Pocahaunted / Robedoor - Hunted Gathering (Digitalis 2XCD)

This past Thursday I headed up north to Albany, that burgeoning mecca of sonic delights, for a killer line-up at a small art gallery on Lark St. Pocahaunted and Robedoor have been making the rounds on the east coast as of late, and for this appearance they had gotten two guests, Century Plants and Northampton Wools. Now I've waxed long on Century Plants a few times here, but this set was the best I'd seen from them--Ray switched from his usual guitar to analog synth, and the result was a more driving, rhythmic sound. As usual, Eric's axe slayed, and Ray's vocals were a near-constant presence without ever becoming too much. The video projections behind them, featuring much flora of course, was also excellent. The best I've seen them. As for Northampton Wools, which is Thurston Moore (you know, Sonic Youth...) and Bill Nace (X.0.4, Vampire Belt, Open Mouth Records, etc.), their shredded beyond repair guitar duet was wild as hell. The way these two could go from pointillist scraping to sludge to drone was really something to behold. Picked up a Thurston Moore LP on Lost Treasures of the Underworld that I'm sure will make an appearance here soon enough, so keep your eyes peeled for that. It was weird actually.. much of the crowd was clearly there for Thurston, and afterwards people were taking pictures with him and trying to chat him up. I felt bad for him ,he clearly wanted nothing to do with it... hell, the guy had just done the least poppy set of the night.

As for Robedoor and Pocahaunted, they both arrived a bit late and pretty much played as they walked into the door, so all things considered their sets were pretty good. Robedoor especially did it right--their thick doom-drone is heavy stuff, my kind of sounds. I've never been all that in to Pocahaunted--a little too folky, precious for me maybe--but their set was pretty good. Robedoor sat in for a bit of it which added an industrial pace to the whole thing which I was into but overall, I don't know, maybe it's just me. I have to be in the right mood for it I guess. Plus, if you're gonna name your band Pocahaunted, which in theory I really like, stay away from the Native American vocal chanting... it just seems a little obvious, I don't know.

That said, the show was really great, and I of course picked up some merch at the end including a Robedoor LP and this Pocahaunted/Robedoor split which I'd seen around a bit. When I got home and threw it on, I realized that their were a few great ideas going on here. First, the two discs both have tracks from both bands rather than a single disc being given to each. Considering that one member of each band is married and that the two share each others' space (the husband and wife team also co-run the great Not Not Fun label) this works surprisingly well despite the despairing black plague of Robedoor and the relatively loose, airy neo-psych drone of Pocahaunted. The two work surprisingly well back to back, and the deeper connections between the two become apparent: both are all about restraint, repetition, and creating big things out of little ones, so though the general feel may change from song to song, it does so slowly enough as to maintain a level of coherence within the album as a whole. The other wise choice, and this I'm sure was an obvious one, is that the last track on the album features both bands in collaboration, a team-up that splits the difference and goes for broke. I'll get to that later.

The first disc opens with Robedoor's "Plague of Settlers," a guitar and electronic lurch full of whispered screams and hellish smudges of black. This is the dark and slow soundtrack to some satanist worship (on a war ship, no doubt). The high ringing lunges over that freakishly low-end mass is just endlessly brutal, and the vocal cries are patient and well restricted enough to make them sound just as inhuman as this kind of stuff calls for. Some opener. "Roman Nose" changes the pace a bit, not the least because it's a Pocahaunted track, but somehow it fits right in. I like this better than any of the other stuff I've heard by them; it's less overtly tribal and has a broader sonic palette. Starting out with a guitar finger pick, a deep industrial groove eventually enters, driving it along into the echoey cavern where the phoenix roosts. Starts to get pretty fuzzed out actually, and when the vocals come in they sound more like some angelic shaman inhaling smoking roots and reciting prophecies. Despite all that talk, the sound has little to do with the Native American chants. It's too weird, too grinding and confused. Instead it just goes and goes, shaping itself at its own patient pace.

"Crow Scout" is another Pocahaunted track, and again the sound is too rich and intricate to be some cheesy rehash of stereotyped Native American war cries. The two discs are recorded and mixed by Bobb Bruno, and you can tell--each sound is distinct and full, its own character. There's a lot to get lost in here before "Spectral Outpost," Robedoor's closer to the disc, swiftly carries back down into the trenches--which is where "Crow Scout" was headed anyway I suppose--for a lush slow paced shifting of waves and waves of weight. Beautiful closer that both fittingly closes the hour-long disc and gets you psyched for the next one.

Disc two is a bit shorter at about 45 minutes, but what it lacks in time it makes up for in really pushing the envelope for both bands. The opening cut is an unheard of four and a half minute one from Robedoor, "Ancestress Moon." This one is so motionless and icy that it might as well be the sound of an orchestra of bass frequencies and guitar strings tuning up and down. Undulating forward, the piece takes only a tangential form, instead weaving in and out of itself, the guitar the head and the bass frequencies the tail. Lovely. "Warmest Knives" is Pocahaunted's follow-up, and this one follows on a similar course, taking its time to move as it may. Building from a simple two guitar chord vamp, the piece goes deeper and deeper into itself, vocals entering and bouncing off echoing guitar chords before timpani like drums build themselves up like some spaced-out tribal orchestra. If that analogy isn't enough, strings even make their way in, weaving around beautifully to create a wall of sound fit for a huge, empty auditorium filled with trees and rain. Robedoor's "Razed Terrain" follows, and it's their harshest on the disc, thudding along to a wall of black smoke behind them. The vocals sound especially tortured here before wild drums enter in and take the shuttle into lift-off mode, only you're in the engine. A heavy one, dense and chaotic.

The last track on the album is "Hunted Gathering," and this time it's, as mentioned before, a collaboration between the two groups. This track seamlessly melds both band's aesthetics, incorporating the grim sonic torture of Robedoor and the airier, albeit in this case darker, edge of Pocahaunted. Slowly and steadily the thing builds steam, thudding along with the distinctive female vocalizing of Pocahaunted over top the darker and less conspicuous ones from Robedoor's side. A real meeting of the mind's though, it's tough to say who's catering to who on this epic drone sorcery. Heavy and hot, it's a claustrophobic hall of earth and soil somewhere way, way down. Beautiful and mysterious stuff. Special mention too should be made of Yellow Swans' Pete Swanson, who mastered the whole thing, as well as Changeling's Roy Tatum who has a guest appearance somewhere in there along with someone named Laena. Whatever each does, it's unobtrusive nature reveals its success. Everything is in place on this one.

Fossils - Empty and Marvelous (Housecraft CS)

Alright, now it's time for a bit of shameless self-promotion via Fossils. Seeing as how I just received this cassette from Jeffrey over at Housecraft Records, I figured it might be a good avenue to shove my band Herons' upcoming release down all of you fine readers' throats (it should be coming out sometime in August if all works out). There. That's all. Quick and painless. On to what you're here for.

I can't really figure anything out about Fossils other than their being (or one of them anyway, I don't even know how many members the group has) behind the great label Middle James Co. and being involved with both Offensive Orange and DueEastBySea. They've had releases all over the place, including a bunch with American Tapes, but I still can't decipher what the personnel actually is. Maybe the sounds reveal more than any name could...

Side one is a ripping, thirty-five minute grinding fuck fest. Full of vocals hacked to shreds, guitar bent to hell, and odd high-pitched drones, the whole thing is as full and noisy as I had hoped for. And yes, I've been referring to a lot of stuff on here as "noisy" that may not actually be so, but this fits the profile. Curdling its way along, the side just gets sourer as it moves from grim chasms of instrumental madness into hauntingly twisted squeals of static over the hushed screams of something exceedingly dark. Hair-raising indeed. Once in a while loops become apparent and electronic blips make their way across the barren sound world, but mostly its just hazy shredded stuff--is that whistle at the end the sound of a tea kettle through a processor or the blades starting up their daily routine down on the pig farm? Lies somewhere between Pluto and Planet X I'd say.

Side two is a different beast entirely though. Starting off with some kind of engine starting up before a hair dryer--Medusa's no doubt--blows across the space, the side features discernible vocal chatter as cracks enter in and out of the mix. Geese come and go over erratically placed blips and spurts of oil so thick it makes Exxon/Mobil look like Dasani. It's a dirty and slow start, lurching along in no rush to end the sublime submersion being attained. The birds are so out of place in this landscape that one starts to feel like they're coming from within, and the chattering is merely a snippet of a world we knew.

There are some serious ideas on here. The sound is so lo-fi and crude that it seems to at first lack detail, but there is immense intricacy here, and textures and shapes emerge over the course of the tape. Moving from the razor blades of side one to the pool of lukewarm lava on the second, the tape holds your head under good and long but, at least in this strange and melted world, let's you come up for air when the timing is right. Side two's dense underlying drone and scraping play with the all too familiar airport announcements and water fowl (foul?) to create a truly alien world and a highly distinctive sound. When a vocal is entered and slowed to the point of complete abstraction the bad trip only gets grizzlier, especially when the over the counter cosmetic store welcome is looped into oblivion. Could anything say "get me the fuck out of here" more? Welcome to the fried zone. Now bask in the blaze. A real beauty, and only limited to 48 so git up on it--it be a zonked one.

Graveyards and Dead Machines - Machineyard in Soundworld (Brokenresearch LP)

Finally. Ever since I started this blog, I've been hoping that a new Brokenresearch run would come out so that I could review them. Run by Ben (Hell) Hall and Hans (Bunny) Buetow--respectively the drummer and cellist for Graveyards among other things--the label was probably the one, along with American Tapes, that led to my descent into contemporary experimental music. Packaged in elegant white sleeves with printed sandpaper on them, the whole sound and aesthetic really did it right for me. Well, the time has come, and a new Brokenresearch run has come. This time around Ben was nice enough to shoot me some copies of them, so thanks again Ben. They were a real pleasure to receive.

Figured I'd start off with the one I've been spinning most in the last week. Graveyards and Dead Machines are both groups I really dig, though this one could have just easily been called Graveyards and Tovah Olson (John's in both groups anyway). Still, I like the two on two set-up here, and either way you cut it this is some murky material that highlights the strengths of both groups: Graveyards' monolithically slow and ice-cold lurching and Dead Machines' ability to make beautiful soundscapes out of an otherwise dissonant sonic palette. Despite both group's reputations, there are some glimpses of warmth on the tundra here.

The one-sided LP starts out as quietly as one would hope. Just hesitant reverberation and the slight tinkling of bells. Already, Graveyards' always physical sound is present--I find it tough to hear this stuff without picturing a cymbal ringing or metal pipes being clinked steadily. When a strange fog-horn call comes out (I'm guessing John, though it might just as easily be Hans' cello), the piece starts to gain a bit of momentum before slipping right back into its opening section. This is some typically cautious material and they really do it right, never trying to blow you away. More like freeze you in place, really.

John enters on bass clarinet at this point, playing a slow and hazy line that's surprisingly classical in nature--sounds almost like a section of Messiaen's "Quartet for the End of Time" or something. Washes of electronic hail shower in and out over the trickling cymbals and thudding electronic undergrowth. The whole thing bobs and sways back and forth, and really manages to sound more taut than most things Graveyards have done--and that's saying something. The response times are spot on as the group bounces off each other, at times recalling Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring," and at others recalling, well, Graveyards or Dead Machines covering Stockhausen as conducted by Feldman.

The real strength of the release though is how it hovers seamlessly between the harmonious lines of the horn and rich electronic and cello tones before swaying back into less clear territory. The thudding continues to hold it all together rhythmically while John's line flows back and forth. It almost sounds like the soundtrack to some Arctic horror flick, before the monster arrives of course. Squeaks and bells are coersced out of electronic equipment as Buetow's cello fits so seamlessly in that you barely notice its presence--his long drone notes keep it lilting along with a delicately weighty calm.

Special mention should be made of Tovah Olson, who acted as the mixer (as well as musician) on this number. The production really comes together, and one gets the sense that Tovah's really controlling the momentum of the thing, tying bits together and phasing things out with an unobtrusive and painstakingly careful approach. The distant rattling of Hall's cymbals blend into high frequency electronic mutterings before disappearing with the crack of the needle lifting, as if the whole thing was never there at all. The machine yard seems to have shut down, and the sound world just ain't the same without it. Way limited (of course) to 200 copiesand printed on thick cardboasrd stock with nice printed covers. According to the website they're still available, so grab one right quick if you're planning on it. The masters are back in town, and they're doing what they do best.

Super Minerals - The Piss (DNT Records CS)

Well well, look what we have here. Yet another post, and only three weeks between them! It's true, a hiatus of sorts was taken, but given school finals before transitioning into a job that requires 6:30 wake-ups, it had to be... my apologies though for leaving this thing high and dry for that stretch.

Needless to say, a lot of stuff has piled up. Between numerous orders, No Fun Fest (more on that later, I'm sure), and a generous package courtesy of Tynan over at DNT, the list has grown considerably. Had to start with this one though.

Super Minerals is Phil and William from Magic Lanterns, a Long Beach, California (thanks for the correction Tynan!) psych band that I've heard a bundle about but have yet to acquire anything from. Rumor has it that this isn't even close to that band though, and listening to it that sentiment doesn't surprise me at all. This is hardly psych rock, if even rock. Instead, The Piss opts for the kind of murky meandering often tread by the likes of Sunburned, though this is perhaps a bit slower and grimmer than that band usually gets.

The whole thing starts out with "Viral Cycles," an odd and drifting piece featuring an endlessly delayed acoustic movement beneath some spirit like vocals, one low and one high. The delay is tampered with gently, but mostly this is some stagnant stuff--just the way to kick off an album in my book! Throw the listener right in and get them where you want them. That high vocal is especially haunting, riding above before the whole thing morphs into the second track, "Sativa Dungeon" (though the song seams are more than a little unclear). Still, if this is the track the title hits it on the head. Have you ever seen that video of the guy giving listens about how to garden after smoking sativa? If you haven't, Youtube it. You'll get the idea. This one is grim as fuck, lurching along with static sounding loops--like if you kept playing the first half second of a scream over and over after distorting it beyond recognition. Harmonica pops in at one point, meandering along to this lurch while various unidentifiable frequencies cut in and out.

I'm assuming the next section is "They Said It Couldn't Be Done," though it could just as easily be part two of "Sativa Dungeon," or even part three of "Viral Cycles." Who knows... Here, the duo straightens out the riff, blanketing the static across the sound before an ocarina or Indian flute comes in, acting in much the same manner as that previously mentioned harmonica. Things get especially Sunburned when the vocals start muttering along, deep and echoey in the mix before some weird keyboard line descends over and over like a fog horn on the moon. They sit on this action for a while, zoning out--truly zonked. I guess they're right, it can be done. Eventually the whole thing fades out and is replaced by, again guessing, "Done." This one starts off with, and there's really no other description, the sound of an airplane flying back and forth over your head (mind/skull/inner ear) before those vocals emerge along with some rinky-dink riff that sounds like the Blue's Clues theme played on thumb piano. Slow and steady, the thing evolves, with choir like vocals emerging and reemerging, intermingling with the feedback tangle they've created. It's all like some big gumbo of industrial, drone, and ambient with a decidedly soundtrackish vibe. At a certain point, it gets so quiet and minimal that you practically forget you're listening to it--only a momentary percussive clatter shakes you back to the real world.

Side two kicks off with the percussive line of "Reuptake." And by percussive line I mean the sound of an occasional shaking of a bag of plastic silverware. Weird and hollow drones emerge like a million insects flying at you, building itself into some gigantic cloud of black and hissing before dropping a mother of a chord on you for, I'm guessing, the beginning of "High Spear Trial" (though I see now that track three is called "Descended Swarm of the Undead," so maybe I'm way behind). This one really crushes--it's all feedback and fuzzed out madness, albeit of a rinding and stationary sort. At this point, there being eight songs listed on side two, it's impossible to keep track. These drones thin out eventually, sounding like the space right before you hit a radio station on the dial. Faint recognizable traits emerge, but for the most part it's thick as mud.

Eventually the whole thing starts to gain some tangible mobility, thought he thrust is hardly forward and it certainly isn't getting where it's going fast. Sounds slip in and out, filling the speakers before cutting off and being replaced by near silence, only to have that hollow vocal call to be filled in by deranged chanting and cries for help from deep within some horrible jungle. This must be the sound of desperation, just guitar tinklings and loneliness. The balance between these beautifully full and lush echoes ad the harsh grating of metal on metal make for some kind of weird landscape, full of whistlings and odd wind instruments, yet lacking all of the guiding principles of those items. Sometimes it sounds like it's just the amp fucking up for a bit before some beep reminds you that this is all conscious, or at least some of it is. Part of the excitement of the whole thing is that you can't really tell who's playing who--sometimes it seems like the amps are rocking out with the musicians. Crazy stuff.

Comes in a killer cover with weird fish skeleton drawings. Limited to 75, so snag one quick. More reviews to come soon(er than a month from now).

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.