Happy (late) Halloween/Samhain to all the Womb ghouls 'n' goblins out there. Had a laid back All Hallows Eve giving out a li'l candy to the younguns, then went over to a friend's house and horrified another friend with my shocking skeleton get-up. Good stuff.


Also, ya know, I'm not a big digital animation freak, but watching key action scenes from Monsters Vs Aliens in 3D on bluray this evening left me suitably transported back to the age 10 or so, lost in the wonder of it all. Give it a try sometime. Smoke lots of pot right before hand if possible. What else... the highpoint of this week is Cartman's rendition of Lady Gaga's "Poker Face" as heard on the Whale Wars episode of South Park. I can't stop trying to replicate its pop splendor in the shower with the hot water turned up full-blast, steam blinding my eyes. That is sex, my friends.


Made it out a couple nights ago to a big screen viewing of Dario Argento's Deep Red, which I'd never seen before. The 35 MM print was a bit beat up, but I loved it none the less. Figure the modern slasher flick was born with this movie, though John Carpenter and others would take it from here to new plateaus of horrific catharsis. Argento spends much of the time ripping off Hitchcock with a good bit more blood and an incredible "horror prog" soundtrack from Goblin(s), which combined together make my dick very hard. I love Hitch, perverted bald genius. Sadism isn't necessarily an intellectual exercise, mind you (see all those god-awful idiotic Saw movies), but Argento knows how to stage a kill-scene like few in the genre, and his sets are fucking incredible. He may as well be Hitchcock himself when compared to any other horror director working in the last 40 years. Thanks to Dallas Cinemania for making it happen.


Also, Krautrock junkies, feast your eyes on this very cool BBC produced documentary, Krautrock: The Rebirth of Germany, a title which lends credence to my contention that Krautrock was, as much as anything else, a successful attempt to rectify past social ills by sharing with the rest of the world some of the most brain-tickling influential experimental rock and roll it will ever know. It's loaded with vintage clips and interviews (now and then) from the actual players and manages to tie it all in with Germany's troubled past and emerging counterculture at the same time. Those playing catch-up with one of my favorite "scenes" should check it out:


And since it's almost still Halloween, here are a cpl Youtube clips which somehow reflect on or capture the mood of this special time of the year: Satanic Warmaster "Carelian Satanist Madness"


Public Image Limited live on American Bandstand, doing one of the most memorably weird rock songs of the punk/post punk era and tearing down the wall between artist and performer in the process, completely lip-synced and all the better for it. I love this clip!

While I'm at it, Happy Dia De Los Meurtos! Down here in Texas we've developed a special appreciation for The Mexican Day of the Dead, and it could be said Wayne Coyne has done the same. As some of you already know, last weekend I participated in The Flaming Lips March of a 1000 Flaming Skeletons part of the Ghouls Gone Wild parade in Oklahoma City. It was, like, a blast, and I'm too tired currently to go into specifics. So here are a few sweet pix and vid clips that capture the whole vibe of said event. Check the photobucket if you want more. Dig:

Yello, Womblifers. I've scored a leak of The Flaming Lips' Embryonic and I'm loving it. I know, I know, advance MP3s are destroying music. I'll buy a copy...promise. It's definitely their best since Yoshimi, and if you like your Lips extra rare (read as raw) it just might be better with its battery of double drums blasted into the stratosphere via a pronounced prog (read as Miles fusion era) feel that helps to throw things off balance in a reallly good way. Probably one of the more fucked up things that will drop on a so-called major label this year, or at least since the last Portishead record. I expect mixed reviews in general, but don't let that scare you.


Also received a sweet package from my old friends at Digitalis, including the new Bugskull LP, Communications, and Social Junk CD, Born Into It, along with a whole mess of tapes. Man I love me some cassettes, tell you what! Reminds me, here is a list of 101 current and operating tape labels that might deserve your attention if you've got a functioning tape deck and have grown tired of paying exorbitant prices for CDs and vinyl (and digital downloads) while trying to keep up. I still buy all that shit, but tapes are cheaper and they sound great with this kind of music. As I prepare to start a self-imposed exile from buying any new CDs or LPs for the next year, I can assure you I'll still be buying tapes.

Many of the tape labels operating today specialize in some variation of noise, and by noise I don't just mean the harsher stuff, though much of it is pretty harsh. Free jazz, minimal drone, Dada collage, acid boogie psych, grinding industrial pulse and maximal noise mantra (made up that last one just now) are just a few of the possible sonic styles that might be heard on a cool underground noise tape released circa now. Good noise music often times tells a story, whether via a more accessible trad rock performance or just one lone warrior and an arrangement of pedals set upon a cardboard table, hence the term "table-core." Good noise music can also erase thought entirely, even if only for a brief period, like any form of meditation.

Anyway, I don't read Pitchfork often, but here is a pretty good article covering noise music over the last 10 years, though it does skew a bit too much on the American underground at the expense of other vital scenes. Maybe they can put together a sequel covering Europe and so on in the near future. Doubt it. There are opinions that some may not agree with (myself included), but it's still a decent overview for those hoping to play a little catch-up.


Another recent development here in the Womb is my immersion into all things rap and hip-hop. I finally downloaded a Linkin Park album(!), which was recorded with Jay-Z, but I don't know if I'll get around to actually listening to it. Not a big fan of those dorks, but I sure like me some Jay-Z, without shame. It's an intimidating wave-pool to delve into, but don't let that stop ya. The recent discovery of the astonishing Blunted in the Bomb Shelter by Madlib (arguably the finest reggae/dub mixtape out there) led me to this in depth article about rap mixtapes which manages to cover a lot of ground and even go into the history of the phenom. Probably the only time MTV will ever be linked to this blog. Let's hope!


What else, been rediscovering my old heroes The Flamin' Groovies in recent weeks, 'specially during their heavy Stones-centric period. I still think Teenage Head is one of the most criminally overlooked proto punk art blues rawk records to come out of the West Coast. Even Mick Jagger is purported to have said The 'Groovies did a better job than The Stones did on Sticky Fingers. The title track is timeless garage boogie with menacing street-punk snarl. The cover of Randy Newman's "Have You Seen My Baby?" comes off like Chuck Berry on biker speed. Opener "High Flyin' Babe" has a bit of Beefheart's early garage blues down 'n' dirty groove, but it goes down so easy here. Right after this landmark dropped founding member/lead singer Roy Loney would leave the group, on the surface a tragedy, but actually not a bad thing at all as it kicked off a fruitful solo career for Loney, and the rest of the Groovies went on to record the all-time classic Shake Some Action with the great Dave Edmunds at the console. But that's a different story.

Re The Rolling Stones: I think Mick Taylor's playing is a huge part of what really makes their music the timeless country blues it is. Sure we all love the earlier stuff, and we love Brian Jones, but Taylor stepped into the spotlight along with the biggest band in the world at a moment's notice, and he managed to make that bottleneck slide sing like only a true blues man can. One only need watch footage of The 'Stones live in Hyde Park in 1969, a gig which was a spontaneous tribute to Jones, who'd died only three days before, to see what I'm getting at: And now check out this article, courtesy of The Daily Mail, to see what Taylor's been up to since those glory days. Ain't pretty, but it's an interesting read which might possibly lead to righting some long time wrongs for the under-appreciated genius.


Speaking of singular guitar wranglers, doubt you'll find a more unique/influential string bender than Keith Rowe. The AMM co-founder has managed to remain one of the most visionary experimental/improvised guitarists in the world, and he's still playing over 40 years after the formation of his legendary trio. His more recent stuff can possibly come off as overly studied or academic to the unfamiliar ear, but anyone even remotely interested in abstract drone, noise, ambient sound, free jazz, minimalism the limitless crossover possibilities between them all, should take a gander at this in depth interview with the man from All About Jazz and get their brain-bananas suitably tickled by by this fantastic clip:


I'm also super-happy to see a new Clean album hitting the stores. Mister Pop (Merge) is a beauty that should be heard by all lovers of hummable guitar art pop bliss. One of my fave musical historians, Jud Cost, interviewed the Kiwi-pop legends for Magnet recently. Dig it.


I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned Jersey City's WFMU Freeform Radio here, steered magnificently via the musical direction of Brian Turner. Their Beware of the Blog offers a virtual cornucopia of all kinds'a oddball musical tidbits and obscure live and OOP downloads that you can get lost in for days on end. Most recently been grabbing some sonic souvenirs via their ATP-NY 2009 live broadcasts, including Akron/Family, Melvins and Grouper, among others. And -- get this -- WMFU is smack dab in the middle of its own kickass WFMUfest as I type. Lucky bastards.


Recent Live Actions:

Social Junk / Mincemeat or Ten Speed / Dick Neff / Corporate Park at House of Tinnitus. There was one more solo guy on the bill, but not sure of the name, and that in no way reflects badly on the quality of his set, though it actually didn't do much for me personally. Local duo Corporate Park (Perhaps a name change is in order, guys -- American Airlines Arena?) combined Throbbing Gristle/early Psychic TV electro-skree with death-disco beats that had everyone in the house doing the robot chicken dance. Special props to my mate Kelly for spontaneously breaking into a goofy Ian Curtis like broken limb dance which made me smile. Dick Neff (the drummer for SJ) combined knob twiddling distortion with one man and a drum-set bombast in a way that had me thinking of Lightning Bolt and related noise metal spastics in a good way. Mincemeat or Teen Speed brought the one man and a bunch'a pedals primitive weird noise symphony to an ecstatic hula-hooping climax which left me pleasantly splattered but still in one piece. As reward for a job well done, I bought the beautiful limited vinyl LP, All Critters, whose mind-bending surrealist artwork is worth the bucks alone.

The came the mighty Social Junk, whose brand new Born Into It CD is showing me the tribal-light as I type. This is a record that manages to touch on everything from glitched out electronic sound sculpture to the kind of post/art punk mantras that This Heat so brilliantly traded in for a brief period betweel the late 70s and early 80s. Throbbing Gristle is here too, and more recent weird rock abstractionists, a lot of them coming out of Brooklyn, maybe one or two out of Detroit, but these Philly kids manage to burrow out a sound that's entirely their own through these muddy subterranean tunnels. It's a dark mantra for the ages, as much studied post-punk coming into industrial anything-is-possible experimentation as it is something more intangible and not really of this earth. You get the idea, right?

The primitive, repetitive noise reveries of Born Into It didn't really prepare me for the blistering intensity of the live set, which hones the quality and studied intensity of the above record into something much more devastating and immediate. I f0und myself up close and very personal, three feet from the noise/effects guy on the right and maybe six feet the drummer on the left. We, all of us there, headbanged in unison, a crashing symphony of flesh and bone, propelled by something beyond human -- a crushing noise/doom assault the duo (usually trio) conjured from thin air. As much spontaneous incantation as pulverizing hardcore assault, and we were all the better for it. Very rarely in a live setting have I seen something, so often dismissively dubbed harsh noise, yield such artful results. Cell phone pix of said event:

























And then just this past weekend we made it out to the Improve Lottery at The Phoenix Project, a new performance space on the edge of Exposition Park (just outside of the Fair Park area) which promises to deliver its fair share of quality avant-garde punk and weirdo aural entertainments in the coming months/years, God willing. The Improve Lotto was some joker's brilliant idea (don't ask me who), and it was a truly fine endeavor that turned into a recalcitrant blur soon enough, which rocked and howled one moment, groaned and clanked like an old coughing gas generator the next. It the sets witnessed, the one with three horn players, two electronics tinkerers and one free jazz percussive master left the best taste in my mouth. I'd attempt to say more if only I hadn't been so overstimulated by it all. So I'll just leave you with this: DFW matters once more. One only need pay attention.

It's coming down to the last days of Summer, folks! Lamentable I know, though I imagine some in California feel differently. Best to our brothers and sisters out there in the scorching West. Getting as many late afternoon dips in as I can before it gets too cold again, and I've been power-watching True Blood episodes like good drugs -- good V, mayn! Finished season one last night, and being one who's had his share of communions with the occult underworld via some of the ugliest redneck dives in and around North Texas, I've found plenty of congruities between TB and my own experiences. There's nothing quite like the rural south for good storytelling. It's ripe for a little pulpy reimagining. I think Alan Ball and his people get it like I do. Also have extremely high hopes for David Simon's upcoming Treme, which deals specifically with two of my favorite subjects, New Orleans and music.

A few more movies I dug on this Summer:

District 9 - Inventive, brilliantly realized scifi that plays like Franz Kafka rewriting The Fly as Bradburyian social commentary. Love the concept. Love the aliens. Love the shit blowing up all over the place.

Ponyo - Yet another fantastical animated masterpiece from the studio that brought us Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, My Neighbor Totoro, Howe's Moving Castle, etc. For me the defining scene in this beauty is the image of a little girl--who until very recently had been a little fish--running as fast as she can atop an undulating bed of ocean waves that are literally alive, propelling her to her destination. Long live Hayao Miyazaki!

Bruno - A fundamentally misunderstood movie. In Borat the butt of the joke is us ugly (but mostly well mannered) Americans. In Bruno the butt of every joke is Bruno himself, a paragon of witless bad-mannered Eurotrash and loud, in your face homosexuality. He's a proud stereotype and in many ways the obvious result of a pop culture overly fixated with itself and precious little else. Borat wants to find "the real America." Bruno wants his own show on the E Network. I LOLed most of the time.

Inglorious Basterds - I don't think it's cool to like QT anymore. I'm pretty sure that liking Eli Roth is a sin punishable by death, but gods help me, Hostel 2 was pretty good! True, the first one sucked, but 2 was a gruesome enough surprise, as was Roth's "characterization" of the baseball bat wielding Bear Jew in this one. Yes, some of these scenes seem endless. Yes, Tarantino is obviously sending a love letter to his adoring French fans who see him as a god on par with Jerry Lewis. Yes, the dialogue is laboriously pitch perfect in tone, tempo and execution. He's still an action master. He's also one of America's best working builders of suspense. The scene in the basement pub is potent. Cool bonus bits to rope in film geeks: the inclusion of Henri-Georges Clouzot's suspense classic Le Corbeau on the theater marquee early on, a movie produced in France by a German production company during the early months of the occupation. There's more to the reference too, but I'll stop there; the inclusion of a Leni Riefenstahl mountain girl movie on the same marquee a little later on. Same deal. Google that shit! It's still too long, Quentin.

Finally made it out to the Wasted Words house in Arlington recently where I got an earful of some fine local sounds coming from multiple parts of the sonic spectrum. Though new to thine ears, both opening acts caught my attention. The first set was a one man electronics/drums progressive explosion that goes by the name Collisi. The next, a guy/gal duo called Wu Fru De Lu Vs. Space Dragon Killah (it actually rolls right off the tongue!), sounded like early Animal Collective gremlins lost in the electronic forest. The plunderphonic industrial ambiance of Welby (Mark Church's solo thing) provided an undulating current of processed drones and obscure samples that had me thinking Negativland With Wound. The tectonic sine-wave manipulations from the always dependable Church of the Apoclypse provided a slow-crawling bass rumble that literally had paintings falling off the walls. Really like the new direction away from the drone doom of earlier releases into pure dark matter.

What about The Mike Gunn? They're probably the most criminally under heard Texas psych punk group in my collection, and that kind of sucks because if you like The Melvins, Butthole Surfers or even Comets on Fire you probably owe it to yourself to at least hear these guys someday. Here's a sweet article from Examiner.com that helps to illuminate just why they kicked much ass on their own (stoned) terms and definitely deserve to be acknowledged as more than just Tom Carter's old band, though they're that too. Almaron is the shit!

Ever heard of AMM? Bet you have. They're possibly the most influential group on what's come to be known as free noise. Keith Rowe is their guitarist. He also performs solo and in collaboration with other like-minded musicians, which makes this epic interview from All About Jazz essential reading for anyone with even a passing interest in experimental improvised sound.

Here's one more interview with another Womblife fave, the incomperable Sir Richard Bishop of Sun City Girls fame and beyond. He goes a few rounds with Mark Prindle, delving deeply into magic and sound (two more of my favorite subjects!). Plenty of great interviews and reviews to be read at Prindle's page. I highly recommend the micro-reviews too for further LOL inducement.

More hippie-syke reviews imminent!

This is My Music: Vol 4 (Vol. 4: The Metal Years)

Absu Absu (Candlelight) CD - I've been aware of these old warriors for a few years now, but I must admit shock upon discovering they were actually from Plano, Texas, of all places, a suburb of Dallas that's more known for its (once) high priced country club homes and teen heroin epidemics than real deal furious as fuck occult black metal. Absu started as death metal and devolved to their more blackened state across the '90s. The progression is documented on Tumult's 2CD Diabolic Occult Metal (the band's own designation for its brand of Texas bm), and that there artifact comes highly recommended if so inclined. What else: I've almost seen Absu live twice now, but various fateful anvils have crushed my plans -- scheduling conflicts, bus breakdowns. They're playing a rescheduled hometown gig in late Summer.

Absu is the latest Absu album in a long minute, and if I'm not mistaken, only one original member remains in the band, yet this is genre-defining stuff. Masterful jackhammer riffs propelled by inhuman double bass drum battery, mind-blurring change-ups. More than a hint of the progressive stylings found during weirder passages of recent Enslaved and Leviathan albums can be glimpsed, all deployed with a fury closer to prime Mayhem. Metal with chops that maintains the all important primal metal edge. Hailz, bros!

Current 93 Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain (Coptic Cat) CD - I don't think anyone's ever considered these Gnostic spell-casters to be metal at all, but if not why do so many metal headz love this band? And why does it seem like all of David Tibet's favorite bands are metal, or at least proto-metal? Rush, Uriah Heep and Black Sabbath on down the line to Sleep/Om and Mayhem. Tibet certainly likes to rock, but he likes to rock weirdly, and Aleph At Hallucinatory Mountain is some of the weirdest rock I've heard this year. With contributions from James Blackshaw, Keith Wood, Mr "Party All Night!" Andrew W.K. and the brilliant Alex Neilson (among many others), Tibet has once again assembled a classy ensemble to tell the story of Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain. There's much more fuzz than ever heard on any previous Current 93 album, big booming drums, and an overall more pronounced doom vibe while still maintaining noticeable links to past c93 releases. I like this very much, but rest assured, your mileage will vary dependent on your penchant for Tibet's crypto-religious fascinations. Overall, almost as good as Black Ships Ate the Sky. Almost.

Locrian Drenched Lands/ Rhetoric of Surfaces/ Burying the Carnival/ Exhuming the Carnival (At War With False Noise; Bloodlust!; self-re.) CD/CD-R/c-38 -- This amazing Chicago duo brings a new twist to the genre of so called drone metal. Named either for the mythical Greek tribe or the musical mode of the same name, both allusions are appropriate for the grim, hypnotic desolation that Locrian conjures. Their sound is pretty much unparalleled when we get analytical, not that I want to. Locrian manages to explore the crossover between early Popol Vuh, Frip/Eno circa No Pussyfooting and more recent doom/black metal developments (Earth and SunnO))) included) with results that are never less than harrowing and deeply enveloping every step of the way. Of the three releases that found their way into my mailbox recently, the Drenched Lands CD is my favorite with its deft mix or languid slow melodies, minor key isolationist loops and endless feed-backing howls. It's an epic that's brilliantly composed and executed from start to finish, and a vinyl version just dropped! The CD includes a massive bonus track every bit the match of its six predecessors. One of the best long players I've heard in '09.

Rhetoric of Surfaces explores similar terrain on a slightly more dissonant mode. Think Skullflower wandering the murky marshes just below the Castle SunnO))) complete with dark clad minstrels conjuring their mind-bending symphonies of industrial despair. The tracks are longer and grimier in this set -- recorded live for radio -- each offering its own glimpse at echo-drenched tonal voids. Rounding out my dandy box of Locrian madness is the excellent Burying the Carnival/Exhuming the Carnival cassette which results in roughly 38 mins of scorched trance dirge -- tectonic bass hum and squealing angular guitars beneath vocal howls of death on side a, something slightly more exultant on the flip. The guitar work is positively vertiginous and devastating in a way that only amplified feedback can be. The aural equivalent to greyfield-sickness stuck in a lockgroove.

Deathspell Omega Mass Grave Aesthetics (Norma Evangelium Diaboli) CDEP - DO is one of France's best and longest running black metal groups. Mass Grave Aesthetics is one 20 min thrashing monster which reveals every facet of what makes these evil bastards one of the best extreme metal bands on the planet: blistering blastbeat eruptions, cycling mid tempo riff mantras and experimental/noisy ambient interludes being just the beginning. Deathspell enthrall at any speed, in any mode, across this suite-like aural desecration. The end results land somewhere between prime Emperor and Nordvargr and challenge the conventional wisdom of just what black metal can be. Progressive as fuck.

Prurient & Kevin Drumm All are Guests in the House of the Lord CD/Prurient Cocaine Death (both Hospital Productions) both CD - This one's special. I must admit past Prurient releases I've heard have left me shivering in the dark with head splitting. Scabrous static dissonances seemingly the preferred mode of discourse. Of course there are dozens of releases bearing the Prurient name out there, and I've barely begun to scratch the surface. All Are Guests in the House of the Lord suggests closer examination of the catalog is long overdue. It sees the one man harsh drone/noise unit's fury tempered brilliantly by microtonal string bender Kevin Drumm's minimal guitar textures. The end results would sit proudly on the shelf between Wolf Eyes' Human Animal and Sunn's Black One. It's almost metal, philosophically speaking, relaying the kind of soul-destroying thematic concerns often explored in harsher metal these days. Like Wolf Eyes, the vocals owe more to classic hardcore, albeit of the most unconventional variety with effected hues ranging from screaming shrieks to nitrous huffing bass howls, all punctuated by grinding distortion one moment, bottomless microtonal chasms the next. The overall feel is one of great regret, vocal howls begging forgiveness on the eve of unalterable doom.

While visiting the Hospital Productions it dawned on me that Prurient's Cocaine Death (a collection of three long gone cassettes) really is a black metal album. It's more like the ghost of a black metal album if this particular record had been scored by David Lynch and Varg Vikernes using nothing but voice, feedback pedals, recordings of the burning of kindling and the shredding of old newspaper clippings, though it's actually much deeper than all that. I have no idea what's making this hallucinatory drone, thinking some sort of fuzzed up synth concoction much of the way, in conjunction with the incredible vocal performances -- again ranging from underwater gurgling groans to the most tortured naked howls -- and an arsenal of cortex tickling things that go bump, The results are never less than fascinating. Nary a dull moment for folks into the trippier side of noise.

Wolf Eyes Always Wrong (Hospital Productions) CD - When confronted with the reality of Always Wrong, I'm reminded of K.W. Jeter's infamous Dr. Adder, the dystopic nightmare sci-fi to end all dystopic nightmae sci-fis. After this one there was really nowhere left to go in terms of exposing/ridiculing mankind's own seemingly inborn desire to destroy itself, often ironically, through ill conceived attempts at improving some situation or another. Basically Jeter is saying that if we're not careful, in the end we're all going to be Frankenstein's Monsters fallen victim to science/technology and our own selfish/perverse desires. Old story -- mankind shooting itself in the foot. Only now we're shooting up our bodies with silicone, and sucking our innards out completely here in the States while young women in Asian countries willfully go under the knife just so they can have more Caucasian features. All the sudden Wacko Jacko isn't such an isolated freak.

Dr. Adder is the go-to guy for underground medical procedures in this technological nightmare. He's the back alley abortion doctor/junk peddler. He's the discredited plastic surgeon who lost his license years ago but still practices anyway. He's equal parts Frankenstein and Joseph Mengele; only his test subjects are hookers and street trash obsessed with augmentation, self mutilation and perversion. Just like those strange visions Jeter channeled back in '72, Wolf Eyes sees it all with a grim prophetic eye today, and they know that in many ways it's already here.

The first song on Always Wrong is "Cellar." It's possibly the most stunning single encapsulation of what makes Wolf Eyes the unabashed masters of sculpted rhythm noise that they are. Its precise composition of primitive surging (non glitch) electronics, street rat vocal ranting and lurching beats is high drama meets visceral sound art. It's the sound of one of Doc Adder's fucked-up back alley procedures gone horribly wrong. And you can almost dance to it. Sick. The rest of this dreaded beast follows suit with jagged distorted squalls, angular guitar clang and electronic howls crawling through the mix like rabid sewer rats hungry for blood. Ugly. Beautiful.

Bone Awl All Has Red/Night's Middle (Klaxon) cass./7 in. - One bone of contention (no pun) among metal vs hardcore geeks is the question of when did the split occur? As in when did hardcore and metal diverge along the rock timeline and become philosophical opposites, and does it even matter? Anyone who's spent some quality time with Slayer's Show No Mercy or Metallica's Kill Em all can't deny the impact hardcore had on the burgeoning thrash scene of the early '80s. But some time on down the line, after Scum and Reek of Putrefaction, a certain subset of the thrash underground took a sharp 180 degree turn away from the more hopeful aspirations of early h/c. Those pesky Norwegians introduced the idea of the tormented death thrash assault which dared celebrate war and blasphemy! The underground rock world was never the same again, having birthed its own Fallen One, self imposed to endless realms of torment and suicidal rage. Blah, blah, blah.

Enter Bone Awl. This Novato, Cali longhair trio plays grim thrash that's back to hXc basics and to the point, so what you got is minimal garage metal with black screech vocals over wicked first wave hardcore rhythms right out of the early Wire/Black Flag handbook. Pretty incredible when you get right down down to it. And they can do it live and make it fun to quasi slam-dance to in the process. One of the best old school sorts of live shows I've seen this year. Pretty much all their releases sound the same (good). There's an LP that's out of print (bad), but either this 5 song tape or 3 song 7" would make worthy introductions.

SunnO))) Monoliths & Dimensions (Southern Lord) - Took me a few serious appraisals, as it were, but I now know that Monoliths & Dimensions is one of the finest SunnO))) opuses to date. It spans their storied musical catalog in feel and content, yet offers something new too. This is the SunnO))) jazz record! Only not really. It's another SunnO))) record though -- as solid as granite but still somehow progressing and evolving. Attila Cishar delivers some of his most powerful vocal performances to date (anywhere) ranging from guttural spoken word to spectral chant-drone over killer molten riff doom and foundation rattling sub-bass. Perhaps the most incredible thing here is "Big Church (Megszentségteleníthetetlenségeskedéseitekért)" -- thank you, cut & paste! -- which merges the patented sludge doom with dumbfounding choral embellishments and Cishar's own remarkable bass vocal capacity. I'm reminded of an old Mirror track off their Nights LP, banished here to the deepest, darkest of realms. Quite incredible. Dig the sad, sad horns on the eulegic "Alice" (Coltrane I'm thinking - RIP) which is the closest SunnO))) has ever come to that newer, more haunted vibe of recent Earth recordings. It's something indeed. Masterpiece.

Khanate Clean Hands Go Foul (Hydrahead) LP - The people who think Sunn O))) is ridiculously monotonous would no doubt jump out the window after five minutes of Khanate ripping time-space with amps set to 11. Hell even Stephen O'Malley finally got tired of playing this unholy racket and put this beast down for good a couple years back. Khanate lasted longer than most of O'Malley's storied metal/noise ensembles though, so there was clearly something to this strangled take on tortured noise doom meets Fushitusha. No band got to the blackened heart of true doom with such psychotic intensity as these grim thrash/noise miscreants across roughly four albums.

Why even care at all, you say? Well Khanate is fucking TIGHT, man! Their songs may be slower than creeping death, but you will never find a more capable, taut, tension mounting techtonic fury to batter your ears with. So they're gone now. Clean Hands Go Foul is the posthumous swan song, and it's a monster. Present is the strangled low frequency fury of past releases and Alan Dubin's always amazing shrieking vokills, but there's something new too --an almost floating quality in the guitar textures. I'm not saying this is upbeat, but it definitely feels almost suspended in air at times, above what I don't want to know. Something black and boiling over, I'm sure. Odd to think that Khanate will actually be missed by some sick bastards.

Xasthur All Reflections Drained (Hydrahead) 2CD - Concept of art as suffering. No transcendence, no rapture. Xasthur purports to be about nothing more than willfully wallowing in suicidal despair. This is fuckin' stupid but I'm digging it anyway. All Reflections Drained is a definite improvement over Xasthur's Hydrahead debut, Defective Epitaph, and it's drearier than anything the one man (duo here with help from Striborg!) band has released since Nocturnal Poisoning. Drums are more minimal and punk influenced than on earlier recordings. Some new guy is handling vocals and "ambience." Malefic still screams to the moon in a demonic banshee wail, and his cover art remains some of the most unsettling/unique shit in the racks. You'd think it was all done to death at this point, but Xasthur continues to weave a grim spell that's hard to escape. That's kind of a bummer, though, cuz I'm pretty sure this stuff is designed to drive the listener to suicide. I got the version with a bonus CD which I'd recommend grabbing if you come across it but would only call essential to dudes who don corpse paint more than once a month and live in their mothers' basement. \m/

*Author's post-it-note-script thingy: I realize that my definitions of METAL in the above article are rather bold and contrary to what YOU and YOUR DOGMA might consider to be TRUE METAL, but in my world -- NO RULERS, NO RULES -- and if you don't like it, eat turkey, Christian skum!

Had a grand ol' time this past weekend, first down in Austin for the Castanets/Cross (formerly Warmer Milks; RIP WM!) gig. Got to catch up with some pals and rock obscure Youtube clips all night long while smoking copious amounts of...cigarettes. If you haven't heard Agony Bag, prepare yourselves! And don't just enjoy those tasty visuals, folks. Listen to the song! It rocks!

We then hightailed it over to Houston for the Dead Audio noise fest at Super Happy Fun Land. That place really is pretty incredible. The music was all knob-twiddling, semen-spurting, masturbatory fun. Came home with a big box of tapes 'n' seedeez. More on all that soon...

In this blog I get to talk about three of my current/former favorite bands/artists. And if you know me, you know I'm, like, serious.

First: I'm an old hillbilly hippie from way back. So I'd just like to take a moment to remind folks that it wasn't just the US coastal states that had a monopoly on psychedelic roots perfection in the early '70s. 'Course the use of the word "perfection" throws my whole argument off entirely, as there is no such thing, but if you listen to records like The Byrds' Notorious Byrd Bros or The Band's Music From Big Pink enough times under the right microscope you can trick yourself into thinking that these records are, indeed, perfect. That all the following musical acts in the tiny blip on the cosmic radar that is the history of man will ever only be redundant time wasters at best. That's never really true, but we buy into it all the same. There really was a time I thought I'd never hear another album as imperfectly perfect as Neil Young's Live at the Fillmore East or The Basement Tapes again.

Then I heard this.

Doug Sahm is undeniably one of the very best rockers to ever come from the state of Texas or the US in general. None understood the hypnotic power of a repetitive mind-licking extended jam more thoroughly than Sahm and his guys (whoever they might be on any given night) in the 70s. On this night in 1972 Sir Doug's got some of the coolest cats around lending their skills, including legends like Leon Russell, Jerry and Phil from The Dead and Benny Thurman from the 13th Floor Elevators. The two and a half hour set is comprised mostly of covers from Bill Monroe and Hank to Bo Diddley and The Byrds and so many more. It totally rocks like a motherfucker. I mean this is better than The Basement Tapes. Not kidding. The sound is a little "eh". but it wont be an issue once you get about 2 songs in. This is the holy. Courtesy of The Adios Lounge. Enjoy!

Man I sure dig me some Yo La Tengo. Back in the '90s I thought they could do no wrong. Then I lost interest some in more recent times but still dig a lot of their stuff and own it too."Here to Fall" from the upcoming Popular Songs sounds like a return to classic form if ever there was one. Sweet sister soul strings! Courtesy of Arthur. Downloadable too!

Addendum: Here's a kick ass video for the same song directed by Jim McSwain; first in a series of five. Love the con trail kaleidascopes! (Double click that sucker to get the full aspect ratio.)

And now we return to the imperfection of the universe. The only real constants seem to be entropy, transformation, a frittering kind of precariousness that our minds like to misconstrue as perfection hanging from a thread. Music, film, paintings -- reflections of the truths that are collapsing and building up in and out of us all the time. This may have something to do with why I think "perfect sounding" music is mostly total shit, or at least fraudulent, which could further speak to why i so profoundly appreciate the music of The Dead C. It seems to embody some of these stoned pseudo-philosophical ruminations of mine. Much of who or what The Dead C is still remains a mystery to most, but this sweet video interview with live bits offers some fascinating clues. Watch and learn, kiddies. From Live TV Eye via Ned R. on Facebook.

Happy Summer-time, folkies. Kindly cast your eyes over here if you have not done so as of yet. I have been strangely obsessed with this video ever since first catching a random glimpse a few days back. It manages to invoke images of Summer complete with splotches of bright lights reflecting off the inner lids. So much glorious cymbal crash! Not sure Madonna ever sounded better, though the selection of this particular song for paying tribute almost seems cosmically fated to yours truly. Set that baby to full-screen, volume to max and blast off. MTV used to be really cool. Now I don't know what it is. No fuckin' idea.

4 Psimple Psaucers for Psummer

Cave Psychic Psummer (Important) - Besides inspiring the title of this here little piece, Chicago's Cave delivers propulsive post Kraut head boogie for those of us who like our disco jams a little less synthetic. Psychic Psummer is a rambunctious blast of galloping beats, pulsing synth, vocal howls and good old fashioned fist-pumping rock 'n' roll that should appeal to fans of Oneida, the Moog, LSD (figuratively speaking, of course!) and blazing hot sun.

White Hills Heads on Fire (Thrill Jockey) - New York's White Hills has been kicking up a dusty racket in the psych underground for a few years now, and I've never been disappointed by any of the uber-limited CD-Rs or tapes I've been lucky enough to hear. In fact I been downright head-smashed and blown away. Then came Thrill Jockey's beautiful reissue of this '07 masterwork, and my skull separated from the rest of my body and went into permanent orbit. You'd be hard pressed to find a more masterful blast of guitar saturated space punk than what's displayed across Heads on Fire from start to finish. Sun kissed head brilliance that lands somewhere between classic Hawkwind and Sabbath but sounds totally in the now and benefits greatly from a rhythm section that kicks mucho ass whether cracking through the earth's crust or gently levitating over its magma sea.

The Sand Pebbles A Thousand Wild Flowers (Double Feature) - Holy shit! I thought these guys were long gone. They released a humdinger of a debut for the esteemed Camera Obscura label some years back and then the followup never came. Never till now, and My Gods, it has been worth the wait! A Thousand Wild Flowers is THE QUINTESSENTIAL SUMMER JAM! You will be hard-pressed to find a more rollicking, vivid, alive, hummable rock tour-de-force in this or any other Summer. Don't know what it is really, but where that first album was the work of young upstarts with a knowing pedigree and capable chops, Wild Flowers is the work of psych punk overlords operating at full capacity. Many a fave are evoked across the span of its 60 plus min expanse: Velvet Underground (always), Television, XTC, Spacemen 3, hell, even The Clean, yet throughout The Sand Pebbles maintain a ridiculously infectious sound that's entirely their own. Features a searing twin guitar front and lyrical content that strikes just the right balance between mind-swept psychedelic oblivian and orgasmic sexual revelry. It's a psych punk bliss out!

Black Sun Ensemble Across The Sea Of Id: The Way To Eden (Camera Obscura) - Funny thing - there's a song on the above Sand Pebbles album that's actually entitled "Black Sun Ensemble." I can only take this as homage, and it's fitting. If ever there was a band devoted to getting cooked in the desert it's Tucson's Black Sun Ensemble. This most recent CD from the long-running psych ensemble finds them returinng all the way back to 1985 and their self released/titled debut in style and tone with lead guitarist Jesus Aceda smearing his acid fried electric leads over a languid folk rock backdrop to brilliant effect. This is BSE in mellow/subdued mood with slight effects hovering over wind-swept dunes of the southwest in the lotus position. A fine soundtrack for watching the sun go down (or disappear entirely).

I'd also like to acknowledge the passing of two icons of my youth. You know which ones, Farrah and Michael. Sky Saxon too, though I wasn't really aware of him when I was a little squirt. I'm not the biggest Kevin Smith fan, but this is kinda sweet.

Now...camera pix of fireworks!

Note to self: Do not get busted for murder in the twilight of life. Mug shot may resemble a popular character from the Lord of the Rings. That being said, "River Deep, Mountain High," baby!


Just a few more tidbits I wanted to pass on: I was honored to finally get to see Will Oldham via his Bonnie Prince Billy guise in a live setting. Pretty sure the last time he came through the DFW area was well over 10 years ago and maybe 16 folks turned out for the event, and I wasn't one of them. This time he was treated like royalty with a packed house at the Granada, an old converted movie theater/performance space complete with balcony. Will seemed impressed and in good spirits. Two surreal moments: walking by Oldham and his band sprawled out on a carpet in the parking lot behind The Granada, Oldham dressed in matching orange t-shirt and shorts with pink socks, discussing the merits of the film, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants; realizing that the disheveled barefoot drummer playing with his band is actually Jim White of the Dirty Three, one of the finest impressionistic skin doctors on the live stage today. The set was phenomenal, drawing from 15 years of releases, with heavy emphasis on the recent Guilty (Palace). Worth every bit of the $15 entry fee, though The Howling Hex disappointed a bit with its stripped down three piece folk blues thing. Gimme mo boogie, Neil. Here's a great live clip of the last song (pics and video courtesy of Granada Theater).


Two days later, Portland's Wolves in the Throne Room delivered exactly what was expected at Rubber Gloves -- 90 mins of epic ether-slashing trance metal. Here's one of those bands that's a bit of a one trick pony, sure, but they still somehow manage to be true, to rock hard with an unsettling drone undercurrent that can only be described as metalgaze, which is in fact a real genre, though very few of its practitioners have really captured my imagination the way Wolves have. "A Looming Resonance" from the recent Malevolent Grain EP is one of the finest examples of this "metalgaze" I've come across yet, but it was not played this night, sad to say. Awesome track though. Also got to see Vorvadoss opening, and Embolization, two different bands sharing the same rhythm section. Vorvadoss are all screamy blackened prog thrash (but don't tell 'em I said that!), while Embolization is more a back to basics blackened thrash sort of trio with cool metal songs about bad acid trips. Darkthrone loving potheads will love it.

Oh yeah, Thurston Moore is a black metal fan. What a shock! Not really. Here's an amusing/informative Q&A with Master Moore, courtesy of Decibel Magazine, in which he explains why black metal is better than death metal and ties it all together thematically while namedropping some of my faves of the genre in the process.


And: Cool to see Yeti back in action with #7 of the esteemed mag (which is as thick as a brick) hitting the shelves at all cool record stores everywhere. Interviews/articles on Jim Woodring (his The Frank Book is the best surrealist coffee-table book I've come across), Abner Jay, Jack Rose, Wooden Shjips, the great writer, Rudy Wurlitzer (responsible for the screenplay of one of my favorite movies, Two Lane Blacktop, among many other counter-cultural oddities). The included CD is chock-full of psychedelic 'n' weird punk 'n' blues including Jay, The Great Unwashed, Grouper, Eternal Tapestry and so on. Essential reading and listening here, folks!


And also: Thanks for the promos! Rest assured they will all (mostly) get their proper due here, but right now it's just me that covers it all so bear with and thanks for your patience! More importantly, thanks for the music!


And also also: I love me some Tiny Mix Tapes, with its diverse and informative coverage of alt sights and sounds from all over. Recent interviews with such Womblife approved tone-makers as Grouper, Akron/Family -- love the new one, boys! -- and La Otracina (among others) prove that their hearts and heads are in the right place.


And also also also: Want to give a shout-out here to Ft Worth musician/journalist Ken Shimamoto, who I bonded with a couple months back at the No Idea fest over a passionate Stooges discussion. This was right after Ron Asheton had died. Come to find "what ya know?", Ken is guitarist in a Stooges cover band called Stoogeaphelia and a more Kraut-inspired psych improve unit called Pffft that kicks mucho butt as well. He recently wrote this very fine round up of DFW area weird sounds circa now which delves deeply into a lot of the local musicians and haunts I've been digging on lately. Published in Ft. Worth Weekly. He also writes great articles about other things of interest musically speaking, including the blues, Miles, P-Funk and more on his Myspace blog. Highly recommendable reading!


What else, seen a few more movies recently and have this to report: Up is great, a visual wonder to behold and a sweet ode to friendship and adventure. Gotta love Ed Asner in anything at all. Drag Me to Hell is the most wild thing Sam Raimi and his brother have done since Army of Darkness, though it's closer to the early Evil Dead movies in tone and execution. See it on a big screen so the Dolby sound system can tear your face off! Thumbs up, indeed! And what about this odd little bio-pic, What We Do Is Secret? It's a faithful telling of the story of Darby Crash and his Germs that never bites off more than it can chew. Modest but effecting, and ultimately it just might be one of the best narrative rock movies to come down the chute in a decade. You decide and stuff.

Just when you thought shit couldn't get any weirder, something like this happens. I love you, Bruno! I'd also like to wish Bret Michaels all the best, but then he has gotten up from harder falls, hasn't he?

Had a groovy old time this past week, catching Sir Richard Bishop and his fabulous Freak of Araby Ensemble out at Rubber Gloves in Denton with help from great local big band guitar groaners Violent Squid and the blistering percussion/guitar/voice onslaught of the mighty Oaxacan, also serving double duty as Bishop's backing band, The Freak of Araby Ensemble! Was also a pleasure to finally meet and drink with one Kelly Burnette, after having conversed with him via email, Facebook and other e-means over the last 5 or 6 years. Two cool clips of a longer piece from later in the Bishop gig:

...and here are a few more clips I've loaded up to the Youtube channel in recent weeks, including...
Metal Rouge at The Firehouse
Anvil Salute also at The Firehouse
The Renderers at End of an Ear/SXSW

Oh yeah, I totally love the new Soundtrack of Our Lives double album, Communion. Get hip! More reviews are coming very, very, very soon. Till then watch this groovy interview with Bardo Pond by the master of acid himself, Brother JT!

To quote a dear friend, Mr. Wall of Sound is goin' down. Phil Spector gets 19 years to life for the second degree murder of actress Lana Clarkson. No one's really shocked at this point, are they?

I recommend all readers of this here blog see the movie Anvil! The Story of Anvil. The movie makes its Dallas premier tonight, complete with a band Q & A and live performance(!) at The Magnolia. I've already seen it and can say it's just as funny and moving as you've heard. Don't dwell on the Spinal Tap comparisons which are not entirely fair, though they do make for a wise marketing scheme. Maybe it's the likeness between Anvil drummer's name, Robb Reiner, and original Spinal Tap director, Rob Reiner, that has so many reviewers subconsciously dubbing Anvil the real life Spinal Tap, or maybe it's the fact that lead guitarist Steve "Lips" Ludlow likes to play his guitar with a giant dildo. Whatever the reason, Reiner is an amazing drummer, and from the moment Lemmy dubs them "a great band" and "good guys" I'm pretty much hooked. These people are real and their story is genuinely moving. Some bits may have been staged, but that's OK -- ever seen an Errol Morris movie? I was more reminded of The Wrestler during a couple of the slower/sadder passages. And yes, I downloaded Metal on Metal as soon as it was over, but I feel like a bastard for not actually paying for a copy from the band's website. Kudos to director Sacha Gervasi for kicking this one out of the coliseum. Added bonus: He's a Hawkwind fan!

** Addendum: Attended the premier tonight, saw the band play and met them. Rawk!

*** Second Addendum: Can't help but wonder if Anvil isn't one one of the bands Fenriz is hailing in the Darkthrone anthem, "Canadian Metal."


Speaking of movies, seen a few lately and looking forward to seeing a few more. Eagerly anticipating Bruno, Drag Me To Hell, Up, The Road (which doesn't open till Autumn) and more, too (Where the Wild Things Are, anyone?). The Star Trek reboot gets my vote, though I think it might have been just a bit over-praised at this point. I'm a Lost fan, too, so I guess I can understand the mega-enthusiasm that greeted its release. Terminator Salvation at least looks great but is ultimately a disappointment, yet still a beautiful heavy metal action juggernaut of a disappointment that should be seen on a big screen. A reluctant robo-mechanical thumbs up.

Trying to decide what to do tonight: Bob Log at Club Dada, or Anvil at the Magnlolia, or noise show (Lychgate/Venison Whirled/Xasthax/etc) at Wasted Words House in Arlington... We shall see.

And finally, as you've probably heard at this point, St. Louis electronic dronegazer Joe Raglani recently had all his gear stolen. This happened just after he played the No Fun Fest in Brooklyn. We're talking thousands of dollars worth of stuff mostly tweaked/assembled by Raglani himself over the years. Irreplaceable. Kvist, his label (which released the excellent Web of Light LP) has set up a donations page at their site to benefit Raglani and musician Steve Hauschildt, who also had his gear stolen. Tomorrow night there's sldo a benefit concert being put on at White Flags, which Raglani himself will be playing (I assume on borrowed equipment):

"For the first four months of this year, local electronic musician Joe Raglani (Kranky Records, 2008 RFT Experimental Musician of the Year) prepared for his first cross-country tour by selling off multiple pieces of equipment and much of his music library, relentlessly producing and recording new material, and scheduling and booking the tour by himself. With the funds, he bought three vintage synths and two new amplifiers, put together some tour-only CDs and tee-shirts, and rented a van, presuming the tour would pay for itself and give him enough money to get home.

In the early morning of Sunday, May 16th, one night after playing a set at the No Fun Fest in Brooklyn, Joe stepped away from the van to get some food, and a professional thief broke in and stole nearly $10K worth of equipment, much of it custom-tweaked, which took over a decade to assemble. This included the laptop onto which Joe had ripped much of the music he'd sold to buy the synths and amps, which were among the gear stolen. Caught in the act while loading the last piece of equipment into his car, the thief tried to run Joe over. When Joe told the cops that he wasn't able to get a license plate number because of this, they laughed.

This Saturday, May 30th, we will attempt to redress this wrong as best we can, in the only appropriate way: by throwing a big party.

DJS SCHEDULED TO APPEAR SO FAR:
GHOST ICE
ASHLEY VULTURE (ATOMIC COWBOY)
D-GRETS (FOUND FUTURE, UPSTAIRS LOUNGE)
RAGLANI (THE VICTIM)
MATT LEACH (DIRTY MONEY, UPSTAIRS LOUNGE)
ONE VISION
JOHN TAMM-BUCKLE

SPINNING EVERYTHING FROM GARAGE ROCK TO MINIMAL SYNTH, NEW WAVE TO NEW JACK SWING, ELECTRO AND DUB TO HAPPY HARDCORE AND IDM.

SCHLAFLY KEGS, CUP INCLUDED IN DOOR FEE; $1 CANS FROM STEVE POWERS' POUR BOX. RAFFLE, DONATED ARTWORK AND MERCH.

MAY 30th, 9PM @ WHITE FLAG PROJECTS . $10-$15 STRONGLY SUGGESTED DONATION (IT'S A BENEFIT, Y'ALL).
spookyinfo@gmail.com FOR MORE INFO, OR TO VOLUNTEER SERVICES, ARTWORK, OR SUGGESTIONS."

Happy Mothers day to all the Moms out thur. Courtesy of a fellow Facebooker (think Matador)...

Mother
Uploaded by fibbox - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more.