| reviews by
CHARLES LIEURANCE
JOHN
WILKES BOOZE - Five Pillars of Soul (Kill Rock Stars; 2004)
Wow,
retro-radicalism. I bet you've had a bone on for this all
year, right? There was that Weather Underground documentary
& Mario Van Peebles' incredibly cool film about his father,
BAADASSSSS! Oh, and that one-man show about Huey P. Newton.
Fuck, I forgot about the MC-5 documentary & that illustrious
nationwide tour by the remaining members, featuring guest
stars Evan Dando & Marshall Crenshaw, two beings who cause
tectonic plates to shift when they even tune their Les Pauls.
God, I keep forgetting major shit -- Jennifer Aniston wearing
that MC-5 T shirt on Friends (so cool it wound up in the credit
sequence), whatever project those guys from The Make-up are
doing these days...Wow, this has been one kick out the fucking
jams kinda year, hasn't it? So, I'd be forgiven if -- just
to relax -- I wanted to pop in that surveillance cam video
of Patty Hearst & the SLA robbing the Hibernia Bank, right?
And maybe play the new Revenant Albert Ayler Box Set while
I watched it? Okay, maybe I'm starting to feel it now, the
swaggering revolution stomp of the dark ages. Watching the
1965 Watts Riots/Detroit riots of '43 & '67 is way better
than watching the shit that went down after the Rodney King
verdict, right? Goddamn, those old riots were chic as hell.
Well,
those are all my sarcastic reservations to John Wilkes Booze,
but truth is they rock & aren't trying to apply old agitprop
to a new template, or at least not as far as I can tell. That's
the thing I guess, the paperwork in their album is so dense
& confusing, unreadable & far-fetched, pretentious
& artless that it may just be art, art as wall of print,
etc. I think this is a terrific garage soul album, like the
last few Dirtbombs records tricked-out with bits of Charlie
Manson's Lie & JWB's ludicrous politics is as
far removed from reality as Oz is from Rwanda. Redd Kross
used to kinda play at this game, but that was a different
generation, right? Now, the sense of irony has to be thicker,
the poker face less obvious. Sure, every twitch is a tell,
but after awhile I just went all in & left the rest of
the evening up to the fucking dealer.
MR.
AIRPLANE MAN - C'mon DJ (Sympathy for the Record Industry;
2004)
Any
of you with an oodle of sacred sense realize that the song
"C'Mon DJ" was the great radio song that never was
last year. Unless your radio is jury-rigged to heaven, and
mine seems not to be. Named for a great Howlin' Wolf song,
deeply unafraid of production murk & hiss, and laying
out a tarpaper & ghettobestos heat treatment of swampy
blues, VU tuff-chick churn (you kids who don't know how much
Lou loved the Shangri-Las should spin the Sha-La's "Never
Go Home Anymore" next to Lou's "Street Hassle"
one night before you start huffing & using Joy Division
& Interpol in the same breath) & gobtastic punk shouters
that clip the bad years of rock off the good ones like crude
oil off a heron's wing. I don't even want to mention that
this is sorta a girl band, because lately I know people get
weird Nam flashbacks when they hear that -- too many times
late-night suckered into Prey for Rock'n'Roll on IFC, I think.
Instead I'll tell you that these are greasy-haired, bearded
mugwumps from Oxford, Mississippi & let you sort the rest
out for yerself. Dude, you're one groovy southern gothic cave
creature, lemme get down there in the crossroads witcha baby...Goddamn,
is that a pussy where your Screamin' Jay should hang? Relax,
country mouse, weez in the big city now.
HOUND
DOG TAYLOR - Release the Hound (Alligator; 2004)
Now,
I've got some major problems with the blues, don't think I
don't. I mean, it's like when a really stupid person asks
you if you believe in God. I think God understands my denying
him just then. It means I don't believe in God in any way
the asker could possibly understand. And that's not to say
I'm any kind of Zoroastrian, Lutheran, or a member of some
other "freak" religion. I'm just a backsliding Catholic
who believes in God measure for measure. Another example.
When I was a very young pup, I used to follow the Grateful
Dead around, do their drugs, enjoy the tripped out bluegrass
of it under a hot & bulbous Colorado sun, and turn from
giant to dwarf to cardboard cut-out while Anthem of the Sun
worked its benign magic. And I still put on Mars Hotel or
Workingman's Dead occasionally & get the same silly grin
on my face I got back then. I love the crude country, the
weird, cut-rate psych production gimmicks...in general, I
try never to dispossess anything I ever liked. It discounts
memory, which is an boy's best friend. But if you get me in
a room full of hippies & they ask me if I like THE DEAD,
I rile against the band like a madman anchorite. Because I
know they don't mean what I mean.
It's like
that with the blues. I walk into your average urban blues
bar & watch the middle-aged yuppies grope one another
to this dull stop-time party music & I turn on the blues
like it was a red-headed stepchild. I Judas the blues out
by telling these fuckers that I'd rather listen to Celine
Dion. Or I say, By the blues do you mean AC/DC? By the blues
do you mean Marvin Sease (because that's the blues the brothers
really listen to at barbecues on a Saturday afternoon)? By
the blues do you mean Bon Jovi? And I love the way they squirm
like rubbing alcohol on a hot spoon. I love the way they call
me stupid & uneducated. I love when they wide-eyed shake
their real-estate dealer bleach blond locks & their two-times
divorced lawyer comb overs, that I haven't "encountered"
Magic Slim or Robert Cray or Half Pint Donut. No, friends,
but what about Burl Ives, is he the blues?
Hound Dog
Taylor recorded some party blues sides, alot of them really,
and he was never as "hoodoo" as I wanted him to
be. He was trained to get the party started. Even Slim Harpo,
who could definitely get a colorblind shake on, had more deep,
dark fringes than Taylor. What's great about this set, culled
from the most primitive odds'n'sods Alligator purchased after
HDT died, is that it doesn't portray him correctly. From its
Jon Langford cover to its sloppy sequencing, this is meant
to place him solidly next to the urban riff grind of J.L Hooker
& Howlin' Wolf, people with whom he shares nothing meaningful,
in my humble opinion (I'll hear back on this, I'm sure). But,
like I said, that's what's great about this set. It makes
him seem like a more drunken, evil & inspired bluesman
than he really was. So it is one cool party record. And it
contains one of the greatest blues songs ever recorded, 11
ramshackle, hooch-maimed minutes of "Things Don't Work
Out Right." It makes R. L. Burnside look behind the times.
It makes Jon Spencer seem tired.
So,
when they ask me if I like the blues, and they invariably
do -- the bastards -- I tell them absolutely not & then
put this on. Well, first Burl Ives, then this.
LESTER
BANGS & THE DELINQUENTS - Jook Savages on the Brazos (Live
Wire; 1981)
Probably you'll want to know whether this album's
any good. You may even need to know whether it's available.
About 1.5 of you may even want to know, Who the hell is Lester
Bangs?
I'll answer
those prayers in the order they were received. First, this
is Lester Bangs doing all he could possibly do to be original,
while still trying sadly & desperately to be his rock'n'roll
idols. The album ages well, unlike the Birdland album,
where he tries too hard at things he only understands in theory.
When I first heard this in the early 80s, there were tracks
I immediately had to transfer to tape & tracks I hoped
to Christ I'd never have to hear again. Now, the whole album
seems charming. Thankfully, it doesn't seem harmless. Even
the "Grandma's House" song, which tries for J. Richman's
innocence, sounds warped & just short of murder when Lester
sings it. "Life Ain't Worth Living (But Suicide's a Waste
of Time)" is Fugs-ish outlaw country, which still sounds
brutal & disfigured & zero fun at all in the hands
of Lester. He's supposed to be joking, but his bruised voice
says different. I hope to fuck Tuli Kupferberg told him so.
I think it's a good album, a piece of history & the kind
of brazen icon you take with you while exploring places in
which it has no meaning or function. Like a gold cross on
the bow of the Santa Maria.
I'm sure
right now you're asking, where can I get this? You can't.
It was recorded in Austin, Texas & there are still copies
of the vinyl floating around there. The record stores don't
even have collectible price tags on the thing. It's not on
CD, yet the fairly dreadful Birdland is. It's an invaluable
trunk of memories -- not mine, not yours, just Lester's --
that was too heavy to take where he was going & too valuable
to mean much to you or I, who haven't been there. It never
really got out of customs.
Lester
Bangs recorded this so-so album in Austin, Texas, where I
live now. I've made little pilgrimages to the places he apparently
visited & stayed, mostly because I just could not for
the life of me picture him here, in the Texas hills, so far
from New York City. Once, in 1980, he stumbled into an apartment
I shared with five other people in Morningside Heights, near
Columbia University. We were having a party of sorts. I was
a kid rock critic who wanted desperately to work for Creem
but all he wanted to do was take a shit. Our only toilet was
in the middle of the living room. The walls around it had
been torn down years ago, so we rigged a shower curtain around
it. I stood outside the curtain & asked him questions
while he grunted savagely. His silhouette looked like Rodin
with all the detail rubbed away. Finally, he pushed the curtain
aside, looked at all the partiers sitting on the floor &
on the mottled plaid couches, drinking wine, bragging, whispering
sex promises, nodding off, nodding on & he said, "Jesus,
is this toilet in the middle of the living room?" Little
smile, and he ran down the stairs & out into the street.
THE
KILLS - No Wow
First, let me say that I love The White Stripes.
Whatever cob you've got up your ass about them is wrong. Well,
unless you're all about Britney & Creed & Jimmy Eats
Sunday or whatever, in which case you're right on the fucking
money & God bless you. I have no bone to pick with those
who live on the other side of the planet from me aesthetically.
In fact, I'd rather hear someone gimme a hard-boiled testimonial
about any of those acts than listen to someone go on about
TV on the Radio, Franz Ferdinand or Modest Mouse. It's more
exotic. It's like listening to the description Alexander the
Great gives of the Acephali, a race of beings who had no heads
but a completely viable civilization nonetheless -- well,
until Alexander burned it to the ground.
But The White
Stripes are brilliant. He's a brilliant guitar player, she's
a terrible drummer like Maureen Tucker who gives the duo's
sound just the dose of primitivism to keep him from becoming
Jimmy Page. I think he knows that about her and we should
as well. She's Beat Happening to his exploding electric star
boy. Plus, they have taste. Jack White has better musical
taste than you or me combined. He knows rock'n'roll &
its dark wood detours like nobody's business. And it's not.
He can be precious & hot blooded & he can be your
metal guru. He can rip nagging little holes in Dylan's dead
man's suit & whip up bluegrass/blues connections all night
if you want. Gloriously, he's not afraid to kick someone's
fucking ass to prove it. Impressed yet? I am.
So,
you know I'm not just weighing in on the backlash when I tell
you The Kills are a gazillion times better than The White
Stripes. Did I say a gazillion? That's low, but it's the highest
number an 11 1/2-year old can come up with under these circumstances.
The Kills add a junkie's shambling stride to the mighty homerun
walk of the Stripes. They have those great hollowed out harmonies
I used to cream over from Royal Trux. They start out in full
Hooker/E. James boogie mode & then the boogie trips over
itself and falls down the stairs. It's just human nature,
when you hear something as healthy & vital as The White
Stripes, you want to stick a needle of jim-jam junk into that
Achilles heel. The Kills are the sound of White Stripes melting
back down the stairway to heaven.
GRAND
FUNK RAILROAD - Live Album (Capitol; 2002 CD re-issue of a
1970 album)
Man,
this fucking basement is like my own personal Haiti. I know
you think Haiti's all palm trees & grass skirts or something,
but man it's not. The only time people dance there is to rain
curses down on someone else. And the whole country is one
big mud flat because the peasants are cutting down all the
trees for makeshift lean-tos so they won't have to sleep in
the mud. And sometimes they use the wood to carve horrible
looking pagan gods, like the Virgin Mary's head on the body
of a cow or St. Margaret's dismembered boobs with eyes instead
of nipples. Mostly though they use the trees to keep warm,
for fire & fuel. I know what you're thinking, why don't
they sleep with their goats or their chickens or use eggs
or goats or chickens for currency to buy things? No sir, they
have to use those for voudon sacrifices. And Voudon is the
real word for voodoo. You're probably thinking, why don't
they use real Haitian currency (called the Gourde, so's you
know)? Well, that's because their military juntas (Papa Doc
Duvalier & other cannibalistic scumfucks) need all the
money to hire voudon priests (houngans) & priestesses
(mambos) to put the evil eye & other voodoo curses on
the country's enemies, who've allowed their nation to become
a big mudpie. Oh, and to buy hottubs & SUVs so they can
drive around the mudflat and shoot down naked peasants for
sport. Most of the population of Haiti hides under the mud
all day so as not to be shot by wild, drunk, grinning army
generals with machine guns mounted on the roll bars of their
SUVs. When night falls,
they dig themselves out of the mud, brush themselves off &
mumble swear words on the way home. Once there, they grab
one of their chickens & one of their goats, slit their
throats & dance around screaming until dawn, attempting
to bring curses down upon the machine gun wielding dictators.
When the sun rises, they bury themselves under the mud again.
That's the typical day in Haiti. I mean, the Haiti in my mind.
And this is my book report on Haiti: Island Nation, and this
is the album I listened to while I wrote it, and WHAT? This
doesn't make any sense? Well, fuck you, then. You
fucking SUV driving machine gun man. Fuck you! I mean, wasn't
the assignment why aren't there any trees in Haiti?
The
Raveonettes - Pretty in Black (Columbia)
I can see where some sour folk might find The Raveonettes
a little insubstantial, and they certainly are more candy
than staple, but it's hard to resist the everlasting gobstoppers
these Danes keep tossing off their 50s crepe paper homecoming
float. Although often compared to Jesus & Mary Chain,
The Raveonettes have a more diverse sonic palette, and for
them sonics is everything -- the chrome metallic sheen, the
reverb, ghostly echo, tremelo & huge Phil Spector drumbeats
ARE the songs. The faux decadent lyrics -- VU seediness as
a second language -- are just there to remind you of haunting
melodies past.
Where J & M Chain
never really strayed from turning the Brian Wilson songbook
inside out/upside down/outside up, and then burying the pastiche
under The Velvet's cyclotron of white noise, the Raveonettes
tackle Spector, including a curiously unspectacular version
of "My Boyfriend's Back," mitigated somewhat by
the glorious "Ode to L.A.," (featuring Ronnie Spector
in an unsettling, bombastic vocal cameo), The Everly Brothers
("Here Comes Mary"), the crumpled prom night tafetta
of Julee Cruise & Chris Isaac ("Sleepwalking"),
and dreamy early 70s bubblegum ("Love in a Trashcan").
Pretty
in Black is less instantly ravishing than 2003's Chain Gang
of Love, but now and again the album actually takes some pretty
heady chances. For instance, you think you know where "Sleepwalking"
is going when Sune Rose Wagner & Sharon Foo begin their
breathy Badalementi chant but, trust me, you don't. This is
not to say The Raveonettes are anywhere near as glorious as
JMC. The ultimate cartoonishness of it all keeps them arm's
length from the kind of Rilke-esque emotions the brothers
Reid plugged into effortlessly. Nor do the guest shots from
Spector, Mo Tucker, and Martin Rev add much grist to the general
air of superficiality. The Raveonettes may not strengthen
your bones, collate your priorities, or even prepare you for
a single rainy day in the real world, but as a sly escape
hatch into a glimmering pop past that never really existed,
Pretty in Black is one great delusional time machine.
reviews by
E.W. HAGSTROM
CERAMIC
HOBS – “SHERGAR IS HOME SAFE AND WELL” CD
During my hardcore hometaping/trading days of the early 1990’s,
I had the pleasure – and misfortune – to be exposed
to hundreds, perhaps thousands, of underground artists from
all over the globe. Of all these artists, I believe the Ceramic
Hobs have progressed the most, and refined their sound to
the greatest level imaginable. This is the Hobs' third proper
album, after 19 years of demo cassettes and 7-inch EPs,
released four years after “Straight Outta Rampton”
which many fans – myself included – had considered
their masterpiece. “Shergar,” however, takes their
music one step further, creating an album which achieves classic
status beyond their underground roots. This recording easily
rivals, and probably outshines, any of the landmark post-punk
albums which were so influential to so many of us. Although
the songwriting and production value immediately stand out
over previous Hobs efforts, the performance itself is the
most striking aspect here. This is the band’s first
release on which the guitars really stand out as being excellent.
In addition, Simon Morris’ voice has never sounded better
– no doubt thanks to years of smoking and shouting out
requests for “Ass Destroyer” at Whitehouse concerts,
it has developed into a quite superb grittiness ideal for
rock vocals. Despite the nostalgic attachment I have for all
those early records from the Fall, Gang of Four, etc. –
I’d actually rather listen to this disc in their place.
Highly recommended. Pumf Records, http://www.pumf.net.
- - -
- -
CONTRADICTION
– “CONTRADICTION” CD
Andy Ortmann (Panicsville, Plastic Crimewave Sound,
etc.) and Weasel Walter (Flying Luttenbachers, XBXRX, etc.)
collaborate on this new release of classic power-electronics.
Although largely comprised of vocals and electronics, the
duo nimbly summons the spirit of early to mid-80’s Whitehouse
and Sutcliffe Jugend with long instrumental interludes of
feedback-based noise – something which is often neglected
by all but the most serious devotees of the genre, of which
I count myself among. While the music itself is pure macho
muscle, the lyrics in contrast contain more
humor, irony and heart than power-electronics is generally
known for -- hence the “contradiction” I suppose.
Ortmann and Walter are perhaps more on the same level as Mark
Solotroff’s Bloodyminded project than anyone else; Solotroff
explores the most stereotypically comedic and absurd elements
of the genre, brilliantly setting himself up for ridicule
and mockery in the process. Contradiction takes this premise
one step further by mixing such self-mocking themes and lyrics
with a far more potent and forceful sound than Solotroff ever
achieved, albeit sans his trademark leather pants, resulting
in a recording of greater depth and personality than any power-electronics
release I’ve heard in recent years. Whereas Whitehouse
once crooned “Get down on your knees and suck my cock!,”
Contradiction declares “When I told you I liked you,
I wasn’t joking!” – thus
injecting a much-needed element of realism, perfectly reflecting
the modern noise man in all his emotionally sensitive and
politically-correct glory. Nothing short of a genuine masterpiece.
Noted Chicago experimentalist Kevin Drumm also contributes
to one track. Breathmint
Records, P.O. Box 1, Southampton PA 18966-0001, USA,
http://www.breathmint.net.
- - -
- -
LIVE REVIEW
Pauline
Oliveros at the University of Minnesota Rarig Center, Minneapolis
- December 4, 2004.
Pauline Oliveros’ piece “--the fierce
urgency of now--“ and her subsequent performance of
this work, neatly illustrated to me much of what’s wrong
with experimental / avant-garde music today. Both in concept
and execution, this piece was an exercise in mediocrity which
inexcusably fails to live up to even its own modest potential.
Avant-garde music
is, by definition, supposed to be challenging and risky –
attacking the prevailing conventions of the day. This is especially
true in America today, with a conservative government forcibly
encouraging conformity and dampening personal expression.
There are many new and dramatic ways to express one’s
distaste on this subject. And within the small world of underground
music, there is an even greater potential considering most
of the audience is already on the same page.
Oliveros, however,
takes the safest and least interesting path available to her
by making a generic dedication of the piece to a “world
without war”, and taking inspiration from a speech by
Martin Luther King Jr. Such a concept would be fairly commendable
if it were presented by, say, the Dixie Chicks, who may actually
reach people with their message. But in the context of an
avant-garde music performance, it’s as unnecessary as
describing the color of the walls around the stage, not to
mention being grossly typical and clichéd. War sucks!
Child abuse is bad! Hitler was evil! Saying such things isn’t
taking a stand or offering any solutions.
In
addition, the execution of the piece illustrates the worst
elements of using a Powerbook in a live performance setting.
Packing such a machine full of emulators and effect plug-ins
can be a convenient and inexpensive way to perform without
the need for hauling around a load of equipment – however,
for most Powerbook acts, Oliveros included, the machine becomes
such a crutch their performances can’t stand on its
own legs.
Oliveros
played accordian through a pre-programmed MIDI setting which
created six delayed, effect-laden outputs to six different
speakers. The end result was akin to uninteresting, random
notes being fed through an elaborate delay unit. In fact,
I swear one of the six outputs was using factory setting A2
on my cheap, plastic bass multi-effect pedal. If Oliveros
had instead conducted an ensemble of six accordian players,
for example, there at least would have been the potential
for some interaction between the players themselves, and between
the composer and players. Letting a machine do all the work
resulted in a listening experience so dry and lifeless it
could be compared to receiving a computer-generated form letter
from one’s credit card company.
There
was nothing “fierce” or “urgent” about
this performance. It offered nothing remotely new, and even
failed to present its clichés in an interesting way.
Not recommended.
reviews by
B. EDWARDS
JOE
COLLEY: Psychic Stress Soundtracks CD (ANTIFROST)
The newest CD by Joe Colley, and to give you the summation
in Nabakovian style: it's elegant and should be purchased
at your earliest convenience. Now, how I reached that assessment.
Describing Joe's work has never been a simple task for me;
on one level, this disc has works which overall might loosely
be classified as drones, but there's consistently a handful
of elements permeating fore- and background, giving each piece
a direction that 1) frees it from stark genre delineation
and 2) gives each piece greater individual life. Both factors
contribute to his works being intriguing and engaging. I would
prefer, for this review, to steer clear of “it sounds
like…” because that cheapens the excitement of
experiencing the sound and moreover reduces his sound to something
that can be described by slapping together some adjectives
and nouns, which simply is not fair. Anyway. Although my overall
impression is the pieces on this disc have a more composed
feel -- as opposed to rawer research documents -- it's also
inaccurate to say this disc is a “return to form.”
Both styles (research vs. composed, and he has more than these
two, fear not) have
their place, but the former is probably the one I enjoy more.
This is because while I find Joe's goals / intentions -- communicating
with sound / translating a state or idea into an aural experience
-- a constant thread in each release, my sense is he’s
also aiming to reach those goals in a different manner with
each release. And I'm speaking of more than a thorough examination
of “technique,” for lack of a better word. I envision
Joe with a small notepad full of notes on various sound observations
he's made and then thinking -- real, qualitative thinking
here, not merely noodling (although noodling has its place)
-- about how each sound not only conveys or captures an idea
but how sounds working together -- either sliding smooth like
glass or grating like rusted barbed wire -- convey a (sometime
different) idea than the separate elements.
Moreover, I find these
are not ideas needing explanation; Joe's work often has an
extremely personal feel (something perhaps difficult to even
want to attempt transmitting live [hence, in my speculation,
his infrequent live performances]), ideas that are perhaps
best developed when he's able to explore them in a controlled
environment (studio conditions). The delicacy and directness
of his audio output (not to mention the more “obvious”
aspects of the titles of the recordings) gives me the sense
that he’s working for something greater than the sum
of his audio output, but his sound works is as close as he’s
going to get to breakthrough -- or as comfortable as he feels
like getting through a public exercise / exorcising as an
audio release. To jump back to Joe’s “styles,”
though, I'm simultaneously not convinced of this "need"
for studio works; the often analytical sterility of some of
his conceptual pieces (field recordings, a DAT machine dying,
static from a TV, a record player being used to play another
object, the sound of clay absorbing water) works fantastic
as well.
It's this unification
of opposing ideas -- and many more, as I've alluded to before,
which make Joe's work stand out among the myriad sound artists
in existence today. On this disc, I would describe the overall
sound of any given piece in the following way (which I believe
will not contradict my earlier desire to not “describe”
the sounds): take several layers of thin ice, the topmost
being the thinnest and the bottom-most the thickest, and place
them a few inches from each other suspended by thin wires.
In each piece of ice embed a few objects, running on batteries.
Each object makes a sound, affected by 1) the batteries as
they slowly die, 2) the vibration of the ice, 3) the vibration
of the wires, 4) the vibration and vibration frequency of
the other object(s) in the ice. Eventually the thinnest ice
melts away and the objects fall to the next level below. The
process and interaction of sounds begins anew, yet permutated;
the ice continues to melt until all objects have collapsed
through the last piece of ice and all batteries have expired.
Joe's work is beautifully complex, beautifully simple; it
is determined both by chance and by a highly discerning ear.
Often, seemingly divergent elements are brought together in
Joe's works to resolve ideas -- the resolution of which is
only of concern to him. As a listener, you are fortunate enough
to hear the fruit of his labor and peek aurally into an amazing
place.
So who’s your greatest influence?
by Tracy
Heightchew
ECHO
IS YOUR LOVE (paper cut eye) were definitely
weaned on Sonic Youth, but early Sonic Youth, so that’s
a good thing in my book. Can’t figure out if all petite
Finnish girls sound this otherworldly, or if this chick’s
great accent is being distorted to achieve an alien effect.
Musically strong and self-assured w/long moments of guitar
walls of sound. This is good layered indie rock, the psycho-sexual
loveliness of “Haste Nowhere” is well worth the
CD, though it is pretty familiar, think of good Yo La Tengo
or, sigh, My Bloody Valentine w/easy to understand lyrics.
GO LIKE HELL (hell bend rock n roll)
really
wish they were the Plasmatics. BUT NOBODY IS THE PLASMATICS!
These guys are fun, probably a decent live show if you get
in for free, but man I hate ripoffs! Especially ones that
are so obvious yet call themselves ‘a homage to’
band. Even the cover is an obvious rethought Coup E’tat/New
Hope For the Wretched, minus the tank or swimming pool.
CLOCK-CLEANER (the hassler) I will
quote the promo material: “FLIPPER, BLACK FLAG, MELVINS,
BIG BLACK, JESUS LIZARD, SCRATCH ACID. “ Enough said,
either you will like those titles or not. Clockcleaner doesn’t
do a bad job, but really isn’t David Yow enough?
ANNIHILATION TIME these guys like Black Flag, probably
all eras. GREENLIGHT PROMISE (in a mirror
that lied the truth) Remember Soul Asylum? Toad the Wet
Sprocket? Man, when there is an early 90s nostalgic movement,
the band is going to cash in! Good luck!
THE
MOANERS
dark snack I saw The Moaners open for Wanda Jackson
and fell in love. And Trailer Bride (Melissa Swingle’s
first band) is in my top ten bands. Duo: drums, guitars and
vocals. I keep reading all the press releases and reviews
that kinda down on Trailer Bride for being too dark and whatnot,
too slow and comparing The Moaners to PJ Harvey. So PJ…well
there is something to this but this album is definetly homegrown,
no Brits here. From the mountains of North Carolina, and streets
of Balitmore, these are songs about Flannery O’Connor
and Elizabeth Cotton, with heavy blues riffs. A mean ass girl
with a lazy drawl and smart lyrics, this album is best when
it is dark, and though Melissa wants to get away from the
‘mournful’ music of Trailer Bride, songs like
‘Hard Times’ are the best songs of the album.
UNICORN
playing with light Soundtrack music, literally. This
release also includes 3 short films by Stephanie Miller. Sparse
electronic, soft sounds that make for great lullabies for
folks on the brink of sleep, you know, when your mind is wondering,
figuring out what dream images you’re going to be using
that night.
A
series of releases from Jeremy Kennedy and pals, otherwise
known as ‘the fuck me stupid mountain princess recording
collective’, from bloomington, IN:
D.K.G.
SLEEP TRIO wow, this is fun! Minimalist. Funny keyboards.
Hippy electronics. Which I usually hate, but hey! Why not?!
Silly Devoesque lyrics faded in the background that made smile.
Probably boring live. On the other hand are the MEAN-AGERS.
Same ole punk rock, three cord noise and screaming vocals
with titles like ‘I’m not poor, I’m punk.’
Maybe you have a dozen records that are like this, folks who
listened to a lot of dirty punk bands, the girl/guy mixed
vocals a lot like faster X, but the record’s fun and
I especially liked ‘robots 1.’ The chick sometimes
sounds like Yoshimi when she forces her voice too high, then
when her voice is low, she’s channeling Tragic Mulatto.
PUPPY VS. DYSLEXIA the legend of the
elk band Okay, so I’m thinking The Frogs. Not really,
cuz the lyrics are never quite in league w/’dead pussy
in the road’ though ‘I wanna do cocaine’
and ‘blackout gonerrhea madness” does contain
a lot of promise. And sometimes, the girl’s voice recalls
Garbage and the Flowers, or DadaMah (go New Zealand!) which
I don’t understand, cuz these folks are from Bloomington!
See, hooisers are okay. Sometimes. No, if you like
your noise homebrewed and you like all the above folks, and
would like some kind of mixture of them, check this lineup
out. I think I might be a ‘...fuck me mountain princess...’
fan.
Retarded
Albums — Reviewed!!
by Patty Hearst
MY
DAD IS A DINOSAUR CD (PRISON
JAZZ RECORDS)
To
get attention from people, you’re going to have to try
harder than playing acoustic songs that are supposed to piss
people off. If these songs are not trying to piss people off,
they shouldn’t contain the lyrics, “God had a
plan when he made woman and man man and woman fit like a puzzle.”
And the worst part is that this is a band made up of a couple.
Oh please! If you’re trying to be a cute couple band,
try Mates of State, and if you’re trying to piss people
off, try The Corndawg. One saving grace is the beautiful erotic
innuendo in the lyrics on the song entitled Lemons, “squeeze
that lemon til the juice runs down my leg ooh girl.”
VGM
MIX TAPE #8 CD (NO SIDES)
Nintendo
songs are pretty awesome! Whether you have no idea what game
these songs are based off of, or you beat the game 10 trillion
times in 2nd grade, you can’t deny the nostalgic bleepy
madness in these songs, calculated patterns chopped, skewed,
and reset. Listen and always feel like you’ve killed
all the monsters! Or saved a pretty lady! Or made it past
level 5 on Excite Bike! Christ that game was hard!!
Komputergurl’s
drum n bass hit was made on a speak and spell, and a great
dance hit, like Kraftwerk’s Pocket Calculator. There
are great pitch shifted melodies, and someone spells electric.
The downside is that if you liked this artist’s work,
you can’t find any more music they made; the insert
reads, “no information available” which is kinda
cheap. Should it have been on vinyl, you could drop this record
into your DJ set, and make the crowd go wild. Minibosses are
on this one, the great masters of the nintendo music! But
who mixes cds, really? No one really beat matches cd tables…
So.. that’s the give and take. Good nostalgic electronic
hits!
BASTARD
NOISE: Sound Engine CD (PACREC)
High
pitched ocean froth sounds, squeaks to show the audience,
“you are in a world that has already fallen apart,”
and the ambient doom of this album makes for the most post-apocalyptic
dance shindig of all time. That is, if you dance like a zombie
on ecstasy, and you’re glad that the world fell apart.
Tickle-ish, squiggly, uncomfortable sounds, echoed wind, sounds
resembling icicles falling from the sky onto a frozen man’s
beard. The first song is called A Pedestal to Support The
Invaders, arousing the imagery of a suspicious colliding of
outer space with the earth. Maybe enlarged insects gliding
across the cosmos at advanced speed, making communications
with each other of which part of the world to chomp down on
first?
The
first song combines Wiese & Wood with Jesus Philben, a
live track from February 2002. Human Denial, featuring the
death voice vocals of Guilt Connector, slaughters ears, splitting
freedom, from reality, makes slaves out of the audience, shattered
into a million bits of glass. The rest are exclusively Wiese
& Wood together. Seeding Interstellar Space, a 25 minute
live song, really is just that. Planting seeds interstellarly.
Perhaps that is what all “noise” musicians are
doing these days. Signals to the aliens perhaps? Enjoy it,
this is among the pinnacles of noise music.
DEAD
LIKE DALLAS: The Great Midwestern Tragedy CD The
Great Midwestern Tragedy is, like most hardcore these days,
spotted with beautiful Modest Mouse like vocals and guitar
riffs, which decay into loud onslaughts that will guarantee
any 18 year old audience a major freak-out, headbanging, pit
dancing session. Or maybe no one crushes each other in a pit
anymore. Who knows. If they don’t though, that’s
like at least half the reason this band exists. The other
is for pretty fresh guitar riffs. But even those aren’t
even so original, and tend to repeat the same notes over and
over. What may be the case it the lead guitarist doesn’t
have the guts or the self esteem enough to follow through
with his dreams of epic Cliffs of Dover style song writing.
Maybe he really is better than the rest, but his scene is
reinforcing his mediocrity? Just stuff for teenage kids to
go wild, which is something to respect, for absolute certain.
Maybe not for your average Blastitude reader. This is totally
the kind of album that will help bring teenagers in the Midwest
leading tragic lives into late adolescence. We should all
support that.
VARIOUS
ARTISTS: Songs of Freedom and Joy, A Collection of Bad Music
and Random Weirdness CD (ALSO-RAN
RECORDS)
Also-Ran
Records’ motto is “Never for money, always for
love.” With a slogan like that, you can tell it’s
either hippies or Christians. Well, it sounds like both, and
the liner notes say, “Our purpose at Also-Ran Records
is to increase faith in the hearts of growing Christians,
inspire holiness in the lives of believers, and instill hope
in the hearts of struggling people everywhere because He is
coming!” Well, with that kind of attitude, maybe putting
out records ought to be someone else’s business? Especially
if the album’s title reflects that the compilation curators
are choosing “Bad Music” (which it kinda is) and
“Random Weirdness” (couldn’t agree more!)!
A
song by “The Crispin Glover Experience” called
Not 4 Rape on Me is a story about something like a rape drama,
which isn’t that cool, and really not feminist in any
way, as it’s about a woman who was raped, but won’t
fess up because the cops “woulda had to take a hair
sample, woulda had to inspect your pussy” which is not
cool, I guess, and why is it by “The Crispin Glover
Experience”?
This
difficult album claims to be music made by a number of different
people. The song titles don’t match up with each other
on various printed matter, and there are also a number of
outright lies regarding the mastering and making of this cd.
I will not indulge any creators by even mentioning who they
bothered to falsely name-drop here, but it seems obvious that
this is a practical joke that went way too far.
CAESURA:
Wallpaper The Witness CD (BIRDS
GO SOUTH)
Wallpaper
the Witness is much like Old Time Relijun’s verve of
existence. Bouncy beautiful bass lines, and operatic style
vocals, that can only resemble Arrington’s. The drummer
is forceful and springy, inducing ruptures of spastic dancing,
as only a band from San Francisco can! Evan Rehill plays a
mean bluesy guitar howling in beside the groovy chord-ridden
bass lines. Discombobulated broken beat sort of song writing
with the wobbly melodic tones make it a great party album.
Dead on, this is an awesome album. The recording is so crisp,
that all the songs are pretty great, but nothing compares
to their opener. It only gets noisier and shoegazier from
there. Killer B is the climax song here, a true epic anthem
to incite riots. The music goes from shoegazey songs into
art damaged noise, which is an incredible feat, truly.
YEN
POX CD (WINDPISSER)
This album was “Recorded in Da Bronx”
which causes one to wonder just what kind of cred you get
by recording in “Da Bronx,” and who can be certain!
Certainly
an exciting album, mixing tuba, banjo, and tape, with some
vocals, unless those are from the tape. This is some experimental
noise music for certain, sounds like improvised jazz. Awesome
music to listen to anytime, anywhere, doing whatever. Put
it on a boombox and ride from “Da Bronx” to Queens,
and you probably wouldn’t piss off anybody else on the
train. This is good hearted, funky, calm, unpretentious, laughable,
awesome, instinctual, and animalistic. The banjo is played
by Brandon Seabrook like a drum, whispy and poppy. The tuba
has a mind of it’s own, played by Jesse Dulman. Part
of the same sphere of sound, everything comes together, an
amulet of kindered spirits. The song Grimy really is the noisiest
on here, with total banjo plucking madness! The hit of this
little album is song number 4, Flimsy, truly a shining star!
This group complements bands like Gang Wizard and Sunburned
Hand of the Man as it’s the same element and genre,
but it’s so low key and gorgeous, anyone would enjoy
a listen.
PAULA
MAYA: Resurrection CD (YELLOW
HOUSE RECORDS)
Now, it’s really tough to keep track of all the Tori
Amos imitators in the world, and maybe that’s the wrong
perspective to have here, because it sounds like Paula Maya
is a bit more like, say, Sheryl Crow, as it is an upbeat and
friendly album, in terms of tone, voice, and subject matter.
Aesthetically, it is a bit more whiney and sensitive sounding
like Tori Amos. Too sensitive. If Sheryl Crow is rock and
roll, Tori Amos is the Queen of Emo, and this is like the
Princess of Emo who played Dungeons and Dragons with some
other kids. The lyrics are great evidence of the problem inherent
within this album, “Obsession/despair/insanity/freedom”
which are all cool things to talk about, and maybe in one
song, but not when you’re whining and half positive
about the whole thing. The keyboard parts are way too simple
and straightforward. The title track Resurrection is in Portuguese
and English, and does not, like another reviewer suggests,
remind one of Peter Gabriel. Peter Gabriel is way more inspired.
If you like Kenny G and Tori Amos you might enjoy this!
BIG
IN JAPAN: Who Really Needs A Heart Anyway? (INSUBORDINATION
RECORDS)
Sometimes
they sound like John Cougar Mellancamp meets Built to Spill,
which could lead you to believe that this is a kinda ok rock
album, on the extraordinarily poppy side. And then, out of
nowhere, the song Carbon Dioxide sounds like a Green Day song.
Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, can you fault a
band for not being able to stick to one set idea? Trial and
Error sounds like Rush meets Elvis Costello. This album is
extraordinarily schizophrenic, which is exactly why perhaps
they can’t find a girlfriend.
STATICA
CD (DELIRIUM RECORDS)
To
their credit, they do label this album as power pop on a sticker,
which will not mislead anyone. Lead singer Martin Blasick
has a voice like a young Robert Pollard! If Guided By Voices
played songs like The Ramones which would be about what it
would sound like, also, Pollard would have to be on prozac
to produce this result. Should they go on a month long drinking
bender? A keg on stage per show across the country? Then they
could be Guided by Voices Part II and it would be awesome!
As it is, they’re very talented and awesome musicians,
who will definitely be around in the future.
ALEC
K. REDFEARN & THE EYESORES: Every Man for Himself &
God Against All CD (CORLEONE RECORDS)
Exciting
delivery of vocals, different use of instrumentation, and
passion are what separates this album from the rest. In the
first ten seconds there is already passion, emotion, and something
awesome shaking. Gorgeous bass drum. Incredible back up singers.
Serious lyrics and plucking away at the guitar. This is some
great music here, inspired, so it seems by both independent
American pop music and also some international flavors here,
perhaps evident mostly in the horn orchestration.
On
Candy-Ass, around the minute and a half mark, the song embarks
on a fluid churned out vision of intense fever dreams, making
this sound of cacophanous ballroom expression, which stops
on a dime to return to the sweet sing songy voices within.
The
last song, Coccyx, is a bit more noise echo than the rest,
and seems to stem from a dark inclination, rather than the
sugar coated songs on the rest of the album. It is just as
pretty as the rest of the songs.
There
is so much in the way of cool kinds of stuff on this album.
If you like The Blow, or other indie K Records type stuff,
you ought to jump on this too.
WORLD:
Portland, OR live song
This
one song live recording that was received by a compilation
committee has not been released in any way at this time. Featuring
Honey Owens and Adam Forkner, who also perform in bands Jackie
O Motherfucker, and singularly in many other projects (too
many to name!), this is a total new and lo fi version, in
one perspective, of some Led Zeppelin song, only maybe it’s
not just one Zeppelin song, maybe it’s a bunch of them.
Adam’s guitar playing stops for no man, just totally
grooving jam band style, while Honey’s vocals overtake
the album through the use of some fuzzy effects, like she’s
in outer space in a cloud and Adam is flying a kite with an
anchor on it. Get anything you can by them, because it all
rips most experimental dance music out of the ballpark. http://www.yarnlazer.com
VARIOUS
ARTISTS: The Immaculate Deception, A Tribute To Madonna (DELIRIUM
RECORDS)
So, a few people went to a bar together, and they had had
a few beers at this point, and one of them said, “Hey,
punks are just as much influenced by Madonna as they are by
The Stooges!” and one of the other people there said,
“Oh yeah, prove it” and the original speaker went
out and produced this compilation.
Of course,
they are talented, but the idea is a bit played out, and while
it must be a pretty big ego boost to play a Madonna song like
it’s all punk, still, who wouldn’t rather hear
Madonna than some punk guitar solo in the middle of Burnin
Up? Of course, this all depends on whether or not you’re
into that sort of thing. Granted, a lot of these songs are
accurate depictions of the original, but that’s not
what people like in a cover album. People like things to sound
a little different. And this is just off just enough to make
the audience crave the original: talented women singers, talented
drum programmers and musicians. The best/worst song on here
is a tie between the Material Girl and Like A Prayer covers.
Like A Prayer is so serious, it’s hard to take seriously,
and Material Girl features goofy guy singers singing as if
it were reggae. Sorta weird, and doesn’t stray far enough
from the original. Yep.
CRONIC:
Noi CD (PRIESTHOLE RECORDS)
Fucking
crazy sounds, here. There are some rad Guns n Roses style
solos, some warped guitar moves, and some rad singing, all
operatic and gothic sounding, but the beats are off, like
in the recording process they missed a few lines of something,
and the effect ends up sounding like it’s at a drunk
party, not the masterpiece of perfection that this could be
if they had gone in and recorded it a second time. The vocal
delivery is so far off that it’s really just hard to
listen, but the ideas are like a warm day on Mount Everest,
and the sounds are truly out of this ecosystem. Here’s
to hoping that they go at it again, giving the gothic elements
a bit of a rest, and encouraging the spacey ideas that come
out in this mix.
This
harsh industrial wacky layering is freaky in it’s own
right, though, and is worth a listen to know what the voices
inside their head kinda sound like.
ROBERT
JACKSON: Personal Jesus CD (AIF
RECORDS)
Is New York City Positive Bar Rock anybody’s
cup of tea? Jackson believes the message is in the music,
and that song writing comes first and foremost, and has won
some awards, but this stuff, as much as it is impeccably produced,
mastered, and has some greatly traditional rock and roll sounds,
it is completely lacking in anything really truly touching
and new. Hard to feel like you’re really with him, it’s
so clean and easy listening, like it was supposed to be played
at Nordstrom Rack on a pretty sunshiny Saturday morning, like,
if you’re into buying discounted mom jeans that you
think are maybe cool, than this music is for you. The “punk”
song on here called Dead Yuppies on the Highway is hardly
worth the time for a listen, it is such a fake anthem that
it’s impossible to believe that he could even for a
fucking second believe that he is really tough enough to think
it’s “rad” to see “cappuccino in the
mud.” Oh, please, spare me your Jesus, and your surf
rock too.
THE
NORTH SEA: The Oscelot Chronicles Volume One
(DIGITALIS
INDUSTRIES)
People
in Oklahoma do indeed like twee pop, but this is not twee
pop. This is waves of chords, played through some delay, and
it’s more or less nice sounding, and a bit echoey, and
not really appropriate for more than intense listening. The
moving sounds overhead flange like a drive by radar, and the
guitar flounders about aimlessly repeating itself, with good
intentions. The title of the first song is Drinking Gallo
By The Seaside, which sounds about right: being drunk and
sea sick at the same time?
Next
songs are more “wow” oriented, with beepy blips
and bizarre struggling drops of water cascading somewhere,
as if they contact mic’d the rain. Things get more interesting
as sounds layer upon each other and form some kinda rainforest
of virtual sound land scape blend. But this album flip flops
between repeating guitar moves, and these weird land/sound
scapes, and doesn’t move beyond this. Even the song
Vegas, which ought to be a bit about bright lights, and hookers,
doesn’t even have the right ring to it: still this acoustic
guitar with some chord progressions, and this time, without
effects. This is uninteresting noise oriented folk music at
its least pretentious, at least, and that is the best thing
one can say about it, other than it’s not at all harsh
on the ears, and is a great introduction for your folk friend,
if you want him or her to start liking Wolf Eyes one day.
Also,
The North Sea gets an A+ for packaging ideas, which include
some batik fabric.
DISCHARGE
INFORMATION SYSTEM CD
dischargeinformationsystem@yahoo.com
Extraordinary
hard rock cello opening, that starts some seriously awesome
quick paced drumming and gear shifts, from beat to beat, but
then the first song is also called 50 Percent Metal. Where
do you go from here? Presenting every genre in the world in
cello and drums? No, it’s all metal. This is a DIY Metal
Screaming Drums and Cello album, and it rules. There is no
information on how to get more copies of this, but hopefully
you can contact them at this address, and since this was recorded
in 2002, it’s probably outdated at this point, and there
is no way to get copies of it anymore, nor even find out where
these people are.
The
break downs here are super cordial displays of what you can
really do as a duo using some original sounding instrumentation,
some extra sparse notation, some serious exploring of what
can be done, but most importantly these people are really,
really paying attention to each other and listening, totally
grasping the importance of the present moment to fill the
gaps of time where emotions don’t need to be spoken,
merely expressed in sounds, perfected, and headbangingly.
Are Andy and Melissa out there? Are they opening their email
inbox? Boy, one should hope, we need more bridges of classical
to noise that are as intensely gorgeous as this on the planet.
Let their intentions be sung high: this is melodic, emotional,
and grating to reality. There is everything to love.
(show
review)
MONSTER DUDES, OTUM RECTEPULANT, MIKAELA'S FIEND, SICKIE SICKIE,
BATTLESHIP, HUSTLER WHITE / Portland, Oregon (maybe?) / March
25, 2005
I should really start this off by just saying that
I went to a show last Friday. I really want to bore you with
the details of the history of the Portland underground weird/experimental/
rock/noise scene, but I can’t. In the amount of time
that it would take for me to do that, Blastitude would totally
be on issue 127. At least. This show was perhaps the penultimate
version of everything you could ever want in underground music,
and let me explain why.
For one, everybody
who played broke all the rules, and the people who put on
the show broke a lot of rules too, and this is really the
most important aspect of our daily life: which rules will
you break today? Today I am breaking all the journalism rules,
and I am using the word I, and I will also use the word fuck
if I have to. Not every article you read is gonna do that,
and I know, cuz I’ve read the rules, and the best piece
of advice I’ve gotten in my adult life was from Richard
Meltzer: you gotta break the rules.
So this show may
or may have taken place somewhere in Portland, and I can’t
tell you where, and that’s probably for the best.
I pulled up in
the Monster Dudes tour van, which was a relatively non descript
minivan which Jeremy described as fancy, and Venec insisted
was absolutely not fancy, not that I can remember a reason
why. For anyone who thinks that this is a “band with
a kid in it” you’re right, but what you don’t
understand is that this is a serious rock and roll band, and
that Jeremy plays with his son is really just the tip of the
iceberg. This music is raw, and serious, and Venec writes
most of the songs. He loves Bad Religion, The Ramones, and
anything that particularly strikes his fancy, for example,
he really took to this one song off of the Belgian Compilation
FOKROKTOP which did indeed feature belching.
So, Monster Dudes
unloaded in this totally unadvertised show space, where they
had not really had any shows prior, and will probably not
again, really, either, for no real reason, other than legality,
hospitality, and perhaps cleanliness issues, but the point
here is that it is the absolutely unadvertised shows in Portland
that really make the floodgates fall wide open, and I mean
wide fucking open.
Monster Dudes'
set consisted of a few surprises, some songs written by Venec,
and some instrumentation that seemed live, but was then looped
in a special way to allow for both Venec and Jeremy to run
around chasing each other, and wrestling; all the while, a
second back up drummer took up the slack where Venec was,
and the music came back and forth in that manner for some
time, each time increasingly more and more catchy, adorable,
ecstatic and full of life. And then their set was over, and
Venec was left to tinker with everything left in the room.
from http://www.urbanhonking.com/kill/
There were some kegs, but I think they were finished early
on, and everyone was at that point where they were just teetering
on the edges of reality so much so that someone was projectile
pooping in a bathroom somewhere, and someone was able to walk
in on them, and proceed to announce to several rooms of party
what had just transpired.
When the
extra-winged out-metal band Otum Rectepulant played, one member's
girlfriend was dancing in a circular trance on top of a sort
of catwalk, and was so tranced out by the circles that she
lost sight of her purpose, forgetting to throw a bucket of
blood on the performers who had asked her to do just that.
Otum Rectepulant played with a very large and ornate scepter
that glowed upon being slammed into the ground ruled the crowd
with such ambience, and although the sound was truly secondary
to the performance, the performance was the most entertaining
thing anyone had seen in months, and the front line of spectators
stood with beer in hand, mouth agape, hanging onto each other
for dear life that they could not believe what was before
their very own eyes.
from http://www.urbanhonking.com/kill/
Mikaela’s
Fiend played next, and by then the place was getting packed,
and this was a big space. It was just so very Portland, perfect
for Hustler White, and Mikaela’s Fiend’s tour
kickoff show: tons of energy, brightly colored faces, and
musicians and art everywhere you turn. It is indeed a rare
moment that you see this many people come out to a show, and
that deserves as much praise as can be brandished on the audience,
who all rocked out to Mikaela’s Fiend, a bright young
group from Seattle, Washington. They play with the most incredible
sort of rambunctiousness you could dream of seeing, hair flipping
around all over the place, and stylish kids gyrating in the
same motion.
For the remainder
of the groups playing (Hustler White, Battleship, and Sickie
Sickie) a distinction has to be made, because the first three
bands seemed like one show, and the remainder of the three
seemed to be another show. Not in terms of sound, but in terms
of judging how well I remember the events that took place
that night. For example, it’s hard to remember which
band played next, but I think it was Sickie Sickie, and did
I mention yet that this was all part of one large Animal Prom?
Well, it was an animal prom, so people were dressed like they
were animals – at a prom.
Dressed in
scavenged prom dresses, Sickie Sickie took to the stage in
a punk rock rage (no joke!). My favorite song of theirs is
Humming Bird, and features some of the most incredible dynamics
since punk broke. There are three girls in the group, all
of whom love playing with each other, and they work with each
other screaming and singing, producing extra loud bass sounds,
and dancey drum parts, it’s a super arty dance band
that is just so fabulous, they are not to be missed, nor messed
with. These girls know what’s up musically and otherwise.
Raw, beautiful, and passionate, they are the best new underground
band in Portland.
Now, when
I say underground, I mean that these people in these underground
bands aren’t really shelling out the big bucks for their
gear, hell, who knows if any of the bands considered underground
can afford to. Probably not, but this music is made out of
necessity, it is always going to be do it or die, and basically
presents an awful lot of this realized dream like energy,
and shows that are sometimes more like punk art installations.
This show was the pinnacle of that kind of expression.
Battleship,
who are from Oakland, performed a rockin, and beautiful set,
followed by Hustler White, and both bands are perhaps the
epitome of this expression. Meghan of Hustler White used to
sign her email with a signature about how rock and roll has
kidnapped her, and she’s not running away screaming.
It’s true in many ways, for most of these souls that
something concerning rock and roll has captured them, myself
included, and there is no turning back. Maybe we’ve
been waiting our whole lives for this moment, and here it
is, some of the most raw and eternal sounds of the future
of real, honest, and true music.
from http://www.urbanhonking.com/kill/
Hustler
White sounds pretty wild, these kids indeed are wild. Made
up of some of the wreckages of the bands Hux, and Alarmist,
there are two lead vocalists who do a fair amount of no wavey
theatrics, running and singing, and doing some weird, funny
stuff, like Mariel who runs up to members of the audience
and tries to make them move. It’s good energy.
Overall,
this is the sound of the future of Portland. People who are
doing it because they love to fucking do it. And these people
all are gonna break all the rules: of playing music, of recording,
of what performance is, and reinvent the fucking wheel. They’re
all breaking all these rules, and you’re gonna miss
out on it, unless you hear the call too. It’s do or
die. And that is all.
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