Sunburned Hand of the Man - Chinese Perfume (Manhand CD-R)

Before discussion of the main topic, Chinese Perfume, a brief bit of sham(eless)/(ful)/(anistic) digressing into the land of self promotion. My band, Herons, has finally released their first CD-R, Chillo Pillo, on our own Heronic Records. It's in a limited edition of 50, and features "6 tracks in 35 minutes of bliss/dementia." Pretty droney, exploratory stuff. Slow-moving cause it has to be, y'know? Anyway, if you're interested in checking it out or want to arrange getting a copy just leave a comment on this post or over at the old Myspacerooski. They're only $5 ppd. Trades are cool too. Also, if I've said a package is on its way, it is, we're just waiting a little longer for the next release so we can cram it with more goodies. Right-ho, on to the good stuff.

In keeping up with the one-Sunburned-a-month pace I seem to have ascribed to, this time around I present a disc which I'm sure has already become yet another member of the vaults of Sunburneds past. I just can't keep up with these guys. Why bother trying, you ask? Because it's a thankless world I recide in, that's why. Anyway, Chinese Perfume is in some ways a real return to form for these guys. Featuring many of the group's usual heavy hitters--Sarah O'Shea, Paul Labrecque, Taylor Richardson, Ron Schneiderman, John Moloney and Rob Thomas--the crew is augmented here by Goz, who apparently is a roadie or something for them. He's credited with vocals and presence, and I'm not sure which it was (perhaps both), but it worked: this is a sprawling Sunburned psych-out jammer that goes most every direction the group can and slays the whole trip through.

The album kicks off--no, scrath that, is spawned from--the opener, "Intimate Woodwork." This creepy number is pretty noisy, all electronics and strange grunting. Dark powers are afoot here, brothers. Actually, it's a pretty off-putting opening number. It doesn't really go much of anywhere for its almost eight minutes, just blubbering around in some weird cauldron as bizarre ghouls circle around and cry out as they operate some pretty heavy duty machinery. Grim stuff.

The next number, "Remote Dickhead Parachute," moves things a bit closer to where they will stay the rest of the album. It's all zoned out psych here, repetitive grooves continuing on into the fog, slowly shifting without losing its rhythmic underbelly. "Night Exam" explores similar, if even psychier territory a la earlier treats like Jaybird or Wild Animal. That signature Rob Thomas bass work, elastic and unendingly taut, keeps the whole thing grounded for strange vocalizations and warm guitar journeys. The following "Chestpain Serenade" is merely a gong being hit and allowed to reverberate, a trend which will reappear throughout the album like the ding at the end of a page in one of those follow along books from yesteryear.

"Iron Language Captive" starts off with Sarah looping some little cry before things go further out with the addition of deeper ramblings from beneath. Drones emit from the deep as percussion rattles along before building into "The Fix is On." Here, Sunburned channel their inner Hawkwind with foreboding spoken word over the percussive workouts of Moloney. This is some serious stuff, you know, "sonic attack on your system" style. Really the meat of the album, it chugs along at a rapid pace that evolves seamlessly, (if not seemlessly). "Convulsion Parody" continues the jams with some jungle style funk, hopping along as snake sounds go by and guitar meanders along the canyons. Like if Funkadelic soundtracked "Heart of Darkness" or something. "Virgin Swirl" is pretty krautrocky stuff, not too far off from Neu! realms; you know, all forward looking, drive into the endless horizon material.

Really, I could go on about any and all of these tracks. The thing is all over the map, 73 minutes of weirdo out-there mind bending stuff. Hell, "Mango Panorama" sounds like a 60s soul band playing right above La Monte Young's explorations in white noise. They'll be grooving along before out of nowhere static takes control for a few clicks before dissipating again. Pop music on Planet Sunburned. The title track really burns along: twelve and a half minutes of percussive heavy rockin with siren like screams and all over the map guitar and electronics lines. The group really has their shit together on this one, and when we finally hear that last bell chime we feel better for it. Or at least weirder. Grab it if you can though, it's limited to 100 copies and sounds great--still can't believe this one was a live show.

Shepherds - Bush Babies (DNT Records 7")

Finally moving on from that show which I've been talking about for way too long (thanks for the patience, by the way), this time with a 7" I've been meaning to review for a while now. Shepherds is a duo comprised of Jeremy Earl of Woods and Meneguar fame, and G. Lucas Crane of Non-Horse and the Vanishing Voice. So these guys theoretically know what they're doing.

I'd heard alot about these dudes, how it was a sort of weird melding of tape work and free jazz stuff, but to tell you the truth I was hesitant at first. Vanishing Voice isn't exactly my cup of tea see--I don't know what it is but something about that whole neo-hippie woodsy thing sort of turns me off. Probably haven't given them that fair a chance I suppose... but man, to my ears this is nothing like that material. The 7" is comprised of one track split over the two sides, and is really just one whole weird horn and drum driven slayer of a track. Not really sure who plays what, so let's focus on the sounds shall we?

The whole thing opens with these weird horn lines which I reckon are sampled and looped rather than actually played (after all, it is only two guys). The drums come in all skittery before taking on more of a thumping pulse, elastic and driving (quickly to nowhere I might add), guiding the strange interweaving horn drone created underneath. Doesn't sound that far afield from the work of Don Cherry circa Eternal Rhythm, only this time he's jamming with La Monte Young while some ex-punk drummer who discovered African approaches (come on, there's gotta be someone like that out there, right? any takers?) sits on the whole thing and let's it ride. Weird squawking blips fade in and out, riding over the mess of horniness (cheap, I know). It all sounds like a tympani player hearkening an army of philharmonic members as they tune up.

Every once in a while a group comes along that presents a truly new approach, and Shepherds is definitely one of them. These duos--Blues Control or Binges--have an element of control in their minimalist personnel listings which allows for a serious amount of communication between the two. It never once sounds like the duo is trying to hold the sound together. They are clearly always in control, and the music is more confident for it.

Take the quick turn into more ambient territory at the end of side one, the drums thundering into the distance as it fades out. Side two fades back in, this time rebuilding the whole thing from where it left off as organ swells fade in and out and weird electronic bat cries bounce off the walls. It's drone, I guess, but this is hardly the dark work that so many bands but out. This is celebratory and tribal stuff. Maybe it's the way the drums hold it all together, giving it drive in much the same way that Dead C might use them. With a beat this sure, anything can happen underneath.

As the trumpet lines, which may be samples or merely prerecorded (if so, more power to them--the work is quite nice), weave back into the mix, riding high above the thick tangle of lines beneath, I really can't help but think of Bitches Brew or something similar, though in actuality it's nothing like that. Still, the lonely melancholy of the horn line tears across the undergrowth, a kind of blue light above the cavern. It's beautiful stuff, full of excitement and willing to inhabit whichever space or mood it leads itself into. The tape work elaborately fades the piece out as piece after piece is removed until it's just piano and trumpet, drumless, and finally the last tinklings of the old ivories. A beauty, and a swell package to boot.

Shapeshift - Inna Basement Style (Maim & Disfigure CD-R)

Of the two Maim & Disfigure releases I picked up at that show (of which, I might add, this is the last you will be hearing), this was the one that really intrigued me. Zac said it was a collaboration between him, James Ferraro of the Skaters, Karl Bauer (aka Axolotl) and this other guy named Phil who was at the show in Albany but didn't play. Sounds like one hell of a super group, right? Well, no actually. I'll explain in a minute.

The name of the group, from what I gathered at the show, has got to have something to do with reptoids, whose shapeshifting properties were digressed upon for some time in Jack's living room (it was decided Oprah was queen). Weird part is I think they all were mostly joking except for James, who might actually be down with this whole reptoid conspiracy. More power to him I guess.

So when Zac laid the personnel on me for this one, I thought it really couldn't be better. Hell, Ferraro and Bauer together holds all sorts of potential, and I definitely dig Davis' guitar work in most any setting, speaking of shapeshifting. When I threw it on though, I became a bit of a believer as to this whole shapeshift thing. Was this the wrong disc? Definitely not, two other people had it too. Instead of the power electronics, blissed out drones and sludged mayhem, this was some weird group jam complete with bass, drums, guitar and only sometimes (very) minimal electronic work. But mostly not. Really, it's the last place I imagined this would end up, as if the whole lot of them decided to drop this noise nonsense and become some kind of feel-good summer jam outfit.

The whole thing is made up of two untitled tracks. No idea who plays what except that it's safe to say that's Zac on ye olde geetar. Other than that, what the hell's going on? Axolotl on maracas, Ferraro on bass, and Phil on trapset? God knows what instrumentation has coincided to create this strange loping groove session, which is about as aimless as Cheney on a quail hunt. At one point they really seem to be getting down when the bassist slides into some sort of ska dub thing, holding it down while the percussion stutter-steps around him. They hold it together as Zac comes in with a one note Neil Young homage sans attitude. At its best, it sounds like some kind of B-quality Can cover band, but overall it's pretty tired and amateurish stuff.

Yet try as I might, I can't bring myself to truly hate this disc, perhaps for the very reason stated above. The two cuts are clearly from the same take, and what it really sounds like is a few friends who have maybe been on tour a bit too long playing harsh noise and have gathered together to cool their jets over some mindless meandering jamz. About halfway through the second track, Zac says something like "that was twenty minutes of that shit" to which Phil replies, "oh my god" in disbelief. Which I guess let's you know that this really is exactly what it says it is. A drastic shift in shape as evidenced inna basement. Style. I guess we'll just have to keep waiting for the legit collab between these guys, and when it does come, I have yet to lose faith that it will kill. Reptoid drone, anyone? You heard it here first.

N.B.: Zac got in touch with me and corrected me on the personnel. Turns out it's actually only Zac playing guitar for about 3 minutes. "dr phil plays most of the leads, james and i play hand drums as well as karl (no trap kit on the disc), james plays bass and keys and so does karl....." I stand corrected.

Demons w/ Zac Davis - For Joy Rd (Maim & Disfigure CD-R)

Here's another one from that show that happened too long ago for me to still be writing about it. Hey, at least we've moved on to a different label, right? Ok, it's getting too drawn out, I know. It's almost over though, I promise.

This one is from Zac Davis' Maim & Disfigure label, a crude as fuck operation featuring unlabeled CD-Rs in paste on xerox covers. Sure, it looks half-assed, but truth be told this is really Zac's whole aesthetic approach. Lambsbread couldn't be a scummier sound, and really the guy seems all about rough and raw stoned out shit. As mentioned before (I think, it was so long ago really...) the only prop on the stage when Davis hit the amps was a hand held bong. Pretty much sums up the whole approach, I think.

I picked up a few things from Zac this go around, opting out on the Lambsbread material in hope for some different approaches. This one was a sure snag in my book. It was the last copy he had left of this Demons collab, Demons being the killer analog synth duo of Steve Kenney and Nate Young. Come to think of it, this means I've managed to review all three Wolf Eyes guys without touching on that group's material once. Not a bad accomplishment, I dare say. The album is four tracks, though the first three might actually just be the same performance cut up, and this is some scuzzy shit, all dirty, raw energy. Davis' guitar really does slay--whereas he resisted on that Graveyards release he played on, he really throws it down on this, ripping his guitar to shreds like Arto Lindsay on, well, dope. Meanwhile, Demons are synthing away in the background, creating some kind of Lake Michigan cesspool for Davis to skim his way over.

The whole thing is clearly Zac's show until about minute fifteen. At this point he backs off a bit and lets Demons show their stuff, highlighting their spaced out noise approach with feedback and grating, string-tearing shards of glass. Sometimes he gets his axe to sound like a sax, warm and mellow before gurgling back with a few pounds of ugly. It's these moments that really made the whole thing for me on this one. Weird spacious bubbling atmospheres--swamp music. You can see the green slime sputtering and hear the acid eating away at the bottom of your wooden vessel. Really nice stuff that highlights just how musically sensitive one can be to musical insensitivity. Ghostly stuff when it comes together.

The grating returns shortly though, and from there out it's back to the all out brawl, like a battle of the bands between two groups playing at the same time, in the same basement, through the same amps. Demons' slower approach does manage to tie Zac down a bit, but Zac's smart enough to let the contrast between his playing and theirs be the tension, tearing it all down as the synths just sit there and stutter along. It's like Zac's the rabbit and Demons are the hare, only before the jog they did some bong rips and listened to LAFMS together. It's a friendlier race for it.

After the first three tracks, the album's pretty much over. But I really have to mention the fourth "track." I told you this stuff was crude, but dig this. Whoever was recording this whole thing must have literally put the recorder next to some shitty radio station playing some lame-o T.I. or 50 Cent cut and just let the whole thing happen. Half way through, the guy actually moves it closer so we can hear it even better. Needless to say, it's as unexpected an end as one could hope for. Strangely effective at helping the come-down though... and just plain strange.

Dolphins Into the Future - Voyage Series Pt. 2 (Self Released CD-R)

Here's another one I snagged at the Skaters show. This was the one act I hadn't heard anything about going into the night, but when the time came Alex Murphy--update: not Alex Murphy but Lieven Martens, my bad...--sure showed everyone there what they were missing out on. Sitting at a table all dignified like, the guy, armed with a few tape machines, some loop machines/sampling keyboards, and maybe a few other trinkets, created the weirdest little world of repeating echolocation wails and bobbing row boat rhythms. sometimes he'd just let the whole thing sit for a minute before reaching back down to grab one of about fifty tapes lying on the floor. Half were white and half were black, and I assume that meant something but me thinks that's for the Dolphin's eyes only. Needless to say, the whole thing was enticing enough to snag the only thing he had available, a cheapo unlabeled CD in a clear case with a picture and track listing inside (sorry, the bag and CD created too much glare for the photo, so you only get the ocean scene). Believe it or not, this was the fanciest item there aside from Ferraro's girlfriend's thing.

The track listing on the back suggests that the album chronicles some kind of journey, albeit one that starts on Day 7 and is followed by Day 4. Must be how come it's part of the voyage series, no? If this is a trip though, it seems more like one inside the ol' noggin than out on the roaring seas. Track one truly follows the rhythms (or shall we say riddims?) of the waves as long hollow buoy sounds bounce against each other inadvertently. A funny little whistle riff repeats overhead as the aforementioned wails of large undersea mammals beckon immensities into the overall creation.

After the first nine minute excursion (the longest on the album), the whole thing settles into a kind of trance inducing pace, as if all of nature, including that seashell necklace you're wearing, has for a moment united into one strange, hobbling rhythmic structure of aimless shimmer. Not to over do the ocean metaphors, but it all sounds as if your floating on your back over some rainbow colored coral reef, only you're looking at your back from below and the light's shining through the water and everything is all glisteny. Only sometimes you remember just how deep it gets, or you run into some strange crustacean that reminds you that this is a much more complex realm than it feels. Really beautiful stuff, minimal stuff, not far off from something like Eno's "The Big Ship," especially on tracks six and seven, which at the heart of the album really represent the potential that this guy has. Track seven could serve as some kind of underwater Mario level, except its far too ethereal and intricately balanced for that.

Murphy's trick is to never let too much happen, and even the kalimba and other percussive elements are used in such a way so as to completely intertwine themselves with the back porch lulling that the whole thing suggests. Not one organ note or tape sample sounds out of place from the whole of each miniature piece, most of which clock in at no more than three minutes. Hell, half of them are under a minute, like taking a really close peak at one reef shrimp or sting ray before swimming on.

Really, all of this kind of demeans the effectiveness of the album. The whole thing is deeply intricate and well constructed, and in a world where people too often try to blow you away Murphy clearly is confident enough in the sound he's after that he'll take his time getting you there. That said, this would be the soundtrack to my yacht trip through the Great Barrier Reef. I know the water metaphors are tedious, espeically what with the project being called Dolphins Into the Future and all, but really, find it and listen. The whole thing is echoey underwater stuff, part Cousteau score, part island jam, part field recording (only really, none of the above). I don't know where to find this, or whether or not the Voyage Series even has a first part, but it's a journey I'd like to continue, straight on into the deep. Flippers required.

Check out his myspace for more info. Added bonus: killer psychedelic Alf art work on it. Worth the price of admission alone.

James Ferraro - Edward Flex Presents: Maui Black Out/Liquid Bikini (New Age Tapes / Pacific City Studios CD-R)

Yet another period of non-posting has passed (sorry, again) and another James Ferraro solo release slated for review. This one is the only other Skaters item I was able to snag at that show I've already discussed too much but why not beat a dead horse right? It already being dead and all...

Edward Flex Presents: Maui Black Out/Liquid Bikini is, like Roach Motel, a crudely packaged, crudely produced, and just plain crude sounding trip into the metal riffage alien lands of Mr. Ferraro. Really, the ripped 80s muscle maiden next to the Budweiser can on the cover says it all--Ferraro's universe continues to be a steroid infused party world. Hard rocking pummel sessions spin themselves over and over as voices repeat "go" (or some similarly fist-pumping phrase) ad infinitum while pauses in the sound lead to further digressions, some of them featuring odd scraping percussion over weird funky bass riffs while others sound like the score to a cop show that I might actually be interested in seeing.

It just occurred to me that at the show Spencer described his own sound as "coconut drone," which really was right on the mark. But he might have nailed it even harder in calling Ferraro's breed "cyber tropical." Like some weird Bacchanalian beach party twenty-five million light years directly above Cancun and in whatever year featured similar aesthetic sensibilities to our own 1986.

This one actually got the Tip of the Tongue treatment over at Volcanic Tongue not too long ago, and it isn't really hard to see why. Whereas Roach Motel seemed like an exploration of this certain sound, Edward Flex Presents: Maui Black Out/Liquid Bikini shows Ferraro hitting his stride. If he was hanging at the tiki lounge before, now he's bartending. I guess.

I know I'm spending a lot of time discussing the overall sound and avoiding getting into specifics. In my defense it's no cop-out; this is wiley stuff that jumps all over the map. The feel is unified, but the 71 minute track goes all over the place. Sometimes there's minimal stuff with humming electronics, monkey sounds, weird droning high-pitched mayhem. Vocals are fairly regular in some form or another. But really the only constant is the party feel and the kinetic nature of the whole thing. It never sits in one place too long, like David Hasselhoff at a kegger. Are those dogs in the background or just boozed up knuckleheads imitating seals? Or both?

I guess what's really exciting about this stuff is that Ferraro, a staple of the contemporary noise and drone scene, has taken a chance with these records, and it sure doesn't seem like he's breaking a sweat over it either. Without missing a beat, the guy has created a sound that only he could pull off. Whereas too many noise/drone guys seem to hide behind a similar drone style that they may or may not be too scared and/or capable of drifting from, Ferraro creates an aesthetic that is solely his, and like it or not you have to admit that he has a pretty serious grasp on the approach.

As of late, Ferraro's been doing soundtracks to bad (or even non-existent) movies, and this kind of thing fits right in. Perfect stuff to pump when I'm cruising down the strip in my red Camaro. Hell, I might even pass as legit.

On second thought, probably not.

Lamborghini Crystal - Roach Motel (New Age Tapes / Pacific City Studios CD-R)

So in my last post I mentioned the show I went to in Albany, but obviously didn't go into too many details. I guess I'll update here. Basically, the show was amazing. Shall I go into greater depth? I believe I shall.

It opened with Burnt Hills (albeit in a slightly stripped down line-up) which is always a blast. Got there late but from what I could tell, even the smaller set up had some serious blastitude potential. Spencer Clark of The Skaters went next with some nice loping "coconut drone"--his term, not mine, but really its the most apt description I can come up with. The guy was like the Huckleberry Finn (or Rick Danko, if you need your analogies based in reality) of drone, wide brim straw hat, dangling necklace, incense out the wazoo. Just hunched over his minimal equipment set up. Truly nuts. After that James Ferraro, also of The Skaters, lay down his gurggling dronescape aided by his lovely assistant who lit incense, displayed a mighty saber, and contributed some nice vocalizations. After that Zac Davis of Lambsbread, Traum, and the Maim & Disfigure label had a ten minute solo guitar sesh that went from stoner rock mayhem to psuedo-No Wave weirdness. His prop set up included--actually, no, was limited to--a bong. It fit. Post Zac came a guy I had never heard of who went under the moniker Dolphins into the Future. This thing was serious actually. Very quiet, meditative loop stuff. Patience was big here, and the multitude of tapes lying on the floor, every so often replacing others, kept it moving at a glacial but beautifully minimal pace. This all in time for James and Spencer to unite and become the powers that are The Skaters. Could their set have done anything but slayed? Me thinks nay.

Of course the best part about the whole night was that there were about eight people their who weren't playing, so between sets we all hung out and discussed the finer points of Reptoids (Oprah is the queen it turns out), analog vs. digital video, and Chuck E. Cheese's. My wallet was empty by the time they were done with me.

One of the items I was able to score was this Lamborghini Crystal album. This is one of the solo projects of James Ferraro, and it wasn't really what I was expecting from the set he played at the show. Whereas the live scenario was a mammoth drone, Roach Motel is really more of a collage work. About an hour long, the whole thing stinks of beer and hookers--all heavy eighties guitar riffs mixed and looped until they become nothing more than a heaping concoction of post-concert fatigue. If you haven't seen Heavy Metal Parking Lot see it. If you have, it might look a lot like this afterwards. Bass riffs come in, drum machines lurch along, and looped vocals pulled from radio/James/wherever repeat and meld, bending underneath the riffs as the whole thing undulates back and forth. Really weird stuff.

At first I was little thrown off by this, but actually the effect really works, and it's clear James has an acute understanding of what he's doing. As the chaos of this stuff emerges and engages with itself it all becomes some kind of warped cultural amalgamation turning into some cosmic beast. Almost like what it might sound like if you were to listen to all of Earth's radio waves at once as they sped off towards the sun.

The whole thing is about an hour and is one track, so it makes for a pretty serious listen. Sometimes the riffs fade out and are replaced by new ones either related or not to the previous. The second half contains almost no riffs at all, just tonal workout sessions or droning warmth undercut by harsh static. All of this makes for an affair that, as a whole, is mind-numbing something good. Grating enough to keep your interest but zonked out enough to allow you to slip in and out.

The fact that this thing is a single side seems to point towards some kind of conception. The first half, all metal riffage, beer guzzling and primitivo percussion, really paves the way for a second half in which he can really explore some deep crevices of sound. And really that's what the release is, you know? Fully formed and masterfully executed formations of sound. Pretty daunting. Super good.

Sunburned Hand of the Man - Sugar Mongolia / Process of Weed(ing Out) (Manhand CS)

Went to another show Monday night, this time up in Albany. Jack (of Burnt Hills) hosted, and he somehow managed to rally Zac Davis (of Lambsbread and Maim & Disfigure), Dolphins into the Future and The Skaters to play in his basement. Needless to say, I picked up some serious merch, but I figured I'd get the Sunburned cassette I got on Saturday in before it gets buried beneath everything else I've accumulated.

Actually, this tape is the only thing I picked up from them the other night, which was a real shocker. Maybe it's that new cassette deck I got, but somehow that cheapo ($5) tape with the skull on it had my attention more than anything else (well, except for the four cassette Loft Sessions--Moloney wouldn't sell it to me since it was missing its insert... blast). But enough of my blubbering, your here to hear, right?

The cassette is essentially just a single tape: one side has the 6 minute-ish "Sugar Mongolia" and the other has the 7ish "Process of Weed(ing Out)." The opener starts off in surprising fashion indeed. We're talking about a straight up duel guitar, drums, bass, and electric keyboard jam sesh, no frills attached. Sure, it's got that signature Sunburned psych sound--lay some effects over this, some weird vocal outbursts or something, and you've pretty much got a sound not far from Jaybird--but this could also be the practice session of some mid-70s instrumental smooth funk outfit. The piece starts to meander at a certain point, loosening up into something resembling Can territory. All deep, in-the-pocket bass lines and minimalist work by all. Pretty much the closest thing to an unabashed instrumental jam I've heard from them, complete with slow, steady break down, organ fills etc. before the guitar lick kicks back in sounding like a cross between Uncle Meat era Zappa and Amon Duul II. If anything, the tape does groove, and in a weird way it displays the group's strengths as a rock outfit in their own right. The guys can really play, and this is a cohesive instrumental jam that relies on no trickery whatsoever to do what it needs to.

"Process of Weed(ing Out)"--killer title, no?--is a different story completely. Moloney's drums start out right anxious, all skittery jazzish stuff while strange rhythms bounce in the background like floats hitting each other in the ocean. Guitar makes its way in and out with harsh No Wave style shards, though its quiet enough that it becomes more of an atmospheric touch than anything. The name of the game here is definitely rhythm, though I confess that isn't saying anything much regarding Sunburned. Part of what has always made the group work is their percussive qualities. I once read an interview where they said something along the lines of everyone in the band being a percussionist in some way, and it's true. Guess that's how come they can switch from the aimless free weirdness of the beginning to, two minutes later, a virtual punk throttle ahead driver. Guitar's louder now, really wailin, and it's all kind a big speeding train looking for a crash site. Like Iron Maiden covering DNA in Pere Ubu's basement. Deconstructivist stuff. Again though, the track strangely puts the group on display as a working unit--they really do know how to improvise together.

This might be the first time I've witnessed Sunburned in this kind of setting. They don't seem to have any of their electronic weird-makers, bells, or any of the things that I typically expect from this crew. Instead, it's a stripped-down look at how tight a unit this group can be in vastly different contexts. A cool little curio for all you non-believers. Actually, some people nay-say the Burned ones for this very reason; you know, "they're really just a psychedelic JAM band" material. That may be the case, but if you're making that comparison than Muddy Waters and Phish fall in the same category. Shit, guess that means I have to stop listening to Phish... yuk yuk.

Century Plants - Bloodrise (Peasant Magik 3" CD-R)

My apologies for not having posted in a bit. I was on a roll there over break, but things seemed to have largely halted since returning to school. Well, halt no more, for I have returned from a voyage northward (Saratoga Springs, to be exact) where I bore witness to the work of two heroes of the modern realm, Century Plants and Sunburned Hand of the Man. Though I must say, the crowd at this thing was not quite what I expected. Alot of parents and little kids running around isn't exactly what one finds at this kind of show but hey, it was so. Everyone was politely seated in front of the stage mingling, and me and my cohorts kept looking around and trying to figure out whether any of these people knew what they had gotten themselves into. Figured it was friends and family of the Plants' crew as it wasn't that far from their stomping grounds, but nay, Eric informed me afterwards. Just Arts Council regulars I guess.

Despite the crowd, council was held indeed. Century Plants opened and they were stellar with their duel guitar gravity hammers. The crowd was a bit nervous it looked, but they got into it eventually and were surprisingly willing to engage with the stuff so I guess powers of good do remain in the world. Sunburned followed and despite about ten minutes of chatter in the beginning of the set they had that place doing the Binger Blitz in no time, fists pumping, little girls doing ballet, etc. Figures that the kids were the ones really getting into it, as their naive ears are yet to be turned on to the smooth sounds of Kenny G and the like. Can I hear a hallelujah?!

So after the show, of course, I picked up some merch. Century Plants were nice enough to introduce themselves and lay a Peasant Magik 3" on me for free seeing as how they had read my last review and all. I snagged the other two they were selling and a nice Sunburned tape which is sure to get the review treatment soon enough as well. Nice night for the buyins, as was to be expected.

So I had heard a lot of hype over this Bloodrise number and, as I mentioned in the last Century Plants review, it was a show that I actually attended but had missed due to late arrival, so it's nice to at least have it on record. But boy was I bummed to have found out I missed this one. The first minute or so is just ringing approach, kinda like those ripples in the glass of water when the T. Rex approaches in Jurassic Park. You know what I'm talking about. Then the train arrives, and its all dense no-man's land drone from there out. Whereas everything else I've heard by the duo is pretty guitary--not to say that they don't coax some whiley snippets from their strings--this one is all shimmering drenched out reverb mayhem. Like demons surrounding you on your decent to hell, whispering in your ears about the horrors that they have and will commit. And bats. Lots of bats. Hell, this shit is downright gothic, some kind of descent into the wildery depths of the darkest holes.

It's not really important to know just what's making the sounds on this 20 minute knock-out. Vocals definitely make their way in and out in some form or another, even a cymbal crash or something. But mostly this is just steady riffy droning. Six minutes in, and there's no looking back. The hole was scary before, but now it's kill or be killed, and I've never seen Century Plants back down from a battle of survival. There aren't many units out there that can create something with this much character or depth. A certain intimacy is attainable when you only have one other person to converse with, and they create a deep sonic spectrum that holds maximum potential for slight changes that cause seismic shifts in the weight of the work. All sounds ring freely off the walls of the Helderberg House (or Palace, as it's referred to in the stunning--no, really--packaging) basement. Maybe that's why it's so cold in this one. Just two guys wailing in the confines of an Albany basement.

Maybe it was John and Tovah Olson in attendance, maybe it was the crowd, or maybe it was the drugs that warm summer's eve. Whatever it was, Bloodrise slays, displaying new depth for an already exciting outfit. I liked Century Plants before. From here on, I'm gettin it all.

6Majik9 - Rubber God Head (Phantom Limb Recordings CD-R)

Yet another one I haven't had an excuse to do yet, this time from scrap mavens 6Majik9. These guys have a whole slew of releases out right now, and of course I've only got one of them courtesy of the estimable Phantom Limb Recordings, run by Grant Capes of (VxPxC). I don't really know much about the group except that they're Australian, share members with Brothers of the Occult Sisterhood and Terracid, and are the minds behind the wonderful Music Your Mind Will Love You (MYMWLY) label. So basically, its a mysterious collective who release strange experimental music from the other side of the globe. Could you ask for anything more? I didn't think so.

Rubber God Head is one forty-ish minute track that somehow manages to cross all borders between No-Neck style acoustic wanderings, Eric Dolphy angularities, and Jewelled Antler woodsie vibes. I'm not sure just how many people are playing on this thing, but to my ear I hear a whole slew of instruments: saxophone, guitar, drums, bells, piano, assorted electronic noise makers, even a sampler that at one point features a baby crying (so I guess really I'm just hoping it's a sampler...). I might be wrong, but I think I even hear a cello in the mix. Could be wrong, but either way, I have no idea how many people are making this. Could be two guys, could be ten, but whoever it is they sure know how to create one killer half hour.

The piece opens quite noisily, all electronics and off-beat amateurish percussion, before quickly settling down into a more earthly, meandering vibe. The group clearly has their act together though, and never feel lost as they splash around in the mucky muck. This might be a rudderless boat, but the river's plenty full of curiosities. The unit continues its journey then entire time, never resting on any one sound for too long. At various points, guitar, piano, sax, anything takes the lead. At one point, having emerged from one of the more energetic parts of the largely patient track, a small percussion repetitions that could be some guy rapping on a table with a broken chair leg three times holds it all together. The point being that it's a pretty deep sack of tricks 6Majik9's got, and their certainly wise enough not to overuse any of them. Of course they have no problem with some good old fashioned repetition either.

When the baby's cry comes in towards the end, it at first seems a little off from the rest of the album, which could well have been played ritualistically under a full moon in some meadow--even the electronics have, to this point, managed to stay earthly and organic. Yet this baby, out of nowhere, is repeated enough that it too becomes part of the ritual, just another rhythmic motif to build off to as they slink into the night. Not quite noise, not quite folk, not quite psychedelic, not really quite anything. Just organic spacious yum-yums for your ears to drift in and out of. Limited to 90 with beautifully cosmic cover art (just check out the front and back at the same time!) and awesome spray painted CD-R.