missive 251
14-10-2009
Singled Out
Missive 251

For Kel n’ Mark

Singled out ‘just what your ears are for’


The Horns of Happiness ‘weathering alterations’ (st ives). Okay lets get the domestics out of the way before we proceed forth. Ultra limited vinyl and download only release - the vinyl version in a pressing of just 200 hand numbered copies all housed in uniquely differing handmade sleeves (and rather nice looking we should add) - though that said we understand there is lurking in record world and even more limited variant in the shape of a 100 only CD. Bloomington’s The Horns of Happiness have been around in some shape or form for about five years now, initially cutting their recording teeth for the esteemed Secretly Canadian imprint they’ve released prior to ‘weathering alterations’ one full length ‘a sea as a shore’ and a plethora of EP’s and singles. Now pared down to just two core members Aaron Deer and Shelley Harrison, ’weathering alterations’ is a concept album of sorts that was initially conceived and performed to accompany an installation piece by Shelley Harrison entitled ’don’t rain on parade’. the set is intended to explore the effects on the psyche to changes in environment - the environment in question no doubt being the sound textures emanating forth. An oddly perplexing yet endearing listening experience it has to be said the core detail being the varied usage of loops, repetitive rhythmic calibrations and pulsating Dadaist motifs. Made up of six tracks ’weathering alterations’ is decidedly dislocated and ill fitting in appearance but then having paid heed to its original intention you begin to appreciate and understand why. Clearly the nearest we get to a recognisable pop formula comes all to swiftly on the opening ambit ’knowing no time’ - built upon a mind bending and hypnotically spiked psychotropic kraut loop there’s more than a hint of the minimalist and primitive 70’s styled electronic soundtracks to have emerged from out of basements masquerading as sound laboratories about its wares helped along by a curious nod in the general direction of a youthful Broadcast as though caught red handed and indeed red faced smooching up alongside Quickspace. From therein things get a little strange and abstract, ’the process of precipitation’ finds itself loosely coiling around a motif one imagines vaguely translated from time spent undergoing some sturdy listening of AR Kane and …and the Native Hipsters albums, the exotically swampy landscapes back dropping a curiously apparition like transcendental passage as the tropical rain storms fall creating a vibrancy of texture you’d like to reckon that Black Dice would be jealous of. ’masterpiece of choking’ closes side one - at seven minutes its the lengthiest track of the set if you discount ‘recipients hear’ and is framed upon what first appears a sparsely treated tribal beat that in truth has something of the PIL ‘metal box’ about it until of course the kooky and locked groove Laurie Anderson styled electro signatures make their appearance to create that Dadaist vibe we mentioned earlier - that said if this is an examination as to the psyche’s reactionary nature then had this gone on any longer I swear I’d have committed violence upon the nearest unwitting passer by. And so to side 2 opening with the aptly titled ’red sonnet of disorientation’ and indeed yes it scrambles heads, ghostly folk apertures woozily dissipating in and out of flights of consciousness and having this incurable knack of terra forming craftily before your ears with its heady psyche freak out squiggles. And then its back with Quickspace all though this time it appears they’ve hopped into bed with Add N to X for the initial moments of the ominously chilled and austere ‘recipients hear’- throw in a skewed free for all art rock riddled jam, a momentary deceptively funky club floor motifs whilst not forgetting the fuzzy hip hugging and wasted 60’s garage beatnik boogie drills and you have the sets key wired, weird and wonky moment which leaves ‘bon po‘ to see out the album in a typically fried fashion parading all manner of mellowing noire tweaked chamber electronics and ether plucked chatter - disturbed - you bet. Of course you want it, you need it and who am I to blame you.

The fades ‘caca’ (gene pool). Been a fair old while since we had anything by the Fades with which to worry our hi-fi with - the self proclaimed cult punk n’ rollers have just returned from three tours of duty in Italy and are set to reconvene battle manoeuvres in the indie attention grabbing wars with a free download single via gene pool. Primed just shy of the two minute thirty mark the shot in the arm wake up that is ’caca’ is a shock treated psychotic bastard that’s in your face up close and personal, both frenetic and furious this babe is ablaze with a snaring trip wired throb that blisters with a fracturing unravelling anxiety seldom heard around these parts since Nirvana’s ’slither’ near caused speaker meltdown while finding itself blessed and nailed tight to the floor by a ridiculously infectious hammer drilled chorus hook that’s both punishing and perfect. One rampant bastard of a track and with that criminally essential as though you haven’t already figured that out for yourselves. http://www.myspace.com/thefades

The Dead Shores ‘modern men’ (just good). Don’t you just find sometimes that press releases write their own reviews. Okay admittedly some of some unbelievably are so wildly off the mark that you deeply suspect that either they were listening to the wrong record or else need their ears syringing - happily on this occasion them press dudes have nailed this squarely on the spot. Mind you that said we did hook up the record and therein feverishly scribbled notes - cheap as chips, quintessentially English deadpan humour, skewed pub talk observations, sarcastic, cynical, baiting, satirical, council estate dole queue blues - bit like Half Man Half Biscuit but without the legendary ludicrously eye catching and sniggering titles and then proceeded to compare notes. Check check check went the marking. So at least someone agrees with me for once. Anyhow the Dead Shores hail from Wigan, there are four of them and they’ve no doubt been the toast of the northern wheel tappers and shunters club land circuit for nigh on seven years now. ’modern man’ is their debut single - and about bloody time. Like a musical Viz (when it was good and er - funny) meets the Canny Farm ’the End’ the Dead Shores set their mocking viewfinders on the new man - a curious breed of species first discovered sometime around the early 90’s buying wholesale into the lads mag culture - you know the deal moisturisers, self tanning lotions, hair clay, man bags and friggin flip flops and apply to it a spiked chugging pogo primed snot nosed three chord wallop that finds itself sitting somewhere a tamed Angelic Upstarts / UK Subs and Dalmation Rex and Eigen tones - catchy as f*** by the way. Flip over for more mirth made melody courtesy of ’sick and tired’ which in truth had us recalling some strange union between the Popticians and the Weddoes - love the brief heavy ‘metel’ riffage - and yes it does sound like the Half Man Half Biscuit who as you all know are a national treasure - you just don’t know it. So go on do yourself a favour leave the men’s toiletries aisle in Boots alone and nip next door and buy this blighter - okay fair do’s it may mean your hair looking shite and you smelling of last nights kebab but hey a records made to last unlike some anti-perspirants we can name. www.myspace.com/thedeadshores

Apricot Rail ‘pouring milk out of the window (tin man spilt milk remix)’ (hidden shoal). So how exactly do you improve on near perfection. Well it helps if you happen to be an acquaintance of Perth based producer in demand Tin Man or as he’s better known to friends and authorities alike Justin Manzano. Apricot Rail last appeared in these pages with the original mix of said track - a demurring shy eyed beauty of such exquisitely frail fragile detail you feared it would fragment and shatter at the slightest of breeze like touches. Since then there’s been a self titled full length debut - something that rest assured is now on our eager and ever growing wants list and now this, a free download remix via the Hidden Shoal website. Entrusted with such an unenviable task of enhancing something without need of tinkering, Manzano pulls out the stops hooks the track up to his workbench and armed with his productive spanners strips the original back to its threadbare chassis and re-wires the skeletal frame with an enchanted wonderland workshop assortment of snow bound effects and lilting sleepy headed lullaby-esque texturing, the emerging recalibration bathed with a snoozing charm tranquillity seductively opines with the wide eyed sensitivity of Inch Time, the timid expressions of Landshipping and the bitter sweetly forlorn ache of the Shady Bard. Perfection perfected - can’t say fairer than that. www.agora.hiddenshoal.com

Christy and Emily ‘superstition’ (big print). Utterly disarming. Suppose you’ll be wanting an explanation as to why now. Some people eh. This little gem was apparently passed up by the Social Registry a label not known from suffering bangs to head, but a bang to the head they’ve suffered in choosing to opt out of releasing this little cutie despite offering a home for the duo’s (missing in action around these here parts) debut full length ’Gueen’s Head’. And so this un-expected situation left Christy and Emily in a slight quandary for while the Social Registry people um’d and ar’d the duo had only sloped off in their downtime and with Faust’s Hans Joachim Irmler at the mixing desk had fired off a third album ’no rest’ and secured a release deal with the much admired Klangbad imprint. So now what to do with the rogue and seemingly unloved ’superstition’ set, by all accounts handsomely housed in handmade silk screened sleeves it was doing brisk business at the gig foyers selling so well at gigs that it had already ran the course of several represses until at this juncture into the breach stepped Richard Lloyd of Nightingales fame to give the duo and album an exit route via his Big Print label. And that dear heartz is where we are at. Due for official release at the end of next month don’t be to surprised if ‘superstition’ makes a late bid to appear on the critics end of year best off lists for the timing of its release may well compliment and to some extent enhance its inner autumnal charm. Delicately brushed with a faintly dusted psyche folk aura brought about by a spectral detailing applied by the hushed harmonic vocals and caressed by the sparsely minimalist pastel décor of the entwining lazily spun acoustic and fuzz motifs and the succulent undercarriage of murmuring string arrangements ‘superstition’ is unreal and seductively supernatural. In fact if we didn’t know better we’d have sworn this was a reclaimed lost treasure polished up and proudly revealed for all the world to see by the likes of Finders Keepers such is its uniquely out of time enchantment - the point finitely provided by the breathlessly bespoken beauty of the title track ‘superstition‘ as it takes its cue from an imagined love in gathering together Mellow Candle, Susan Christie and Curved Air. Graced with an irresistible intimacy ’superstition’ is a slender shy eyed thing - forlorn though grasping at hope (none more so than on the statuesque faded beauty of the weeping ‘golden rings’ with its distinctive Nyman-esque string follies and ghostly lysergic apparitions), it hurts, it aches (the numbing and fragile ‘lover‘s talk‘), it entrances, just nine tracks feature within whose combined duration edges over the 30 minute mark by a whisker. In terms of references the Smoke Fairies perhaps provide the nearest of peers while keen eared admirers of Anna D, Anna Kashfi and of course the delectable sounding Dossano may also find something here with which to endear. From the minute the open invitation of ’chicken little’ crackles into life and veers into focus it as though you’ve transported to some magical world of Lewis-esque enchantment, its cosy toed winter binding and the ice sculptured hush of the deftly arresting crystalline lullaby charms cast out a homely warmth to which only the omission of snow fall incompletes the bewitchment. Then there’s the beautified timelessly toned folk mirages of ’gueen’s head’ as it takes flight to weave amid moments of sugar kissed subtle bubblegum routines equipped with a love noted ambition that sparks and fizzes with quiet effervescence and elements of haunting fortitude with the onset of the autumnal inclines as though at the last gasp their carefree spirit has had pause for reflective thought. Things get a little weird and wonky by the time ’tidal wave’ sails into view, though for all its surrealist wonky trappings a la Serafina Steer through the dream weaving haze of this Electric Eels cover something sounding not unlike Connie Francis emerges replete with kazoos and whistles to have you all a dither in swoon ville while ’nightingales’ will just leave you seductively subdued by its distantly demurred sepia tweaked hollowed glow whilst not forgetting to mention the mid 70’s west coast woo of the Young-esque codings of ’tigers’. All said and done our favourite moment by some distance is the fractured ‘105 and rising’ - a dust swirled wind howled parched blues mantra replete with 50’s flashings, bruised and scarred its intensity is astute, the prowling distressed fuzzy twangs circle the desolate landscape like vultures patiently waiting to pick off their pray - blessed with a first instance appeal to lovers of the early primitive work of PJ Harvey and the Rayographs while simultaneously despatched with a seriously primal delivery revealing a more than obvious appreciation of all things Link Wray. In a word stunning. www.bigprintrecords.co.uk

Majeure ‘timespan’ (temporary residence). A sumptuous double vinyl set replete with download codes for those of you either without turntable access or those still awaiting the day when Apple decide to develop an album sized portable device. Strictly limited to just 1,000 copies ‘timespan’ is the debut adventure of Majeure. Majeure for those unaware is the solo alter ego of Zombi’s A E Paterra, Zombi of course should be all too familiar to those with their sonic radars acutely tuned to the stars for over the course of several years they have calibrated some of the finest cosmic progressive symphonics this side of an early 70’s Tangerine Dream all nighter. Just beginning to show signs of emerging from hibernation Zombi main men Paterra and Moore have kept themselves occupied during the bands hiatus - Moore with his solo and extra curricula adventures as Titan, Gianni Rossi and Lovelock and Paterra with this titanic galactic voyage. Made up of three extended star crossed suites stretched across three sides of wax with the fourth side incidentally featuring a laser etched design, ’timespan’ traverses across time and space - alas not quite dimension but certainly texture, a cosmic odyssey of aural analogue architecture, gloriously vibrant and panoramic in detail, an old school retro view of the future if you like, these hyper driven monoliths are informed remoulded re-phrasings of dream weaving transcendental utopias calibrated at one time by the likes of Tangerine Dream (their progressive sense of the epic and dramatic), Vangelis (his desolate starry eyed fragile beauty) and John Carpenter (his trademark detachment and isolation). Looped analogue phrases, propulsive rhythms and motorik cycles converge to simultaneously cast out communicative opines into spaces endless void whilst instilling upon the listener a hypnotic in flight grandeur as the krautronic grooves wire in their terra forming mantras. Both immediate, purposeful, disciplined and accessible, Zombi patrons will not be found wanting with ‘timespan‘, there’s still the subtle Goblin-esque detailing except this time its wired into a seriously throbbing euro disko matrix that imagines some space camp refuelling point between Moroder and Front 242 has been achieved with the opening ambit ‘the Dresden codex’ very much found tapping into such a mindset. ‘teleforce’ on the other hand is a whole differing kettle of fish, a hitherto more darker affair it confers an unerring and unshakeable sense of deep dread as though inflicted by ominously foreboding vibrations caught upon a wind or perhaps a chilled calm before the storm, it’s a grand affair bathed with a brooding majestic stature that’s almost regal in nature and much nodding towards the more stately moments found lurking with Add N to X’s ‘add insult to injury’ set. ‘timespan’ wraps up the set in fine style - a sub 19 minute slab of seductive after hours psychotropia that once unshackled of its chamber like pulsar reverb dronal intro this galactic mind weaving leviathan unfurls and shape shifts to absorb all the facets of what’s gone before into a humungously trippy cyber funk tweaked spacey stew. Best filed under luxurious lunar lounge. www.temporaryresidence.com

More in a day or so - take care of yourselves

Mark
Xx