SXSW 2008
Riding in the whirlwind. That's what I call the SXSW showcase grind. It's a hero's journey to be survived more than enjoyed. If we're lucky we emerge better people after the week long odyssey of endless standing and badge-envy, apostles of musical enlightenment. If we're not we maybe end up drunk in a puddle of piss, or as roadkill on San Jacinto, or maybe we smarten up and just hang back from the official fest showcases altogether, drink free beer and dig on all the righteous day parties. I guess I did a little of all of the above, some highlights below:

Wednesday

I pull into Austin Wednesday about 6:30 P.M., and get on down to the Thirsty Nickle on 6th for my yearly indoctrination into the clan of Sunburned Hand of the Man. John Moloney and his sonic kin (mostly new faces to me) tear through a barrage of old school analog drones meets funk stomp damage. It all seems a bit chaotic and even aimless compared to the previous Sunburned show I caught a year before, but then that's how so many of the greatest bands come off in the end: inconsistent. Those highs and lows are worth the endurance for those of us willing to take the plunge. Fine fest opener all in all.

Then a quick dash over to St David's Church on 7th to catch a series of performances curated by Steve Reich (it's pronounced Reish btw). Shhhhwing. Anyone who has ever gotten drunk on cheap wine and spaced out to the pulsing tonal mantras of Music For 18 Musicians knows what kind of master composer Reich is, each note tightly arranged with classical and jazz precision to reveal room saturating symphonies for the soul. The SOLI Chamber Ensemble is perhaps a bit too "straight" for my leanings, but guitarist Eddie Whalen's gorgeous set and the percussive rush of So Percussion more than make up for it, supplying the kind of high brow musicality that low brow fiends such as myself can occasionally truly dig on.

After this delicate display a few of us make it down to Habana Calle 6 on 6th (where else?) to catch The Gowns, a trio I'd not heard before now but was interested in since there's an Amps for Christ connection. With a lineup of guitar/violin/percussion, these folks come off as a kind of Appalachian response to the Magik Markers with lots of quiet squiggly moments building to rousing post punk eruptions. There's a hot blond singer/guitarist, a busy jazzy drummer, and the violinist works well whether unleashing monochrome rainbows or squealing barnyard squalls. Next, oscillating punk screamers Parts and Labor--very good at what they do. I'm just not a big fan of what they do.

Thursday

...kicks off with an attempt at catching The Castanets at Mrs. Beas on the East Side, no luck. Catch The Woods instead, a cpl songs anyway; I guess these lads could be described as post Devendra hippie fuzz folk. Agreeable. Decide to trot up a couple blocks to a place called French Legation, nestled alongside a historical cemetery (makes for a serene backdrop), and catch a very fine J Mascis solo set in which he plays amplified acoustic guitar with occasional fuzz bursts. I guess this draws more from later Dino Jr. and solo stuff (must admit my woeful ignorance of more recent Mascis related things). Dig it regardless. Then back down to Mrs. Beas to find that The Castanets have played the shortest day set in the history of SXSW. I miss it. This marks a recurring motif of almost (but not quite) seeing The Castanets live (though I do manage catch a glimpse of Raymond Raposa with Denton locals Shiny Around the Edges two days later). I don't remember who the next band was at Beas. The trio has a sort of hillbilly scrappy dog appeal that makes me think of Flying Burrito Brothers and muttonchops and has me smilin' in my boots. Next comes Mexican food, coffee and further preparations for what would surely be a festival highlight: The Siltbreeze Showcase at the Soho Lounge on 6th Street.

Again, here I am in the middle of Asstown, TX, 6th Street cordoned off for showgoers, fratboys and gangbangers alike, and I'm about to watch eight different bands courtesy of one of my favorite indie labels of all time. All in the same venue no less. The impact that Siltbreeze had on my development as a fucked up antisocial sloprock junkie is immeasurable, and since then they've come back on the scene in a heavy way with a new generation of art skuzz purveyors ready to blow minds and scrape skulls. Enter Ex-Cocaine, a duo of guitar and hand percussion working a kind of post kraut tribal frenzy which is just what my sensitive receptors need to ease into this evening trip. Swim in it a while... (I recommending turning down the volume on these vids for better clarity)

Next comes Naked on the Vague from Australia. This guy 'n' gal marry distortion, minimal percussion and harrowing vocals into trance inducing/flailing/stumbling noisescapes that make such an impression that I'm forced to buy everything they have at the merch table. Definitely a real find.

Blues Control works a serene magic with its lulling underwater psychedelic muzak, skating the line between head burnt bong noise and easy as pie mellow-dee. Portland, OR's Eat Skulls bring the high energy garage punk onslaught. Psychedelic Horseshit throws a few more sarcastic punk logs on the acid fire, but it's A Pink Reason that proves to be the great white hope of the bunch with its earnest dope fucked fuzz punk anthems conjuring the ghost of a young Peter Laughner and his Rocket From the Tombs. Do us a favor, fellers, hang around a while. Mike Repp (with help from Times New Viking) stands in for the original Siltbreeze gen with his elder Ohio garage punk cred as a producer of some note (he recorded some classic early GBV sides among other things) and his gleaming silver locks. He also apparently appears on one of the first Siltbreeze releases, though I don't remember further details. Live he's a garage punker with a heart of gold who never really got over his Stooges obsession. Ace. Times New Viking close it down with their acidic art punk/pop. This set is more screeching and ramshackle than the one I caught some months before. Not bad at all, but kinda ear-splitting. All in all a life affirming evening of primal garage noise rock.

Friday

...is greeted with a quick dash over to La Zona Rosa on 4th to catch an afternoon show by me old pals Soundtrack of Our Lives, who I have fond memories of catching in a small space at SXSW back around 2002. Thankfully their 45 min gig completely rekindles my flame for these Swedish rock gods of yore as they run through a set comprised almost entirely of songs from their new unreleased album, including a fantastic cover of Nick Drake's "Fly" in the "Jehovah Sunrise" mold.

I don't know if some of the younguns truly know anything about these guys: Lead singer Ebbot Lundberg formed the group from the ashes of Swede Stooges stomp legends Union Carbide Productions with UBC guitarist Bjorn Olsson and tempers unabashed late 60s/early 70a hard/folk rock fixations with MC5 punk energy and does what a band like Oasis does without any of the smug annoyance, though rest assured SOOL are big stars in their homeland and likely have some fairly inflated egos. Everywhere else they're simply a must for fans of vintage psych pop. A taste, which sadly cuts out right before it really starts to rock...

Now a dash back over to French Legation to catch The Atlas Sound, comprised of members of Deerhunter, Jackie-O-Motherfucker, Yume Bitsu and more, trading in oldschool shoegaze/drone pop, providing the perfect bouncing shimmer for my post hamgover readjustment.


And then a quick drive over to a house party somewhere on the East Side where I'm lucky enough to catch three damn fine noise(esque) ensembles in a row:

--Indian Jewelry--Never grabbed me much on record, but here outside in the fading magic hour their fuzz industrial onslaught makes for an amazing pulsatng groove.

--Blues Control--More controlled and serene than there set the night before, the sweet stench of fruitbud in the air, nighttime, Mickeys, sprawled out on the grass, momentary nirvana. Perfect ballast for the big showcase grind.

--Rahdunes--New masters if the downtuned fuzz drone. Post industrial striations of deep-space-hum, spreading out against the night sky like so many fireflies before descending once more like invisible spirits shot directly into the third eye. Brainjam for the soul.

Back on the road again. I make it over to Emo's in time for The Akron/Family, but I grow impatient, so I start walking again with a couple nice folks I met from Canada (one of them plays standup bass in The Sadies) and we arrive somewhere (forgot!) and catch a few songs by Blue Rodeo--remember them? They've been around forever, and I can see why. Their amiable country folk goes down smooth for people unashamed to admit they enjoy bluegrass, The Byrds and The Eagles.

I dash back to Emos for the promised two hour set by The Akron/Family and behold The Line. Two of them actually, one for badges, one for wristbands. One moves much, much faster tha the other. I wait at least an hour. As I wait I hear Blue Cheer playing across the street--the real Blue Cheer!--and wonder why the fuck I'm standing in this line. It's sort of cool hearing them run through a muffled version of Jimi's "Third Stone From the Sun" a mere 50 feet away but mostly lame. I finally get into Emos about 30 mins into A/F's set, witness most of the damn thing and conclude that what Funkadelic does for all night funk jam parties the Akrons do for art rock hoedowns. And they're funky too. They invite the Lexie Mountain Boys (who are actually girls) on stage for much of the set (and some other folks too...hazy). Almost every song is 15-20 mins long, and the boys in the band start to look damn tired by the end. Their almost two hour set closes with what's become a fairly common practice for both the Akrons and bands at SXSW in general: They come down into the crowd and lead the audience outside into the street (no doubt to the Emos staffers' delight) and just keep playing and chanting forever and ever, or at least as long as there are people around to clap and sing along. I get it; it's all about tearing down the wall between audience and performer. It seems The Akrons are almost frat rock superstars now. Odd, but acceptable. Vi-vi-video...

Saturday

Can't believe I've made it this far. Report first thing to End of an Ear to catch Nadja, Paul Metzger and Gary Higgins. Toronto's Nadja trades in dense doom fuzz crescendos drawing equally from the Sunno))) industrial void and the heyday of blissed shoegaze. Makes for an interesting mix and a fairly mind-glazing live experience.


Now I'd been hearing and reading about this Paul Metzger guy for a while. Picked up a copy of his Music for Modified Guitar at Terrastock and a split 12" with Ben Chasny/Chris Corsano. I'd also heard the angular jazz punk of his Minneapolis ensemble TCBC and always suspected he was best sampled in the live setting. Though that's perhaps debatable since his Music For Modified Banjo CD is undoubtedly one of the truly great solo acoustic raga albums of the last ten years or so.

So there I am, camera in one hand, cup of coffee in the other, seven feet from Metzger and all ears. He plays two extended blues/bluegrass ragas, one for guitar and one for banjo. The results feel decidedly more oriental in tone, with a strong emphasis on space and restraint and some well placed bow work. By the time he gets going, head deep into primitive string space, he's fully emersed and we're along for the ride. He almost looks like a marienette with his banjo, bouncing and convulsing as if controlled by some unseen force. Truly a mystical experience.


Gary Higgins and his band play smooth psychedelic folk with mellotron, bass and guitars. Nothing revelatory, and I only catch really two songs of their End of an Ear set before I dash off again (and of course the recently reissued Red Hash is a genuine lost classic btw), but it's a fine mellow ride, and as evinced from the tune below his new album is going to be something pretty special. Thanks again to Ben Chasny, not just for turning me onto Gary but also for helping to bring him out of musical retirement for a new generation of avid listeners. That's Gary in the back center...

Almost there...promise. Next I head over to the Chaindrive off 4th to catch Strategies in Beauty, yet another day party curated by members of Denton bands, Shiny Around the Edges and Zanzibar Snails. I miss Aiden Baker's (Nadja) solo set but catch the closing bits of Dust Congress, and the entirety of Shiny Around the Edges. SATE is a band I'd not heard or seen till now. Apparently they played as the Castanets backing band during all of its SXSW performances, so I guess I finally get to see the Castanets after all. Well almost. Shiny's grungy noise clang meets broken ambient dreams provides a sufficient kick in the pants and hooks me nicely. Behold the clang...

Next personal Dallas faves The Zanzibar Snails tear through a 30 min set of blistering deep space sonic murk that just keeps growing more intense and insane with each passing minute. The molten lava flow makes me feel as if I've been directly teleported into the heart of a red giant, time slowing to a crawl as my flesh starts to melt, and POOF, no more. Nothing. This is the end...only not really. Like an electromagnetic pulse, the Snails' shreiking electro clatter saps my camera of its remaining juice. I'm unable to document this highly visceral sonic experience. Apparently they blew a fuse so the whole groaning mass just cut out instantly. No resolution, no fade out. Nothing. The events are almost preternatural from my close vantage point.

And now we really are approaching the end. I get my buttocks over to Central Presbyrterian Church just in time to catch Christina Carter and Shawn David McMillan performing as a duo. They're playing cleanup in the time-slot following Jandek, which I actually elect to miss this year since I've seen him twice in the last two years. With support from Susan Alcorn and Ralph White I know I've missed something special, but that's okay. The room is cleared out quite a bit for Christina and Shawn's set. Fine with me since it allows room to stretch out and relax. It's the perfect evnironment to get lost in the languid blues and folk interplay. Shawn starts out on pump organ as Christina plays electric guitar and sings. They play three or four spacious numbers including a little dueling guitar action. It's all a bit of a blur at this point but without question entirely indicative of the level of probing intensity I've come to expect from both of these amazing musicians. Hope some recordings of this new incarnation surface sometime soon.

From there I simply wander a while. Dazed and confused is an understatement. I want to lie down in the middle of 6th street and just stare at the stars, but the fear of being trampled to death by a few hundred scantily clad females in what have to be incredibly uncomfortable high heels prevents me from doing so.

Somehow I eventually end up over at Scoot Inn on 4th for the end of the Load showcase and White Mice's night closing set. How to describe White Mice? Well they're very Providence, and all the members seem to be reared on early thrash, hardcore and brain-scrambling nowave. One's wearing a Bathory shirt. When they perform they wear these incredible mouse costumes, each with its own unique defining characteristic. My favorite is the drummer with his skinned mouse head, all grizzled and pink with a shock of white hair shooting out the top like a mohawk--fucking cool. Oh yeah and those bulging eyeballs. This sight combined with the massive bass drum he sits behind (thing had to be over 4 ft tall) makes for one of the more memorable images I've seen the whole week. My cam battery is dead at this point, so just trust me on this. Their set is a brutal/violent barrage of bass/drums thrash bludgeon with screaming oscillations slicing through the downtuned sludge like chinese throwing stars. A group of young and highly mobile mosh devils procedes to flail about, smack into each other, break beer bottles on the ground and beam proudly the whole time. Interesting. I keep my distance. All in all it's too fucking much for my old-hippie-fart ass to stand for too long, but I guess I can see the appeal for them younguns. I feel old.

After that I drop by Shawn McMillan's house for his latenight party and see many of the folks I'd seen live in various constollations in the previous four days hanging out and chit-chattering. And whaddayaknow there's Thurston Moore (who I didn't see perform once during the whole fest--shame on me) hanging out and digging the vibe too. He plants himself on the floor about three feet from the Rahdunes, running through another one of its serene deep space voyages. It's a nice sort of mid-volume come down with some rhythmic turbulence towards the finale. Love it. Thurston looks impressed. And let me just say here and now Aaron Coyes is a really cool guy and a consummate gentleman. He builds all of Rahdunes instruments from scratch and is certainly one of the great practicioners of the analog-aural-mind-cleanse working today. Long may you roam, brother.

Well that's about it. I apologize for the immense length of this post, probably should've split it up into parts. It's a madhouse down at SXSW and I'd not be surprised if I just lay low the next few years. I missed tons, i mean TONS of great stuff but still felt I managed my time well enough and got the most bang for my buck. I also bought a shitload of records, but that's a different story.

Also, sometime during this chaotic period I managed to see a stripped down Radar Brothers instore performance at End of an Ear and two songs (including "You're Going to Miss Me") by Roky Erickson and the Explosives along with guest guitarist Billy Gibbons. Thanks to M. Chamey, N. Hill, N. Mann and everyone else who made this rambling indulgence possible and my SXSW experience a lot more fun. Thus concludes my ranting and raving summation of four days in the whirlwind. Until next time. To quote the great one, "That'll be the day..."

This morning I had a dream about Kurt Cobain. Not really sure what it meant, but I remember my dreams so rarely these days that when I do remember them I convince myself that they're really important. Even if they're not. In this particular dream Cobain appeared to be acting in a film about, not necessarily himself, but someone like himself. I remember seeing him playing on a stage rocking hard, but I don't know what the music sounded like and there was hardly anyone there watching. It was in a big white room like a gymnasium. Bit of a time-lapse followed soon after, and I'm calling up a massive stairwell after a friend, not Kurt. I ask a question but never get an answer. I think I remember the question but I won't type it here now. I awoke some seconds later to the memory of Cobain dead in that little room over that garage along with a tinge of sadness. Sappy fool I am.

And yesterday Sir Arthur C. Clark stepped through the stargate for the last time. He was 90, and apparently suffered a great deal of physical pain over the last 50 years or so, so cheers to you old great one for making it this far. I can honestly say no author has more deeply influenced my view of the world and the universe...

From the AP:
Writer Arthur C. Clarke Dies at 90
By RAVI NESSMAN – 1 day ago

COLOMBO, Sri Lanka (AP) — Arthur C. Clarke, a visionary science fiction writer who won worldwide acclaim with more than 100 books on space, science and the future, died Wednesday in his adopted home of Sri Lanka, an aide said. He was 90.

Clarke, who had battled debilitating post-polio syndrome since the 1960s and sometimes used a wheelchair, died at 1:30 a.m. after suffering breathing problems, aide Rohan De Silva said.

Co-author with Stanley Kubrick of Kubrick's film "2001: A Space Odyssey," Clarke was regarded as far more than a science fiction writer.

He was credited with the concept of communications satellites in 1945, decades before they became a reality. Geosynchronous orbits, which keep satellites in a fixed position relative to the ground, are called Clarke orbits.

He joined American broadcaster Walter Cronkite as commentator on the U.S. Apollo moonshots in the late 1960s.

Clarke's non-fiction volumes on space travel and his explorations of the Great Barrier Reef and Indian Ocean earned him respect in the world of science, and in 1976 he became an honorary fellow of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics.

But it was his writing that shot him to his greatest fame and that gave him the greatest fulfillment.

"Sometimes I am asked how I would like to be remembered," Clarke said recently. "I have had a diverse career as a writer, underwater explorer and space promoter. Of all these I would like to be remembered as a writer."

From 1950, he began a prolific output of both fiction and non-fiction, sometimes publishing three books in a year. He published his best-selling "3001: The Final Odyssey" when he was 79.

Some of his best-known books are "Childhood's End," 1953; "The City and The Stars," 1956, "The Nine Billion Names of God," 1967; "Rendezvous with Rama," 1973; "Imperial Earth," 1975; and "The Songs of Distant Earth," 1986.

When Clarke and Kubrick got together to develop a movie about space, they used as basic ideas several of Clarke's shorter pieces, including "The Sentinel," written in 1948, and "Encounter in the Dawn." As work progressed on the screenplay, Clarke also wrote a novel of the story. He followed it up with "2010," "2061," and "3001: The Final Odyssey."

In 1989, two decades after the Apollo 11 moon landings, Clarke wrote: "2001 was written in an age which now lies beyond one of the great divides in human history; we are sundered from it forever by the moment when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin stepped out on to the Sea of Tranquility. Now history and fiction have become inexorably intertwined."

Clarke won the Nebula Award of the Science Fiction Writers of America in 1972, 1974 and 1979; the Hugo Award of the World Science Fiction Convention in 1974 and 1980, and in 1986 became Grand Master of the Science Fiction Writers of America. He was awarded the CBE in 1989.

Born in Minehead, western England, on Dec. 16, 1917, the son of a farmer, Arthur Charles Clark became addicted to science fiction after buying his first copies of the pulp magazine "Amazing Stories" at Woolworth's. He read English writers H.G. Wells and Olaf Stapledon and began writing for his school magazine in his teens.

Clarke went to work as a clerk in Her Majesty's Exchequer and Audit Department in London, where he joined the British Interplanetary Society and wrote his first short stories and scientific articles on space travel.

It was not until after the World War II that Clarke received a bachelor of science degree in physics and mathematics from King's College in London.

In the wartime Royal Air Force, he was put in charge of a new radar blind-landing system.

But it was an RAF memo he wrote in 1945 about the future of communications that led him to fame. It was about the possibility of using satellites to revolutionize communications — an idea whose time had decidedly not come.

Clarke later sent it to a publication called Wireless World, which almost rejected it as too far-fetched.

Clarke married in 1953, and was divorced in 1964. He had no children.

He moved to the Indian Ocean island of Sri Lanka in 1956 after embarking on a study of the Great Barrier Reef. He discovered that scuba-diving approximated the feeling of weightlessness that astronauts experience in space, and he remained a diving enthusiast, running his own scuba venture into old age.

"I'm perfectly operational underwater," he once said.

Clarke was linked by his computer with friends and fans around the world, spending each morning answering e-mails and browsing the Internet.

At a 90th birthday party thrown for Clarke in December, the author said he had three wishes: for Sri Lanka's raging civil war to end, for the world to embrace cleaner sources of energy and for evidence of extraterrestrial beings to be discovered.

In an interview with The Associated Press, Clarke once said he did not regret having never followed his novels into space, adding that he had arranged to have DNA from strands of his hair sent into orbit.

"One day, some super civilization may encounter this relic from the vanished species and I may exist in another time," he said. "Move over, Stephen King."

Roy Scheider died last week! And ho do I find out? Randomly on the fifth page of the Arts and Entertainment section in a tiny little blurb. He was 75. Most memorable performance? Going to get predictable and go with Jaws ("Smile, you son of a bitch!"), but then can't forget his disturbed turn as the ultimate bad vibe company man, Dr. Benway in Naked Lunch. And then there's Blue Thunder, which has the distinction of being better than its TV rip-off, Airwolf, the last film to feature Malcolm McDowell in a decent role, and Warren Oates' last film altogether. You youngens just don't know how cool American cinema was up to the early 80s.

As I focus on other activities this year, I hope to post some reviews here regularly, and if time/motivation permits, assemble a few more Bones From the Garden pieces for Deep Water. Otherwise, I wont be contributing any reviews or articles to other publications for a while. You can also expect the occasional random live show review, festival announcement, or useless rant here...and I hope nothing more about Britney Spears at all. It's weird. Lately I've been having these bizarre mental lapses where I think for a few seconds that I am Britney Spears. Very scary stuff. Damn tabloid subliminal suggestion.

Four albums (two of which were mentioned recently in this blog), all possibly more amazing than originally surmised:

Om Pilgrimage (Southern Lord) - Ti's true, Hakius is out, which makes me a lucky pup since I got to see these down tempo trance sludge masters in Ft. Worth some months back. Funny thing is I remember feeling privileged that they stretched out "At Giza" a good 8 mins past the original album length, only to read THIS and find that they recently played a five hour set in THE HOLY LAND! Whoa... Kinda what Om's all about. Nice interview there btw. Al Cisneros actually reveals some personal stuff that helps further illuminate the Unitive Knowledge of Om's Godhead. Sure the music is more of the same on this Steve Albini engineered behemoth, but then again that's the point. It's all just different parts of the same song. I love Cisneros's insistence on letting the music speak for itself. Esoteric, deeply spiritual, meditative, moody, bombastic... At least half this album is quiet with hypnotic bass vibrations coiling through a psychedelic headspace that's at once heavy and weightless. Otherwise great, crisp sound, wonderful dark moods and crushing doom fury are the order of the day. Cisneros says that the journey will continue with a new drummer towards The Shrinebuilder, and there's also a live album drawn from the aforementioned Jerusalem gig on the way. Been digging on some sweet live Om boots lately, including 4/29/06 at the Knitting Factory, so I expect total monolithic greatness on all fronts in the future.

The Terminals Last Days of the Sun (Last Visible Dog) - Can I get an AMEN for LVD's Chris Moon and his fetish for all things weird and kiwi? Don't get much weirder than this NZ superunit, but then weirdness doesn't get much more beautiful either. The Terminals are a band that seems terminally (excuse) obsessed with the dark side. Theirs is the kind of subject matter that most of us are supposed to outgrow at some point, but none of us really ever do. We simply ignore it. Such are the demands of sanity. Well The Terminals wont have any of that, but they still understand that need for maturation, settling down and finding beauty in the grimness. Last Days of the Sun is the melancholic glance at that single cataclysmic event that will eventually extinguish all. Enough philosophical mumbojumbo. It's also a deep, hypnotic trek through vintage psychedelic garage transcendence. There's dark magic in the swaying melodies of opener "Vertigo," a masterpiece of building tension that starts with plaintive rhythm guitar and Peter Cogle's subdued voice as distant organ joins with Brian Crook's slide guitar, and when Crook and Cogle come together for the chorus--holy shit! One of the most astonishing moments on anything released in '07, but then one could say I'm biased up the yin-yang in such opinions. Add to this the pile-driving Velvets drone of "Undertow," the moody fuzz wash of the title track, the trademark post punk throb of Peter Stapleton's singular percussion and some genuinely accessible melodies and you've discovered the missing link between early (read as classic) Roxy Music and the brooding fuzz squalls of Sonic Youth, and it's all quite special and addictive. P.S. Anyone heard that new Rendorizers disc on Last Visible Dog? Listening now, mind is melting. Incredible.

Magik Markers Boss (Ecstatic Peace) - I've always been fascinated by the abrasive clang this guys-n-gal trio conjures, but I think this album is the first MM release that I really enjoy listening to at the same time. Who know Elisa Ambrogio had a thing for Joni Mitchell as much as early Sonic Youth and Lydia Lunch? Thankfully, this turn towards actual songcraft leaves none of the 'Markers' penchant for gut-wrenching/brain-squealing rhythmic dissonance behind. If anything, the melodies and lyrics found herein are lent that much more grim weight via the detuned distorted backdrop, all brilliantly propelled by Peter Nolan's ever present backbeat. Just wrap your ears around grooving opener "Axis Mundi," the writhing jaggedness of "Last of the Lemach Line" (with a hellacious vocal from Ambrogio) and "Four/The Ballad of Harry Angstrom," an altogether more spectral slice of piano and distortion drift, and I think you will agree. This is compelling stuff that doesn't just suck the listener in on a sonic/physical level but also digs deeper, burrowing into the recesses of the mind, dislodging existential rot and setting it ablaze in celebratory bonfires. Boss, indeed.

Charalambides Likeness (Kranky) - It's a testament to this unclassifiable duo's resilience that it can still pull me in after all these years. I've had Likeness since the end of last year but didn't really hear it till just recently. It feels like Tom and Christina Carter have come full circle in a way, as much of this is fairly accessible and rocking in a more conventional way, that is if early classics like Historic 6th Ward can be considered conventional, and given the more outer minimal workouts Charalambides dropped in the early '00s, I think that's a fair statement. Some of these songs are definitive to my ears, perfect examples of why this group's performances have left such an indelible impression on the heart/mind/soul for over 15 years. The sad piano and wah-wah drift of "Uncloudy Day," the layered vocals and wandering blues guitars of "Do You Sea" are good enough, but it's later tracks like "The Good Life" and "Saddle Up the Pony," both anchored on little more than Christina's vocal (delivering some of the most direct lyrics I've ever heard on a Charalabides record yet) and repetitious blues raga. "Saddle Up the Pony" in particular is really a stunning jam that I have no doubt will go down in history as the definitive Charalambides ode to alienation. "What You Do For Money" achieves a similar eeriness in its depiction of the moral decay that can come with selling out. Christina sings the title as a mantra in a high restless pitch, mournful guitar slides and drones beneath providing a subtext that describes the kind of wounds that will never heal. All in all deeply moving, contemplative stuff. This may not be the best Charalambides album. For that seek out Market Square (via download cuz you won't find it any other way) or Joy Shapes (also on Kranky), but Likeness is a solid introduction, truly worthy to fans new and old.

Ladies and Gentlemen I give you Kraftwerk performing their landmark "Ruckzuck" for WDR TV in 1970:
Even better, baby Kraftwerk aka The Organisation, which was actually a bigger ensemble and earlier, more ethno-cosmically infused version of the electro pioneers, performing the same song.  Tribalicious: Thanks to Travis for pointing these out.

BEST OF 07 BABY! 27 IN 07!! ONE SCORE AND SEVEN ALBUMS THAT MADE LIFE A BIT MORE WEIRD, CREEPY, BEAUTIFUL AND/OR COOL IN 2007:

1. NEIL YOUNG LIVE AT THE FILLMORE EAST (REPRISE) - I'm a sucker for the jams. Massey Hall kicks ass too.

2. PANTALEIMON MERCY OCEANS (DURTRO/JNANA) - Ghost spirit of love enraptured by the sweetest folk songs of hope and faith.

3. ANGELS OF LIGHT WE ARE HIM (YOUNG GOD) - Post-punk barnyard stomp for the heavey-hearted and open-minded.

4. BORIS WITH MICHIO KURIHARA RAINBOW (DRAG CITY) - Cosmic distortion rebirth as exploding comets and cascading snowflakes. Acid rock for the tender hearts.

5. THE ONE ENSEMBLE WAYWARD THE FOURTH (SECRET EYE) - Chamber prog from valued contributers to the English psych underground, sounds like Robert Wyatt gone Klezmer on Saturn.

6. HALA STRANA HEAVE THE GAMBREL ROOF (MUSIC FELLOWSHIP) - A fog of stringed ethnic drones conjuring old world spirit music for children of a new country with no borders.

7. THEO ANGELL AND THE HILLSIDE TABERNACLE SINGERS AUROPLINTH (DIGITALIS) - Mind-blowing cracked acid folk from Theo of Hall of Fame; debut of the year.

8. SIR RICHARD BISHOP POLYTHEISTIC FRAGMENTS (DRAG CITY) - Many gods, many frets, many notes, many paths to enlightenment -- one guitar.

9. DIANE ROGERSON THE LIGHTS ARE ON BUT NO-ONES HOME (UNITED JNANA) - Post apocalyptic industrial jazz dirge; from beyond the grave, Nico sits in for a one-off recording session with Nurse With Wound. Grim, harrowing and beautiful.

10. SIX ORGANS OF ADMITTANCE SHELTER FROM THE ASH (DRAG CITY) - Quiet songs of loss and heartache, splattered guitar squalls and cycling noise mantras. A Collision of styles, inspirations, possibilities and sounds. High, low and in between.

11. SUISHOU NO FUNE THE SHINING STAR (IMPORTANT) - The dark PSF psych sound recast as shimmering shoegaze cosmic bliss. The Live Band To See In 2007.

12. THE TERMINALS LAST DAYS OF THE SUN (Last Visible Dog) - Crazy/freaky depressive psychgarage-artpop quagmire groans and howls, melting beneath a dying sun. That world tour better be soon!

13. SIC ALPS PLEASURES AND TREASURES (ANIMAL DISGUISE) - Stoned to the effin bone. This whiskey soaked racket makes me remember the thrills experienced the first time I mashed up The Flaming Lips Oh My Gawwwd! with the J.A.M.C.'s Psychocandy.

14. GROUP DOUEH GUITAR MUSIC FROM THE WESTERN SAHARA (SUBLIME FREQUENCIES) - Blistering afro-syke power jams from alternate continent/dimension riding the line between annoying as fuck and mindblowing as shit.

15. KEMIALLISET YSTAVAT KEMIALLISET YSTAVAT (FONAL) - Sputtering massed acoustic/electric sound baths and actual songs that enthrall like a pinball machine played in the middle of a misty Finnish forest while blazing on DMT.

16. SAPAT MORTISE AND TENON (SILTBREEZE) - Building prog drone, art rock, slop blues played by American hillbilly potsmoking hot shots that dig Beefheart just as much as Trad Gras Och Stenar.

17. MV/EE AND THE BUMMER ROAD GREEN BLUES(ECSTATIC PEACE) The Road branches off into mountain wilderness and happens upon a campfire surrounded by Phish heads; hears the disembodied voice of Jerry Garcia intone, "where's the noise?" Here it is.

18. MARISSA NADLER SONGS III: BIRD ON THE WATER (PEACEFROG) - Our lady of the manor gets help from some Espers, signs to a bigger label, gets airplay on MTV, in the process suggests a lost dream collaboration between a young Leonard Cohen and Mazzy Starr. Plus cool acid solos.

19. MAMMATUS THE COAST EXPLODES (HOLY MOUNTAIN) - Psychedelic biker prog from Seattle rocks with epic and ferocious twin guitar precision. I'm only calling it prog because the songs are so damn long.

20. WOLVES IN THE THRONE ROOM TWO HUNTERS (SOUTHERN LORD) Post rocking shoegaze neo-pagans cash in on nordic black metal craze, deliver one of the most convincing usbm albums yet, probably because it's more than one or two guys and a drum machine making all that racket.

21. WOODEN SHJIPS WOODEN SHJIPS (HOLY MOUNTAIN) - Finally it's hip to be cool again. Jim Morrison lives and he's playing crazy fuzz splattered psychedelia with this fierce San Fran Kraut-boogie unit.

22. BLUES CONTROL/HEAVY WINGED BORED FORTRESS SPLIT (NOT NOT FUN) - Post-nature-reclemation-bubble-drone backed with crushing-cosmic-biker-death or vice versa.

23. MAGIC MARKERS BOSS (Ecstatic Peace) - Elisa and the boys go pop and the world is all the better for it. I guess this is the EVOL of the oughts or some shit. Pretty friggin' hot.

24. DARKTHRONE F.O.A.D. (FUCK OFF AND DIE) (Peaceville) -Best thing these idiots have released in well over a decade.

25. CLOUDLAND CANYON SILVER TONGUED SYSPHUS (KRANKY) - Cosmic splatter honed down to precise electronic space jams that draw heavily from Kraut and French prog roots.

26. GHQ CRYSTAL HEALING (THREE LOBED) - Destroyed deep space American ethnic blues drone music, primordial and ecstatic.

27. VALET BLOOD IS CLEAN (KRANKY) - I wish Honey Owens was my vibe partner. Charlambides and Grouper fans need this.

Caveat: One of the benefits of making multiple year-end best of lists is you can instantly revise from list to list. So there are things here that wont appear in the Deep Water piece and vice versa. Bring on '08 and its many splendors. OH SHIT! I really meant to include Mudboy's Holy Ghosts! (Digitalis/Not Not Fun) in this list and White Rainbow's Prism of Eternal Now (Kranky) too for that matter.

Just a quick note here...and naysayers be damned. This is a bangin' lineup with more to be added soon:

The Terrastock 7 Music Festival is a 4- day event coming to Louisville (Kentucky, USA) June 19-22 2008 celebrating and sharing the experience of Psychedelic Rock, Folk, and Experimental Music.

Start planning now! Early Bird Tickets will be on sale soon.

Volunteers Needed....please contact Erica@terrascope.co.uk.

Who's Playing 2008 so far:

Acid Mothers Temple & The Cosmic Inferno featuring Pikachu (Japan)

Rob Sharples (UK)

Ignatz (Belgium)

MV & EE

Grails

Plastic Crimewave Sound

Antietam

Tanakh

Bevis Frond (UK)

Wooden Shjips

Insect Factory

Dead Maids (formerly Monster Bastard Project , UK)

United Bible Studies (Ireland)

Linus Pauling Quartet with special guests

Motorpsycho (Norway)

The Photographic

Marissa Nadler

Mono (Japan)

Sharron Kraus (UK)

Bardo Pond

Pelt

Major Stars

Windy and Carl

Kinski

Paik

Jack Rose

Tara Jane O'Neil

Damon and Naomi

Black Forest/Black Sea

Sapat

Had a grand ol' time the other night at The Cavern and got to catch up with our old compadre Ben Chasny of the dependably kickass Six Organs of Admittance, plus two fine supporting performances by the slightly Neutral Milk Hotel-ish Dust Congress and the Zoviet*France-gone-wacky-on-datura Zanzibar Snails.

Dust Congress currently features the great Ryan Williams of The Baptist Generals and live Jandek fame on mariachi bass, which I must say injected some class into the proceedings. His measured notes provided a warm, steady bedrock over which Nick Foreman spun lyrically rich paintings via guitar and voice, accented brilliantly by marimbas and solemn trumpet. Altogether, the quartet opened up the sparse DC sound into a fully functional pub unit while still maintaining the scrappy appeal of Foreman's earlier solo live incarnation. Very promising stuff perhaps best suited for dark drinking spaces more so than the open air. Perfect for The Cavern.

Same goes for creeping aural lurch of The Zanzibar Snails. Dark spaces, please. Playing as a quartet along with local tone generator Mike Maxwell sitting in, The Snails delivered to a well tuned and devoted audience choice servings of their oblique guitar strums 'n' plucks, pulsating electronics, bowed cymbals, radio and tape noise. Their half hour (or so) set went from a melodic slow-burning crawl to jerking post industrial blurts and massed drones, Morse code bleeps and more densely throbbing passages. I was reminded of Nurse With Wound and even the great This Heat at their groaning ambient best. Managed to record a few minutes of video on my cheapo digicam, the best parts of which can be glimpsed here:



A few hours before the show Ben Chasny played a solo set next door at Good Records,and it was a real beauty with a super attentive (meaning quiet!) audience and great low level Xmas lighting. My first instore at the new(ish) location, but surely not the last.

Unfortunately Ben's approach for the first half of his set later that night was not really the best fit for The Cavern's low stage. Aside from the first row and because the whole place was mostly standing room only, it was impossible to see much of anything at all. He was also unplugged, so couldn't hear much at all above the constant chatter and bottle clanking background noise. But the second half of the set, with Elisa from Magik Markers (who contributes to the progedelic Shelter From the Ash and just released a kickass album with her own band called Boss on Ecstatic Piece that showcases a welcome nod to songcraft while maintaining every bit of the raw nowave grime of earlier works) on second guitar, was more like it. Together they played ragged electric duo versions of some old and newer stuff, given an extra garagy quality that worked well to counter the constant bar-noise barrage surrounding us. Had a great time catching up a bit with Ben, getting to know Elisa and their merch guy, Jesse. I think that instore made up for any misgivings I may have had about the actual gig. All in all a thoroughly memorable night complete with some fine music scores including a SMOKING new Basalt Fingers CD-R and a recent Badgerlore album. And other stuff that may/may not find its way into these pages at a later date.

You can go here to see some really badly recorded Six Organs clips by yrs truly complete with horrible sound. Or you can check out Nari's superior captures from the next night in Austin right here (the opening of that second clip sounds really Fahey!):


That's it for now my bruthas and sistas. Best of 07 list imminent.

So uh...do you ever just browse profiles at last.fm and pretend to fall in love with people based solely on their scrobble lists? Pretty nutty.

Hi kids. Happy '08 and all that good stuff. It's kind of an exciting time to be alive right now. Try and remember that. I've actually started writing a few posts in the last month or two and inevitably abandoned them. Less of my nonsensical pop culture ramblings seem as important as they once did, to the rest of the world anyway. I know a few people out there appreciate what Ol' Bull has to say, so I will keep saying it. Promise. Anyway I've missed some fine shows lately because of a slow healing ankle sprain, but it's almost 100% me thinks. And there's a quite a bit to see on the horizon...

Briefly, Movies: The proverbial horny virgin in me quite liked (and identified with) Superbad, but my older, more jaded self was more amazed by the quiet, tortured expanses of No Country for Old Men and The Assassination of Jesse James. Both are modern revisionist Westerns of sorts -- one more weighted towards the crime thriller perspective, the other a historical bio piece. I especially dug the examination of celebrity in TAoJJ, going from the age of nickle books into the encroaching 20th century multimedia whirlwind. These are definitely two of my faves of what I actually saw in '07. Same goes for Inland Empire and even Once, the little Irish musical that could. No no one gets shot in Once. No one gets laid. No one gets paid (though they probably should've). Kinda refreshing.


Aside from the ongoing tragedy that is the life of Britney Spears, another excellent satirical examination of the cancers of celebrity can be glimpsed in the film length conclusion of Extras (HBO) which is of course Ricky Gervais's brilliant follow-up to The Office. Gervais does a great service for all peripheral wannabes the world over by chronicling the successes and failures of Andy Millman. This is the stuff of the highest literary ambitions masquerading as something as banal as a sit-com (which is apt given Andy's big break comes via a braindead catchphrase-driven Brit sit-com). It's actually 80 mins long and has a moral arc that's worthy of Charlies Dickens. But I'm not really here to get all literary on your ass. Just see it for yourself one day. This blog is supposed to be about music, a good bulk of it gifts of goodwill from friends, far and near over the year. Twas the season! Next post will be a slightly delayed list of faves'n'raves in '07. Which means it'll probably hit these pages sometime in early '09.


First up: Our old friends at the always dependable Deep Water compound have rolled out another fresh bowl of some truly worthwhile sonic debris that together comprises some of the label's finest releases to date. Flying Sutra is a duo of drums and guitar that walks the swaying line between tasteful jazz fusion and total chaos in a way that could evoke comparisons to plenty more popular acts on the Levitate and Dissolve CD-R, but I wont cheapen this blissful tornado with any name-dropping and just say this is a seriously able-bodied brainscrambler that rocks hard as heck, but in a completely unconventional -- yet still well rehearsed -- way. These guys actually know how to play their instruments, and that's always a good thing.

Another band it's been a great pleasure to hear in recent moons is Oklahoma's Anvil Salute, whose This is the Voice of Doom Calling is the ensemble's first DW platter (CD-R in fact), and I'm going to agree that this is the finest Anvil Salute dish to date, fitting easily with the current free folk/improvised scene while injecting a healthy dose of traditional warmth every second of the way, which makes sense for a bunch'a freaks from Oklahoma. Highly recommended for fans of The Bummer Road, United Bible Studies, Jackie-O Motherfucker and the like. Arriving some time before and just as welcome from AS is the All The Animals of the Forest (Lofi Shit) CD-R, which is a slightly more progressive take on the above, and has an almost bouncing, festive quality in a way that makes me think of a busy forest floor bathed in sunlight and running over with all manner of scurrying little furry things.

A heavenly blissout can be found on the split CD-R between Scottish one woman post psych project Pefkin (that's Gail Brogan from the revered Electroscope and Boa Melody Bar mailorder) and The Circle and the Point, the duo of Grant Capes and Adam Richards. Pefkin's side is taken up by one extended minimal pop droneout, creeping along on clinking music box melodies and ghost harmonica (or is that an e-bow? Harmonium?). Maybe all of the above. Serious zoneout bedroom shoegaze here, folks. My friend sitting beside me just asked, "dude, are you zoning out?" and, indeed I was. Must continue typing. The Circle and the Point mines a similar ore with wandering acoustic guitars/vocals over desolate drones and ambient noises that go from stumbling broken folk jams to full on void scapes and back again, all captured in crumbling live fidelity. Very melty indeed.

Also in the same package was the 3" cd-r debut by Nessmuk (this one's actually on Abandon Ship Records but can be ordered straight from Kevin at DW), the solo guitar sculpting guise of DW head honch Kevin Moist, heard recently with The Clear Spots and Bardo off-shoot Third Troll, and currently weaving aaural magic with the ever luminous Evening Fires. If you've heard any of his other output, you might have an inkling of what to expect with the lovely trance journeys of Flies Free--cycling electric guitar mantras building and subsiding like a gentler Sonic Youth, but minus the bloat of any lowend or vocals and plus some very fine/tasty/disjointed leads mixed in for good measure.


Another righteous 3" CD-R recently bequeathed to your Wombmaster is the mighty Zanzibar Snails' dark moods and trembling dissonances of Krakkatowiak(available on their own Mayyrh Records). AMM and the cryptic improvisation of Dead C circa their self-titled 2CD on Language comes to mind, as well as the early days of industrial before everything got so damn synthetic sounding. The Dead C comparison is fitting given the (apparently accidentally) identical use of the same designer paper that the mighty Kiwi noise trio used for the packaging of the aforementioned opus. I dig those happy coincedences. The 'Snails will be creeping/crawling their way through what's sure to be a groaner of a set, with guest twiddling from Subkommander/S.D.S noise guru M. Maxwell, sharing a bill with Dust Congress and the always amazing Six Organs of Admittance at The Cavern in Dallas next week, and I will be there. Sweet.

Happy Hell-O-Ween, Guys 'n' Ghouls. Someday I'll post some new reviewage here. Someday...and on such an occasion I may (or may not) expand on how much I love the new Angels of Light, Castanets, the reissue of Michael Yonkers' brilliantly stupified lost album, Grimwood, the new Wooden Shjips on Holy Mountain and on and on and on into the cosmic void.

But for now, if you're near a PC and looking for some complimentory spookified sounds this dark night, look no further than the always excellent (Lee is)Free 103.9, which will feature lots of spooky Halloween broadcastings, including resident DJ/magician Tom Roe's third annual remix of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds. FUCKING A! That shit was pretty scary in its original form, so remixed? Fahggitaboutit! That's about it for now, gang. Be safe out there tonight, and watch for them wee ghosts 'n' goblins when out doing your own grim reaping. Much Satanic love and grim tidings to all.

Speaking of Warmer Milks, if this album is even half as entertaining as this review, it's one of the best of the year.

Even though I'm not around here much these days, let me just say I think of you all regularly and still try and get out to the groovy shows and happenings when I can. A couple weeks ago I had a blast checking out the Warmer Milks guys out at the HOT (all of em but head Milker, MT)--stellar sonic excursions, my friends. The closing impromptu drone metal jam was a thing of wicked beauty, and supposedly recorded, really hope so. Plenty more shows in the upcoming too, including Oakley Hall tomorrow, Melvins, Jesu, Silver Apples and more.

Couple nights ago I caught some of American Hardcore on cable, the recent doc about the emergence of US hardcore from Black Flag to 7 Seconds, Gang Green to Negative Approach. Pretty decent flick. I was probably most impressed though by the inclusion of a Flipper song over the credits called "Ha Ha Ha" that I'd never heard before. Did the ol' slsk search-snatch for the soundtrack, but mums the word, mmk? This reminds me I recently downloaded the new Om album, Pilgrimage on Southern Lord, and what I received was one track of slow moving molasses groan that sounded like Om at half-speed and three songs of wacky free jazz sped up to Alvin and the Chipmunk proportions. Either Om has gone insane, or somebody out there has a pretty funny sense of humor. Anyway, I swear I will buy the album when it officially comes out. Lesson learned.

Om is in fact playing the Wall of Sound festival happening in Ft Worth in a couple weeks. If you live within a 200 mile radius of the DFW area, you should try and make it out. Also on the bill, a lotta cool shit like Spectrum, Explosions in the Sky, Ian Moore, Peter and the Wolf, The Baptist Generals and many more local and non local acts that may or may not suck. The whole thing's a bit more indie than I usually skew these days, but it's fucking Om. It's being held outside in a big baseball field. It will rock like Thor atop the Holy Mountain. Also, I'm gonna be there with some mah homies, and we will be signing autographs.

Hmmm, what else? I've been digging rebroadcasts of the latest season of Big Love, the polygamy freakout on HBO which manages that rare feat of taking a fringe, cult group and populating it with real characters. Chloe Sevigny's Niki and Grace Zabriskie's Mona are prime examples. Both are of dubious moral character (like everyone else I know), but so charming and drawn from reality that I don't give a fuck. I like these ladies very much and would not want to get on their bad sides. I know there's a lot of anti-religious fervor out there today, but I think--Richard Dawkins and Chris Hitchens be damned--we need to recognize that religion isn't going anywhere any time soon, and we should maybe focus more on constructive debate as opposed to caustic dismissals.

Another tangent: Been playing catchup with weird Pagan and Black Metal spins, and figured I'd get in a plug here for Seattle's Kreation Records, specializing in swank vinyl reissues of every kind of metal record under the sun. I popped over to their site to pick up a new vinyl version of Sleep's Holy Mountain (on green-white swirl splash), and went ahead and grabbed sexy ass platters of Wyrd's Huldrafolk (Finish Pagan metal that totally kicks bleak ass--download "The Wicker Man" and you'll see what I'm getting at), Nachtmystium's Eulogy IV (Chicago low-fi BM in the classic Nordic tradition with the occasional injection of soaring David Gilmore leads meets demonic shred action--they cover Earth and Burzum here) and Wormwood's Starvation. I scored the last one confusing it with black metal blood-curdlers, Wormsblood, who just dropped a new CD-R on Skulls of Heaven that I need, so damn. Wormwood is some sort of weird ass pagan goth prog band from Seattle that I actually sorta dig. But the vocals, alternating from moany goth croons to tough guy screams and fem shrieks, are a bit much in their Neurosis-gets-lost-in-the-woods dark vibe. Speaking of which: New Neurosis Given to the Rising (Neurot) is fucking awesome. Another band I've been occasionally punishing myself with of late is France's Monarch and their Dead Men Tell No Tails 2CD (Crucial Blast), one of those random Myspace discoveries that just happened to pay off like an overpowering kick the shins. Down-tuned doom sludge with a strong debt to late NYC nodoom shriekers Khanate (RIP, you sick fucks). Thank God I saw Khanate live once. That's really all I can say. I can't tell if it's a guy or girl "singing" on the Monarch record, and that's a very good thing.

Otherwise, some newish things currently kicking my ass:

Akron Family Love is Simple CD (Young God)
Angels of Light We Are Him CD (Young God)
Meg Baird Dear Companion (Drag City)
Martyn Bates Migraine Inducers/Antagonistic Music 2CD (Beta-Lactam)
Black Sun Ensemble Bolt of Apollo CD (Camera Obscura)
Blues Control Blues Control (Holy Mountain)
Tom Carter & Christian Kiefer A Rather Solemn Promise (Great Pop Supplement)
Damon & Naomi Within These Walls (20/20/20)
Earth Monkey Be That Charge 2CD (Beta-Lactam
The Legendary Pink Dots Your Children Placate You From Premature Graves (ROIR)
Andrew Liles The Dying Submariner (A Concerto for Piano and Reverberation in Four Movements) CD (Beta-Lactam)
Little Claw Little Claw LP (Ypsilanti Records)
Mammatus The Coast Explodes (Holy Mountain)
The Shining Path The Shining Path (Holy Mountain)
Sic Alps Pleasures and Treasures (Animal Disguise)
Tanakh Saunders Hollow (Camera Obscura)
Wooden Shjips self released 10", in preparation for their new one on Holy Mountain
Neil Young & Crazy Horse Live at the Fillmore East (Reprise)

What else? Just watched John Carpenter's Cigarette Burns and Stuart Gordon's Dreams in the Witch-House on
DVD. These were originally made for Showtime's Masters of Horror series a couple years ago and are actually pretty fucking amazing truth be told. Carpenter's movie features Udo Kier as a sadistic film collecter, while Gordon's combines Lovecraft (of course!) and superstrings. Gordon is currently working on a Re-Aminator sequel set in The White House called House of Re-Animator starring William H. Macy as the president. YES!

Speaking of weird fiction somehow grounded in reality, I finally watched all those Heroes Season 1 episodes, and I was pretty impressed, but at the same time cannot overlook the obvious debt this series owes to comics, most obviously X-Men and Alan Moore's Watchmen, and I'm a bit annoyed that Heroes creator Tim Kring claims any similarity to Watchmen is entirely coincidental. Whatever, dude. Own up to yo shit.

That's all for now... Peace and love, my brothers and sisters.

And then there was this...


Product Description (via Amazon)

Among the extras included in this collector’s box is previously unseen footage, a feature on the restoration process, an exclusive interview with Jodorowsky, optional director commentary tracks, subtitles, two special CDs of the films’ soundtracks and a separate DVD of the first film ever made by Jodorowsky, La Cravate.

EL TOPO:
-Original theatrical trailer- English V.O.
-2006 on camera interview with Jodorowsky (Language English/English subtitles)
-Photo Gallery/Original script excerpts
-Exclusive interview with Alejandro Jodorowsky

THE HOLY MOUNTAIN
- Deleted scenes with director commentary (Language: Spanish with optional EN, SP, FR & BR PORT subtitles)
- Original theatrical trailer -English V.O
- The Tarot short with director commentary (Language: Spanish with optional EN, SP, FR & BR PORT subtitles)
- Restoration process short (Original Language English)
- Photo Gallery / Original Script excerpts
- Restoration Credits

FANDO Y LIS
-La Constellation Jodorowsky documentary
-Original language French and English Stereo

TWO AUDIO CDS
- El Topo soundtrack
- The Holy Mountain soundtrack

---> Says I: Incredible! Had this a few months now, and the print quality of everything, especially "Holy Mountain" and "El Topo," is stunning. My old bootlegs are permanent coasters. Essential stuff for all weirdnicks who live from the other side of the mirror. The two soundtracks are amazing as well.

Here's an interesting little interview with Yoko Ono, where she discusses her and John Lennon's appreciation for "El Topo."

And this...


Fabulous 2-DVD SPECIAL EDITION (or something)

Official street date on this thing is August 14th. No idea how it will play on smaller screens, but in the theater it made for one of the most singular film experiences of my life, no exaggeration. Truly disturbing and darkly hypnotic every step up that rickety surrealist staircase.

What else?

I loved RESCUE DAWN. Christian Bale, Steve Zahn and Jeremy Davies (channeling a shell-shocked Charles Manson) deliver the performances of their careers. Even more fascinating though is here is a movie, made by a German currently residing in Los Angeles, about a German who considers himself an American through and through, and the guy--Dieter Dengler--just happens to embody all that is good about AMOREICA! What kind of asshole makes an apolitical Vietnam war movie that in the end somehow manages to be pro-American and pro-immigration during "the darkest chapter" (I mean NOW not THEN) in American history? An unpredictable one. We need more Werner Herzogs in this country.

Rest In Peace

AMBER
1992-2007
(on the right with her sister Charlie in younger days). Amber sighed her last breath with a droning purr and soft squinting eyes. Her sister's still kicking, my oldest living feline relation.


INGMAR BERGMAN
1918-2007
This existential Swede was not always the easiest to understand, but his emotional directness is undeniable. I still have fond memories of watching "The Seventh Seal" for the first time alone in a dusty Austin apartment sometime near midnight well over a decade ago.


MICHELANGELO ANTONIONI
1912-2007
Antonioni lived a long time. Supposedly John Fahey decked him one night while they were eating dinner together. I'm not entirely sure if that's true, but it's one of my favorite stories of New America meets Old Europe antagonism. The scene in "Blow Up" when the photographer keeps blowing up the same photo over and over--that still gives me the shivers. The Yardbirds--seen rocking hard in the same film with the Jeff Beck/Jimmy Page twin-guitar-god-front--weren't too shabby either. And hey, "Zabriskie Point" may have sucked big ones, but WOW! Best slow-mo explosion finale EVER.


LEE HAZLEWOOD
1929-2007
The Prince of Debonair. The Maestro of Spoken Intro Cool. The Sultan of Dusted Lounge Boogie. Lee was one of the easiest oddball songwriters to fall for the very first time you heard him. His voice could've come from the Deep South, the Midwest, the West Coast... He seemed to embody America at its most relaxed and casually sedated, but he was never above anything. His response to the complexities of life was always just a few martini swigs away from bitter dejection, while still benefitting from the wisdom of hindsight. I have no idea if he was a swinger or or a socialist or a beat--probably a li'l of all of the above--but he was definitely a singer/songwriter cut from the rarest of cloths. Thanks for the mammories, Mr. Hazlewood.

And shit just keeps gettin' weirder...

It's kind of sad that this Paris Hilton case is like this year's OJ trial. In case you haven't heard (and I know you have five times today already), Pari' was forced through sobs to return to prison and serve out her full term of, what, three weeks? So laugh it up, silly boys 'n' girls. Here's your chance to suck on the yolk of one young woman's misery, no matter how fleeting. I hope this doesn't hurt sales of her album. It's actually pretty good.

In other news, welcome back, Arthur! We never knew you left! Nah, it's true that the already legendary weird-ass counter-culture mag was almost down for the count at the start of the year, but co-owner Jay Babcock swooped in, along with some other brave investor souls, to resurrect what is hands down the finest wide circulation art/news rag in the US today.

Also clipped from the latest Arthur email update is the Realist Online Archive Project, which will eventually contain all 146 issues of Paul Krassner's classic Yippie-satire-fest from the Vietnam era. Lotta familiar names on a cursory glance. Should be fun reading for the whole family, but don't tell yr Nixon lovin' grandpaw!

Two announcements:

1.) I recently had the Great Honor of interviewing Tokyo guitar god Michio Kurihara (of Ghost, White Heaven, The Stars, his own stunning solo work and most recently Boris) for my pals over at at Deep Water. Thanks to Naomi Yang and her label 20|20|20 for making it possible, and also to Alan Cummings for his excellent translations.

2.) Also... AVARUS (A-VAH-ROOZ) is coming back to the US for yet another Finnish invasion of cosmic drones 'n' groans, and they're playing with some heavies along the way! Mark your calenders if any of these gigs are in your proximity, and for God's sake don't take any non-FDA-approved chemicals if you plan to attend.

(courtesy of our man Jeffrey Alexander at Secret Eye)

Holy Shit.

AVARUS - all the way from FINLAND - touring with Manbeard from Providence.

Supporting these NEW RELEASES:

AVARUS - Rasvaaja (Secret Eye 35) LP only!
AVARUS/MANBEARD - split CD-R (Secret Eye 34)

---------------------
AVARUS 2007 TOURDATES
---------------------

06-29 Ridgewood/Queens, NY - Silent Barn
with Manbeard, Fursaxa, Vanishing Voice and Watersports (Blues Control folks)

06-30 Philadelphia, PA - Johnny Brenda's
with Manbeard, Bardo Pond

07-01 Baltimore, MD - Floristree
with Manbeard, Jack Rose, Sri Aurobindo

07-02 Asheville, NC - Harvest Records
with Manbeard

07-03 Knoxville, TN - The Pilot Light
with Manbeard

07-05 Nashville, TN - Springwater
with Manbeard, Taiwan Deth, The Cherry Blossoms

07-06 Louisville, KY - Lisa's Oak Street Lounge
with Manbeard, Caboladies, Deep Pockets (Son Of Earth, Sapat folks)

07-07 Cleveland, OH - Parish Hall
with Manbeard, Thee Scarcity Of Tanks, Terminal Lovers

07-08 Chicago, IL - The Hideout
with Manbeard, Spires That in the Sunset Rise

07-09 Cincinnati, OH - Skull Lab
with Manbeard, Wasteland Jazz Unit

07-10 Pittsburgh, PA - Belvedere's
with Manbeard

07-11 Washington, DC - Velvet Lounge
with Manbeard, Kohoutek, Insect Factory

07-12 Point Pleasant Beach, NJ - Om Baby Yoga Studio
with Manbeard, Phasmida

07-13 North Adams, MA - Robot Mansion at Mass MoCA
with Manbeard, Spires That in the Sunset Rise, Aethr Myth'D (Sunburned, Feathers folks)

07-14 Providence, RI - Foo Festival at AS220 - Annual FREE street festival with 20+ bands on two stages (inside and outside), artist booths, games, craft/record/book vendors and more more more. FREE FREE FREE all day/night from 12pm to 1am. Other artists include Chinese Stars, Neptune, Stinking Lizaveta, Aa, Spires That in the Sunset Rise, Pwrfl Power, Lazy Magnet, Alec K Redfearn + The Eyesores, Japanther, etc

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MORE INFO, HI-RES PICS, REVIEWS, MP3s --
http://www.secreteye.org/avarus2007.html
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Providence, RI
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all the best!
-jeffrey

Welcome back to all who traveled out to catch Foxy Digitalis's Bottled Smoke fest out there in LA. Sounds like it was special. Ah well. Sometimes real life just can't wait.

On to NAFH:

Big daddy first...

Mike Tamburo Language of the Birds and Other Fantasies (New American Folk Hero/Music Fellowship) 6 CD-R/1 DVD-R - There's been a flurry of pickers 'n' pluckers come down the line in recent moons. Names like Jack Rose, Glenn Jones and Richard Bishop rightfully get bandied about with hushed awe, but what about the next sub-wave of lesser-knowns? Guys like Evan Miller, James Blackshaw and even our man in New Kensington, PA, Mike Tamburo. Tamburo is not just a guitar player by any means. He's a multi-instrumentalist and filmmaker with as much of an understanding and appreciation for the possibilities of audio-visual mind-expansion as composition and live performance. Language of the Birds and Other Fantasies is a 7 disc boxset. Yessir, ya heard correctly. Tamburo's gone all Merzbow on our asses with this lovely limited (250 count) monument to psychedelic mind expansion and self indulgent drone excess. And, perhaps not surprisingly, it actually works really well, both as introduction to and even summation of the World of Tamburo up to this point.

First, a confession: I know Tamburo. He sends me big ol' packages stuffed to the gills with fantastic recordings of himself, friends and other fine musicians from as close as the Middle US and as far away as Hong Kong. I think Mike's a good feller and a genuine soul, but I can honestly say that this in no way effects how I approach listening to or examining his music. Anyway, after finally getting to hear him on record (via the very fine Beating of the Rewound Son on Music Fellowship), I realized that he was something of a custom fit for some of our darker sonic obsessions here at the Womb. So by all means read all of the following with a grain of salt if so compelled. Otherwise trust that some amount of objectivity has been inserted into these convoluted ramblings.

Back to the music: Language of Birds is 6 full length CD-Rs of music and 1 DVD-R of 11 of Tamburo's short films and even a couple live performances. Each disc has its own title--Jade Is the Color of My True Love's Fate, Of Faith and Joy and Happiness, In the Present the Past Keeps Haunting, Don't Leave Your Bones In My Backyard, Language of the Birds, A Fine Line On the Throne of Time, The Persistence of Vision. They're comprised of compositions recorded over the last few years, live for radio stations and while on tour across the US. Some pieces are alternate versions of what's surfaced on other limited CD-Rs of recent past, all recorded in a fine, low noise production style that easily mutates from a crisp raga stream to shoegaze-y shimmers and the most haunted deep-drone electronic chasms. There's not a finer example of all of the above than what's found on the masterful "Dance Enis Dance," a track that originally saw light of day as a CD-R for the esteemed Barl Fire CD-R label. This is Tamburo at his contemplative finest with over 35 mins of Fahey meets Terry Riley repetition slowly engulfed in shimmering electronic swells again and again, only to have the glowing mass fade out to just Tamburo and his blues slide work. Tamburo rivals the established masters of psych infused raga spells on this monster and does so with a dark voice that is somehow all his own. Add plenty more epics and far out drone/noise jams using traditional instrumentation like hammered dulcimer and harmonica alongside dark clusters of field recordings, contact mics and other odd looped strangeness, you've got a homemade drone noise dream that begs for repeat listens, revealing new layers of untapped sonic potential with each new revelation.

Tamburo simply has a gift for weaving dense, breathing compositions that waver between a kind of accessible folk base and something much more removed from tradition. A deep affinity for the drone--minimal composers like Steve Reich, Tony Conrad and Terry Riley right on up through first wave industrial strangeness of Throbbing Gristle and the blissed out fuzz wash of Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine--marks every sonic expedition. This was also the case with his former bands Meisha and The Arco Flute Foundation, but solo--and this collection is almost entirely a solo work with some contributions from friends and collaborators--Tamburo opens things up even more, goes deeper into sound and hones in on the most striking parts of his third eye expeditions. More than a few tracks clock in at over 20 mins, but, incredibly, they never feel too long. Tamburo doesn't like to get bored, and his audience is lucky in this respect. He's a sonic storyteller who doesn't let technique get in the way, although Tamburo definitely has some nimble fingers and memorable melodies. More impressive is how he can knock everything off kilter when he wants to and go into the kind of dark surrealist waters that wouldn't sound out of place on a Nurse With Wound record. There's not a dull moment to be found across this sprawling collection, though it's safe to say one probably shouldn't operate any heavy machinery while deep listening to this stuff.

The films: ...are mostly experimental compositions drawing inspiration from Stan Breakage and Brion Gysin (co-inventor of the dream machine) and a few others. Most of the shorts are studies of light refractions via micro-closeups of indeterminable materials, and others more kaleidoscopic images all designed to induce a certain detached trance state in the viewer via in camera effects that look decidedly non-digital for this day and age. Particularly interesting is "Behind Amber's Eye" a weird little transposition of a young woman using a dream machine. As the camera moves in tight on the dream machine, some fascinating visual tricks of light begin to appear.

The packaging: The whole thing comes in a silk-screened blue box (top shown above), with a wrap-around binder displaying the title. The CD-Rs and liner notes are all bound in lavish cardboard sleeves with spindles to hold the CDs in place to help prevent scratching. Each CD is stamped with an ornate stencil design, and there's some epic liner notes with prose and short stories by Tamburo about everything from mentors to the void and of course the post office.

Final verdict: One stop shopping for all things Tamburo. If you've missed a bulk of his limited releases over the last few years, this is the easiest way to catch up all at once. Highly recommended raga-drony goodness.

And even more from NAFH:

A few other items by folks that are mostly new to me...I gotta think that David Krejci and his Cleophone was just the sort of project that forced Tamburo to get off his duff and start New American Folk Hero in the first place. Krejci's invention, the cleophone, is a Frankenstein combination of piano and guitar with some effects and innovations thrown in for good measure. "Mercury" is a 33 min trek through crawling strikes and gongs that slowly gains momentum to sound like a souped-up grand piano maneuvering through and around cosmic debris on a deep space trek through raga minimalism.

On the Like Twilight Bleeding 3" CD-R, Andy Futreal delivers three tracks of measured acoustic guitar playing that touches on bits of blues and raga without necessarily blowing my mind, but it's hard to ignore closer "Ghost of Twilight" with its tremulous pendulum of fluttering vibrations and lucid raga picking suggesting more than a passing nod to Six Organs of Admittance.

Another NAFH noob (to me), Eric Carbonara gets in on similar action with the fantastic This May be the End 3" CD-R, two tracks of oblique measured picking in the case of "Long Hallway, Three Open Doors" and a shimmering Steve Reichian trip through uplifting repetition in the beautiful title track, which suggests that Carbonara may take this ringing acoustic guitar drone thing to bold new places in coming days. Truly inspiring.

Alexander Turnquist's Sleep Chamber works a more somnambulant magic with a 3" CD-R of gorgeous pulsing harmonics and field recordings of running water that easily earns favorable comparison to earlier Stars of the Lid classics. Just under 20 mins of high grade minimal drone dreaming.

And that brings us to frequent Tamburo collaborator and Arco Flute Foundation member, Matt McDowell, and his mindflaying Headlong Into the Fire 3". This is one 19 min track of screeching feedback blare and tumbling free jazz percussion that comes off like Flying Saucer Attack free-jamming with glitch noise maestro Pimmon plus special guest star free drummer Chris Corsano. I realize this sounds like a pathetic attempt at uberobscurant hipster name dropping to the lameth power, but that's what comes to my mind. High velocity atmospheric burning not for the faint of heart, and I totally approve.