Missive 82
15-08-2005
And so it was the nearing of a close to another day, and a long day it had been – it was very late indeed, past the hour that children play or for that matter should still be up at, so late that even cats, dogs and other fluffy animals chose to curl up rather than prowl, so late in fact that graveyards yawned their disapproval at the seemingly ungodly hour. Heck it was late okay – dark, cold, not a soul to be seen and moon out – you get the picture. Somewhere along the line the driver of the car had took a wrong turn. He was lost. It was late – like dark, cold, no one about and full moon – oh yea it was raining too – with thunder and lightning. An Inn lay ahead. Pulling up the car he entered, the smell was musty, musty in an old kind of way, he rang the bell on the reception desk. Out shuffled the proprietor, questions were asked, pleasantries swapped, money and keys exchanged hands. One word of advice was given – do not open the closet door in the room. The room was small. The closet door to which the proprietor referred was to the corner. He peered at it. For a second he swore he heard a scratching sound. He stopped, stooped and listened carefully. All was silent. He looked for a power point and a phone line plugged in his trusty laptop. He still had work to finish and deadlines to meet. The laptap crackled into life a bathed the small room with the closet door in a blue haze. He reached for the kettle and filled it up and plugged it in readiness to make a drink. The room went eerily quiet. And bitterly cold. In fact quietly cold if you like and getting colder more quietly as the seconds ticked by. The scratching noise started again. It was coming from the closet. He slowly walked towards the closet door. His heart was racing in a bum titty bum titty bum titty bum bum kind of way. He pressed his ear against the closet door. The scratching was getting louder – something was moving in there. At one point he swore he heard a giggle – not a nice giggle – but a creepy giggle. He placed his hand on the handle of the closet. It was ice cold. He went to turn the handle – his curiosity getting the better of him now. He remembered the proprietor’s words ‘do not open the door to the closet’. He slowly turned the handle, the scratching sound was nearer now as though whatever was in there had moved towards the door. He slowly pushed open the door. A rush of decaying air filled the room. It was dark, so dark that the dark seemed to crawl out of the closet interior making the rest of the room darker still. Then there was a sound. A sickly sound. Like something writhing as though each bone and fibre was cracking and snapping with each movement. It was getting closer. Whatever it was it was too late within a flash the door swung open and he was face to face with the occupant of the closet – from it a painful and nuseating cry came forth - ‘Shove up our kid better put a brew on it’s that Singled Out doofer thing’.

Singled Out

Missive 81

Dedicated as always to Kelly and Mark – miss you lots….x

"Jazz from people without a heroin problem isn't that good."
-Liz Winstead.

Okay this will be the first of a few quick fire and short missives to arrive on your pc in the next few days (in between all these there will be a few album specials – confusing I know but there have been albums written and ready to go for weeks just sat languishing on the database – and frankly I ain’t impressed) – I’m sorry but I ain’t doing another Missive 76 / 77 again damn well near killed me it did. This will mean that hopefully we’ll be a little nearer to the gravestone 100th Missive. It’s been four years of doing these things and it’s been great fun – believe you me – some top records have passed through my hands and hopefully you have been able to find something of interest in all these gibberings. That said – four years – several hundred records later – well frankly rents need paying, food needs putting on tables and given that all this has been done out of the goodness of my own little heart with little more than a postage stamp in return for my troubles and well its either this or the poor house kids – and frankly the poor house ain’t an option besides their hi-fi is cack – I’ve checked and their record collection – well it 70’s K-Tel hell I can tell you.

Grumbles aside we’ve got some real damn fine new tunes to turn your hi-fi on with – none of that naff hyped up shite that certain rags make a living receiving backhanders to stay afloat with – no this is your genuine bonafidey good gear – featured discs include –

The Victorian English Gentlemen’s Club, the People’s Revolutionary Choir, Luxembourg, Animal Collective, Amandine, Cling, The Organ, Lorraine, Lupen Crook and Fortune Drive.

And a better way to start this particular missive we’d struggle to better than this awkward baby of a release –

The Victorian English Gentlemen’s Club ‘The Tales of Hermit Mark’ (Fantastic Plastic). Ha ha – title alone did it for us (further queries see above) – accompanied by a press release which said nothing and yet said a lot – we banged this on fearing perhaps the worst and how wrong we were. Okay the down side first – the title cut is so short in duration that midway through the mere reading of the bands name don’t be surprised to find this cutie has packed up its gear, sprang the old V sign and retired to the safety of its CD case but then lets face it that’s no down side. This lot are a Cardiff based trio – one boy / two girls who describe their sound as ‘triangular art racket’ and ‘the Tales of Hermit Mark’ is their debut record. What I will say is that you’d be wise to get your arse in gear and beat a hasty path to your local record emporium and get your dabs on one of these because this will be doing big business on Ebay shortly as the prunes who didn’t catch on first time around get fleeced. ‘The Tales of Hermit Mark’ gives the term ‘wired’ a whole new meaning, this baby is a wickedly spastic and discordant brat, part lunatic – part lunacy – petulantly raw as fuck and schizoid with it - bolted through with an unflinching floor busting bass underpin and a stalking lead riff with the twanging primal prowess much beloved of those early B52’s and Gregory era Cramps outings all tripped perfectly by a lobotomised vocal not unlike a young Adam Ant being hotwired by way of his testicles. File under a laboratory experiment fusing early Talking Heads, Devo and the Gun Club gone seriously wrong. ‘My son spells backwards’ over on the flip is equally crucial, a corking slice of prime time warping pre ‘Doolittle’ era Pixies as though somebody had accidentally cross-wired the tapes for ‘Where is my Mind’ and ‘Bone Machine’ – all replete with dislocated chop chop guitars, circular hypnotic rhythms, lashings of menace that’s fraught with just the right amount of frenzy and barking with a capital B. Disturbed but deliciously so. Single of the Missive. www.fantasticplasticrecords.com

And no sooner do the tongue twisting The Victorian English Gentlemen’s Club depart into the night then along comes the equally vowel heavy –

The People’s Revolutionary Choir ‘Elevate’ (Outafocus). Already firm favourites of Kasabian and Kate Moss (don’t some bands get lumbered) – but don’t hold that against them ‘Elevate’ their debut release could well prove to be the coming anthem for all those spliff fuelled nights spent chilling and talking big shit. Another of those records that comes shambling in replete with its own leathers and shades accessories, it’s no small wonder that JMC have already taken a shine to this quintet having taken a hand in producing their early demo’s. ‘Elevate’ is a mainlining hit of hazy loved up and blissed out cosmic stoner psych pop that tunes into the more upbeat pop fixated moments of early Spiritualised and Spectrum as opposed to Spacemen 3 and fuses it with a hybrid lysergic wah wah happy mix of the effervescent swagger of My Perfect God’s ‘Everything about you’ and the uber coolness of the Primals ‘Give out, but don’t give up’. In amid all this there are hooks you can hang skyscrapers on and a white-hot seizure like sonic presence that incurs acid flashbacks that steadily mature to mushroom into a full blown kaleidoscopic experience. Flip side features the more tranquilly laid back trippingly languid like drunken road pop of the heart heavy ‘Salvation Blues’ with its sleekly stretched sky piercing slow burning riffs while as though falling through a time fracture straight outta the 60’s into present day the effects laden ‘Feel so Good’ reverts back to the down and dirty sinew snapping sweaty mind expanding vibe of ‘Elevate’. Essential head gear – to be filed next to those other chemical cosmic cadets My Electric Love Affair. www.theprc.co.uk

Luxembourg ‘Luxembourg Vs. Great Britain’ (Shifty Disco). Last time we heard anything by this lot it was their appearance on that oh so crucial and must have ‘New Cross Sampler’ put out by Angular way back in 2003. Since then they’ve smittened audiences and flooded homes with releases aplenty – all of which we’ve (grumblingly) missed. This latest download only release sees them doing their stuff for the mighty Shifty Disco – ‘Luxembourg Vs. Great Britain’ is an infectious call to arms against the sterile state of pop - a majestically pirouetting pop opera of feel good vibes that swaggers and swerves aloofly amid a melodramatic backdrop of sensually liberated soul sapping arresting noire-ish grandeur and spiky ‘Dog Man Star’ era Suede glamour all snugly bulging with enough needling hooks to keep that Jarvis bloke in comfy cardigans for the rest of his natural born while possessing more kitchen than a Master Chef road show. Think Divine Comedy meets Rialto – well classy. Check out the bands site for a shed load of ear grooving gear. www.luxembourgweb.co.uk or www.shiftydisco.com

Animal Collective ‘Grass’ (Fat Cat). ‘Grass’ maybe be a pretty appropriate title in this case given that one suspects these Animal Collective dudes must have been smoking a fair amount of the stuff during the recording of this latest classic in waiting. Eccentric they may be, arty quite so, dull never – Animal Collective are one of the music worlds constantly evolving conundrums, nobody else quite sounds like them – they defy the usual notional parameters of pop i.e. verse chorus verse – they are the centre stone in Fat Cat’s crown – they are the skewed missing in action loose nuts from the collective warped genius of both Barrett and Wilson. Released by way as a taster for ‘Feels’ their forthcoming follow up to last years ‘Sung Tongs’ full length, these three cuts see the whole ensemble back together again (Avey Tare, Panda Bear, Geologist and Deaken) – and at the height of their powers - ‘Grass’ is typically unworldly and ethereal in texture, guitars shimmer to give the trademark fluid sound base to be shaped in the daydream collages of Lennon’s ‘Number 9 Dream’ / ‘Mind Games’ add in the vague trace elements of XTC and the sugar coated harmonics the kind claimed from the Beach Boys as their own by the Earlies and damn it kids if I didn’t know better it has all the hallmarks of being their most accessible recording to date. Okay our copy has suffered with a titles mispress so that what we were first led to believe was ‘Fickle Cycle’ is in fact ‘Must be Treeman’ and er well you know the other being well the other one – make sense – no – hell you need to get with the programme. Alright now we’ve cleared up that what I was going to say was talking of daydreams (as we loosely were) ‘Must be Treeman’ is an unsettling attic clearance of dismembered and dissipating chamber like hypnotic drone-scapes that at times has the feel of someone making bubbles in a bath while at others just simply cast an air disorientation about the listener. Best of the set though is the pixies and elves on an impish raid like oddness of ‘Fickle Cycle’ – part weird surreal child hood nursery rhyme culture with Gregorian aftertastes meets enchanted secret under world of Lear / Carroll scored through with the cutely unsettling imagination of an acid fuelled Mael brothers working in collusion with a particularly frayed Cornelius extracting the flawed and wayward genius of Pop Off Tuesday and the Frank Chickens – file under pickled psychedelia. Joint deputy single of the missive. www.fat-cat.co.uk

Staying with Fat Cat for –

Amandine ‘Halo’ (Fat Cat). Debut release time no less for Swedish ensemble Amandine (Andreas Hedstrom, Andreas Bergqvist, John Andersson and Olof Gidlof). Formed in 2001 this lot used to trade under the name Wichita Lineman until struck by illness, family commitments and a few changes in personnel. Several years spent in a log cabin carving sweetly cured early 70’s flavoured country pop later this group of friends have managed to collate enough material for an album – ‘This is where our hearts collide’ which will be hitting street side in October. Preceding that though this smartly drifting three-track gem should serve as an indication of what to expect and no doubt make friends and break hearts aplenty along the way. ‘Halo’ features material old and new – think of an optimistic sounding Robert Wyatt fronting a softer toned Buffalo Springfield – I kid you not – all three cuts found here are a gentle nudge in the ribs of how sweetly affecting music can be, from the beautifully lovelorn amble of the title track with its seductively pirouetting strings and breathlessly warming Americana / MOR textures you keep double checking to make sure that firstly this is a Fat Cat artefact and secondly that they are in fact from Sweden and that this isn’t some sort of recently unearthed and thought long lost and fabled super group tour de force of 70’s icons. ‘Sparrow’ is a slightly rockier number that sounds at times like the simmering grandeur of the much underrated ‘Eldorado’ era Neil Young being fused with elements of the Eagles, post jangle Byrds and the Blue Oyster Cult and sumptuously laced with a breezy sounding cortege of sapping accordions and trippy banjos for good measure. Last up and by no means least and perhaps if truth be told the sets best cut – ‘Between what he’s saying and what he regrets’, hopelessly melancholic and at times sounding not unlike a prairie recital of Wings ‘Mull of Kintyre’ being played at half speed - this drunken dusty piano led porch lit gem frail as it might be softly curls up to embrace you tenderly in a snoozing warm like glow with such irresistible advances that even the steeliest and most determined of souls my find hard spurn. You need this of course. www.fat-cat.co.uk

Cling ‘Abandoned’ (Self Released). Hi-fi say yes, damn this is good. Cling are (hard to believe) an as yet unsigned boy / girl duo - Gerald Patient and Susan Lavender who certainly know – (judging on the evidence of these two cuts) – a thing or two about honing and craftily arranging and displacing moods with gloriously prickling tonal textures and cutely locking them down amid backdrops of multi generic electronic crossovers. Their sound is the galactic mid way point between the achingly tender and candidly cured pop effervescence of Dubstar and the glacial after hours shadowy sophistication of Sarah Blackwood’s post indie infatuation of the Kling Klang inspired Client. ‘Abandoned’ is deliciously soothing, in a sultry late night chilling way, a tastily tempered torch like pocket pop dynamo that mooches majestically orbiting around an arresting montage of high rise block derived Massive Attack elements weaved around subtle jazz accents and wrapped up with fatly robust squelching clicks and seductive key swirls that cross the threshold between being the cool to name check property of the club cognoscenti and wider commercial appeal. ‘Luna C’ is similarly crafted but with a darker heart, this time it’s a more intimate affair set off by a flood of twinkling spacey textures with Susan’s vocal hanging angelically in the ether and capturing that same ability to shift between bitter and sweet emotions at the blink of an eye as that of Melys’ Andrea. Certainly worth taking time out for – the rewards are boundless – more please. www.clingmusic.co.uk

The Organ ‘Memorize the City’ (Noize). Another drop dead gorgeous release we’d have to say and follow up to that awesome Sink and Stove mini album ‘Sinking Hearts’ from a few months ago and a taster for the UK release proper of their current (as yet only available in the US) debut album ‘Grab that Gun’. The Organ are another in an ever seeming long line of ensembles who it seems have been spending waking hours slavering over an older siblings (or for that matter parents) record collection (given that these days most of these bright young things donning guitars are 80’s babies). Okay a little background – the Organ are a Vancouver based five piece – the brainchild of a certain Katie Stretch (vocals, guitar) - they are your prime time Blondie of c.‘Blondie’ / ‘Plastic Letters’ - a time when they were still trying hard to hang onto to their collective membership at CBGB’s and convince the crowd of their cool credentials just before all the wiry elements were airbrushed into the 50’s bubblegum pop wet dream we all know and love. Damn veered off somewhere there – where were we – ah yes – the Organ – ‘Memorize the City’ featured twice here (there’s a totally reconstructed deconstruction of it by the laptop levelling Simon Bookish which by our reckoning alone is worthy of an entrance fee) is Blondie bled through with a crest of hip shimmying chiming chords and cut with a numbing austere almost blankly sombre feeling edge that suggests a very young Cure slipstreaming ever so cautiously towards the darkening claustrophobic clutches of ‘Pornography’. ‘There is nothing I can do’ originally featuring on the aforementioned ‘Sinking Hearts’ collection is zig zagging emotionless affair wearing a day-glo ‘what the fuck’ t-shirt – so cold you keep putting your head in the fridge freezer for a warm - attitude, ambivalence and anodyne – three words you rarely see in a book together let alone a sentence. All in all must have ear gear it certainly is. www.theorgan.ca

Lorraine ‘I feel it’ (Genepool). And we are loving this very much indeed. All the way from Bergen via those real nice people at Genepool records who in the past have talked our poor hi-fi into bouts of frenzied exuberance with past releases from the immense sounding Stained Glass Heroes, the Fades and Lyca Sleep – in other words there’s a pedigreed track record here. With one album under their collective belt with 2003’s ‘The Perfect Cure’ (which sadly dipped below our radar) if the brief sheet accompanying this release is to be believed this electro pop trio are currently gathering major label attention and rightly so because this saccharine tasting slice of whirly pop craftily nudges, pokes and presses its way against your defences in a most disarming manner channelling its milky memories of the 80’s. ‘I feel it’ is a deceptive cutie that opens tearfully doe eyed lulling you in falsely before silkily exploding into a heart wrenching fire-cracking spectacle of feel good arresting euphoria annotated cleverly with celestial promenade vibes kind of China Crisis bruised and brought to their knees but with an overpowering attitude to succeed and cut with enough indie hooks and hip hugging swerves to put the skinny tie wearing brigade to shame. ‘Saved’ features on the flip is one of those tracks that serves as a timely reminder that I really should sort out the safe return of the part of my record collection that is currently temporarily divorced because I swear this slyly nicks the riff from B-Movie’s ‘Remembrance Day’ but then not being in possession of the original I can’t test the theory – one thing I can say though is this should satiate all those suffering prolonged withdrawal symptoms of all things Lightning Seeds – that is the clever dinky stuff he used to produce before he went all ‘three lions’ bobbins on us. And as if you needed any further prods limited numbered pressings on white vinyl – everyone’s a winner then. www.genepoolrecords.com

Lupen Crook ‘Petals fresh from Road Kill’ (Tap ‘n’ Tin). From the same label that brought us that excellent Delaners release from a few weeks (Missive 49 – note takers) – now comes this tasty curiosity. Lupen Crook is the twenty three year old dark heart of the current folk / singer / songwriter scene – a modern day Woody Guthrie with a shit load of issues. Restricted so far to live performances he has by all accounts left those who’ve witnessed him in a state of frenzy garnering glowing notices wherever he has played. ‘Petals fresh from Road Kill’ is his debut release, set across three formats (vinyl, CD and label site downloads) this showcase features seven cuts in total and perfectly nails to the floor Lupen Crook’s unnerving volatile mix of sweetly sugared sentiments and spitting viciousness. Vague traces of Syd Barrett, Neil Young, Robert Wyatt and even David ‘barra boy’ Bowie (from the pre ‘Space Oddity’ days when he wanted to be Anthony Newley) filter their way to differing degrees through these decayed emotions especially on the skewed and viciously abrupt schizoid mood swinging opener ‘Lucky 6’ which combines all these reference points and challenges the listener one minute cutting you blankly dead in your tracks the next swooning you with a roughly cut scouse-a-delic nugget appeal. The appeal of Lupen Crook’s material is that unlike other singer songwriters ploughing similar furrows he isn’t one for dishing up sweetly idling imagery instead between the minutiae folds of those other picture book appraisals, Crook prefers to magnify the cracks getting beneath the flowery ornate wallpaper – tempering a funereal cast which while it mightn’t match say Nick Cave’s earlier Bad Seeds catalogue it more than certainly makes up for in terms of creating an underlining sense of unease ushering a kind of grim reaper of the marsh lands by night feel. Bitter and steeped in paranoia Crook sometimes sounds like a man possessed the vocals and sense of urgency best exemplified by the scarred and detached sounding ‘the Murderbirds’ or the raging intensity of ‘Matthew’s Magpie’ where you’re party to the spectacle of a mind unravelling fast. Best track of the set is the eerily encoded ‘Matilda V’ which has all the darkening beauty and psychotic grandeur of a wiry and brooding Neil Young fronting an edgily stripped down Radiohead that’s so chilled to the bone and bereft of warmth that you’ll swear you’ll need an industrial sized snow plough to drag you out of its clutches. An excellent albeit emotionally crippled debut. www.tapntin.co.uk

Fortune Drive ‘Sparkle’ (Self Released / Demo). This three track debut (though my copy features four cuts) offering from five piece Fortune Drive comes with no information attached - but hey what’s new – in fact we’ll be buggered that there’s any information at all about this lot – that said what I have managed to establish is that they all live together above a pub and word has it they are the best thing to have hit Bristol since Brennus set up camp [or should that be bread – Editor’s note] before the Roman’s arrived. If the ‘feel good’ lead out track ‘Sparkle’ is anything to go by then it shouldn’t be too long before this multi (non) generic (specific) group have the more in tune and clued up major labels offering up blank cheques for them to fill in return for their signatures. While many might argue that the whole funky rock matrix thing has been well and truly tried and tested by the likes of Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Faith No More and Jane’s Addiction / Porno for Pyros there’s no denying that Fortune Drive have found more than enough scraps with which to utilise, manoeuvre and put upon their own individualistic spin. It’s the vocals that first alert you that there’s something special at work here, probably the most soulful heard here since the much-underrated Panda Gang’s Brent Thornley. Yet while the Panda Gang’s sound does much to enhance and empathise Thornley’s softening Stevie Wonder meets Smokey tones with their Jackson 5 meets Edwin Moses vibe – Fortune Drive on the other hand push Bobby Anderson to the limit, constantly forcing him to stretch and contort against a blistering backdrop of euphorically tinged driving ear candy melodic rock. ‘Sparkle’ is the centre stone of the set, all at once accessible and highly infectious this sexy babe immediately taps into your neural system and plays havoc as it seductively gyrates amid a resplendent cortege of see sawing hip hugging needling hooks and anthemic stylised keys to feed a cool as fuck vocal – all the time harnessing more twists, tenacity and soul soaked verve in its four minute lifespan than most bands dare to muster in a whole career. And if you think that this is a band ready to rest on their laurels a corner just one side of the market then think again – while the pulse racing formula is executed similarly on the storming through the gears track 2 or as they case may be ‘Recent Adv’ with its duelling guitars and nerve ends tight to snapping brusqueness is simply breathtaking then the throbbing frenzy of track 3 (possibly ‘Start to Finish’) has enough coolly aloof struts of its own to have most of the inkie darlings of the angular art pop brigade turning a deep shade of dark green in envy - even if it does sound at times like the Smiths ‘This Charming Man’ speeded up a notch or three. Personally though it’s the arse kicking gritty grind of the locked down and acutely vicious Track 4 that gets my vote – not only does it take a hammer to Franz Ferdinand and the current cute set of bands prefixed with ‘the’ it also takes most of the guitar orientated ensembles falling under the current post rock / atmospheric umbrella into their sights for a spot of meaty wig flipping feedback laden cranium crunching frenz. Joint deputy single of the missive. www.fortunedrive.com

That’s yer lot for now – back shortly with two more quick fire singled out’s

Have fun and take care of yourselves.

Mark
X
mark@losingtoday.com