Thursday, April 28, 2011
Hey now, I damn near missed this little record what had fallen outta that White Boy box! It's a mysterious private press looking thing by some outfit what's called Trophy Wife. Do tell! As a matter've fact, I'm oglin up a couple right now (my own, not the band). They was nice enough to include a press kit, jabberin about Spector girl groups, Gun Club, Birthday Party, Southern Goth.......oops, sorry about that. Had to take a break. Them real trophy wives needed some Woodbe time. Huzza!
Um.....oh, right, this Trophy Wife band has a cool detached sound, though none of them references they's claim to convey was obvious to my ears. Ethereal they is too. I's was transported to a parallel world, one where that Janet & The Johns was all Janets, Amos & Sara was Sara & Sarah & The Liggers was The Liggers was The Lexie Mountain Boys ('cept they really WAS boys what had they's dingle's snipped to sing high, you know, as in girlish voce).When you think about it like that, all the spooky talk of Civil War cemeteries 'n hauntin spectre's makes sense. If someone when 'n cut off part've my pecker, I think I'd develop some idiosyncratic musical styles too. But like I was sayin, there's them trophy wives just yonder that can tell you's I'm as healthy as a horse. But not now, they's sleepin, SSSSHHHH!
Trophy Wife can be contacted here;
My eyes did a double take when I see this record perched in my mail trap (they's ain't got no word here for box near's I can tell). Good lord I was happy, only cause I'd been lookin for a copy since Robin Yount was a five figure Brewer. The writeup that Roach Records put togther kind've says it all, 'cept I ain't got a damn clue what's Lamour is (or was) or's this Meanstreak they's reference. I guess I'll have to get to investigatin'em! Wouldn't wanna miss out.
Some nimble-toed piker once tried to tell me this was the same band as Mr. Ott & Jake Whip had but I'd knowed that was a sack of shit 'n told him about it.He made a mess in his drawers what stunk up the bar to high heaven, but at least he's still around to deny it. The real word is the band ain't but one feller & he hired them others on the front to look all tough. It sorta works. Takes me back to some dumbshits what tried to tangle w/yours truly in Parkersburg, WV in the early 80's. None of'em even seen the blade they's surrendered to, let alone feel it. Ah, youth, to be wasted so young. Feel free to quote me on that.
So White Boy & The Average Rat Band.....hard to say exactly where they's (or he) was comin from but know this; when it wants to, this lp is as wild as a peach orchard hog. There's also some screwy ballads goin on ('Oriental Doctors', wow! Too bad Tommy Bolin ain't around to here THAT one) + an outta nowhere acoustic number too. Locked into some current that's more metal than punk, it ain't no joke, as funny as it may seem at times. In other words, Nig Heist it is not. I'm hip to the Kenneth Higney reference too, and Michael Schenker. It woulda been cool if Kenny'd aped Scorpions more than Cat Stevens, but he didn't & behold we's got both 'Attic Demonstration' AND this here White Boy lp. How's are any of us worse off for that? The best of both. Now if only that Higney lp would get rereleased.....
Find this brattled gem here;
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Strum The Four String Again.....TWO new releases from Bill Orcutt!
Did you's know? Nope, nobody did! Had no idea these was to drop, but that's ain't such a surprise, givin my current surroundin's (at present I's is sittin tight on an outrigger in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, writin on a borrowed Polynesian Blackberry). And whose am I gonna share my enthusiasm with anyways? Ain't no one's on this boat, I can guarantee! They's all hopped up about a tuna run, so off I went, but weren't gonna let'em interfere w/my deadline. I'm a multi-tasker from way back.
So yeah, these 2 7"ers is ever rawer & more open then them previous 3 releases what's now artifacts've legend. Could've been done in a live setting (gallery style perhaps) or direct recorded in his studio (shoes optional I am told). They's seem to function as a set, or pair, HEAR YE, one's could even conceive of'em as twins. Like Remus & Romulus; suckled off the teet of a wolf, founders of Rome, the most famous Feral Children of all Mythology. Now's I ain't insinuatin that Bill's playin 'n vocal harmonizin is feral. But most of the cat's in my village is & when I was playin these last night after (ANOTHER) lobster feed, it was liked the feline doomsday clock struck twelve. Course you gotta imagine the superb resonance of guitar & moan on these dudes; cranked up (what other way would you suggest?) they's sound like battle scenes culled from a Kurosawa soundtrack (Throne Of Blood, for instance) but instead of human actors, they's REAL gnarled up old tomcats attackin rats across a vast landscape of ravaged sinew. Bearin that in mind, dig, that when them tunes hit the public airwaves (my DJ stint's here is already big stuff)it was like a collective panic set in, just about ever critter w/claws went screamin outta sight & into the bush for fear! It was so mind rattlin I was forced to stop playin'em. Chickens was runnin around, cluckin they's little, dumb, heads off, shittin everywhere. Cat's howlin from trees, dogs bayin from the cliffs. All the parrots 'n every other bird what could, lit out for some faraway island.I even found a herd've goats what had cut themselves off on a crag, CRYIN! Yep, they was bawlin like newborn babes. Who's have thought? So I reckon let this be a lesson to any pet owners out there; DO NOT PLAY THESE RECORDS BEFORE A TRIP TO THE VET. Hell, you might as well just feed'em a rasher of bacon & let'em check out happy. Because everybody loves bacon. Even a toad'll eat it.
So's anyway, I guess I ain't gonna get a repeat listen to'em anytime soon. Maybe on headphones, if I could get me some. I'd like to post photo's of what house these stupendous, Herculean efforts but I was told not to. Said so in the letter what come w/em, let me read it aloud;
Here are new releases. The pressings are small on each. Right now they are being sold only at shows. No need to review them, but if you must, I understand. Just please no corresponding artwork!. Thank you Roland. Your thoughts count, most of all to you."
Not review'em? A leopard can't change it's spot, can they? I had to tell you's about'em! Shit, writin words 'n stringin folks along is what I's do best(internet speakin, that is)!
Which reminds me-Mr. Bill also included in his package a chocolate flavored condom. Now I can't say's if that's a joke, but considerin how he's the evil Dr. Doolittle, I say's he knows that the vendin machines in Kolonia ain't near what they's is in San Fran. Just goes to show that when some folks say 'fuck a duck", well, they mean it.
Contact Bill Orcutt via;
Monday, April 25, 2011
It is to my great & everlastin dissatisfaction that I's never got to a Violent Students gig. But they was windin down in Philburg as I was gettin wound up. Anything about'em seemed to be word of mouth & ever now 'n again I might find a cdr or hear tell of this're that. A slim but prime discography to be sure. And who could ever forget the artwork to they's bigtime debut COMPACT DISC for Parts Unknown? Just about the LAMEST design to ever prance down the promenade! That is until The Chickens released they's work of 7" genius on a label but a stone's throw from this Blog. Oof! It pains my eyes to even think of THAT cover.
But I's always said Violent Students needed to have an lp, a crucial, vinyl document on how they's put their there there. And this 'Party Addiction' is just sucha beast. Evidently culled from a recordin of the final live performance + a recroak of the 'A Handy Magician' cassette, there's is two ways to hear 'n assimilate this masterpiece of gunk; as either wretchin your way through Cro Mags demo's played at half speed w/a tummy ache (too much veganaise on the non gluten tater tots will do that!) or as Hajokaidian convulsing in spasms from mercury poisoning while coverin Psycho Sin's entire output. No way to know how your wired friend, but from my culture bunker this is win/win all the way home. Dig it here;
There's been this fanzine what's sprung up down to Australia called Negative Guest List & it's got lot's of crows crowin. Which is a good thing. 'Cept I am a sad fuckin sap & ain't even seen an issue. Ever! The feller what's behind it, Mr. Brendan Somethinorother, seems like a straight shooter though, so's here's hopin such a glarin oversight is rectified soon. But then before I's could even get a gander at page one he's gone & released a 7", usin the street cred of the NGL name as collateral. Hmmmm, now where have I come across this business model before?
Anyways, the Wonderfuls s/t 7" is a humdinger & a half. Purported to be the work of 2 cousins-one's of which is mentally unstable (LOOK WHO'S TALKING?-Capt'n Siltbreeze)-these 4 tracks rank this hoss high amongst the recent Aussie imports. It has a deliciously skewered crackle that recalls 4 different bands what was citizens within the Terse Tapes universe 1 million art-noise punk years ago. I mean listen to it! At any given time they could be Holiday Fun, East End Butchers, Agent Orange, Pastel Bats, Invisible Boys, Wet Taxis, Lazio Toth, Lunatic Fringe, Mice Against God, Pissy Relay Switches, Mesh & Disneyland but never Bathroom Beans, Art Throbs, Mindless Delta Children, Junk Logic, Painkillers, Saxaphone Caper, Zzzzzzzzz, The Klu, Negative Reaction, Laughing Hands, JP Sartre Band or Disneyland. It's a slippery slope, you know? But The Wonderfuls sound like they's squiggle is just right.Let's hear more! Long may they swish.
THIS JUST IN: Contact Mr. Negative Guest List firstname.lastname@example.org
Friday, April 22, 2011
In a sort've amusin way, it's hard to know (or recall) if the phenom known as New Weird America simply ceased to exist ( vague Manson pun intended) or if the majority lit out in retreat w/all the grace 'n elan of despots forced into exile. Oh, they's some still out there, strummin away, talkin they's post Beat patois & you know...that's just fine. After all, them's what's still struttin, it's like they's was granted peerage. And you don't expect folks what go around believin they's some kind've alt/music Count(ess), Earl (ditto) or Baron(et) to just relinquish cape 'n septer & walk away, do you? 'Course, all this titlein was done by Straw Kings & I bet it was a grande olde time while it lasted. Now some's seem to be more or less banished (when was the last time anyone heard from Lambsbread? Ding!-rhetorical question) & lot's of would-be Lords 'n Ladies in waitin should breathe a sigh've relief they's boat sailed into harbor post facto(just about every occupant on the USS Not Not Fun for example). But in the end, it happened, & by the by, we's is all better off on account of it. Think about that for a spell. Go ahead, mull it over. No need to get back to me. I know the answer. Here's a clue-its true.
So how that gets us to Chora....well....I suspect they was present at a few banquets once upon a time, but you can't let petty grievances (like musical politics) corrode the whole kit & caboodle. Take this posit for instance; we wouldn't have no nuclear bombs're space program were it not for the help of Werner Von Braun. And you know what he was, don't ya? That's right-A SCIENTIST.
So bearin that in mind, my ears 'n nodes was pleasantly pixilated when I got the Chora lp what w/it's imaginative, textured & (seemingly) improvised rummagin. There's some great density goin on at times, also effective use of trance 'n drone, pleasant passages segue into harsh walls....I dunno, it's like if This Heat had created an lp specifically for the Shandar label. And if THIS 'Slates' (don't tell Mark E. Smith!)was recorded at Cold Storage, well then, pluck my chest hairs 'n call me David Cunningham! Neat stuff through & through. I look forward to hearin more.
Get it here; www.fusetronsound.com
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Can't says that I's make it up to Bucks County much, 'cept in late summer w/the heirloom tomaters 'n silver corn's in season. Some roadside stands over to Lambertville's always got just about the best I's ever had, year in, year out. Even the squash ain't no runts.
New Hope though.....just never seen the point. Oh sure, been there once, this here's what I remember about it; burnt chicken (aka 'Buffalo') wings, some French onion soup what tasted like it was made w/ketchup, watchin a rolly-polly gnaw on an ice cream biscuit,bikers on foot, a marble outhouse, dandelion wine, weak margarita's,lavender scented everything, lot's of jabberin, no parkin & a record shop run by a confused & bitter person what was tryin to sell a 10,000$, 10" acetate by an "unknown" rock band. So you tell me, what am I missin?
But eventually somethin good's gotta germinate, even there. And I reckon if nothing else, the spark what's piqued my interest is this S/T lp by Sunlore. Not that I'll be bustin a gut to visit'em if I ever get back that way, yet I ain't so cold hearted that I don't rejoice in what they's tryin to push. And what's so goddamn enjoyable about that is figurin out exactly what's spinnin; not just on the turntable, but in they's collective noggins. First go I could conjure them all sittin around a table, reading them Walter Wegmuller tarot cards while listenin to Toiling Midget's 'Deadbeat's. Since then I's heard sounds what resemble: the X/pressway Allstars muted rock opera on Beak Doctor, the unrecorded Hovlakin instrumental lp, Danny & The Dressmakers reinterpretin Manuel Gottsching's 'E2-E4' & Coloured Balls snorin through Marshall stacks. Which is all very much to my likin. They's also got a sideways/"sister" lp/band what's called 'Heartland' that thinner skins claim to enjoy (or is it, understand?) more, but from my vantage, there's fun more in the 'Sunlore' Find'em here;
Contact the band here;
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Call it intuition, but somethin tells me that Crazy Dreams Band ain't gettin nearly none of the attention & accolades they should be. I've been sayin for too long (usually in a mirror) they's about one of the top, best live bands you could wanna come across. And this latest lp on Holy Mountain has been gettin muchos spinnos on my Polynesian hi-fi & that ain't likely to stop anytime soon. Good stuff? No, GREAT.
Likes many a dandy combo, what you see (live) & what you get (vinyl) is slightly different. In the flesh the angular blues thud 'n rumble is akin to Magic Band + Doors hybrid & Lexie Mountain couldn't be any more've a transfixin or versatile front person less she was dead 'n shrouded in legend. But w/her float 'n sting attack, I'd say she's gonna be boxin ears for as long as she can embrace (or stomach) the jaded pea brains & attention deficit dipshits what's sprung up like weeds all around. Whatever happened to discernin tastes? Sadly it's just legions of deaf & dumb. And hell, here I am, ensconced out on a spit of an island, middle've nowhere, nothin but records,wi-fi, a chili butter poached lobster, ice cold tub've suds 'n two lovely "interns" to keep me jazzed & even I know that is a CROCK. Whoever said 'it takes a village" must've been talkin about the one of the damned.
But enough soapboxin. So since ain't no one has paid the Crazy Dreams bunch no mind-at least on they's sophomore effort-allow me to elaborate. 'War Dreams' isn't really an extension of the 1st one. Nope, it's a completely new kaleidoscope of sounds. Which is to say if you was confused by the S/T effort, this one could be more in your comfort zone. How would I know? Can't says that I do, but my reckonin is if you's is someone what get's down 'n can slither w/the likes of Tractor, Gunjogacrayon, Älgarnas Trädgård, Medicine Head, Equal, Checkpoint Charlie, Stackwaddy, Brastburn, Hampton Grease Band, Occasional World Ensemble, Totsuzen Danball, Ahora Mazda, Moohlah, ZOA, Mad Tea Party, Plastic People Of The Universe, Far East,Third Ear Band, Xhol Caravan, Karuna Khyal, Brainticket AND Stone The Crows, well.....this platter've prime dunt oughta fit into your greasy repertoire like fried chicken on a waffle. Syrup is optional. Available here;
contact the band via; www.myspace.com/thecrazydreamsband
Monday, April 18, 2011
You could fill Love Canal all over again w/drums of crud I don't know about Tom Darksmith. Sometimes motivational speaker (under the alias, 'Tony Coinpurse'), mild mannered hotel concierge, illustrator of pen & ink illusion, sure, these is all common knowledge. Maybe not so common, I mean, go to his blog 'n look at them pictures!. And his fiscal philosophies, the one comparin money to water is what got me drawn in. I've sat through 2 of his finance symposiums-'How To Stretch A Dime Into A Dollar' & The Three Dollar Bill;The One That Got Away' & I gotta tell you's, I coulda listened to that guy talk ALL DAY. So when at the end of the latter (SF Marriott downtown, date now unknown, dammit!) he was promotin a solo lp, I was right there, long green in hand, ready for the fork. Once transaction was achieved, I got it back to the safehouse & gave it a whirl.
Seein how it was on Hanson, I knowed it was gonna be good, but wow, I guess I wasn't prepared for the organic leap backwards into the future. Referred to as field recordings, Total Vaccum is a masterpiece of abstract aural fog. Blankets of sounds-forebodin, mysterious, beguilin, encouragin-envelop your being through both sides, drawin a line in the sand, darin you to come along. I was reminded of past recordin artists what belied similar, subtle, subversions; Bladderflask, Organum, Illitch, Semool, you know, THEM sorts. It's the kind've lp that when it's on, it keeps the sun stilted just so. And when your hide tans like mine, that's a friend indeed. Check it out & be sure to visit Mr. Darksmith's site while your at it too;
Sunday, April 17, 2011
It's said that the openin year of any decade is likely to be a whopper & 2010 proved to be just that. I ain't talkin musically, hell, when it comes to that, it was just same shit, different outhouse. Course it may've been a different matter had I been closer to the scene, yet I can't be everywhere, as hard as I try.But mor'on that later.
As y'all is painfully aware, we's gripped by terrorist fever worldwide. Perhaps it's my nature, blurred & blunted via my various personal exploits, what's more or less crawlin through the bowels of evil & rippin out they's intestines (or worse). I have torn out more steamin coils've addled entrails than one of them fantastical bird-eaters in a Bosch paintin. Imagine a house party on Austin's east side durin a (non sanctioned) SXSW function. Now picture cuttin a swath through that rabble in the middle of the night w/nothin but a saif. And instead of vacuous dipshits sportin warm 40's, it's rabid, bearded bastards w/bombs! It's us unsung fellers whats keep our country free of inscrutable tyrannies so's a band like-for instance-Kurt Vile & The Violators can tours 5 weeks at a time & not sweat them (free) cold ones. Now if they's had an off night or someone's got a bone to pick, that's on them. But your gettin le picture, correcto?
And the funny thing is, I was alls set to give up the life this yr. Then Ranger X come to me w/a dire plea & there I was, in the thick of it once again. This time the wretched excess took us into Micronesia, which is just about the last place I figured I'd be chasin trouble. Seems some errant faction at the behest've this half-cocked sheik (whose real title cannot be divulged) had gone & set a bunch've goons into the islands w/the intent of eventually gettin into Yap & stealin a Loran-C transmitter. So's Ranger X & I was dispatched in as Peace Corps workers w/orders to infiltrate & destroy said sect w/extreme prejudice.
I gotta tell ya, for the most part, it sure is right nice in them islands. The folks don't care about much-mainly just gettin by from what I could see-but we's learned how to fish in outriggers, I was honin my skills by spearin lobsters in the coral reefs, why I even learnt me a fairly knowledgeable amount of Yapese & Woleaian languages. In regards to the latter,I'd have never though my Latin background would've come in handy in such a place, but that only goes to show. After a while I was even barter'n in they's stone money & was savvy enough to earn me a 12' disk (fancy that!) alls my own. Never mind they's would never get my name right,thems all knows whose money that is.'Mr. Rowan, Swolan, Bolan", howsever they refer to me, ain't no one gonna bone me outta my "wealth". And I appreciate'em for that.
But then come the call. The desert infidels had made it on land, time for us to vamoose. So's we was spirited way off to Kapingamarangi, a good 3 days journey east. I'll tell you's all what; this leg of the mission made that 1st bit seem like we'd been coddled in the lap of luxury. It was some primal livin, but we was there to teach & learn. Well, in a spy sort've way. Got met up w/our Kapingi cohorts & they's was quite a lot. There was Hawaii Henderson (an expert w/machete's), Rommel Pickey (an amazing tactician & also master of Tuba, a fermented coconut drink) Sackius George (this feller knowed his way around the various lagoons, reefs'n whatnot) + Montgomery Conrat, Patton Tintin & Amila Tenten (the 'doctor'). It was beginin to look like our own private 'Bridge Over The River Qwai' except we didn't have none of them geisha-lookin women givin massages 'n whatnot likes in the movie. No, alls we had was betel nut & this nasty concoction Monty Conrat would make called Sakau. I couldn't tell you's exactly what it was, but it involved some root of a pepper plant what got ground, then mixed w/water, then strained through hibiscus bark. This would yield a slimy brown sludge one might associate w/the contents of a septic tank, but for them, it was the equivalent to a Quaalude mudshake. It was also a prime source for dysentery & cholera I was told & the reason these fellers was picked for our mission was on account they's was impervious to the side effects.And after a long day of machete fightin, jungle runnin & map makin, you can't blame a feller for wantin to wind down w/a cuppa-even if it did look like they'd shook a colostomy bag into a cup.
After a couple weeks of trainin, the team was ready. All us trudged aboad Sackius' boat & made the journey up to Pohnpei where we's would hang tight till word come in as to our D-Day. And we weren't there long. As an aside I gotta tell you's all this-one night in the 'VIP' section of some wild ass bar there I met the President.Now, I knowed he was someone of substance. Hell, ain't every feller in Pohnpei's got 3 painted ladies hangin off of him as he yammered very loudly, orderin rounds've beer for the house. He was dressed down in some old (read; vintage) track shorts, a starchy white wife beater, little black socks & a pair of homemade (read; organic) sandals.He got to eyein me up so I went over & broke the ice. "Excuse me sir", I said, polite as could be "haven't I met you before in Williamsburg,Brooklyn"? He sort've sputtered for a second, then lifted his head back, eruptin w/the loudest roar of laughter I's ever heard! Thick as thieves after that we was. The Woodbe charm strikes again.
But the fun come to an end not long after. The goons was on the move back over to Yap & we had about a weeks worth of travellin to do what to catch up. So off we went. It was Katey bar the door; no sleep, just pure adrenalin, we skimmed along the Pacific like a flat rock across pond, makin time like bat's outta hell. Once landed, we got situated & hunkered down for the wait. Bam-we got alerted to a samll boat of armed individuals headed into a lagoon near Rumrung. We's stealthily made our way into the village, our intent was to surround & eradicate. No prisoners, no alibi's, no mess. Them dopes may've seen what they's was tryin to do as Allah's will (or whatever), but it was a fools errand, plain & simple.See, what them terrorists didn't know was all that Loran shit had been dismantled & moved way back in the late 80's! With any luck it was gonna be like shootin fish in a barrel. Long story short; it was, mostly. But a couple of them buggers got away. We was able to trace'em to Palau, only to find out later they was scoped out by a couple locals on Airai who chased'em into some mangroves where (evidently) they was eaten by saltwater crocodiles (no bodies was ever found). So.......CASE CLOSED. The Ranger & I did our share of celebratin afterwards. By now we was back in Guam, under the watchful eye of the powers that be, but even they's will look the other way for the odd patriots, & I do mean ODD. Ranger X eventually made it back down to his compound in the hill country of Texas, but I decided to head back to Kolonia where a Mr. Mister (honest, that's his surname. The president's right hand man. He's never heard the band, which is why they's still alive) had me a fancy suite w/all the proper "accomodations". And it's where I's remained since. I told Capt'n Siltbreeze to send my records & all over here so's I would get back to music writin & make an honest livin again (HA!). I thought maybe this yr I'd do a proper 'best of' for last, but boat mail is only a scant faster'n a snail, so's I'm just gettin what's alls been saved. And if it's alright to you readers, I will commence to the have's now & save the have not's for later.
So now it's well into April & I ain't got that list, least not YET. I'll be postin'em-my best's (or close to's) come this week. I's just been so damn busy w/my new venture; a slew've pork sandwich & taro cake (fried banana's too) stands along the beach. SNOUTS is the name & while's it's stictly word of mouth, we got a steady clientele. Ranger X done come back too & head over to Yap to help this fellow Texan start up a microbeer company. 'Brio Beer' it's called.Again, under the radar, but that's how we role.They was able to get some hops from an old CIA buddy on Samoa, took over some old warehouse, built vats, kilns just about whatever they needed. And presto, we's got our own sustainable scene goin on. Even got Rommel Pickey doin some picklin & I'll be damned if Mr. Mister don't have a yen for bread bakin. And who knew Monty Conrat'd be such a whiz at whippin up mustard & various other condiments? Hell, It's only a matter of time till we's got tall bikes, leash laws & the girls is wearin wellingtons at the mere mention of rain. Maybe even pizza!
But enough about how all 'n all great MY life is. I'll be gettin back to review writin tout de suite. For the record, I like the Iceage lp fine, though I don't see's how it's construed as Hardcore. But I never claimed to be no Stretch Armstrong neither. Now where'd I put that writin quill?
Best wishes from Paradise,
Roland Seward Woodbe