon Sundazed releases these days, harder still trying to track down their 7 inch issues so you can imagine our utter joy at nailing down not one but three such outings (well four if you count the killer ‘live at the Royal Albert Hall 1971’ double vinyl set from the Byrds) from one of the coolest imprints on the planet. Not sure exactly how many of these babes are around but given you never get to see them in the local record emporium racks for long (that is - if they ever reach there in the first place) then its safe to say that if you want to call one your own then you better move your arse into gear sharpish. The Incredible Submarine Band have a unique and lasting place in the annals of rock, not withstanding the fact that in their ranks they had the youthful Gram Parsons who would later go on to briefly join the Byrds and later secure his legacy in the Flying Burritos they were later regarded as one of the primary visionary ensembles to be found fusing elements of country / rock and pop years before it became an accepted medium and a recognised genre in its own right with the bands reputation cemented by the watershed third full length ‘the hangmans beautiful daughter‘. This babe comes housed in a retro styled mid 60’s EP sleeve replete with faux vintage jukebox labels all pressed up on 7 inches of black wax. Inside mono re-pressings of the bands two releases for Lee Hazlewood’s LHI imprint, both ’blue eyes’ and ’luxury liner’ penned by Parsons are nimbly carved nuggets of twinkling drifting country hazes peppered sumptuously with corteges of steel guitars and lilting prairie tonalities with the particularly up beat ’luxury liner’ being the certified gem here mainly for the fact it veers close towards the Beatles ’rubber soul’ and ’revolver’ sets. The flip culls together a brace of faithfully distilled covers - Hank Snow’s ’miller’s cave’ and Merle Haggard’s ’I must be somebody else you’ve know’ the latter in particular seemingly hogging space on our pining hi-fi for its smooth honky tonk glazes. Essential aural artefacts accounting the early stirrings of one of country rock’s pioneering fathers. www.sundazed.com
The Byrds ‘Live in Holland 1971’ (Sundazed). Again another superbly packaged and authentic looking 7 inch from those archive gurus Sundazed. Pressed up on a jukebox styled clear vinyl platter this cutie culls two previously unreleased cuts from a live appearance in Holland in 1971. For all intents and purposes the band as a unit were finished as the sleeve notes report with McGuinn openly admitting the name was only being kept alive for the benefit of new guitarist Clarence White as he’d ‘always wanted to be in the band…and now had his chance’. The set features the Dr John spoof ‘lover of bayou’ originally co-written by McGuinn and Levy for the musical ‘Gene Tryp’ backed by the Dylan cover ‘you ain’t goin nowhere’. your standard early 70’s FM radio affair, ‘lover of bayou’ in particular will appeal to mid 70’s Young fans with the intricate guitar interplays between White and McGuinn are alone worth buying this gem just to hear though the real nugget lies on the flip. ‘you ain’t goin’ nowhere’ blessed with some neat pedal steel is given a seriously laid back honky tonk like porch lit amber which strangely sounds like the Faces at times. If you’ve a few extra quid to spare we suggest you try nabbing the double vinyl issue of the ‘live at Royal Albert Hall 1971’ set which - okay aside the cost (that is if you can nail one of these excellently packaged Sundazed babes) features a mind blowing smoking stack of an 18 minute chilled out extended jam of ‘eight miles high’ which in our humble opinion is the best bloody live version of this nugget that we’ve had the pleasure of hearing. www.sundazed.com
Gene Clark ‘Only Colombe’ (Sundazed / Columbia). As with the previously two featured releases this two track gem (the best of the three admittedly) comes replete with retro labels and sleeve. Completing this Byrds related threesome, Clark was of course along with McGuinn the founding member of the Byrds and responsible for penning their early ground breaking cuts - notably ’eight miles high’. Often accorded with being a visionary (like Parsons, Clark was one of the early purveyors soft country) and dogged with serious misfortune, Clark never received the success he duly deserved being critically lauded by critics didn’t translate into record sales. These two cuts were originally destined to be released as a single shortly after the release of his solo debut full length ’Gene Clark and the Gosdin Brothers’ though that idea was put on hold following said albums poor sales, Clark’s inability to promote it by touring and Columbia‘s decision to drop him - not withstanding the fact that its release coincided with the Byrds own ’younger than yesterday’. In fact the recordings lay forgotten and gathering dust until Clark’s death in 1991. This release is particularly special because it marks the first time that both tracks have been pressed on wax in their original mono mix. The self penned ’only colombe’ is a marked shift in the usual Clark sound and style, a more mature and broodingly beautiful ballad of sorts that may well strike a chord with fans of Leonard Cohen, the baroque tonalities and the lushly lined wide screen aspects distinctly edging into musical references more commonly associated with early career Scott Walker - how Columbia managed to keep this under wraps for over a decade is nothing short of a crime. In sharp contrast the gorgeously willowy ‘the French girl’ is a shimmering 60’s pop treat of an Ian and Sylvia cover cast with a delicately demurring light headed hippy chic and feathery pastoral demeanour festooned beautifully with tip toeing strings and the lilt of underpinning female la la harmonies, both immediate and incurably infectious one suspects if it had been released then Clark’s fortunes may well have been markedly different. Essential of course as though you’d needed reminding. www.sundazed.com
Smokers Die Younger ’sketchpads’ (Sheffield phonographic corporation). a little further down the road from On the Bone and you’ll find the equally fond happenings emanating from the Sheffield Phonographic Corporation or TheeSPC as they prefer to be called. You should find dotted liberally around this missive 3 killer releases from Sheffield’s finest who incidentally also sent over the debut full length from Slow Down Tallahassee which we don’t mind admitting is being lavished with much fondness here. Smokers Die Younger indeed they do must be something to do with all that exhaust pollution that we now inhale while standing outside in the pouring rain and freezing cold trying to grab a quick drag or three. According to the accompanying press release this lot absconded from the scene after their by all accounts critically noted debut full length ‘x wants the meat’ only to sporadically re-appear on occasions upsetting fans of Reverend and the Makers, gate crashing recording sessions for the Monkey Swallows the Universe recording sessions, becoming TV celebs in Scandinavian and undergoing a few line up trims. Currently putting the top coat to what will be their - as yet untitled - second full length this cute twin set features a slender taster of things to come in the guise of ’sketchpads’ backed with a re-working of the ensembles ’yer actual’ by Ross Orton whose previous assists with the Fat Truckers has been duly noted and loved within these very pages. ’sketchpads’ is a tantalisingly tasty affair, not your usual rush of sheep with guitars following tune-smithery here, instead - and don’t ask why - this has all the hallmarks of the much missed Garlic (themselves much in awe of Pavement - though on this occasion sounding like they’ve been tweaked by a particularly impish Hefner). Skewiff time signatures, ridiculously dinky and frighteningly infectious melodic hooks, between you and me deep in the grooves of this beauty there’s a certifiable pop gem demanding to be let loose the only problem is these imps have decided to re-arrange all the pieces of the puzzle so that it appears delightfully dislocated so that what you get is a hyperactive aural paint bomb braided by violins, shanty styled licks and a certain degree of mindset unravelling - ingenious really. Flip the disc for what is our favourite moment the reworking of ’yer actual’ - here stripped down for a spot of tinkering with the cylinder heads and rebuilt sporting a new paint job and a spiked turbo charged fuzz loving beast of a motor. This has been getting a spanking of late on the hi-fi and rightly so given that its lo-fi delivery sounds like a classically drilled 7 inch from overseas c. late 80’s / early 90’s being kicked out by the likes of AmRep, Estrus and Ringers Lactate, mental stuff indeed - frenzied and skewed slice of glam trashed hot rod boogie with a particularly freaked and out of his mind Aerial Pink in the driving seat Frankly do we need say more - nope - go buy. www.theespc.com
Horowitz ’I need a blanket’ (theeSPC). Staying with Sheffield’s finest for a tad bit longer for this little beauty. Now we’ll be honest in saying we’re not sure how you can nail a copy of this treat given that it was out a few weeks ago (yes I know we should have told you sooner) and only available via the labels web shop. Strictly limited - if I recall rightly - to only 100 copies, theeSPC have really pushed the boat out on this given it comes housed in a special edition of their excellent on the pulse though occasional ’thee humbug’ fanzine which on this occasion sees the editorial taken over by these impish Horowitz dudes and as though that wasn’t enough finds tucked within its pages a nifty three track CD single but - and wait for it - a DVD featuring the video for ’I need a blanket’, a postcard and a brace of button badges. Damn fine we say not that we needed our arms twisting. Horowitz hail from Stoke - number in four and have by all accounts been causing something of a stir in the indie / twee musical community following the release of their debut full length ’frosty cat songs’ and the ultra limited ’Tracyanne’ single from a year or so ago. For lovers of those classic indie / twee imprints of yesteryear - Bus Stop, Summershine, Sarah, In Tape et al this release is so f**king good that we wept, ridiculously crafted nuggets of sumptuous candy pop that all will at once radiate with effervescence or else choking back the forming tears, ’I need a blanket’ culled from that aforementioned debut full length should mark the start of a fair amount of release action from the Horowitz camp that will see in the coming weeks / months a limited issue of ’Tracyanne’ repackaged and re-issued on vinyl as well as a positive smorgasbord of outings dotted across the coolest record racks one of which a promised split with the Parallelograms. ’I need a blanket’ is a fuzzy wuzzy babe of prime sliced laid back and smoking bubblegum pop that’s cutely fey in delivery and braided with buzzing west coast styled riffs hoodwinked from the Razorcuts whilst blending elements of the Hoverchairs and Another Sunny Day into a gorgeously woven tapestry of shimmering haze driven pop that to these ears we needed a double take to make sure it wasn’t the Pooh Sticks. Flip the disc for the upbeat, kooky and playfully dinky ‘Animal soup’ which unless I’m very much mistaken I’d have sworn it had fallen straight from a teen tv show from the early 70’s notably ‘the double deckers’ - possessing a wonderfully willowy infectious summery disposition longingly pierced with a childlike innocence and braided by a nifty corkscrewing riff this honey crusted cutie could easily pass for one of the more whimsically whoozy moments from Of Montreal’s back catalogue. Last and by no means least the cumbersomely titled ’It’s better to eat twinkies with yr friends than to eat broccoli alone’ is a reflective slice of stripped down shy eyed recalling in the main early career Belle and Sebastian which as you all know kids is no bad thing. www.theespc.com
Kris Morris ‘Someone Sometimes’ (self released). Second outing for singer songwriter Kris Morris following his warmly received ‘little light’ EP debut from last year - now settled in London and regularly to found tripping the boards of the capital’s acoustic stages, the relocated Aussie has recently teamed up with the Weeks brothers Matt and Dan the first fruits of which can be heard on ‘someone sometimes‘ which it appears sees the once fragile artist muscling into the outer edges of the drive time radio play lists, often compared to Dylan and Finn, this babe is a touching slice of aching acoustic thoughtfulness, indelibly introspective yet spliced with hope braided as it is by an affecting bitter sweet tang - a quietly lovelorn anthem for those out there scarred and hurt at the hand of love methinks. www.krismorris.com
The Postcards ‘the hours up to midnight’ (valiant). We’ve literally spent the last half an hour thumbing through our record collection in an attempt to spy our copy of the Clash’s ‘London calling’ to no avail (we knew before we started it was a mission doomed) - the reason why you may well ask is because we swear the cover of this dinky debut from the Postcards is a pastiche of it. Oh well never mind - the blighter will no doubt turn up once we’ve posted this babe on line and had millions (okay two) correction emails from keen eyed smart arses revelling in catching us out. Anyhow back to the important stuff. The Postcards are a Brockley - South London based - four piece who it seems have managed to tweak, polish and turn to near perfection a nine minute four track debut spree gathered together under the collectively titled ‘the hours up to midnight’. Those longing and dare I say missing your quota of jangling bitter sweet cutely turned pop may do well to retune your radars for this natty little treat which is due to surface on 7 inches of wax in a month or so time. Alarmingly immediate and audaciously addictive these primed gems are a distilled brew culled from the finest resources of classic pub rock, C-86 twee pop (damn I hate that term) and the well thumbed trawl through trusted old school shy eyed swoon swaying song-smithery as found on labels of love such as Sarah, Bus Stop, Summershine and of course current vanguards of the melodic pop flame Matinee recordings. Succulently invested with a deft ear for a spot of tasty tuneage, The Postcards sound assumes the brittle urgency of early career Wedding Present though finding itself dallying with the soft sucker pop punch caress of the 14 Iced Bears and scratched with the mellowing amour of the Lucksmiths, all at once disarming and fluent with free spirited flightiness these four sprightly nuggets set about immediately scrambling your defences to work their way with insidious impishness beneath your skin from the chiming corteges of the lilting arrest of the opening ’hurry on home’ armed with its Milltown Brothers like summer fresh tingle, this delicate honey is festooned with all manner of drifting harmonics gently reclining amid the shade cover of memorable hooks and a ridiculously infectious though gently undemanding chorus twist. ’I never said’ assumes a more razor edged twee tipped power pop augmentation while the tear jerking ’john peel was a friend of mine’ should strike a chord with even the most casual observers of these pages however all said and done its ‘golden boy’ that provides by far the sternest example of the set that these young pups have the melodic kudos to be a scene mainstay for a fair while yet. Enlisting the same faraway lilt that was once the sole remit of Hey Paulette though sumptuously invested with a off sided and glancing killer hook drenched with a sublime pop sensibility that to these ears at least had us scrambling for our stash of Brinsley Schwartz tunes. www.myspace.com/thepostcards
Six Toes ‘Four leaved clover’ (Toe Music). Literally just fell through our letter box and a bloody gorgeous thing it is to even if we do say so ourselves. Six Toes named after a member of the band who indeed has six toes though they aren’t coughing who exactly it is though if I were doing a spot of fact finding interviewing the first obvious question I’d be asking would be ‘hands up those who can count the number of toes they have on both hands’. But then that’s just tittle tattle and are we bothered its not as though we are the N*e or Q magazine which is a tad sad really because more than three people would read this. Anyhow before we get derailed any further Six Toes are a London based six piece who are busy at present putting the finishing touches to their - as yet - untitled debut full length which hopefully all things being well will see the light of day sometime in the Summer - an album that was incidentally recorded on the site of a 16th C mental asylum - full of trivia us and no as you’ve probably gathered we haven’t quite managed to lose this particular press release which I’m sure you’ll agree is a good thing otherwise you’d have been none the wiser about the 6 toe member or the spooky recording location. Ah well it passes the time. ‘four leaved clover’ is a taster for what to expect, a track one fears is not ready made or pre-disposed for the hustle and bustle of gridlocked traffic life. Instead we suggest in preparation of your imminent listening experience in sampling the succulent delights of this quietly affecting gem that you find a lone spot - preferably beneath a tree within hearing distance of the tranquil calm of a river or stream that’s set in an ascetically pleasing to the eye idyllic locale and be prepared to be romanced. ’four leaved clover’ aches and enchants in equal degrees, the parched none suckle rustic acoustics delicately drift and meander softly but surely unlocking your resistance - beautifully mellow and tender, its ingredients seemingly sourced from deep within the southern states and imported and briskly left to ferment to soak in the rural green quilted aromatics. This babe hurts and heals with immeasurable timeless artistry freewheeling beautifully between porch lit sereneness softened by a melancholic swansong persona brought to bear by the gorgeously imparted viola florets. An intoxicating salvo of touching folk noire. That said we were quite smitten by the flip cut ’the reggae song’ - a deeply contrasting and peculiar potion it has to be said which appears to echo eerily from the shadows exuding a intoxicatingly darkened countenance that indelibly points in some small way to ’swordfishbones’ era Tom Waits, all at bewitching and strangely embracing it acts almost like an invitation salute to a Victorian freak show, a wilfully surreal mix of Brel / Brecht crookedly scarred grimly with an unerring shanty / cabaret persona makes it an oddly irresistible listening affair. www.myspace.com/sixtoes1
Kierononon ‘brutaltechnopunk’ (roxxor2). Bollocks we’ve lost the press release for this - in fact now we come to think of it we can’t there being a press release in the first place. Its all slightly confusing. But then nothing it seems appears to make sense in the insane world that is the Roxxor2 imprint. Alas as stupid as we are we did spy the arrival with this - the third an final release from Kierononon and bit of a spiffing (if we do say so ourselves) debut full length from Mr Introspective entitled ‘beyond our comprehension’ - a gorgeously twinkling collection of beard stroking retro prog electro ambient montages which unless I’m very much mistaken will appeal in the main to fans of Tangerine Dream / Cluster / VdGG et al as well as Mr Jarre (second mention this particular missive no less - should we be asking for endorsement fees we wonder). Elsewhere we’ve also noted with much annoyance that we’ve somehow missed out on Teeth’s ‘career suicide’ release and a DVD of Kierononon entitled ‘DVDVDVDVDVD’ featuring a career spanning collection of all their videos which frankly we suspect every good home should own. And so to ‘brutaltechnopunk’ - billed as the last Kierononon release - I can tell you now letters are currently in transit to Downing Street to enshrine these dudes as a National Treasure. Numbering in three and hailing from Hull home of the H*********s, this slab of super charged mind warping goof pop features five demented tunes that in turn freewheel between hip hop, DC hardcore, dead eyed bone rattling bar room boogies (a la an evil breed version of Tom Waits) and dumb f*ck English psychedelic. Last time we featured these skewif souls was via their absolutely belting and competently incompetent ‘more boring than poison’ EP (see missive 109) wherein we haplessly added an additional ‘on’ to their name - that’ll teach them. If you ask me this is just what the doctor ordered - if that is the doctor in question was an axe wielding psychotic escapee from the local asylum, a seriously worrying listening experience but an enjoyable one at that. Kierononon excel at doing your head in, they sound like nothing around at the moment, al at once festering, pummelling and playful they literally rip up the rule book - in recent memory its not been since the advent of the impish foreheads in a fish tank that we’ve been treated to something so outwardly unkempt, deranged and dashingly devious. Clever and resourcefully crafted ‘brutaltechnopunk’ opens with ‘no one laughed’ an ominously brooding bastard off spring of the Cravats, this mentally challenged and acutely crooked and caustic spot of freakish sloth pop curiously stop starts amid wig flips of power shorn aural assaults and loose limbed gold chain wearing street savvy ghetto grooving. In sharp contrast ‘fishes lay’ ups the ante considerably posting up for all to their credentials as art popping aural terrorists in waiting whilst simultaneously creating a frantically brutalised psyche stew of fuzz strewn frazzled lysergic day-glo pop that takes the Pretty Things ‘Defecting Grey’ as its inspirational source and then near kicks the blighter senseless amid an unforgiving reign of hammer headed dragster dialects a la the Ministry ‘Jesus built my hotrod’. The skewed ’Moral Decay’ on the other hand is less forgiving a corrosive gem riddled with corrupting time signatures that will appeal to fans of Melt Banana before the unhappy accident that is the deeply worrying ’temporal conflict’ which after emerging from a brief haze of daydreaming to step up to the plate and unleash a warped montage of bad assed and blistered slo / sludge core intertwined with some seriously waywardly impish moment of skewed psyche tinged psychotics which happily had us recalling at various bit’s the Cravats. Wrapping up the set ‘roulette in paris’ is - shall we settle for - worrying. Okay with that agreed this cutie may well have you reaching for your copies of Cud’s debut full length ’when in Rome, kill me’ and any Butthole Surfers album of your choice though ’locust abortion technician’ seems to be the favourite starting point. Fried dudes indeed. Joint ruddy single of the missive.
Oh yeah here’s a few videos of them……
Sunflies ‘the indigo sampler’ (self released). Apparently this Hertfordshire based lot have been garnering themselves an enviable reputation for their live sets in recent times, their core nucleus James and Joanna have in that time survived numerous line up changes and career derailing, now with bassist Matty and drummer Chris safely ensconced onboard they’ve been busy honing their sound to a frighteningly precise detail. Reminiscent in the main to Leeds combo the Somatics who as you all should know feature the multi talented ex Ultrasound man Richard Green, this stunning three track offering is knee deep in a melding of skinny tied strut happy shade wearing riffola powered by a melting pop potion that has the generic palette blended sublimely to draw upon the subtle but clearly identifiable elements of a grit laced 60’s edge, the fusing of post punk angular dialects of late 70’s and drilled with an acutely vice like macabre melodic thrust more apparent to the re-energised March Violets - the results of this are all stirred into visceral entourage of volcanic sub three minute pop juggernauts that buckle beneath a punishing pop powerhouse best exemplified on the breaking ranks parting shot that is the anxiety riddled ‘no charge without pain’ as it adopts its wiring, unhinged and unravelling persona with the palpable innate tension literally oozing from its grooves. Elsewhere ’Caroline slipped across the sky’ with its flanking of potently jarring riffs and the crystalline corteges of sky piercing sonic soars possesses an identifiable 80’s goth / 4AD yet nothing quite shines with such intensity as the lead out cut ’Vampires’. This panic stricken beauty initially opens to a superb Ruts ’Babylon’s Burning’ styled intro before finding itself lushly pepper corned by some seriously snazzy 50’s sourced sci-fi twang twists riddled by the onset of urgently paced recoiling grinds that find themselves blessed throughout by a vocal very much blood-lined from Hazel O’Connor. Ones to watch fore suspect. www.sunflies.co.uk
Laura Warwick ‘No more’ (the Public Record Label). Obviously the result of a cock up at the pressing plant. The press release describes the debut release ‘no more’ by singer / songwriter Laura Warwick as to quote ‘catchy, punchy with the just the right mix of soulful vulnerability and aggression’ - ell that may be so but then what we got was 28 seconds of feedback skree which I suppose if you were a fan of say - Merzbow - then such descriptions would be most dutifully observed. Alas for now we suspect gremlins in the burning process and shall return to sender and re-review in a forthcoming missive (no doubt). That said it does at least give us a chance to mention the novel way in which Ms Warwick intends to finance the recording, pressing and issue of her forthcoming debut full length (though be mindful to check out a similar scheme being operated by Morton Valence - see elsewhere here). For a mere five pounds of the sterling variety you can buy yourself a share from out of which the funds raised will be used to pay for the album. There’s no limit to the amount of shares that can be acquired though obviously the more you have the greater your ownership of the project. In return for your hard earned dosh you’ll get yourself a digital copy of the album, a mention in the credits, a ticket to the album launch, exclusive input in various projects including the shooting of the video for this here ‘no more’ single and a share out of the profits from sales intended to be voted as a dividend in April 2010 - all enquiries should be made via email to laurasteph123@hotmail.com
Nephu Huzzband ‘Nurse! Nurse!’ (deep recordings). Frankly the bollocks. The second release from Nottingham’s Nephu Huzzband following their wildly acclaimed ‘papers’ debut earlier this year - see missive 149 if you will for further spills and thrills. Our copy is pressed up on a nifty looking candy pink CD (though whether it is candy pink may be the subject of conjecture given our lighting is pretty crap and as we type this up it is some ungodly hour wherein the only people up and about are insomniacs and burglars) - ’Nurse! Nures!’ is at and about you in a flash like contagion, immediate, infectious and ridiculously insidious. There’s two versions featured here a short sharp shock treated 1 minute 27 second affair and an extended (though puzzling billed as) ’morphine 100ml - edit’ which is actually longer than the original - boy are we confused. Anyhow just what the doctor ordered or should that be the nurse (sorry couldn’t resist). This frenzied slice of panic attack agit pop comes galloping out of the traps at some pace inducing pulse rate pulverising seizures - blistering stuff punctuated abruptly by some neat skewed angular riffology and drilled with a stylus warping velocity that’s bedded upon scalding underpin of quick fire lacerating standing on the spot dynamics, reference wise imagine the Gang of Four on so serious speed plugged into the national grid and forced to perform on hot coals. Offering a chance to draw breathe the flip side features the markedly contrasting ’lions, tigers and bears’ - this melodically astute cutie is trimmed with slo-core / post / math rock dialects welded onto an almost at odds and laid back vibe that for the best part recalls a more with it and slightly sparkier Codeine albeit fused with a subtle air of ’let’s go to bed’ era Cure milling about its wares. Essential in case you needed reminding. www.myspace.com/nephuhuzzband
China Dogs ‘Social Blackout’ (self released). Something else that’s been having us all cock a hoop in the losing today gaffa taped gaff has been this spanking debut four track EP from London based trio China Dogs which we don’t mind admitting has been getting one hell of a hammering on our turntable. Blessed with a vocalist who sounds like a cross between a youthful Paul Weller and Malcolm Owen especially on the incendiary ‘something real’, China Dogs are the perfect antidote for those pissed off with the current train hopping fashion chasing band wagoneering indie scene. Four tracks feature here that if I’m honest are cut with the kind of youthfully spirited fist clenching calibre that made us, and I suspect you too, start getting into music in the first place - pristinely powered 3 minute escape routes from a humdrum existence are what you get - oh yeah and a perfect excuse to fling yourself around your listening space like a bad ’un. While we agree with the accompanying press release acknowledging the fact that there’s a knowing blood line that can be drawn directly towards the first two albums by both the Clash and the Jam - the latter serviced perfectly by ‘small town boy’ - yet we rather feel (and not for the first time in this particular missive) that they are closer related to both early career Alarm and the much missed Parkinsons who both filter through the grooves to different degrees none more so than on the barnstorming finale ’bland cynical times’. These street anthems subtly decoded with political spite / commentary (especially on the insurgent ‘a social black out’) are a sharp shock call to arms clarion call for those preferring their sounds to be resolutely meaningful rather than veiled and dressed in meaningless rent a quote sameness, all at once brutal, blistering and bulging with intent, attitude, angst and a searing street savvy flag waving bravado China Dogs storm the barriers carrying in their wake a welter weight of titanic boogie the aforementioned ’something real’ is particularly cast with a take no prisoners attitude while assuming a punishing route one up close and personal verve. All said and done best cut by some distance is the parting volley ’bland cynical times’ - a snotty nosed chest beating beauty that just makes you want to pack your things together and cut loose - a nu age ’born to run’ anyone? www.myspace.com/chinadogs
Eaten by Tigers ‘Solstice’ (self released). Frankly we are getting a tad bemused by all these high quality releases, barely do we have time to recover our thoughts and composure before another flies past our defences and into our affection. Case in point the second self released EP from Leeds based quintet Eaten by Tigers. Admittedly we’ve had this for a fair few weeks now and the fact that we haven’t reviewed it so far should not be in any way taken as an indication as to its merits -failing or otherwise. The truth of the matter is the blighter (like so many releases featured here) got buried beneath the weight of cd’s flying through our door. Formed little over 18 months ago, a tweak here and there of the line up and one previous EP under their belt in the shape of ‘Entropy’ which gnashing of teeth aside we sadly missed. Frankly we won’t beat too much about the bush about this four track affair - it is simply immense stuff - for sensitive souls they may appear and seem, Eaten by Tigers craft out atmospherically charged lonesome melancholic structures of such titanic, tumultuous and turbulent beauty that you are simply left huddled in the corner of your listening space - floored, speechless and daring to beg for more. Leaning towards a post rock dialect in the greater scheme of things the set opens to the introductory strains of ’prelude’ - a beautifully tear welling gem lushly formed bleached atmospheric landscapes tenderly air brushed with the sultry swirls of delicately dappling mistrals braided longingly by sparsely woven stratospheric piercing arpeggios which soon surrenders into ’solstice’. A nine minute thing of unbridled beauty all at once magnetic and disarming and possessed of an innate desire and sense of intensity that literally blisters and bubbles from the grooves, filtered through with longing arcs of air formation styled pirouettes of interweaving needle worked riffs its serene lulls are intermittently scratched and scorched by flashes of erupting fuzz laden halos that overall create a glorious floorshow primed with passion, sensitivity and a hitherto measured elegance. In sharp contrast ’reflections at 40,000 ft’ though with a want to pursue the seemingly trademark loud / quiet dynamic reveals a more wintry tipped persona brought to the fore by the additional wind arrangements themselves pinned firmly by the ominous onset of ‘Twin Peaks’ styled motifs. Though for us it’s the parting ‘Deciduous’ that provides the sets best moment by far mainly for the fact that it provides resolute evidence of the ensembles ability to meld moods with sublime song craft arrangements. In terms of reference points not a million miles from the likes of I like trains, ’deciduous’ is braided by gorgeously airy quilts of rustic hues playfully basing amid willowy Brontean landscapes all the times delicately dappled by sweeping tides of heart hurting string corteges that waltz away beneath the seductive glare of arcing arpeggios - something which it has to be said fans of San Lorenzo should be mindful to seek out. ‘Solstice’ makes for a caressing crescendo of crestfallen cinematic captivation - bruised, scarred and wounded but desirably perfect. www.myspace.com/eatenbytigers
Stagecoach ‘School Day’ EP (Stagecoach). Another release that we’ve haplessly and regretfully lost the attending press note for which had you said prior to now we hadn‘t previously reviewed we‘d have been around to your gaff to show off our arm wrestling and Chinese burn skills faster than you could say ’oi ya hapless tw*t where’s that Stagecoach review then?’. Of course we stand corrected and shamefully so because this is another release that bestowed tiny rays of joy on the hi-fi when it first appeared here only to go and bugger off and play in the CD mountain - a case of out of sight (and indeed earshot) out of mind. Anyhow Stagecoach sent along a nice little hand written note to accompany this CD (no we haven’t lost it - yet), hailing from the ’darkest depths of Surrey’ them that it is and not us, we of course hail from the darkest depths of a bijou CD festooned fleapit on the outskirts of Surrey a place where light is a rare thing unless we attempt the hazardous manoeuvre of diving into the great CD mountain for a spot of pruning or as its more commonly known in the trade - reviewing. Anyhow where were we - ah yes Stagecoach, four track nugget type thing festooned with jangling guitars and a pretty nifty ear for a memorable melodic kick, opening salvo ’school day’ indeed had us recalling the youthful exuberance of the Jags’ ’back off my hand’ as though cross wired with an early career Joe Jackson, both of course under the supervision of the Wannadies which lets face it is no bad thing. ’(come find me in the) library’ - yes, yes, yes - a tasty fatly carved juicy up tempo slice of pristinely drilled candy pop that unless we’re very much mistaken nods in the general direction of ’pure’ era Lightning Seeds - a galloping parade of stealing glances styled riff struts and hook happy harmonies - how could we resist. Heading out of the blocks next is ’delinquents’ which features about its wares the most blatantly effective over use (though admittedly well coined) of the ’ooh ooh’ since XTC’s ’making plans for Nigel’ and makes this such a ridiculously catchy affair that frankly you’ll have to wrestle your hi-fi to prise it away from in order to commit it back to its protective sleeve - additional side effects are hat it unfurls into a raging power pop beauty the type of which will pings around your headspace and claim squatters rights - you have been warned. ’hang that head’ wraps up the set, a beautifully cantering affair that we must admit to being rather smitten by no least for the way it nibbles gently at the coda from Andrew Gold’s ’lonely boy’ - recommended of course. www.myspace.com/stagecoach
Back very shortly with a my space missive - then after that missive 165 will be a shared spree between I blame the parents and filthy little angels with the occasional interuption of a few well heeled jezus factory discs….
