In an effort to "feel the love" and that all too elusive peace or stillness during this time of long days and bitter winds, and to acknowledge that there is such a thing as "beautiful noise," I give you seven albums that offer their own defined paths to the undefinable.

First up, yet another snapshot at the under-underground, as in the Australian/New Zealand noise/psych scene. It's a compilation that arrives with the same holy reverence that brought a few out of the region in the early/mid 90s--albums that offered harrowing glimpses at some of the most genuinely twisted, vibrant, bleak, raw, undeniably human pop/jazz/noise whatever the world has ever known. Going back to the early years of the Flying Nun label (The new "Where In The World Is Wendy Broccoli?" comp is an excellent introduction to those early daze) on down through the ages to the equally visionary likes of PseudoArcana, Celebrate Psi-Phenomenon and Metonymic, but what about NZ's much larger neighbor to the North? Oz is largely overlooked and ignored, at least around here, but 2005 has shown the likes of Rhizome, Kindling, MusicYourMindWillLoveYou and Spanish Magic to be every bit the spiritual, mind-warping equals of their kiwi predecessors. Only just scraped the top of the enormous MYMWLY discog, and the recordings on the Spanish Magic imprint are equally essential listening for those who favor the droning, squealing, dissonant blissout above all other methods of discourse. "It's Over, We Don't Care," the CD in question, is more firm proof that any so called golden age has far from subsided. "It's Over..." feels like a direct extension of that blessed era. This little comp (12 songs, just one CD) is chock full of trance inducing garage noise passages (see Hiss's "Burning Easter"--incredible!), and a track by the all too elusive, dearly loved Garbage and The Flowers (and it's a slow pop dream entitled "Elisabeth"). The always dependable Hi God People do the sort of space age minimal pulse that Stereolab and Jessamine perfected in the mid 90s. There's the roly poly Tortoise like post-jazz of ii, Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood's moody prog noise and Keith Mason's godhead guitar sorcery. Castings (the cats who run Spanish Magic) keep it short and stumbling with "Missive:Aside," and Anthony Guerra and Peter Blamey arouse a piercing fuzz scream of twin guitars that glares like the morning sun. Also on Spanish Magic comes the ubiquitous Robert Horton in his Egghatcher guise. The guy has probably released more limited CD-R's in 05 than any other artist, and be he conjuring screeching steel string meditations or unleashing a free jazz howl, his stuff manages to maintain a constant magnetic pull. On "Cat's Ear" Egghatcher bears some resemblance to Robert's solo material, only this is more of a sound sculpture thing, complete with some tasteful digital manipulation. Imagine Omit given a slightly more bubbly texture, which is shorthand for Horton has a lot of ideas up his sleeve that range from surrealist nightmare collage to fun with contact mics, field recordings, turntables, dulcimer, etc. It occasionally makes me think of the holy trinity of NWW/Coil/Current 93 at their most abstract. Praise be.

Next up an extended reissue of Fursaxa's "Amulet" (Last Visible Dog), without question a deeply spiritual journey. Tara Burke's vocal on opener "Rheine" takes on a somber, devotional aura, as a chant loop that could earn her another Popol Vuh comparison is slowly engulfed in shakers, percussion, flute and other harmonies. Definitely one of her most alluring, transportive trips, that commanding opera voice in full siren form. Other places we get the kind of strummy lo-fi pop I could copulate with ("Rodeo in the Sky"), organic chorals to the heavens ("Crimson," "Songs for the Cicada") and more mind cleansing, fuzz laden medieval arias, and guest contributions from the Brothers Gibbons of Bardo Pond. That explains things.

The brothers and lovers of Pelt bring us their own take on the holy holy with "Untitled" (VHF), which I'm going to go out on a limb here and say is among their top three or so albums to date. There is an air here, a noticeable tone shift towards the highest regions, that conveys some genuinely inspired chaplets of sound stretched out over 3 extended raga jams and 1 short dissonant drone. There's a noticeable influence (to my ears) of those wacky Euro improv/droners who seem to be on the constant sonic ascent, but Pelt maintains its patented trademark of growing, mutating, lysergic dream/nightmare music from the deepest spiritual realms. There is beauty and horror here, dark and light, ecstasy and despair. Acoustic guitars are often scaled back (save for the extended central second track) for sake of rippling, sawing, droning, bowing, buzzing tones that stretch infinitely across the heavens, earth and the heart/mind, all carefully and deliberately constructed. Extra bonus of ambient sounds (thunder, a dog barking, a cat's mew?) only furthers my admiration. For those longing for more Jack Rose, less drone, "Kensington Blues" (VHF) will satisfy with 8 impeccably performed finger-picking symphonies that range from bouncy ragtime ditties and toe-tapping blues jigs to bizarro pan-stylistic string trips and stupefyingly fast, intricate, jaw-dropping 12-string workouts that sound more like a small ensemble than just one guy. With KB (;P), Mr. Rose emerges as the true successor of the mantle of Fahey (whose "Sunflower River Blues" he covers with deep reverence here) and, at the same time, blows the whole mother wide open. Masterpiece.

Another young acoustic sorcerer who likely admires Jack as much or more than I do is James Blackshaw. His "Lost Prayers & Motionless Dances" snuck out at the end of 04 to relatively little hubbub, and knocked me over the head with its deft mastery of 12 string raga, arty drones and inspired fingerpicking. You can bet James has spent much of his life obsessing over, soaking up and exploring all manner of folk and world music, and I wouldn't be surprised if one day he and Jack toured the US together. It would make for an unforgettable double bill. "Sunshrine" (Digitalis) is officially his third album (it and "Lost Prayers..." were issued on vinyl this year by Bo'Weavil), two tracks--one very long, one fairly short. The title is the real draw here with a few warm strums building to some of the most liquid playing you will ever hear on a 12-string acoustic with rushes and lulls that make the heart rush and lie down on command. The guy is simply phenomenal, stretching notes out in endless spirals of dancing string tones, shifting to ornamental Brit-psych folk and well beyond, dropping to a drift of tinkling bells and bowed metal and closing things on a religious note with harmonium. "Skylark Herald's Dawn" is a gentle come down, a sweet little instrumental that arouses images of wind swept heather and hands interlocked. A slice of love, God, peace--take your pick.

Windy & Carl is a husband/wife duo that's come a long way since their modest beginnings in Detroit Shoegaze City. From their earliest recordings of the mid 90s on their music has maintained a dreamlike, narcotic quality that tugs at the heart/mind like a precious childhood memory or a particularly vivid dream that one hopes is never lost. The new "Dream House/Dedications to Flea" (Kranky) honors the tradition, but further abstracts and blurs the boundaries between dissonance and melody, waking life and dream, life and afterlife. This is an album of release and gentle glide, space time breaching, absorption, release. Four extended tracks of gorgeous harmonic wash comprised of guitar/feedback, e-bow, field recordings, Flea himself (their pooch who passed recently as explained by Windy in the sincere, touching liners) and more. Anyone who appreciates the subtler side of drone, gently shifting kaleidoscopes of sound and life in general should eventually be captivated by the deep listening possibilities residing here.

Merry Festivus, folks! And a Happy New Year to all. I'm having my own Festivus bash on New Years; if yr in DFW, let me know! We will be strobing to the greatest hits and near misses of 05, minus Kanye West (this is still Bush country!), though I can guarantee some marathon Curb Your Enthusiasm viewings. And all you haters out there--you know who--put it down, doggs. Feel the love.


In other news, some American Mothers are MAN! M.A.N. stands for Mothers Against Noise. They hate noise. And I must give these ladies props for at least studying up on their subject matter.
From the site:
"NOISE MUSIC EMBRACES:
1. Rebellion
2. Violence
3. Nihilism
4. Escapism
5. Drugs / Alcoholism
6. Perversion
7. Dissonant / Offensive Sound
8. Paranormal / Occult Activities
9. Anti-God / Anti-Authority
10. Cult-like Organization"
...all essentially true, but this list seems incomplete... No God? Doth not the noise embrace His Holiness as well? These ladies take a rather dim view, it's true, but then they seem to mostly get it right at the same time. I particularly like the suggested remedy for anyone who actually likes Whitehouse: "If your child has any Whitehouse CDs, stop everything and please think of getting them professional help (I suggest Military School over therapy)." On Merzbow: "Japanese noise uses a mix of technology, sex, nihilism, occult themes and violence to further their aims." Concise, but hardly spiritually probing. I thought noise was about catharsis, which is all about purging the body/mind of unholy spirits. Turn it up, sinners.

Have you gotten your Gizoogle on lately?

I'm glad no one left me any hate comments regarding my recent theistic declaration or whatever that was (wink, wink). Jesus was a social radical who was into hallucinations and mysticism. Hippies, punks and art-junkies alike should appreciate the culture jamming possibilities. I wonder if anyone ever tore John Fahey a new one for releasing two Christmas albums? Great albums btw! Tis the season to be fingerpickin'.

Various Artists "Gold Leaf Branches" (Digitalis) 3CD

In a year that will surely be marked as the year of the wyrd compilation, one definitely takes the "freak folk" cake (pardon all hip-speak clichés). Not to suggest that the other three or four documents that've surfaced recently on like-minded labels aren't entirely definitive albums; they are. And don't even get me started on this! "Gold Leaf Branches," Digitalis Industries' stab at the all encompassing underground world music hypno-log, is a 3CD summation of all that is Foxy Digitalis the e-zine, Digitalis the label, and by extension a larger world community of avant trippers and sonic soul mappers. The constant release schedule of Digitalis and its Foxglove subsidiary has yielded some of the most consistently fascinating music of the past two years. Without FD, artists like Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood, Terracid, The Lost Domain, Hush Arbors, Keijo, Stuart Busby and James Blackshaw (just to name a few) might still just be obscure blips on the underground radar. Not to suggest that people wouldn't have caught on, but thanks to Brad Rose, his wife Eden and their team of sonic excavators, a lot of diligent work and aural intuition has yielded sweet fruit for the select multitudes.

Oklahoma is like Texas, deceiving in its iconic imagery, boundless in its artistic integrity. It's even mystical, this rectangular box of lakes and prairies where cultures clash, wheat grows, wind blows and illegal drugs are processed/consumed daily--and it's also the home of the Flaming Lips! But this here is not "drug music." This is closer to spirit music or--to borrow a phrase--old magic. Other labels in the region, namely Anticlock and Maritime Fist Glee Club have offered their own glimpses into the Middle American sonic headspace, but none has covered what's happening in the musical underground today with such range and devotion. Digitalis's output is simply inspiring, not to mention overwhelming, and this is precisely why a compilation such as "Gold Leaf Branches" is so necessary. It somehow touches on all of these local aspects, while flying off and leaving borders behind at the same time. From conception to sequence, quality to quantity, this is a brilliantly executed compilation, and a perfect introduction to the sprawling, elusive sound world that FoxyD and so many others have come to exemplify in recent years.

Each of these three discs would make a fine introduction into what's variously termed psychedelia, free noise, acid folk, avant sound sculpture, ethnic drone, minimal noise, fractured pop. Whatever phrase you want to drop into the porridge, it's probably at least touched upon here. Six Organs of Admittance turn in a crisp live recording of "Thousand Birds," sure to whisk any tormented soul to the holy mountain. And Ben Chasny isn't dead, folks! Kuupuu unleashes a smatter of dancing spirits and percussive clatter on "Haava" before Stuart Busby plays a haunted looped trumpet on "First Steps," brilliantly grafting restraint with probing spiritual investigation. Hala Strana's "Fanfare" is equally inspired with its rush of haunted drones and jangly acoustic meditation--classic Jewelled Antler ecstasy. Alligator Crystal Moth's (Mr. Digitalis and one half of the Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood) "Epicenter Crystal" breaks down the elements into pure cosmic energy. The Gray Field Recordings combine minimal acoustic plucks and ethereal chants on "Rune of the Moon and Endymion." James Blackshaw's "No Ghosts" is a Basho incantation of fingerpicking raga guitar that's as powerful as anything I've heard from the man. "Friday Morning" features Timothy, Revelator's spectral banjo plucking and haunted baritone vocal. Pefkin summons the ghost of early 70s Nico with her eloquent "Blast Beach," and Silvester Anfang turns in crusty acoustic guitars and coursing feedback that any Dead C fan should appreciate. Then there's the devastating "Ruination of the Runaways" by Elephant Micah, which was recorded live in one take and drips with heart-aching humanism every step of the way. Haunted, inspired, sad folk pop at its finest, but the same could be said for Kulkija's "Hijaa Hiivin Pois Aurinkoon," though it is a tad more Finnish.

The second disc features a genuine highlight in Charalambides' "Voice Box," which sounds like a rawer Mirror with Tom Carter's slide meshing against Christina and Heather's vocals and organ, all coaxing minimal striations across a luminous space. The North Sea (Mr. Digitalis himself) combines ethereal acoustic guitars, effects, birdsong and vocal into an ethereal pop blessing called "Guiwenneth of the Green Wood." The Weird Weeds (The Laudable Pus) layers two songs, one on top of another; the gentle art pop "Soda Jerk" is beset with the primal lust of "(Sex With Strangers)," making for a truly disturbing juxtaposition. A moody electro psych swirl is rendered in the Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood's "Missing Peace." Leighton Craig & Eugene Carchesio combine angular guitar thwacks, horn squawks and bowed strings on "Here I Give Thanks No. 1." Rameses III employs delicate floating acoustic guitars on "The Tidal Draw." Snowfox explore a dreamy shoegaze wash on "Love Style One." And then there's the fantastic trad folk psych of Ireland's The Magickal Folk of the Faraway Tree's "Being Here Has Caused Me Sorrow," a show-stopping moment of gentle acoustic guitars, accordion and gorgeous harmonies. Wax Ghost conjures a minimal tone poem of harmonium, voice and bells on "Fall city." The Golden Oaks meld high pitched tones with meandering acoustic guitars on "Grower's Communion." And folk chanteuse Marissa Nadler turns in the haunted "Lilly, Henry and the Willow Trees," from her brilliant "Saga of Mayflower May" album.

Disc 3: Drekka invokes the spirit of Current 93 and old hymns with its live rendition of "Possibilities." Anvil Salute conjures a gentle folk drift with "Vines Through the Window." Hush Arbors weaves a tender psych folk spell of longing and devotion on "Far Away I have Been," which eventually snowballs into a haunting windstorm of distortion. It's one of the most affecting tracks I've heard from Keith Wood yet. The Lost Domain gives us the damaged chamber jazz of "Death Dances," which segues to the haunted fractured folk pop of Lau Nau's "Hidas Kuula," assured to make some neck hairs stand at attention with its layered siren vocals. "Death Dealer Blues" is another choice moment, coming to us from Wood & Wand (featuring the Rose), as in Wooden Wand, Keith Wood and Aaron Rosenblum playing live in a backyard in Knoxville, TN, and getting philosophically tribal. Agitated Radio Pilot fashions a minimal glide of dreamy surreal feedback on "Innumerable Night." Terracid (one half of the Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood, solo) combines bows, jaw's harp and guitars on the short and sweet "Sky Love This Day," and Dead Raven Choir (who to me personally is incredibly inconsistent, and about as likely to amaze as grate) strikes cryptic gold with the clanky acoustics, fuzz and spoken word of "We Will Not Whisper." "Unborn Child" sees Nick Castro teaming up with B'eirth (of In Gowan Ring) for a live number. "Lullaby," a gorgeous moody psych folk number from The Does, features effects and slide guitar beneath a tender fem vocal. Mike Tamburo plays looped harmonica to reveal a shimmering aural waterfall in "No More Dripping From the Windsor's Beard," and continuously surprises with his various stylistic approaches. Beautiful and transportive in the best way. Closer, Finland's Braspyreet returns things to the oblique with "Kuu Putoaa," a nightmare of fractured folk guitars, off-key vocals and ominous metallic drones. In a word: WEIRD!

So there you have it, damn near the longest review I've written in '05. Not everything on these 3 discs is up to par, it's true, but more often than not I find myself truly impressed and occasionally knocked out by these numbers. There is so much range here, a seemingly endless reserve of DIY possibility. Each artist is unified in that they are doing it themselves, for themselves, and the precious few who might care to listen. The packaging is minimally characteristic of other Digitalis/Foxglove releases, with just enough information to reveal who’s doing what.

Goodbye Richard.

God is Love......and love is action. I've been fighting them wintry blues in the form of microscopic bacterial lung infestation these last few days, but I think I'm getting better. First off, must acknowledge--as has the rest of the world--the anniversary of John Lennon's death. I deeply value the musical and/or other contributions of the Beatles here at the Womb. They're probably the first non heavy metal band I ever loved (though "Helter Skelter" is fairly proto metal and right malevolent at that!), and John Lennon was the hippest, most cynical cultural lovemaking junkie the pop world will ever know. His face, his glasses, his speaking voice, that nasally acid splashed singing voice, and his words define more than just a generation or time. I always get a tinge of sadness when someone says they don't like the Beatles, or worse yet, dismiss them as "creepy carnival music." These folks seem to miss the point that the creepy carnival bits were entirely intentional, and that these lads could trade in a half dozen other musical genres with equal depth and aplomb while never missing a beat. Lennon was the spunk, the caustic wit and even the unconditional love of the Beatles. And what can I say? I dig love. I dig Christ. Yes, I am gentile. If you don't believe, don't know what to believe, don't know, don't care, makes no real difference to me. Just try and have a little tolerance for those who might? Not all Christianzzzz are gun-toting warmongers. In fact, no Christians are, are they? Granted, some "Christians" are fucking lunatics, but you should just learn to appreciate their zany antics and think up clever punchlines to preface their introductions.

To get to a point, I love and deeply respect the power of myth. My earliest memories of stories revolve around Sunday school and a fascination with Greek Mythology a few years later. I imagine most adolescent boys go through such a phase, especially those who had "Clash of the Titans" to spurn their limitless, nonjaded imaginations. But then we get older, "wiser," more cynical and independent. We realize we were essentially brainwashed as youths and we feel like fuckin' idiots. And that's fair. I mean we are 17 after all, and all those chemistry and biology classes are starting to leave their mark. Science and logic makes us feel like infinitesimal microorganisms in some labrynthian void where we essentially push the same button over and over, receive food pellets, shit and repeat. Fuck that H-bomb mentality, man. Fuck it right in the ear.

Folks, I'm sorry the blog is so boring/inactive these days. It's hard to pretend like you know what you're talking about on a regular basis. I have so much shit to review, so many things to consider, and so little time/desire to do it all, especially in the wake of other recent developments. I'm currently working on a feature on Current 93 for Dream Magazine that's drivin' me up the wall, and due inside of a week. I've received some amazing packages recently from 267 Lattajjaa and Digitalis but not sure I'll ever really get around to discussing them here, though rest assured a review of the "Gold Leaf Branches" compilation is coming. It's definitely an essential dish.

I'm going to be writing a column on more limited (mainly CD-R) releases soon for the musical visionaries over at Deep Water, hopefully by January. DW is run by Mr. Kevin Moist, a very informed, sweet and musically inclined fellow (he plays with Third Troll and The Clear Spots lately). The print version of his zine was extremely influential on how I view, approach and write about the rock. He also wrote the liner notes to the original "Harmony of the Spheres" boxset on Drunken Fish (featuring Bardo Pond, Charalambides, Loren Mazzacane Conners, Flying Saucer Attack, Roy Montgomery and Jessamine), which was recently name checked as a direct inspiration for the "Elegy Box" on Last Visible Dog, not to mention a spiritual precursor to the "By the Fruits You Shall Know the Roots" 3LP box on Time Lag/Eclipse.

I love Kitten War and watching "The Natural" with my Dad.

A random review...

Renato Rinaldi “Hoarse Frenzy” (Last Visible Dog) CD - Renato Rinaldi is an Italian sound artist/musician that fits in perfectly among Last Visible Dog’s diversified roster. “Hoarse Frenzy” is a single 40 min track broken up into various sections or movements, all seamlessly edited together, that run a gamut from the most homespun porch pop (complete with desolate stoned vocal) to heavenly distorted buzz tones and beyond. Rinaldi incorporates everything but the kitchen sink--harmonium, organ, acoustic/electric guitar, piano, dulcimer, field recordings, found objects, etc--into surging tone poems that never grow sterile or predictable. From gamelan swells and piercing minimal shrieks to the most sedated piano sonatas, “Hoarse Frenzy” maintains a constant magnetic pull. Maximum volume yields maximal results for this haunted little beauty.

HOLY CHRIST! Lightning Bolt just got added to the Terrastock 6 lineup!

In other news: the new Corrupted album "El Mundo Frio" is a total blackened masterwork.

One love.

Another brilliant idea! Rich bitch segregation.

Review Haikus:

Ashtray Navigations "The Love That Whirrs" (Last Visible Dog) CD
phosphorescent squeal
concentrated sparkle chain
crumbling ascension

Sigur Rós "Takk..." (Geffen) CD
inverted word scape
cyan fruit bulb tender swell
alien awake

Mike Tamburo "Screwing Six Bolts Into Last Tuesday" (New American Folk Hero) CD-R
soft piano space
bathing as electronique
temporal transfer

Uton "The August Light" (267-Lattajjaa) CD-R
bottomless chasm
dimensional hollow bend
spectral under side

Robert Horton "Washed Out Headspace" (267-Lattajjaa) CD-R
free tonal jazz meld
elastic cosmic implosion
psychic gamelan

Islaja "Palaa Aurinkoon" (Fonal) CD
dancing moon shadow
voice glimmer tired shimmer
fractured earth tissue

Hush Arbors "Cleaning the Bone" (267-Lattajjaa) CD-R 3"
the earth is breathing
cathedral as vibration
this is what I hear

Christina Carter "Living Contact" (Kranky) CD
a backlit gesture
silhouette and dream mother
contrasting moments

Jackie-O Motherfucker "JOMF Live Radio" (U-Sound) CD-R
electric raga
fire dream is namaste
the frost dissipates

Lightning Bolt "Hypermagic Mountain" (Load) CD
holy fucking shit
my ears my exploding skull
erect volcanoes

Nurse With Wound "Drunk With the Old Man of the Mountain" (United Jnana) CD
I think I could die
crepuscular reaction
evacuate mind

The Stooges "Fun House" (Rhino) 2xCD
mongrel lava spew
big muff fetish arousal
"tv eye on me"

Loren Chasse "The Air in the Sand" (Naturestrip) CD
sand grains restless dance
arranged in spiral logic
erosion of time

So long, Link Wray. You taught me how to play (not literally, of course). David (late) Tibet digs Marissa Nadler. I told him he would months ago. They're apparently going to do something together in the future. He's also a bigtime Stephen O'Malley fan; who isn't today? "Black One" is an incredible album. Speaking of Southern Lord, Twilight also comes highly recommended for Leviathan, Xasthur, Sunn 0))) freaks or anyone into uber-lo-fi end of the world nightmare metal.

The Terrastock 6 lineup is the best yet, at least the most Broken Face influenced. I will be there, gods permitting.

Avarus (Finland)
Bardo Pond
Black Forest / Black Sea
Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood (Australia)
Charalambides
College Girls Gone Wild
Cul de Sac
Damon and Naomi
Fursaxa
Ghost (Japan)
Glenn Jones
The Green Pajamas
Kemialliset Ystävät (Finland)
Kinski
The Kitchen Cynics (Scotland)
Sharron Kraus (England)
Landing
Larkin Grimm
The Magic Carpathians Project (Poland)
Major Stars
Marissa Nadler
MV/EE
Paik
Jack Rose
Salamander
St Joan (England)
Spacious Mind (Sweden)
Spires that in the Sunset Rise
Tanakh (Italy)
Thought Forms (England)
Urdog
Windy & Carl

plus Special Guest Appearance by TOM RAPP

College Girls Gone Wild is actually Sonic Youth (isn't that funny!?!). Kitchen Cynics American live debut and Culdesac's Terrastock debut? They may have played one of the earlier ones, not sure. I've never seen them live, and they are hands down one of the most influential underground avant/psych whatever American bands of the last 20 years. This lineup speaks for itself, me thinks. Woot!

PS: Nice to see the original "King Kong" finally make it to DVD. It's a killer all the way around with a great print and snazzy extras.

This is very sad news. Glenn Mitchell was a great host, with one of the most signature voices in radio. I truly valued his show on NPR, even called in a few times. Shocking to say the least.

Well this is just great news.

Made it out to see Broadcast and Gravenhurst Friday night. Gravenhurst rocked.
Gravenhurst rocking.

It was an interesting set for these guys, because the only album I ever heard by them (the quite cool "Flashlight Seasons") is what might be dubbed "folktronica," ie acoustic mellow tunes with some interesting effects. They were in full on power trio mode this night though and invoked the spirit of plenty post punk greats through the course of their set (Joy Division, Wedding Present, Slint, Flying Saucer Attack, etc) with tight musicianship and even a few genuine psychedelic freakouts. Talked to Nick Talbot for a bit afterwards about some things, including the fact that the mean age for a Pitchfork writer must be 18 because they sure like to compare his band to Interdull, kind of silly considering Gravenhurst has been going for almost a decade now. Short memory spans I suppose, impressive vocabularies though! We also talked about image and facade and how that's all bullshit, isn't it? I tend to agree. I asked Nick what his favorite (post) punk band was: Husker Du.

Broadcast were simply awesome. I've gone back and forth with these guys/gal over the years, but agree with the consensus, "Ha Ha Sound" is some sort'a pinnacle. I suppose the pampering is deserved (they have a big pretty purple tourbus), as the music does have a certain scuzzy high brow charm. Broadcast simply hits all the right buttons for me, no pun intended, but they're admittedly a bit of a one trick pony. It's simply a good trick. The set opened with "Pendulum" and only got better from there with tons of hard rocking analog electrips and Kraftwerk inspired motorik freakouts doled out from behind a constant retro-projection.



And here's a very fuzzy pic of my friend Jessica with Ms. Trisha K. of Broadcast (this was right after we'd watched Trisha fumble with trying to shut the door to her tourbus for like 30 secs straight). She does look rather dazed (or annoyed). I love Jessica and her husband, Greg, two of my oldest and favoritist pals in the world. Always a fine, loud time with these people. And a shout out to Frank and Alicia, too. Had a blast hanging out with you whooping, festive alkies!

Whoa, doggies...I very occasionally wish I lived in New York:

Marissa Nadler dates...

Nov. 13th- Brooklyn Fireproof Gallery- 101 Richardson St., Brooklyn, New York, (718- 302- 4702) with the Big Huge, and Black Forest/Black Sea

Nov. 20th - NYC- Knitting Factory Main Space, with legendary band Earth and drone kings Pelt, featuring guitar master Jack Rose. Buy tickets at the Knitting Factory's website

...I mean come on. Pelt, Earth and Marissa on the same stage? Shiminy haystacks! After these shows I believe the fare maiden sets off on her European tour, so check her site and keep those eyes/ears open, Euro peepees.

A few other things. I've still not gotten around to covering some albums that were released in the last 3-4 months, and may not have time to. I imagine between Brainwashed, FoxyD, Dusted, Fake Jazz and onward, they've all been well documented anyway. In the meantime here are some links to reviews and features I've submitted to folks in the last couple months in case anyone hasn't found them through the usual means:

Marissa Nadler Terrascope interview

Marissa Nadler "The Saga of Mayflower May" (Eclipse)

Kinski "Alpine Static" (Sub Pop)

Oooooooooooommm

Mike Tamburo "Beating of the Rewound Son" (Music Fellowship)

Vocokesh "Through the Smoke" (Strange Attractors)

Urdog "Eyelid of Moon" (Secret Eye)

Volcano the Bear "Catonapotato" (Digitalis/Broken Face)

Had a really nice evening this past Thursday hanging out with the one and only, Mike Tamburo. He's an interesting guy (and YES, HE DOES EXIST!) with a lot of heart and soul, me thinks. He knows how to tell a good yarn, too. I had nothing to do with bringing him to the area, because last time I got even remotely involved in setting up a show, disaster's-ville: population me. His show was in Denton at a little coffee house called Art Six with an outside deck area. There were four of us that watched him play (with the occasional smoker dropping by for an abbreviated listen). He'd occasionally build up loops via acoustic guitar and dulcimer and played a selection that spanned his fingerpicking career and drew largely from the excellent solo debut, "Beating the Rewound Son" (Music Fellowship). He also played a solo rendition of a piece from his new duo, The Amazing Trapeze. I was struck by his control of dynamics, on top of his dexterous fretwork, and his ability to keep each piece flowing, even as he shuffled through his bag looking for something else to throw on top. I was especially impressed when he started playing dulcimer with mallets and created a beautiful shimmer of tones that actually resembled a gamelan orchestra. No shit!

Here's a pic of Mr. Tamburo doin' his thing on the leafy deck...


We hung out a while and talked about all sorts of things, including fingerpickers, the greatness of Jack Rose, spirit and humility. He gave me a fat stack of releases on his own New American Folk Hero CD-R label (including his last copy of the Kennan Lawler 3"--thank you, Mike!) as gifts, a couple Meisha albums, and the latest (and possibly greatest) Arco Flute Foundation Live CD on Music Fellowship. I gave him a CD by The Lost Domain in an effort to repay the love, but more than anything what Mike gave me was a warm night of kinship. I feel lucky to call him a friend.

He's going to be on the road for about another month. See here for remaining dates, mainly East Coast. I recorded 80 mins of the 90 min gig. I told Mike it was his storyteller set, because each song came with exposition. All in all, a good night.

"Feels" (Fat Cat), this new Animal Collective album is doin' it for me. Like a warm tongue lashing the bung--billowy and light as air, but still bubbling over with enough frothy effervescence to catapult me way up into the crystal palace in the sky. No one else rips-off--or builds on, for that matter--ideas first pioneered by the Beach Boys ("feels" are what Brian Wilson calls isolated symphonic scores) and Eno as inventively.

A bittersweet old style songwriter's paradise gets mined in Franklin's Mint. "Gold" (Sunburned) is comprised of heart-tugging rootsy folk pop that harkens back to early 70s Dylan, the Band, Neil Young, Emmylou and more inspirational folk-rocker types with a warm analog glow. It's a Sunburned Hand of the Man sanctioned roadtrip, with rough and tumble contributions from a bundle of folks who usually play a sloppier, more avant groove, all backing singer/guitarist Phil Franklin. His dusted, stream of conscious lyrics are branded with a sense of weariness and humanism that would be the only logical outcome for any civilized creature living in America in the year 2005. Beautiful handmade silkscreen package folds into a 3D pyramid. Might be hard to find, but so is peace of mind. Limited to 1000; got mine from Fusetron.

Further down the rabbit hole we fall with The Iron Kite, spiraling and divebombing out of control through a red tinted underworld (and I don't mean hell, but it's close, baby!). This Austin "free noise" groop cranks a mighty rusted carousel round and round on "No Eyebrows" (Twilight Flight Sound), writhing in the clattery free metallic rush that builds in friction to a throbbing industrial/ krautrock surge and more lumbering heavy jams. Nothing prepares the listener for the sheer power and forward momentum of this single track live recording. Lots of acid fuzz and clattery percussion give way to metronomic thumping and back again with tribal howls and whoops resounding over top. Spontaneous, beautiful ROCK that sort of answers the question, "what if the Red Krayola's "Free Form Freakout" actually went somewhere?" No-Neckers and Sunburned Handies, rejoice!

Another loud ass Fuck Yeah! comes along with the reissue of Kemialliset Ystävät's "Kellari Juniversumi," (Fonal CD/ Beta-Lactam LP). Hailed upon its release in 2002 as a masterpiece, I'm prone to fall into line with this one; possibly the most perfectly realized trip through Chemical Land I've come across. KY (gotta love those initials) is without question one of the most fascinating and unique bands around today, and this seems to capture them in an ideal state. Possibly a transition album based on what I've heard till now, splitting things roughly between the kind of haunted free spirit blues they've conjured of late and a clanking (almost) art pop/folk. If Yahaweh was an early industrial band from Finland, they might have come up with something this dementedly beautiful, but then that's not even fair. This is a dense, ethereal trek through the warped sonic hinterlands that sounds basically like nothing else, save maybe for a few other KY albums and spinoff ensembles.

Speaking of some spiked punchbowl action, props to the mystical sound magi of Louisville, Kentucky's Eyes and Arms of Smoke, who conjur a rare magic indeed on their "A Religion of Broken Bones" LP, via the always reliable Cenotaph organization. This record easily exhibits a similar sort of scattered, what-the-hell(?) aura as the above, materialized in an unclassifiable instrumental sound that brings together chamber music, jazz, folk, crude electronics and more into a smoothly kinetic sound tunnel to the outer realms. Only two bands I can think of currently who even come close to this sort of downbeat dream: Comus (EaAoS occasionally features warbling high pitched vocals over rushing acoustic guitars, channeling the demented forest gnome spirits) and...

...Portland’s Rollerball specializes in a cryptic chamber/ nowave/ lounge jazz/ trip hop(?) on "Catholic Paws / Catholic Pause" (Silber) which I can't help but be completely transfixed by. These folks have almost no discernable style, yet maintain a constant musicality that's amorphous and engaging all the way through. Boy and girl vox occasionally appear in strange art pop songs that continuously ride the surrealist/ absurdist roads of the subconscious, passing through some genuinely disturbed back alleys along the way, and probably losing most who’d dare follow. Robert Wyatt and the Art Bears come to mind across the span of these rough and tumble, occasionally lo-fi, lounge/no wave excursions. This is definitely an acquired taste (pretty much all Rollerball is), but worth investigation if you like the weirdo art rock/lounge lizard thing.

Mmmmm August Born. This self titled album (Drag City) is a transcontinental dream meeting if ever there was one. Ben Chasny (Mr. Six Organs) and Hiroyuki Usui (Mr. L) come together (via post) to brilliantly combine their etheareal takes on blues and folk musics, and the results are really just about what you'd expect. Essential and haunted lo-fi tone poems for the impending cold months, and whatever else may loom on the horizon.

Hush Arbors/ Terracid/ The North Sea issued this untitled CD-R on newish upstart Barl Fire recently; all three of the contributors are bright new hopes in this avant folk whatever thing that's happening all across the globe as I type. Hush Arbors conjurs meditative electro dream swells before strapping on the acoustic and introducing beautiful tremelous vocals. I love to hear this guy sing. Terracid offers hushed winds and spacious ragas over quiet clatter that sounds as if the gods themselves decided to sing, and then drops a drifting vocal over a bed of percussive patter and desolate acoustic guitar to seal the deal. Fucking incredible. The North Sea offers three more direct paths to divinity, my favorite being the opening acoustic instrumental which combines a sweet melody with spectral raga tones in a blissful excusion to the soul center. The rest offers sparse melodies, shakers, rainsticks and distant vocals with a slight pop base.

George Brigman's "Jungle Rot" comes via the cult rock diggers at Anopheles Records; they definitely got a nack for recommitting weird limited pressings from the psych underground back into the wild. Couldn't think of a more deserving album than Brigman's mongrel blues psych punk tribute to the Groundhogs and other scuzz blues merchants (namely the Stooges and Blue Cheer). Low-fi before lo-fi was a marketing term, this is some seriously demented garage boogie with Brigman's volatile guitar skills at center stage. Absolutely devastating stuff that fans of Comets on Fire, Monoshock and Major Stars should especially dig. FUCKIN' SWEET!

Pumice's "Worldwide Skull" (Audiobot) features various live recordings by Stefan Neville. Think Xpressway, early Chris Knox, solo and slightly pissed (read as drunk) and maybe, Alastair Galbraith. There's a chilling quality in Stefan's songs, often times just him and guitar with some primitive effect on the vocals or whatnot, and the intimacy and ramshackle arrangements are all painfully necessary in conveying a sense of crude wonder and naked honesty. Worth the hunt for any damaged soul.

And finally comes a fantastic split CD between Breathe Stone (should sound almost familiar to some) and The Does via Hand/Eye. This one's been out a while now, but it's still available. Breathe Stone is a Stone Breath alter ego (think plugged in), and The Does (as in female deer!) are a smoking blues/ garage/ noise punk trio that probably has a few Birthday Party and Swans albums on their shelves, but that's not to say the three songs on "Sleep Deprivation Blues" are copycat material. They churn and rock with some tasteful slide guitar, lacerating rhythms, kicked up beats and a heart-throbbing fem vocals pushing everything over the top of the mountain. Breathe Stone's more likely to hang out up there with "Crow Omens," offering a slightly expanded version of their trad folk delirium, including some pretty burly fuzz guitars. Considering the typically more acoustic (but no less psychedelic) approach they're known for, this makes for a swell detour.

Clipped from somewhere:

"A site claiming to be 'the official website for Vincent Gallo,' the controversial filmmaker, is offering Vincent's sperm for sale.

The Internet site, VGMerchandise, has listed the sperm for a whopping $1 million. The website has listed a detailed agreement informing mothers of their options at Vincent's sperm. Gallo will reportedly inseminate them through in vitro fertilization or naturally. The natural route will cost and extra $500 thousand, which he offers to waive if he finds the woman attractive enough.

VGMerchandise also offers a detailed description of the director, saying 'Mr. Gallo is 5 feet 11 inches and has blue eyes. There are no known genetic deformities in his ancestry and no history of congenital diseases. If you have seen 'The Brown Bunny,' you know the potential size of the genitals if it's a boy (eight inches if he's like his father).' His 'essence' is said to 'blend well with a softer, more subtly featured female.'"

My favorite bit: "To be clear, the purchase of Mr. Gallo's sperm does not include the use of the name Gallo. The purchaser must find another surname for the child."

--So, is Vincent Gallo a fuckin idiot or one of the greatest minds of our time? I like some of his movies/music (mainly Buffalo 66), but it appears his true value is measured in his outlandish persona. He hangs out with Paris Hilton and thinks she's a genius. He's a card carrying republican. Punk rock incarnate.