missive 181
11-12-2008
Singled Out
Missive 181

For Kelly and Mark - missing you.

Singled Out - revolutions of a 45 kind….

Okay the first of two Singled Out’s being posted today - the second should be online later tonight. From there on in there should be another missive floating about at the weekend - we’ve decided to do a missive special honouring the mighty Giant Paw so that should arrive in the next few days and then in about a week or so’s time the not so legendary Xmas bumper special type thing - which I might add we are still looking out for Xmas related treats to include in - so if there’s anything you’ve spotted on your listening travels then give us a shout and we’ll include it…email as usual mark@losingtoday.com

Er well that’s it till later - oh yea the records….

City of Satellites ‘the spook’ (hidden shoal). Much to our legendary laziness, general day long apathy and dare we say humbled embarrassment we’ve been getting hit by email updates from the Perth, Australia based imprint Hidden Shoal for some time now and on those occasions have always tuned in briefly to see what they’re currently up to, liked it, made a mental note to re-visit a little later for a more detailed stay with a view to review and then haplessly forgot, though that said we have made brief overtures in their general direction in these pages but not to the extent that they’ve richly deserved. So this not being the New Year and us not being one for one for resolutions decided to make a - er - early New Year’s resolution, that being we will in future be mindful to come clean with our promises with regard to Hidden Shoal. So first up in this new found resolution policy towards Hidden Shoal is a rather nifty debut three track EP from City of Satellites. A Sydney based duo compromising of Jared Manuel and Thomas Diakomichalis, City of Satellites craft out beautifully mellowing starry eyed dream weaving post rock sculptures that are delicately dimpled with shoe gaze and mid 80’s goth / 4AD styled dialects and lushly tendered with sweetly amorphous ambient trance lines, opening cut ’moon in the sea’ is particularly sugared so, sounding at times like a distant cousin of Ecstasy of Saint Theresa being cosmically fused with ‘Tin Drum‘ era Japan, the mood reclining, fragile and ethereally demurring. The seductively hollowing ’sleeping disgrace’ tweaks on the heart strings a little firmer, introspective and bruised, this lulling lunatic slice orbiting post rock noodling sparseness unfurls as though like a forlorn La Bradford being played at 45 instead of 33 whilst liltingly braided by trickling thaw like key swirls and Jared’s (according to the press release) achingly melting feminine vocals. All said and though it’s the parting cut that seals the set, maybe it’s the dry iced cinematic tethered cavernous swathes that endow ’the spook’ with its lush defence surrendering sensibilities, all at once expansive and celestial, majestic and statue-esque that to these ears evoke some disarming frost tipped orbital manoeuvre being instigated by Chapterhouse and Slowdive. A gem. www.hiddenshoal.com

Arctic Circle Ensemble and the puffin voices ‘that fuzzy feeling’ EP (Static Caravan / Artic Circle). We were very much tempted to hold back on mentioning this release for a week or two but given that the weather has turned to chill factor, the shops are piping Christmas songs on a loop and our street has been reduced to looking like a third rate scene from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation well humbugs we thought we’d give it a whirl. Of course we neglected to mention the fact that it’s a bit of treat bound treasure and much deserving of the chance to snuggle up into a safe spot in your record collection. Available as a download only - unless of course you can manage to prise away one of the limited promo CD’s this five track festive folly marks Static Caravan’s (now trademark) yuletide bearing seasons greeting a tradition that has in recent years seen the turntable tastily decorated by releases by the Static Caravan’s own in house band the Stags and last year by the immensely touching Christmas Carol collection from the simply perfect Shady Bard. Featuring the massed collaborative talents of Josh Weller, Ted Barnes, Dale Grundle, Paloma Faith, Emily Barker and Harry Escott all backed by the swirling orchestral accompaniment of the Artic Circle Ensemble and choral caress of the Puffin Voices, ‘that fuzzy feeling’ digs deep into the soul of timeless yuletide yore and bruises its peace giving glow with a healthy side portion of modern day realism. From the deliciously dinked sleepy headed Dickensian landscapes that greet the opening ’its Christmas time and I can’t find you a present’ with its lulling easy listening approach and bitter sweetly marinating essences of lounge like overtones and the delicately poised brass opines much reminiscent of a wintry toned L’Augmentation to the off kilter love noted ’I’ll save the bath water for you this Christmas time’ this set provides for a demurring though irrefutably barbed rose tinted glasses removed view of festivities. ’it’s Christmas (and I hate you)’ sees Weller and Faith assuming the would be husband and wife hostilities for perhaps the best slice of soured seasonal sentiment since the MacGowan and MacColl’s drunken sparring on ’fairytale in new york’, a finely smoked slab of mooching lazy eyed prowling soul blues tinged with delicate torch / swing treatments and a veritable slap to chops off kilter like and irresistible rambling hook. Starts off shyly though soon assuming a glorious warmly regaling woodland aura ’unreasonable dream - Christmas night’ features the entwined talents of Emily Barker and Ted Barnes sumptuously serenading the listening space with wafts of breezy fanfares brought on by the sound of a banjo cutting a sprightly sway amid dusted delta dialects all the time underpinning Barker’s willowy faraway dream like vocal delivery itself seduced in fond introspection with the pace slowly but surely shifting to a canter with the impish appearance of the fan-faring brass arrangements bringing with them a delightful festooning of fuzzy felt feel good celebratory glows to have you all-a-swoon. Best moment of the set though by far is ’this old world grown quiet’ - a tenderly minimalist decoration of piano, Theremin and a pining violin, Grundle’s softly aching delivery complimenting perfectly the creaking winter bound eeriness of this delicately stirring snow globed beauty - a humbling slice of quiet majesty easily deserving of a table placing next to both the aforementioned Shady Bard and Low. Perfect in case you haven’t already guessed for yourselves. www.staticcaravan.org

www.myspace.com/greaserecords - a new South Coast imprint who to date have so far managed to secure the services of two artists to their infant roster those being El Goodo and Ruckus Roboticus. Describing themselves as ‘psychedelic / alternative / country’ - Welsh based five piece El Goodo indelibly sift through the remnants of long discarded and forgotten late 60’s hippy chic pop motifs, cross wired with an impeccable knack for a razor sharp hook and an immediately infectious foot stomping throb this brace of day-glo babes showcased here reveal a hugely crafted melodic mindset at work here who’ve poured through the various compilation catalogues such as Pebbles, Nuggets, Back from the Grave, Fuzz Flaykes and Shakes et al and distilled the best moments into their own lysergic tapestry. ’feel so fine’ - primed as the forthcoming single culled from their (we assume) debut full length ’Cayote’ is a shade wearing shimmering acid pop flashback that imagines a dirtier more gritted blues orientated Stone Roses going toe to toe with the psychedelic side of the Soup Dragons operations, some neat nods the Beatles ’I feel fine’ at the opening sequence, plenty of kaleidoscopic tonalities and blessed with the kind of wigged out waywardness that suggests a potential transistor rattler in the making. We aren’t certain whether it us or them but ’she turtle’ sounds well warped and I don’t mean that in a psych way but rather more as though someone’s left the studio tapes on top of a radiator left full on in the hot Californian sun. Whether the effects are deliberate or by accident still sounds like the Lemon Pipers and the Creation being thrown through some mind arranging washing machine on a hot setting. Well smart in short. That said we suggest you tune into their MS page at www.myspace.com/elgoodomusic and fall headlong in to their trip wired transcendental mantra ’I only dream’ - think Mamas and the Papas, Jefferson Airplane and Fairport Convention taking part in some wonderfully weird and wired Tibetan incantation. Ohio based DJ Ruckus Roboticus has by all accounts been plying his trade since the late 90’s in that time bagging himself the winning of coveted awards and the respect of his peers, this turntable tornado sounds for all the world like he’s been bitten by the funky bug - the impishly irresistible ‘here we go’ very much focus’ its viewfinder on the early 70’s - booty shaking discothèque vibes, retro funk grinds, down tempo mirages and playschool motifs - bit like a super chilled Superimposers facing down the Sesame Street crew. However it’s the ‘everlasting ghetto blasting gobstopper’ that caught our ears - an epic sound extravaganza essentially a surrealist cue drawn principally from Tchaikovsky’s ‘Nutcracker Suite’ in particular the ‘Sugar Plum Fairy’ and set to a superb daydreaming clock working Soviet carousel collage wherein everything from trip hop montages, firework displays and nods to Joe Meek are eagerly consumed into its terra forming terrain. Check out his MS page at www.myspace.com/ruckusroboticusmusic where you’re heartily advised to chill and trip to the insidious charms of the lounge fun kookiness of the Emperor Penguin like ‘lesson 7 what’s funk’.

www.myspace.com/elysianpiers - there’s a debut EP on the way via Summer Rain Recordings due to hit online stores early next month entitled ‘you me and the sky’ which if all things being right and fair in the world should elevate the name Elysian Piers in the affections of the shoe gaze / dream pop loving fraternity. Essentially a solo vehicle for Brighton based musician Ed Mead who describes Elysian Fields as a blending of elements drawn from shoe gaze, electronic and classical - and having heard the quartet of cuts showcased here it should be said he cooks up something of a blinding brew. These forlornly lonesome beauties arc and caress with a seductive star crossed aura that’s both sweetly solemn and touchingly refined, from the tear stained glacial swathes of the opening ‘you me and the sky’ to the hollowing ‘between shorelines’ with its arresting cortege of swirling celestial tides and frost tipped snow globed charms, Mead deftly despatches a sense of beautifully bleak intimacy to his song craft, like fleeting apparitions of briefly recalled moments they transport you momentarily to another place and another time, the innate melancholia brought to bear by that sense of loss and reflection. ‘music box’ is as it says on the tin a music box collage, dainty, dinky and deceptive in its ability to crush you at will or so it seems, beautifully timid stuff replete with - as you’d rightly expect - an affectionate lullaby-esque waltz motif that to these ears sounds like some Early Learning Centre / Fischer Price styled nursery party piece delicately woven by fortdax and Landshipping. Parting shot ‘September again’ - perhaps all said and done our favourite moment is an uptempo hyper driven cosmic cruiser deliciously found freewheeling in the same kind of tail smoke as left by mid 80’s era New Order and ‘dazzle me with transience’ era Tex La Homa which is all mighty fine in our book and so should be in yours to.

www.myspace.com/project5am - the solo project of a certain Brixton based musician Jason Haye who to date already has tucked under his creative belt a free to download album via the net based label Monotonik entitled ‘Quixotes of Moons fights the Windmills of Brixton’ which we here whole heartedly recommend you download this instant if these showcasing cuts are any to be judged by. Haye it seems has something of a passion for concocting majestic melodic monoliths, embracing a multi generic mindset that sees a chilled brew calibrated from the cross pollinating of lunatic electronics (the sparse waveforms of the terrestrial tides of the glacial ’5am wabisabi - part 1’ with its mellowed trance like caressing spectral opines), glitch hybrids (as on the curiously hip shimmying mutant club floor honed ‘5am wabasabi - part 2’ which to these ears sounds not unlike Cornelius engaging the formidable talents of Broadcast and ending up crafting something of an up dated take on Ronald Binge’s ‘sailing by’) and the seductive aura of pan - house dialects. All at once intimate and mellow these star crossed beauties engage a forlorn cinematic appeal with only the tripping ‘frequency’ seemingly seeking to break the ranks delicately decoded as it is amid sumptuous realms of celestially cresting snow globed psychotropic glazes all liberally dashed and teased by skewed funk motifs. ‘5am wabisabi - part 1’. Best moment though as far as we are concerned comes courtesy of ‘my mind to me a kingdom is’ - a sparsely woven ambi-droning crestfallen beauty lonesome and gliding through the endless blank ether sprinkling the listening space with its affectionate tear stained lilts and much reminiscent of the work of OJN / Metrotone - does it for us. Now for that album….

www.myspace.com/notfromthisworldnftw - Not from this World are French based duo Evi and Umi and they are pretty smart. Alright weird granted. But still well smart. Not from this World as the name would probably hint occupy the strange invisible and rarely visited terrains that exist on the outer edges of the pop cosmos, their sound a strangely beguiling aural adventure calibrated in lost tongues and forgotten melodic languages, a transcendental tapestry of mind wiring mantra eerily decoded with a darkly atmospheric noir chamber pop sensibility and impishly skewed by wiring intonations of fried art rock, jazz intonations and primitive psychedelic charms. Appealing to fans of Sunburned Hand of the Man, Bablicon, Volcano the Bear, This Heat and Albert Ayler, the set opens with a brace of solo pieces performed by each of the duo, ‘Taste of Blood’ - sadly not the Larry Wellington score from the same named cult horror flick sees Evi exploring similar paths previous ventured by Ariel Kalma via his groundbreaking ‘le temps des moissons’ set from the mid 70’s (recently dusted down and released on CD by Beta Lactam Ring), this spell weaving hazily hypnotic psychotropic snake charmer is ripe with dissipating dust bowled Tibetan mirages that are bled intoxicatingly by Australasian aromatics courtesy of the spaced out didgeridoo. Far from out done Umi offers up ’Nico etait las’ - replete with clarinet and organ a strange day dreaming montage is drawn to the fore - part sinister part lysergic lounge - an opining saxophone sassily croons in the background - moments of wilfully wonky dismembered jazz skrees and kooky keyboards warp the chilled atmospheres - a strangely intriguing line is drawn between the abstract and the strange - the overall effect very much like a fading acid flashback. Best moment of the set ‘angels and vampire’ really deserves to heard in order to believe, like some fermenting psych stew, this kaleidoscopic freak show terra forms and mutates with unreal zeal, the dissipating white noise feedback washes and tripping atmospherics that greet its opening soon fade into an eerily warping surreal b-movie backdrop wherein everything goes a little wired in a psychosis unravelling type way to simultaneously recall elements of Screaming Jay Hawkins, Arthur Brown and the Cramps before embarking on a brief slice of frenzied fuzz action only to trail off into the ether (for the best part of seven minutes mind) in a haze of woozy hippy dippy trippy fringe arranging kookiness - strange, disorientating and quite wickedly perfect. Elsewhere there’s somewhere wonderfully ornately lazy eyed and fog bound spectral psyche folk on ’across the deep blue sea’ which amid whose disquieting fractured calm elements of early Animal Collective and Set Fire to Flames emerge and evaporate through the groove cracks while ’now free this world’ offers perhaps the duo’s nearest moment of pop lucidity though even then what with the Damon and Naomi like enchantment conquered you can’t help feeling their impish nature wrestles within to warp the spectacle into a mind arranging hallucinogenic experience.

The High Wire ‘rope walking’ (grandpa stan). No strangers to these pages, this lot have already wooed our air space in recent times with ‘easy’ and the near perfect ‘Saint Bees’, embracing an utterly disarming ability to make the bruised and crestfallen seem so beautifully demurring, the High Wire are one of those rarest of pop beasts who divinely walk a mercurial path way similar to the one that was once frequented by the likes of the Delgados, Derrero and the Trembling Blue Stars, possessing a song craft so indelibly carved and sculptured with a timeless air their exquisitely drilled soft centred pop purr evokes a myriad of conflicting emotions ranging from sweetly bitter euphoria to shy eyed reclusion. Proud parents of a recently released full length entitled ’ahead of the rain’ which sadly we appear to have missed though will - I can assure you - be acquiring a copy of following a neatly dispatched complaining / begging (delete where applicable) missive. Anyhow not due for another month or so, this twin-set pairs together ’Rope walking’ (from the aforementioned full length - which we haven’t heard - cough cough hint hint - a track which I do seem to recall we mentioned in passing way back at missive 119 - just in case you were doubting our prowess in being ahead of the press pack when spotting tasty tunes) and a new cut ’all the simple things’. Cute as a shiny new button, ’rope walking’ is a dreamily lolloping slice of breezy heart string tweaking dinked from the back of the country folk cabinet of Buffalo Springfield and Gram Parsons, delicately beguiling, warming and smouldering with affection this babe softly secretes a mellowing woody campfire aroma that both intoxicates and radiates the senses with such aching acuteness it’s as though some impish blighter is furiously setting charges to the spark plugs attached to the bits inside you that illicit that loveably warm fuzzy glow. That said ‘All the simple things’ steals the show with much swoon like aplomb, a gorgeously arresting pop carousel draped amid hollowed honeycombed orbits of psyche tinged lunatic mirages and pierced sweetly with twinkling lilts and spectral West Coast apparitions all seductively haloed by braids of emotion sapping forlorn grandeur. Need I say more - purchase on sight. www.thehighwire.co.uk

The Leisure Society ’the last of the melting snow’ (willkommen). Blimey another tasty turntable teaser, already hailed by certain quarters of BBC Radio and rightly tipped as the leftfield festive record of the season, the Leisure Society is the melodic vision of Brighton based musician and one time Telescopes guitarist Nick Hemming. Enlisting the help of various acquaintances who’ve happily given up time away from the likes of Hope of the States, the Miserable Rich, Shoreline and Sons of Noel and Adrian, ’the last of the melting snow’ marks the debut outing for this collective. Both humbling and tender, ‘last of the melting snow’ should by rights come pre packed with flurries of white stuff, utterly charming and homely, this twinkle some frost tipped prairie folk beauty is succulently freeze dried with a hymnal glow that daintily courts a sweetly arresting wintry waltz motif deftly despatched by a murmuring roll call of serenading strings, tip toeing key corteges and a compassionate feel good aura, quietly majestic, disturbingly affectionate, graced with the unnerving ability to crush and caress with equal measure and unless we are very much mistaken a less shy half cousin of sorts to Oddfellow Casino’s debut ’yellow-bellied wonderland’ set. Flip the disc for the equally desirable and decidedly punch drunk sounding ’a short weekend begins with longing’ - replete with pedal steel opines, lolloping banjo braids, beautifully arcing violin arrangements this hushed brush of softly sugar rushed mellowness is blessed with the same beguiled traits that delicately peppercorn the more optimistic moments of Nick Drake’s unsurpassable back catalogue, that same chemistry that cross feeds with seductive effect the dark / light; happy / sad; autumnal / spring hued tonalities all dappled into intimate free spirited bitter sweet posies of refined and controlled effervescence the type of which was in much evidence via Belle and Sebastian’s ‘Tigermilk’ full length - apply to this mix elements of Michael Nesmith, John Denver, Buffalo Springfield, ‘full moon fever’ era Tom Petty (I kid you not) whilst not forgetting nods aplenty to Divine Comedy. All in all the best double barrelled antidote to all those depressingly trite karaoke masquerading X-Factor like crass Christmas release tie ins that’ll no doubt make the radio and pubs a no go area for the next fortnight. www.willkommenrecords.co.uk

I H8 Camera ‘Volume 1’ (jezus factory). We are assuming the last outing of what has been an excellent year for the Jezus Factory imprint having put out a consistently impeccable roster of releases that have seen debuts for the Beat Maras, the Snake of June and Creature with the Atom Brain as well as an album and four singles from the mighty Paul Hawkins and Thee Awkward Silences (sadly we’ve only got three of them - seems ‘the battle is over’ slipped the net). Any the year closes with this rather special release courtesy of I H8 Camera. Arriving today - we debated for a whole 24 seconds whether to treat this as an album or lump it in with the singles - fearing we’d probably lose it if we put it aside for a later date and seeing as we were putting the finishing touches to this particular missive we thought - to hell with it - and threw it in with this lot. Described by way of the attached press release as an ‘all star Belgium jam band’ I H8 Camera features the combined talents of (pause for a sharp intake of breath) - Deus, Pox, Ow, the Evil Supertstars, Kiss my Jazz, Sharko, the Rudy Trouve, the Love Substitutes, Sukilove, Dead Man Ray, Septet, I Love Sarah, Zita Swoon, Mitsoobishy Jacson, Franko Saint de Bakker, Riefenstahl and guests. The idea initially took root in 2004 headed up by the Love Substitutes collective as an idea to prevent gig cancellations due to ill health, the concept one of crafting a totally improvised showcase - no rules, no set lists, no discussion - just play and be damned, the line forever changing depending on who is available at any given time. ’Volume 1’ is a selected aural document that collects together various performances recorded for posterity between 2004 and 2007 all edited seamlessly by Craig Ward into one humungous mind frying 53 minute stew. Superbly put together , ’volume 1’ reveals the multi disciplined nature of the collective as they evolve and terra form through a myriad of free form jams providing within the grooves something that should appeal to all lovers of elements of jazz, no wave and psychotropic funk and much more besides. When you consider that this is basically a freeform improvised jam the thing that strikes you most right from the onset is how tight it sounds, most ‘jams’ have a knack of being - shall we say - a little woolly in respect of musicians normally feeling and feeding off other members vibes thereby giving the spectacle a protracted hesitancy and sense of dicking about, ‘volume 1’ sees this feature reduced to a bare minimum. Amid this extended set don’t be to surprised to find your wig flipped to the peculiar privilege of hearing wiring jazz workouts that nod to Albert Ayler and the insane art rock surrealism of Inside Ov a Butcher’s Shop rubbing shoulders with the strains of some neat tribal like psychotropics or the macabre darker less frenetic and unhinged edges of the Birthday Party’s ‘junkyard’. the landscape forever shape shifting is awash with freakish tripping treats, once the squalling disconnected jazz skrees that greet you from the opening pass a sublime mutant Captain Beefheart comes out to play spewing up all manner of lysergic tipped hybrid Stones riffs while dealing out the odd reference marker in the general direction of Pere Ubu and early career Talking Heads. Elsewhere there’s some seriously schizoid post rock riddled punk rawk itself jettisoned from an acutely skewiff take on the Contortions. Though as far as we are concerned the sets best moment are the final 15 minutes or so where a dread eerie chill descends upon the spectacle to manifest into a wiring psych collage pierced with discordant dreamscapes that to these ears one suspects Acid Mothers heads would be well advised to check out. ‘Volume 1’ is due to hit the shelves next month and will come housed limited edition book featuring artwork by Rudy Trouve, hell we are counting down the days to ‘Volume 2‘. www.jezusfactory.com

http://www.myspace.com/clcnoise - sorry but we couldn’t resist this, spotted via a google search and before you ask we weren’t keying in rude words in the hope of filling our hard drive with salacious images of naked women showing their intimate - no instead we were trying to recall the name of a band who were kicking around a few years ago who were very much at the fore front of the Montreal shoe gaze scene and who sounded remarkably like a youthful Cure - we swear their name began with R and the sleeve to their debut full lengthy was black with stars on it. If anyone can help I’ll be eternally grateful otherwise its another sleepless night and no doubt a whole day tomorrow spent rooting through thousands of CD’s in the loft. So back to the charmingly named Clitoris Less Cunt (is there a more offensive band name currently around we ask?) who appeared on the results page, well with a name like that dare we resist a peak. You get a sense of what CLC will sound like before you even heard a note and boy were we rewarded. Hailing from Montreal and with little else in terms of information to pass on the will fully radio un-friendly CLC conduct a blood bathed aural autopsy by way of these three skin shredding showcasing cuts. Impishly self described as ’experimental, electronica, shoe gaze’ CLC unleash a terrifying and uncouth abattoir of sound that freewheels with the same uncompromising attrition as those frequenting the roster of Scotland’s noise imprint At War with False Noise notably Shift and the kind of mutant mindsets operating similar tonally trepanned territories as Kylie Minoise. There’s currently two self released CD’s doing the rounds in record world one being a split with the Nervous Light which we really must endeavour to nail before we get any older. For now though these three bastardised brutes. Opening with the tamest of the selection ’we are lost’ on which the full throttle incendiary nature lying at the core of CLC is replaced instead by a more disturbed and pathologically unsafe edge, the atmosphere oppressive the sound - well like some demonic communication ripping through the ether with members of Henry Cow applying the wired aural backdrop - deeply unsettling. ’f freak a l cocane’ offers no rest bite, the mood chilled, sinister and impending and sounding not unlike some deeply disturbed ritual side show ceremony being performed while a nonplussed jazz noir ensemble noodle away. Best of the set comes courtesy of ’rtt’ - a slice of demented white noise terrorism, unhinged, erratic, vicious and volcanic and surely deserving of being on the radar of all Merzbow fans. Need we say more. We will depart now to hunt down those two releases for future air space atrocities.

And that’s your lot for a few hours - back later today with missive 182.

Tara for now and take care of yourselves….

Mark
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