Medicine and Duty ‘the imperial black fracture’ EP (foolproof projects). Blimey a bit mellow for Brighton’s finest rhythmic agitants but - oh er hang on this sounds a trifle bit ominous - seems we may have spoken too soon - in the distance I can hear the feint onward rumble of the kraut ju ju cavalry heading this way in a blaze of skedaddled disquiet. For a few years now we’ve been getting and - we should quickly add - enjoying the occasional aural intermissions being fired at will from the underground bunker known as Medicine and Duty HQ. Their skewiff sound has scarred, scalded and seduced our headsets brandishing all known elements of abstract afro beats, austere art rock, punishing prog, jarring jams, white hot white funk and anything else you’d care to mention that’s been of musical interest since the dawn of pop. There’s promise of a new album on the horizon though not before taunting and tweaking the turntable radar with this rather fetching tastily tantalising three track salvo which as it happens sees them appearing on wax for the first time. Bring it on and do your worst we say. And indeed they do for ’The Imperial Black Fracture’ shows no sign or hint of inclination that Medicine Duty are about to join the chasing pack any day soon preferring to furrow ever deeper into a crooked aural landscape purely of their own design. This is fried, wiring electronics, near breakdown tolerances, a fried and fraying slab of Dadaist kraut prog, suffocates your senses with its flat lining claustrophobia and to these ears mischievously cuts sublimely across the bows of both Echoboy and Add N to X. how about that for class then. Flip the disc for ’shanghai’d again’ - more of the same I’m glad to report, improvisation at its most impish and freeform which in another life could well be the missing link between Sunburned Hand of the Man and Volcano the Bear with an all too brief fleeting guest appearance from the Boredoms. Oddest moment of the set is the parting ’zero double zero’ which unless our ears do deceive had us much in mind of some junglist / ethnic jam conducted by a gathering of Konono No 1 and Black Dice types - need I say more is all I’m going to say. www.foolproofprojects.co.uk
Solipsism ‘MK Ultra’ (preview - self released). Been a fair old while since Mr Murphy featured in these pages, the workaholic visual / sound artist seems unable to stray past a home recording studio without being possessed of the need to nail a track or three in either of his Shoosh, ch.pm and Solipsism guises - while finding his remaining time taken in heading up Herb recordings imprint. Anyway an email received in our inbox invited us to tune into a taster cut from his currently worked techno based set soon put paid to our embarrassed silence in reporting his ever evolving and cross weaving genre bending cache of aural adventures. ‘MK Ultra’ is a fat n’ spongy slab of hyper driven mind weaving oblivion, the regimental like pulsing and precision honed pushing and shunting trip hop / technoid beats underpin a quietly hypnotic widescreen sounds cape of whirring drone swathes, cosmic swirls and an all round sense of spectral wooziness. Embraced of elements of a classic era Detroit techno scene albeit as though relocated to some distant space hub opining ominous SOS transmissions into the far reaches of the cosmic wilderness - this cerebral cutie mushrooms with a stealth like grandeur to literally bathe your listening space in something that you’d be forgiven for assuming was crafted by the collaborative hand of a secret rendezvous between 808 State and Apollo 440. That said what truly puts the icing on the cake is its busy employment of sonic sub texts running barely out of earshot in the background - like for instance the brief and subtle tropicalia flurries at approx. 4.34 in. www.myspace.com/solipsism
Tayside Mental Health ‘evil hands are happy hands’ (contaminated). If we were to say bluuuuaaaaarggghhhh, arrrrgggghhh, muuuurrrrgggghhhh and yyyyaaarrrrgggghhhh we’d have the ever so slightly and sneaky feeling that Tayside Mental Health and their adoring minions would know exactly what we were talking about. Since looming large on our radar like a life sucking black hole one snow swept afternoon in February of this year, we’ve been most fascinated, perplexed and indeed have grown a tad fond of these cute-some noise nik types. In fact our fondness has grown ever more since Claire from the band sent over a wad of releases which despite going astray on at least two occasions we were holding back deliberately in order to do an extended mention when both their current and forthcoming Scotch Tapes outings surfaced in our gaff. Alas impatience has got the better of us so we’ve decided to split up and sneak these releases (there‘s five of them all told) into forthcoming singled out despatching mainly for three reasons - firstly - it would be plainly suicidal to mention them all in one go given you’d have to sit through them all in one block listening - not that we’d complain - in fact we have on occasion done just that - but hey blood seeping out of ears is not a good look. Secondly - well in truth this lot are the bollocks and well - you need them in your life - so the more you ignore the more we’ll mention them - simple as that - I will succeed. And lastly - Al over at Scotch Tapes has promised to send over the aforementioned releases (more about them later) so hopefully by the time we’re through with mentioning these then there’ll be new ear gear with which to trash and terrorise our turntable. Any questions then? Possessed of that same unrelenting skin peeling aural atrocity as vented these days by releases with the name Kylie Minoise tattooed to their arses, Tayside Mental Health are extreme beyond imagination, yet scratch away and remove them of their volcanic veneer and caustic coating and you get the feeling that for all their fondness of laboratory images, trepanning rituals and horror loving grimness that deep at their core there’s an impish playfulness that sets them aside from the brutal dichotomy of their fellow sound experimentalists. And its to this end ultimately that make Tayside Mental Health a more accessible option for the entry level newbie listener to the hidden sonic spectrum that is noise. This particular release has been out a fair while now- not sure how limited it is but it’s a seven track slab of brutality all pressed up on a dinky 3 inch CD via Contaminated records (we believe - though we’ve checked on the labels site and can’t find any mention of it - so basically expect a correction note at some point in the not to distant future). As said seven cuts - total duration just shy of 13 minutes in total with the Tayside ones seemingly at the height of their caustic powers applying their uniquely scalded brand of mutant white noise spiked techno. ’the lovely pony theme’ opens proceedings - just barely making its presence felt by tipping the scales at 16 seconds in length, don’t be fooled by the cute and fluffy title this is liable to give adults recurring nightmares let alone youngsters mistakenly lulled by its tame and attractive title. We here are thinking the pony in question never survived whatever trials it was subjected to. Next up ’le chic spastique’ - I feel a new dance craze coming on - is jarring and unforgiving, a bit like a brutal spot of fisticuffs between a particularly fucked off Atari Teenage Riot and a clearly lost the plot Melt Banana, all nailed amid a festering tide of squealing sonic shards and battery acid dipped calibrations. Then comes the mildly worryingly titled ‘diary of a donkey fucker’ - which I’m told is an activity positively encouraged in certain parts of the country - the diary bit that is - does indeed have donkey sounds about its wares you’ll be happy to know, you people have such sadistic tendencies, mind you the donkey in question sounds as though he or she has a car horn lodged tight in its throat - as to the sounds well aside quite barking to say the least, it’s a grim slab of austere and ominous drum n’ bass spiked with moment of piercing power electronic belches - not quite the recommended musical mood listening for a Sunday gathering of family and friends unless of course your friends happen to be the Manson family who you’ve invited around for a quick game of murder in the dark. ’I spy with my third eye’ where do these whippersnappers get their titles from - very Cravats / TV Personalities - more than can be said about the macabre musings emanating from within, best viewed in daylight with the national grid at full pelt powering every known light in the land - an abattoir of Dadaist entertainment - we here are thinking Dead Kennedy’s being re-wired by X with Coil buggering up resulting carnage and applying their dread filled handiwork. ’touchers of the cloth’ provides the sets best moment - some tasty native intones, overall its uncomfortable listening - in fact can we just call it evil for arguments sake and leave it at that. As to those aforementioned Scotch Tapes / frequent sea releases - one is an ultra limited - and no doubt sold out by now - collaboration with Blood Moon - only 37 of these we believe entitled ’mental side of the moon’ while the other - a split with Endometrium Cuntplow pressed up on seven inches of pink wax. Treats abound I shouldn’t wonder. www.myspace.com/taysidementalhealth
Corrections - darn - in our impatient rush to get as many mentions as is humanly possibly on this blog type forum thing we inadvertently added a few unwanted letters to uncharted audio's name which in turn was apparently the cause of mass confusion amongst both our readers - yep both - doubled our readership in little over a month - even the Times and Sun can't claim to that achievement - anyhow you may well recall us giving a heads up to the latest LJ Kruzer opus 'manhood and electronics' whilst banging up the video for 'tam' - well a quick peak at the UNCHARTED AUDIO site reveals a link to a free to download exclusive remix set entitled 'Tam - variations' which you can access by following this here link.....
http://audio.ljkruzer.co.uk/album/tam-variations
Rowland S Howard ‘pop crimes’ (passport). Literally just home and found this lurking on the welcome mat whereupon as quick as you can say ‘fancy a brew’ it was out of its mailer sleeve and onto the hi-fi doing much swoon like stuff. Why you might well ask was there an urgent stampede to bang this platter on said stereophonic device - well its like this dear hearts. Its not secret that in our much humbled opinion the best guitarist to emerge out of the last 30 years or so - as it happens - since punk was dragged kicking and screaming into existence - is or should we say was the late John McGeoch. By virtue alone of his work with Boys Next Door and the Birthday Party, Howard was cut from a similar cloth, maybe not as technically visionist he was certainly pissing in the same uniquely branded pool with his youthful sonic scribing upon the aforementioned combos grooves bordering on the possessed and almost supernatural. With a new solo album entitled ‘pop crimes’ waiting in the wings - his first for a decade - and due for release later in the year - it’s the culling of that sets title track as a single that provides a much welcomed return to the fray of one of Australia’s most famous sons. Aided and abetted by Mick Harvey and JP Shiloh ’pop crimes’ lurches and lunges ominously cutting a brooding slow burn snake wind across an uber chilled chamber-esque and noir tethered shades adorned reverb shimmer soaked soft psyche grind. Okay there is a John Cooper Clarke meets John Moore and the Expressway vibe about its wares yet the blighter retains that edgy paranoiac charm that scarred and hollowed the birthday party’s ’deep in the woods’, the mooching bass throb, the freakishly wiring riffmanship mid way through cut an empty bleakness of the type rarely heard around these parts since last years excellent repackaging and re-issue of the ‘I was Don Suarez’ set by Raymond, Johnston and Edwards for Sartorial. Flip over for the silken Velveteen majesty of ‘(I know) a girl called Jonny’ to find Howard teamed up with HTRK’s Jonnine Standish for a spot of darkly beautified mellowing duo glazing, again awash with the coolly serviced casing of frost tipped reverb shimmering, sonorous vocals, aching dialects and classic era 60’s duet accents - hell if we didn’t know better we’d be referring this JMC meets the Shangri La’s mixed by convict Spector to the heart break doctor for some sympathetic treatment. The dogs bollocks. www.passportlabel.com
The Hush Now ‘hoping and waiting’ (self released). Damn, damn, damn - we absolutely adore this - and hey we’ve only heard it once. The Hush Now hail from Boston and number 5 in the ranks, collectively they have one full length to their name with a second currently simmering on the back burner and ready to no doubt break hearts, cause much swooning in the aisles and have the most casual of record loving patron giving it a quick double take. Three minutes and 40 seconds long in length, ‘hoping and waiting’ scuttles along like a love sick puppy, beautifully cast in an alluring sun shone radiance and positively beaming with a purring shy eyed power pop calibration that’s slightly dappled and soured by a bitter sweet undercurrent and tendered by the delicious dinking of west coast tonalities eked ever so faintly by a kaleidoscopic hue that’s replete with honey tipped harmonies, euphoric brass fanfares, a moment of operatics and the odd introductory Church like key refrain, we here are thinking much reminiscent of a youthful Velvet Crush, 14 Iced Bears and the Milltown Brothers. How can you fail to love it. Any questions? No - right then buy the bugger then. www.myspace.com/thehushnow
Suavity’s Mouthpiece ‘I call it madness but you call it love’ (Love Torture / End of Music). Talk of co-incidences, a week or so ago we got a heads up from the hugely talented and - well - lets be honest bonkers and fried Suavity’s Mouthpiece, a name that may ring a bell among some of you seeing as how we praised from the rafters his most adorable albeit ’bonkers and fried’ ‘the audial equivalent of John Wilkes’ set for the Love Torture imprint a little while back. The email referring to a follow up ‘extended play’ to said release entitled ‘ I call it madness you call it love’ - again through Love Torture and End of Music. Well this week we were much charmed and indeed delighted at the appearance through our door of a small but beautifully packaged mailer from - you guessed it - Love Torture stuffed full of goodies - alas not the Suavity‘s Mouthpiece release but treats galore from among others - Internal Improv who feature label head honcho David - and of which it should be said at this this juncture is a damn fine outing from what we’ve so far had occasion to hear - plus two rather potentially worrying salvos from the charmingly named Assholemouthead which will be going forth into battle with our hi-fi sometime this weekend. For now though Suavity’s Mouthpiece, a gem of a release incorporating six more musical additions to the SM family of pop weirdness and opening with the title cut ‘I call it madness..’ - a fringe flipping cornucopia of woozy kaleidoscopic hazes whose bloodline irrefutably draws inspiration from early career Animal Collective and elements of the Busy Signals whilst not forgetting to mention White Town, gorgeously fried it freewheels and terra forms through a mind swirling landscape of spangle tweaked power pop thrills, sultry Marrakesh brass mirages, lounge lilting string swathes and moments of fuzzy prog rock overtures - all the time affectionately casting its lysergic radiance upon one and all. Its breathlessly deceptive and dashingly attractive stuff, but then what else would you expect of this most mercurial of talents for Mr McRickson - for it is he who is Suavity’s Mouthpiece - is one of those rarest of musical beasts who alchemic abilities allow him to cross weave all manner of disparate generic tags into a beautifully flowing patchwork quilt, much like the Sparks he operates far beyond the current musical spectrum, with his trusted sonic spice rack he cooks a becoming brew of sound that’s familiar yet strange and wired yet wonderful, it’s a dizzying collage that radiates with an acute trippyness, part psyche, part music hall, often engineering some curious nod back to an era steeped in rock operatics - none more so is found to be the case than on the old school English psych eccentricity of ‘a friend plants the knife’ which at times has you imagining the spectre of Vivian Stanshall lending a hand to the proceedings. The sounds forever temporary and fleeting ghost in and out like apparitions, the signatures and styles dissipating into a wonderfully kookily weaved tapestry of sound that for all the world sounds like a condensed history of popular sound shoehorned into bite sized portions and thrown into a washing machine on a hot wash settings wherein all the colours bleed and run into each other. And of course there is the crooning - yes you read right - crooning - the EP dedicated it seems to 20’s star Ross Columbo just check out the faux big band motifs a la ‘winter wonderland’ stylisings at the beginning of ‘guns don‘t kill people, MP3‘s do‘ before the onset of the off kilter fat n’ spongy funky pastorals which we must admit had us double taking it for some dream team collaboration between Beck and Ashley Parks for a second. Then there’s a spot of fragile and dare we say normal moment of tenderness on the demurred noir tipped ’king of love’ while for us ’this is prepubuscence at its finest’ steals the show with its hollowing sepia tinged echoes of homely black n’ white classic flicks spliced with the dinky decorating of maypole dancing archaic psych folk flavourings which at times veer ever so closely into moments of Smiths era Morrissey - esque tailoring. Still bonkers and fried but all the crafty, clever and classy. http://www.myspace.com/popisflammable
And here’s a spot of Mr Ross Columbo performing ’just another dream of you’….
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Elisa Luu ‘the garden’ (hidden shoal). Just what you need to de-stress yourself of the ravages of the day’s trials and tribulations, a more perfect way in which to head off to he hills in search of sleep we cannot at present better . An album is looming in the distance due for release in September entitled ’chromatic sigh’ from which for a limited time those kindly folk over at Hidden Shoal are making ’the garden’ (culled from said set) available as a free download. Previously unknown to us - cue embarrassed sighs - Elisa Luu or to address her by her full name Elisabetta Luciani - is according to the blurb a Rome based composer who in previous years has been something of a jazz / fusion saxophonist - her musical CV includes being part of the Predotti Speciali and Short’s Monday Night Jazz Orchestra, more recent times have seen her engaging into a more electronic based sphere of sound the results coming to fruition via last years ’floating sounds’ EP for the net imprint Phantom Channel - a copy of which we’ll endeavour to grab for review during the course of the next few days. As said a debut album awaits in the sidings from which ’the garden’ provides a tantalising teaser peek. Its gorgeous stuff, timid and trembling, frail and fragile - the ice sculptured craftsmanship eking out a beautified solitary elegance much recalling the early career work of Mum, the shuffling beats push and press the orbiting opines themselves cooing and sighing in dreamy formations casting a faintly melancholic tug as they bathe your listening space with their caressing corteges and softly purred charms, it’s all most alluring and lulling stuff. We await the album with baited breath. http://music.hiddenshoal.com/
More of the same at the weekend - till them thanks for tuning in and take of yourselves.
