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Omaha mid-tempo hardcore, blown to fuck, caustic anxiety. chugging guitar riffs, solid drumbeats, grunt-to-shrill range of echoed vox, squeaky feedback, VERY energetic, infectious. it’s not ‘Pop’ but it does pop out as aggressive, yet accessible.
quick transitions! tk 1 and 2 flow together as one, watch out! or don’t!
Adelaide, AUS three-piece, no-wave art-punk scuzz-rock, hyphenated all to hell. sometimes it’s a free-jazz soiree, featuring atonal strings, wind and percussion (even a woodstove!), others it’s an angular aussie-rant. jangly, noisey, messy, a little something for everyone. reminds this loser of drunken-confidence, viewed from the sober-perspective.
Providence, RI sCUM suckers jamming blunt objects into your sensitive orifices. noise sounds: distorted, squeely vox, spastic guitar, solid rock-n-roll-around-in-the-sack drums.
sometimes punk rock, all times energetic sloppy mess. kind of like a punk tape playing in the wreckage of a flipped and totaled pickup truck driven by a twaked out dirtbag who may have hit a school bus…
Italy’s most prized confrontational nutters
Pittsburgh garage rock, with horror tingles, blues-y jangles, Billy Idol screams and rock-a-billy vibes. re-release (a canned first album?) from 2000. straight forward pop composition configuration
Seattle hardcore set, female vocals, kick ass drums, fast paced all around. :30-2 minute little thrasher tracks that all run together, so play the tape and bask in the 8 minutes of excellent aggression
seriously, play the tape
South African duo offering up and energetic mix of accordion, beats, and spitting fast Sesotho dictation. no information for this release, and its quirky…
Texas rocky-road from James Arthur (The Reatards, C.C. Riders, A Fest of Snakes) & co. driving beat, driving music, really. get in the van, pack the bong and shoot down the highway until you reach the moon or other far off planet. this release feels familiar, nothing ground breaking or off kilter, zany, what-have-you. straightforward into the night.
pop garage sounds from Brian Tristan – guitar vox(the Cramps, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds), Kiki Solis – bass(Baby Baby Dance With Me), Ron Miller – drums (Switch Hitter), and Mark Cisneros – guitar(Medications, Deathfix).
eat the whole bag of mushies and get psyched, spaced out, come around. splashy synthetic fart bass permeates the trip. expect occasional outbursts of beat driven energy, followed by slower methodic jam, and then a breath of fresh air on the street while the rest of the band makes noise in the studio.
energetic frantic glitch i/edm, Belladonna beats.
grinding squelchy industrial noise from Phil Blankenship. extras from Instinct & Emotion, 2000.
snap awake, you’re walking, headphones on, walkboy on belt loop, in the radioactive wasteland that now is. the dust blows, builds grit between your teeth, grinds away at enamel, soft tissue. you pass through empty buildings, titans of industry from yesteryear, barren, falling, rotting. brain flashes memories of the happier, but much like your cd player, grimy, it skips, glitches, hangs on hallucination of familiar voices, almost legible, almost touchable. the flawed recollections imprint upon reality, following the cd skips slinky sliding the spiral staircase of sanity. staring into a beaming puddle, a reflection of your haggard self assembling into younger, tighter pores and better hair weeping heavily, feeling ill, stomach churning, pulsing mind, gritting teeth, you take a drink.
energetic skronk improv jazz fits recorded in the late ’80s.
toronto pissy punk, ‘now wave’, fast paced dirty feeling yum for this perv. clunky musicality, nails on a chalkboard/japanese school grrrl vox. anxious, stomach churn, gonna meat and greet a venereal friend in an alley surrounded by downtown vermin eager for a peek of this freak show.
‘pull my hair in the shower/it comes out in lumps’ tk. 2
‘I want yer baby/so you’ll have to cum inside me’ tk. 4
‘stick yer toungue down my throat/make me gag in my garden’ tk. 9
fuck yeah, I’m in love
AB FAB lispy, bitchy covers of Black Flag songs… kind of what you would expect, honestly.
FCC’s where they should be. spin it and rock out!
child of Tori Kudo and Reiko Kudo, out Japan. a set of musicians from Maher who collected in NY for a 30th anniversary gig play here.
if Velvet Underground got drunk and jammed with Can’s Damo Suzuki, you’d have about this mix of jammy groove punctuated with odd pronunciation and generally aloof lyrical content. super yummy over all. connect the (non)dots with continuous play for vibe. track times very from 7 minutes to 18 seconds. even the alt. version are worth a play.
frenchie Foussat’s (foosa) compilation of electronic, free-jazz nonsense in four delectable discs. all weird and wild, though a few tracks border on sanity.
CD1 is a collection of pieces with various movements. can be played continuous, as most songs track together.
CD2 starts off with a psychedelic spin, devolving to free jazz feels, into an aloof kraut rock vibe ala Faust (track 9).
CD3 four ~20 minute noise tracks good for mixing some chaos into your set. glitchy whirrs and whistles/ modem’s sexy nightmare/ fever dream chant/ falling endlessly into the chasm.
CD4 long, live recordings of oddball sounds structures fabricated with horns, drums, synth, stringed things. free jazz.
aussie straight forward punk rockers. no pulled punches, all aggressive fast paced tracks concerning important topics: school problems, food mishaps, paranoia, and broadcasted suicide.
sloppy garage guitar, fuzz vox, with pop sensibilities sure to tingle your down under parts.
philly multi-media artist (painting, collage, sculpture, music, installation) instrumental layering loops/ lazily longing. beats and treats of a sweet variety, next to noodling stringed thangs. all tracks worth a listen and addition to your set to slow things down.
feels like a long interlude, waiting for something/ on a street corner, daylight, buzzed and smoking a cig, waiting, waiting.
the bugs crawl through your pores, exposing dermis, itch. insects made of metal, talking through modems while consuming and fornicating in flesh, yours. static floods your eardrums, as the bots take over your body, breathing, movement, mind. let it consume you as the scratches in your head grow louder.
sissisters – mellower noise
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