Morton Valence ‘falling down the stairs’ (bastard recordings). How dull the pop landscape would be where it not
for the occasionally dispatched tuneful treasures from the much admired Morton Valence. Having peppered these missives in the past to much delighted acclaim, in their wake delivering an irresistible array of pop gold nuggets all deftly laden with an alluring carnival-esque cavalcade of crisply woven and attractive adorned pristine portions of ear candy that have been assembled and inscribed with the kind of applied artistry of a shared conscious and craft that literally leaves their peers jaw dropped with envy. A debut full length in the shape of ’bob and veronica ride again’ looms large on the horizon waiting no doubt to blow away the competition and perhaps leave lasting and admired impressions and indeed steal the early votes for album of the year considerations. The album was recorded from finances raised by a share issue to which options are still available though limited (details of which you can access by following the link below). For now though this tasty head turning twin set should at least offer evidence of this quartets unnerving craft. Culled from the aforementioned and impending debut full length, ’falling down the stairs’ is cut with the same silken symmetry that recalls chiefly the much missed Melys of yore, a quietly disturbing cutie that mooches and muses, purrs, prowls and pulsates through the grooves amid a daydream bitter sweet sprinkling of starry eyed lo-fi pop styled twinkling accoutrements and carefree dizzy nonchalance all levelled upon a roving bass grind that nods to the Pixies while simultaneous gathering mass, dimension and texture acquiring various add-ons as it whirrs seductively across the turntable before caning the life out of you with a killer gridlocked pedals to the floor strut grooved finale. Would have won hands down the ‘sexiest thing here’ award where it not for ’veronica’s blades’ over on the flip which in the initial opening moments seemingly takes a leaf or two from the Human League’s ’the Lebanon’ before acquiring some strangely intoxicating hybrid like take on Numan’s ’we are glass’ / ’dance’ era work only to impishly evolve and mutate in to some hyper driven cosmic cruise applying a gorgeously marinated floor throbbing spectacle of retro kraut electronics and super chilled euro pop disco treatments all succulently serviced with a seriously sensual and sassy white funk underpin that could have been hoodwinked from Chic - think of a super electrified and rampant Tangerine Dream in some salacious sonic clincher with Cerrone, Space and Air. Stunning. www.mortonvalence.co.uk - for enquires regarding the share issue email Morton valence@googlemail.com
Herman Dune ’try to think about me’ (coop / city slang). Pulled from their 6th full length ’next year in zion’ and shortly due to appear at the Owl Parliament All Dayer at London’s Union Chapel alongside Jeffrey Lewis, ’try to think about me’ is a utterly charming slice of disarming tongue in cheek lovelorn folk drift pop. All at once unassumingly uplifting and daintily feel good yet scratched with a curiously humbling melancholia that’s spiked by all manner of brass arrangements, pedal steel applications and defence piercing lolloping motifs - what we wonder is there not to like especially when you factor in the small though essential detail that its very much flavoured as though it was cooked in the mid 60’s by some previously unreported studio get together featuring the combined talents of Dylan, Cohen, Rodriguez and Campbell. Classy then - agreed. www.hermandune.com
Here they are performing said song at a recent appearance in Toronto last November….
Cyanide Pills ‘break it up’ (damaged goods). Getting a fair amount of turntable spanking in our gaff at the moment is the debut three track outing by Leeds based precocious punk pups Cyanide Pills. According to Damaged Goods this lot dropped off the best demo they’d heard all last year and have rewarded said pogoing punk popsters with achance to fill up the grooves of a lime green wax seven. ’break it up’ is your furiously addictive slice of three chord oblivion drilled in all manner of ‘78 / ‘79 accents and cut with a speaker punching battle charge whilst blessed with a seriously natty terrace chanting chorus hook which fist fights with elements of pre ’all mod cons’ Jam, the Boys, a smidgeon of Small Faces, Wreckless Eric and to a lesser extent the Vibrators (and bollocks you may as well throw in a few Only Ones references for good measure) though scratching a little deeper beneath the surface charge of angst and youthful exuberance there’s a sense of a fucked up variant of the Motors edging to win your affections. Flip the disc for the up and at you close and personal ‘mail order bride’ which unless our ears do deceive had us fondly recalling (and indeed digging our stash of) Secret era Chron Gen which as regular readers of these pages will attest is something to be greatly admired. ‘stick em up’ rounds up the pack - a frantic heads down no nonsense scatter gun attacking bastard of a track which will no doubt be the toast of correction centres and youth clubs up and down this fair nation as well as prompting a long overdue revival of that local punk bop from yesteryear - slam dancing. Insolent albeit inspired stuff. www.damagedgoods.co.uk
The Skull Defekts ‘waving’ (important). Ultra limited and very, very pricey tour only seven inch set of which there are just 300 copies with word about that pre sales alone have already dug deep into the available quota. We’ve mentioned the Skull Defekts in passing previously though I’m more than a little miffed to discover that despite our initial thinking (which incidentally we’d have staked our prized collection of Amphetamine Reptile records on) that we’d actually reviewed this lots mind numbing drone opus ‘the black hand’ way back a year or so ago when it appeared via the eminent Riot Season imprint is alas not indeed the case. So it’s the naughty corner for us then as we sit in silence and repent for what is a gross over sight on our part. Housed in a heavy duty card jacket and serving as a taster for the collectives forthcoming full length ’the temple’ (also via Important - some time this month I seem to recall reading somewhere) this set features two monolithic slabs of grizzled no fun. Both ’waving’ and ’building temples for new Gods’ sound like they’ve just slithered straight out of some primordial swamp, the former a mind erasing darkly edgy mantra that taps superbly into the cold austere psychosis of Left Hand’s admired ’minus 8’ set from a few years back, laced with elements of a buckled garage species, shards of stoner dialects and nailed solemnly with a deeply distractive monotonous futility and negativity that claustrophobically infects, despite its outward lineage to Jesus Lizard and the Melvins scratch a little deeper and you’ll find a latter day hybrid descended from the seething pathological consciousness of early career Cabaret Voltaire and ’metal box’ era PIL lurking ominously waiting to suffocate you. Flip side features the aforementioned ’building temples for Gods’ - an intensely enjoyable slice of seriously fucked off and gridlocked stoner drone blues that nods primarily to classic era Touch ’n’ Go and Am Rep releases of yore while ensuring the more clued up among you go frantically searching for your Jon Spencer Blues Explosions goodies of yesteryear albeit that’ll be Jon Spencer and Co being given a spanking by Mountain. Absolutely essential need I say more? www.importantrecords.com
Fighting with Wire ‘everyone needs a nemesis’ (smalltown america). Buggering hell we’ve just picked this up as part of a routine pic ‘n’ mix session at Cargo records only to find the blighter has been out for yonks. Still undeterred - well hell you just can’t keep a good tune down though in the case of this blistering EP that’ll be four top tenaciously toe tapping tunes to contend with. Possessing an enviable knack of turning out trail blazing anthem laden nuggets without so much as a by your leave, Fighting with Wire have been around for 5 years now, from their sound bunker located in Derry they’ve been quietly gathering a storm whilst being lavished - deservedly I should add - with plaudits aplenty as they seek to hone, shape and cement their claim for wider admiration. A debut full length under their belts in the shape of last years ‘man vs. monster’ which drew comparisons that ranged from the Foo Fighters (none more so than on the blistering ‘machine parts‘), Husker Du to Fall Out Boy and Limp Bizkit. Headed up by Jetplane Landing main-man Cahir O’Doherty, Fighting with Wire run the gamut of rock’s more melodic based persona, blending in equal measure pleasure and passion with an unerring hook laden pop sensibility these four beauties rattle and rampage with such short fuse burning intensity that it literally leaves you breathless. Opening salvo ‘everyone needs a nemesis’ swerves, ducks and dives upon crests of surging power throbbed euphoria instantly catching the ear with its crafted finesse. In quick pursuit follows ‘last love song’ an angst ridden emotionally bruised slab of raging full frontal bludgeoned boogie that has you thinking its primed perfectly for the middle American market to lap up by the truckload. Flip the disc for the aforementioned ’machine parts’ and our favoured cut of the set the unravelling psychosis of ’contemplating someone else’ which superbly zeroes in on Nirvana’s ’in utero’ mindset while simultaneously making the odd nod in the general direction of early career Smashing Pumpkins. Damn smart if you ask us. www.smalltownamerica.co.uk
Expo 70 ‘sunglasses’ (trensmat). Much joyful celebration in our gaff at the arrival of the latest brace of releases from Ireland’s desirable boutique label of noise and strange sounds Trensmat. Fearing they were lost in the recent snow drifts said package was duly dropped off safe and sound wherein they were immediately dispatched with haste to the nearest sound emitting facility. Awash with the celebratory bunting we carefully prized open the package and put the first platter to hand on the stereophonic device. Of course Expo 70 should be no stranger to regular observers of these pages, indeed we marvelled at his recent full length ‘black ohms’ for those purveyors of the perfect sound Beta Lactam Ring though we are suspecting that since then and now the bugger has probably released on parole a further legion of self released cd-r’s to an ever growing and dare we say much deserving underground cognoscenti. Essential the work of former Living Science Foundation guitarist Justin Wright who in recent times has seen fit to keep the Aquarius record outlet busily working overtime dispatching limited issue opus’ seemingly at the drop of a hat. Two cuts feature on this ultra limited and destined (as with all the previous releases from Trensmat) to clear itself from the shelves and into the domain of online auction sites - see Wright ever more advancing his exploration into the un-chartered voids of sound. As previously the textures are monolithic and chillingly majestic, utilising all manner of guitar based improvisations and manipulations, Wright sculptures a richly mind wiring drone canvas which sees lead out track ’sunglasses’ in comparable company with the likes of the Kranky old guard Stars of the Lid and Roy Montgomery (and come to think of it Bruce Russell), all at once bleak, barren and sparse though beautifully so, an underlying hazy transcendentalist quality is inscribed on the proceedings, the gentle flotilla of reverberating riffs pining into the hollow voids casts a melancholic almost introspective and longing personality that acts at odds to the under-pinned cavernous like sombre stillness which in the final analysis makes it something disquietingly soothing and serene. Flip the disc for the far superior ’transcending energy from light’ - monochromatic sparsely whirring drone is the order of the day all interspersed by frequency loops and various sound modulations, not so dissimilar it has to be said to the kind of eerie pulsating hums that I’d imagine originating from the undercarriage of an extra terrestrial space crafts console unit but don’t quote me on that, and to all those UFO / conspiracy theorists around should you happen across this - no I haven’t been onboard a flippin space craft and no neither do I want to be enrolled in some Goon-ish Area 51 fan club - frankly I have problems enough of my own. Anyhow deeply hypnotic and mesmerising, to many listens may warp your mind or at the very least fry your brain - in terms of reference markers think early career Pimmon shimmying up to EAR with the resulting inner space sonic stew being reheated and re-calibrated by John Carpenter. Of course it goes without saying that you need this in your record collection.
Black to Comm ’incidents’ (trensmat). Mentioned this briefly in passing a missive or three ago. Again ultra limited in quantities and no doubt soon to be as rare as hen’s teeth, the second instalment of the current brace of tailor made turntable treatments from noise taste makers Trensmat comes courtesy of Marc Richter who in stolen moments prized away from his heading up of his much cherished Dekorder imprint (the Hafler Trio, Daniel Padden of Volcano the Bear fame, XELA et al) can be found in his sound shed merrily crafting all manner of head expanding tone manipulation cycles and squeezing out the last vestiges of groove space with his hybrid psychotropic collages under the guise of Black to Comm. With over a dozen releases to his name for labels such as Quasi-pop (mentioned last time out in passing if I recall rightly), twisted knister and 267 Lattajjaa - all of which have sadly flew past our normally vigilant radar, Richter has been a much admired artist on the drone circuit. ’incidents’ features two exclusive cuts prized from the Black to Comm workbench. Bathed in showers of shimmering textures ’the soba noodle shop incident’ could easily pass for some shade wearing celestial communiqué dispatched by recent Trensmat visitor Cheval Sombre albeit here found in some freakish locked groove scenario, subtly awash with soft psyche tonalities this cosmically channelled cruise cascade is an applied example of sound progression with the underlying drone waves seemingly acting like a magnetic pulsar drawing to its core the surrounding freewheeling arrangements and absorbing them all the time gathering mass, dimension and depth whilst simultaneously imparting upon the listener a sublimely calming trance like state with comparisons drawn first hand to Sonic Booms collaboration with Sunray for the landmark drone sequence ’music for the dream chine’. Over on the flip you’ll find ’the convenience store incident’ - a curiously playful cutie again built upon a repetitive looping drone montage over which the disembodied and fragmented chatter of binary communications in the shape of a distressed vocoder delivery are received through a series of splintered transmissions that give it an off kilter glitch like effect, admittedly deeply strange nonetheless compulsive listening even if you are minded to play the blighter backwards in the hope of deciphering some vague calling from beyond. As usual with these Trensmat treats - essential. www.trensmat.com
The don’t fucking cares ‘underage demon’ (roka). Name alone warrants their imposition to an affectionate spot in our heart, the don’t fucking cares admit sounds great - bet you wished you’d called your band that - much deserving of its own branded t-shirt boutique is it not. Anyhow the Don’t Fucking Cares (wonder if they do t-shirts?) have been around in some shape or form since 2006 (there’s already been a debut platter ‘download’ which to much gnashing of the choppers we’ve missed out on) and hail from London, number four in the ranks and are led from the front by Marta whose DNA it seems appears to be spliced from Suzi Q, Joan Jett and a youthful Toyah (especially on ’nihilism is a fact of life’). Sound wise they play a grizzled melodic mutation assembled from second generation punk dialects and skewed ‘n’ scuzzy garage beat pop that’s been informed by both glam and the mid 70’s CBGB’s scene. ‘underage demon’ is deliciously dirty and decadent, a scuzzy babe that cross wires and twists around a sweetly seductive wasted and sleazy vibe whose prime constituents are riddled with the infectious infusion of garage beat motifs and stripped down punk pop accents that’s all at once littered and scarred by a flat lining boredom filled no future dialect that buckles barbed and beautifully like a corrosive variant of the Priscillas. Flip the disc ’nihilism is a fact of life’ a rally of sorts against societies infatuation with celebrity - they’ve got our vote on that one - just utterly pains me to see these brainless oiks invading my recreational viewing and reading habits while can I just say here and now - Alistair Darling - has he or has he not got a face that you could happily punch for fun. Okay the baiting done with - sharp intake of breath count to ten and all that lark - nah it hasn’t worked ho hum. Anyway where were we - ah yes the Don’ t fucking cares (great name eh? - what - oh sorry we’ve done that have we - still it is great) - ’Nihilism is a fact of life’ indeed well tasty aggressive angst ridded pogo pop all metered out with stuttering riffs and a seriously fucked off charm - kinda reminded us of a very youthful two finger waving Vice Squad. Utterly recommended. We’ve just noticed a ‘rare’ demo EP entitled ‘cardboard hearts’ that we suspect we need to own, hear and play to certain destruction before we get too much older. Prepare to see more of this lot in these pages. http://www.interxmedia.com/purplemanchester/thedfcs/newdesign/index.html
If like us you missed that debut ‘download’ platter here’s the video….
Tallulah Rendall ‘time away’ (transducer). Last featured in these pages to much ecstatic acclaim at missive 179 when we were left enchanted nay numbed and speechless by the mercurial beauty of her debut self financed release ‘lay me down’. a full length entitled ‘libellus’ is currently complete, under wraps and ready to unfurl its bewitching properties having been pencilled in for a May time release. Between now and then ’time away’ should go some distance in providing the requisite evidence of the latent talent and peculiarly perfect pop pedigree that Ms Rendall seeks to impart. Like some strangely archaically pastoral folk woven love charm ’time away’ casts a delicately intoxicating hypnotic spell, the landscapes within are mellow, floral and woodily scented, like shy eyed drift winds the melodies sweetly caress, arc and flutter with almost an unnerving apparition like fascination bringing in their wake a slow burning radiant glow that’s cut and carved with such mysteriously fragile and fulsome spectral arrangements that you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in the company of a craft that had been weaved by the hand of a certain Ms Bush. Exquisite. www.myspace.com/tallulahrendall
Aidan Moffat and the Best Of’s ‘big blonde’ (chemikal underground). We swear we’ve got a copy of Mr Moffat’s spanking new album somewhere about our person, probably in the third pile of CD’s on the left in case you want to be specific - which we will be lifting from its forgotten bout of imposed hibernation very shortly. Our memory jogged thanks in no small part to those Team Clermont types who sent over an MP3 and a video. Of course Mr Moffat is forever assured a place in most people’s hearts for his work with Arab Strap, a brief hiatus was broken last year with the release of the critically admired spoken word / poetry full length ’I can hear your heart’ which was around the time when plans where put into place for the Best Of’s. A revolving door collective of sorts featuring friends, acquaintances and people he just likes the sound of whose first sighting on the live circuit saw them cutting their teeth supporting Slint. Anyhow accompanied by a seasoned cast of veterans among the ranks (ex members of the Delgados, Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan’s band) ’How to get to heaven from Scotland’ is the collectives debut full length platter and should once and for all put paid to all those lazy critics who always cite Moffat as a tad bit dour. Trading softly toned punches delicately cast in drifting washes of hazy countrified dialects, a love song no less ’big blonde’ casually shuffles along nonchalantly bringing with it a lightly crisp and strangely alluring lolloping rustically hued feel good tingle all richly laced with sprightly plucked riffs and haloes of string accompaniments while simultaneously fiddling about while you’re not looking and deftly unpicking its way through your defences and into your affections. Reference wise lying somewhere between a cheerful Will Oldham and King Creosote. And just to concur with one you tube comment posting - its ‘fuck’n brilliant’.
There’s also a special box kicking about featuring the album, a seven inch single with covers of Sonny and Cher’s ‘I got you babe’ and Glenn Campbell’s ‘love is not a game’ plastered to its sides, 5 track CD EP with exclusive out takes, a board game and a personalised signed and numbered valentine’s card from the man himself - sheesh an old romantic eh - still we’ll have to snaffle one up as our I guess.
And here’s the video for it…..a wonderfully light hearted thing it is to….
Stricken and stripped of the usual quota of mirth, mayhem and musical nuggets mined from the depths of garage rocks primal dark side that are usually emitted courtesy of the twanged transmissions of the reverb and fuzz soaked RadiOblivion show hosted via the essential retro resource www.garagepunk.com - this show instead pays tribute to the might of the Cramps and agreed indeed Michael the Cramps were the dogs bollocks, their mastery of sleaze, high camp, b-movie schlock horror, kitsch and tomb stone twang is / was and will never be surpassed it’s a numbing shock to be confronted with the news of Lux Interior’s passing - so sudden, so shocking that i’m literally struck dumb for words. So for an hour or so fill your boots with garage rock’s finest.
You may well recall us mentioning the Swedish based Ideal recordings in passing very recently - in fact so recently it was only a paragraph or five ago within this here missive when we covered that must have Skull Defekts seven inch (do keep up at the back). That said we were more than a tad smitten with both last years Kevin Drumm and Dead Machines outings for the imprint (see missive 163). Anyway we thought high time we checked out their MS page to see what other goodies where lurking and bugger me with a rather pointy stick if there aren’t some nifty nuggets to had. By carefully redirecting your mouse in the general direction of www.myspace.com/idealthelabel you’ll be able to check out the deftly plucked artistry of Daniel AIU Higgs whose simply mesmerising untitled ten minute salvo which incidentally opens the showcase play listed player should go some way in entrancing and having fans of both John Fahey and Loren Connors simply swooning as they marvel at the skewed primitive craftsmanship ingrained within of the dust ridden delta blues dialects drifting from the speakers. Next up Excepter - a six piece hailing from NewYork who to date has racked up over a dozen and a half releases for the likes of Paw Tracks, Fusetron and of course - Ideal. ’turn away’ featured here is an eerily chilled slice of austere post punk electronics, a mooching minimalist mantra that appears to take as its reference points a strangely becoming brew made up of elements of the Silver Apples, early Cabaret Voltaire and the Normal and then have impishly wired this fraught and icy sparseness with the mindset of a serious wasted Suicide which in our book is reason enough to investigate them further. Currently parading to his name an album entitled ’lost in reflections’ which based on this showcased track alone (again sadly untitled) should by rights see it ensconced without delay atop the wants lists of most self respecting fans of Reilly, Atwood, Gnac and Montgomery - Dead Letters Spell out Dead Words is the alter ego of Gothenburg based riff improviser Thomas Eklund whose art it seems is the craft of monolithic sound-scapes pitted with quiet chilled majesty all riddled and seductively scratched with layers of pensive foreboding and atmospheric poise. Despite its initial gloomy introspection there’s a moment here that comes roughly at the three minute mark wherein the seemingly claustrophobic and cavernous sounding impenetrable fog dissipates and as though sun rays parting the oppressive grey of a storm torn sky a softly stirring chiming jubilance comes to the fore. Where assuming Rannisto is their / his name and that this is a cut from the ’Surrur’ 7 inch I guess currently out and about doing good business around the more clued up record emporiums dotted about this globe, as to the sound - well not unlike a million ants spring boarding on a giant trampoline either that or something seriously suffering from a bout of gremlins in the works, Dadaist locked grooved sponged electronics which exposed to for a given length of time may well fry your head in which case it ought to come pre loaded with a health warning. Last and by no means least - OST. Those of you much loving of your ambient atmospherics steeped in all manner of the dark, the dreaded and the doomed may well skip happily arse over tit for this sinister sounding album medley abundant as it is in a manner of grim foreboding, haunting apparitions, deathly drones, macabre manipulations and chamber like eeriness - best viewed in daylight preferably where plenty of people are. www.myspace.com/idealthelabel
www.myspace.com/eighttwo - something else that’s been hogging the attention of our earlobes of late is a dinky little number entitled ‘wondering’ from soon to be coolest thing in club land aural apparel Eight Two who beyond discovering they hail from Brooklyn, describe their sound as ‘happy + sad + keyboards = smart and elegant pop’ - (always good when bands write their own reviews don’t you find saves on any needless unwarranted misunderstandings) and profess a penchant for everyone from Gloria Gaynor to the Unicorns - we know little about. Anyhow as mentioned previously one track posted so far on their player (’wondering’) is your super chilled, refined, disturbingly catchy, off kilter, lazy eyed, amorphic, twilight after hours suave and sophisticated slice of feel good radiant pop. Need we say more. Well now you come to ask - yes. This honey crusted pop morsel floats almost apparition like blending a whole host of generic reference points from baggy, bubblegum, soft psyche and all in between dosed up of course on copious quantities of lysergic tipped additives and in essence taking its cue from early career Animal Collective, though that’ll be the Animal Collective orchestrating and arranging an all star studio gathering whose constituent members feature personnel from the Beatles, Beach Boys, Bee Gees, Move, ELO - we could go on. Safe to say it’s a huge ever growing swirling carousel orbiting through pop’s richly colourful pageantry embracing subtly skewed psychedelic treatments, warping montages and West Coast dialects dispatching them amid a tastily trippy kaleidoscopic haze which frankly is so distractively alluring its enough to make you tingle all over.
Here’s a little video they did - different song mind….
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewProfile&friendID=117824467 - apologies for the convoluted MS link we couldn’t find the standard snappy tag we even tried zapping their name in after the usual MS addy and got a Canadian screamo band by the same name who had they posted any tracks then we’d have no doubt had a handy seamless link with which to impress upon you. Spirits of the Dead are a Norwegian based quartet who are currently bolstered by the existence of a (we assume) debut self titled full length via what we believe is their own self financed imprint White Elephant (good at this ace investigative reporting lark aren’t we?). Anyhow we’re of the mind that self respecting subscribers to the monthly bible of sorts Classic Rock and admirers of the Rise Above imprint (sharing as they do a mindset with the likes of Circulus, Witchcraft et al) should be viewing this lot with a degree of intent fascination. Blending apocalyptic stoner (‘Spirits of the Dead’), grizzled blues, dark psych and woozily crafted mystical folk rock, the cuts here reveal a mercurial artistry at work suggesting great things to come. ‘red’ is menacingly beautiful brokered with such moments of exquisite sereneness and enchantment that its simply breathless, the rapture scratched and blistered by the momentary visitation of flashes of rage. That said we here are more than smitten by the heady 60’s hazed funkily retro and lysergically strut laced mind warping progressive boogie that is ‘white lady black rave’ wherein they pull out some seriously sexy early Zep-esque strokes and some succulently drilled smoked till just right hazy transcendentalist slow burn freak outs - oh hell look just stop reading and tune in right now alright, in the meantime we’ll see if we can blag that full length and whatever else in terms of turntable goodies that they have to hand.
And now for something very, very tasty all the way from Baltimore courtesy of the Christmas Lights who to friends and family alike is better known as Kenny Tompkins who it seems during waking hours loves nothing more than authoring little nuggets of chirpily toned sugar laced bubblegum pop via a variety of musically trained toy console related kit bits. A recently released debut full length ‘walk like a human’ has by all accounts been wowing all fortunate enough to have it come within earshot with one of its prime selections ’show your teeth’ having had the honour of a video crafted to accompany it by Clinton Jones with all the sets featured in the animation constructed from paper. The song itself a decidedly dippy day-glo cutie of off kilter and schizoid loveliness replete with swirling whirly ball cascades and wiring fuzzed out electro trickery all metered out into a curiously minimalist kaleidoscopic haze that to these ears sounds like some kooky descendant of the immortal would be super group White Noise from forty years ago.
And here’s the video….
We here are all in favour of strange formats, gimmicks, toys and gadgets and frankly couldn’t resist picking up two sets of the latest release from Buddha Machine enterprises. Available in three colours - white, purple and orange - sadly we’re a little light on the white one and having been haunted by persistent sleepless will not be resting until we’ve nailed it. I think the Wire hit the nail on the head when they call it a superb ’piece of sound art’. Certainly ticks the boxes of what passes for Sound Art in its strictest definition (a piece of retro art that you can play and interact with) - it being a set of nine ambient loops contained within a retro looking miniature plastic transistor device the type of which I was so much in love with in the late 70’s as I wheeled around on my Americanised Chopper bike listening to Fab 1FM while delivering papers. Originally a hit a few years back when these first hit the market ranking up in excess of 50,000 sales and receiving acclaim from artists such as the Gorillaz, Low, Brian Eno and Sunn O))). As said previously Version 2.0 comes formatted in three colours, described by its press statement as blurring the lines between music box and musical instrument - battery operated or mains driven (though you have to supply both mediums yourself) apparently you can plug this into a mixer and start manipulating and bending the loops by means of changing the pitch or altering the speeds - all way over our heads I’m afraid - hell we still have trouble navigating around fruity loops. Looks well smart and certainly bound to be a talking point among any well heeled record collection while for the technocrats a crucial about the person plaything. More information via http://www.fm3buddhamachine.com/
Those among you a little loved up with the prospect of February 14th approaching fast may well like to follow the link below (though we aren’t quite sure whether this is intended for public distribution - ah well its done now we’ll just wait for the complaints and death threats) and grab yourself a rather delectably demurring drilled and desire laden cutie from Barbara Trentalange better known to the more eclectic musical community as simply Trentalange. We swear we received a copy of her debut full length a while back and as I recall much loved it was. ’valentine’ - here available as a free download is culled from her current opus ’awakening, level one’. A bit of distractively butter would melt in the mouth sauciness that delicately smoulders as though on a short passionate fuse, wrapped and bow tied in a coalescing chemistry that fuses together elements of shape cutting orbiting club floor manoeuvres, retro glazed ice cool throbbing post punk electronics all splintered and grazed by shards of hip grinding frenzied struts that gather storm like to caress, tease, stalk and pulsate with unbridled seduction. http://www.trentalangemusic.com/valentine/valentine.html - mind you hot foot it over to her ms page at http://www.myspace.com/trentalange for the slyly seductive electro disco hussy ‘ultimate machine’ which unless our ears do deceive tailgates similar territories once explored by Ladytron.
And while we’re about it here’s a video for the achingly monumental ‘fear‘….
Next missive will be with you faster than you can say ‘for fecks sake please buggering up my pc screen with singled out’s its making my eyes ache’ - and if all goes to plan will be a magazines update with all the cover mounted cd type things included - following that it’ll be back with the planned psyche special and then that Distant Noise special which should by rights edge us a little nearer to our 200th missive special which should be around in cyberspace in March and promises to be a bit of a killer - more details to follow in future dispatches.
As usual thanks to all who’ve made this musings possible - its greatly appreciated.
Updates via the all singing all dancing and still smoking MS presence at www.myspace.com/thesundayexperience - where I believe we have had technicals with both friend requests and email - so can you please be mindful and address all communiqués to marklosingtoday@aol.com for now - snail mail via 105 shaldon drive, morden, surrey, sm4 4bq, uk.
