This 45 is a fucking battery of hideous, in-the-red, filthy, low-fidelity rock, little to no fucking roll and a bad fucking attitude. Germany’s Life Fucker are as mysterious as they are resonate to this poor volunteer’s wretched, black heart. Drums sound like trashcans, check. Guitars howling feedback like possessed banshees, check. Buried, mostly indecipherable vocals shrieking away at unseen tormentors, check. Slightly shit art with skulls and chains, check. Bonuses include a song about being surrounded by rats and a German band being released on a Japanese label in English that has d- beat/hardcore (non)sensibilities and no fucks clearly given. One potential drawback may be that the drummer is a little too talented, If I were a god, I would kick him in his left knee and stomp on one of his hands so they sounded just a bit more desperate and ugly. Everything else is fucking perfect. Play this record and fucking lose control!Querulously there are no discernible FCC’s, what the fuck?
Unholy Black-Noise. Shrill tortured screeching, rasping electronic noise, buried guitars trem-picked mercilessly, and conspicuously absent drums on all three seven inches. Having one hoof deeply buried in the Black Metal trench and the other hovering over the nexus between noise and drone you may find the hairs on your neck bristling with anxiety at the peals of harsh white noise or perhaps, as I was after repeated listens, you’ll be lulled into a kind of uneasy tranquility like a dire wolf sinking into one of the tar pits at La Brea. After thrashing and struggling against your eventual demise, your throat so coated in viscous black sludge that you can no longer gnash your wolf teeth or cry your wolf death-song. There is only your ending. Only surrender and defeat and a kind of solace in the certainty of your wretched wolf fate. Cerebral, conceptual, and cvlt, Oakland’s Sutexh.Hexen. has tapped into something and these fledgling efforts seem to set a precedent for the horrible majesty that awaits them. These tracks were originally released on three cassettes in 2010 and this re-release appear to be, if just, on the wrong side of bootleg status as they appear to have been authorized by a single defunct member of S.H. Excellent sounds in lack-luster packaging but the tapes are so rare and sought after this will sate the ardent blackened-harsh noise completists.
whngr 8/2/2019 A Library
Three-Word-Review: Underwater mastication with migraine.
Two side-longs, a side with two tracks, and one with four of nearly subliminal and sporadically unsettling minimalist sound-sculpture by the prolific noise musician and composer John Wiese (long-e, hard-s) of Bastard Noise, Sissy Spacek, Smegma, et al.
Shimmers and chirps, drones and hums, empty space, crunching, abstract abrasions, amplified fidgeting, whirring, whetting, and worried cymbals. While there is evidence that this album was highly scrutinized, processed, and edited by its creator it can, at times, sound like a pocket dial from a torpid machine shop. Perhaps this is a singular perspective but for me this album conjures images of being submerged within a partially frozen lake, floating beneath the ice, and ultimately succumbing to hypothermia, hypoxia, and death.
Hideously ugly, driving rock outta Queens that seems to revel in mental illness and the hopelessness of being young and damaged with little hope for the future. Noisy, fierce, and unrelenting these young men are thematically drawn to suicide, the morass of modern adolescence, self-harm, and psychiatric evaluation.
Lo-fi, feedback, sickening drum abuse, over-driven bass, samples and shredded vocal-chords. A soothing panacea for the deeply depraved inner child kept locked away in many a “well-adjusted” college-radio disc jockey.
whngr 7/8/2019 A Library
Slightly spooky, mellow, and sparse with some noisy elements. Long tracks for snacks, graves, and small seizures.
Ingrid is confused and upset
chirps and spectral swells
tape player in need of repair or being repaired
electronic drones and singing bowls
strings made blessed/cursed cat-gut
carousel is fueled by the dreams of imprisoned children
rusty bridges bowed by coast-giants
white noise, organ, and pulses of static
bells are distant or hallucinatory
melancholy guitar picking
monumental sub-oceanic ancient gears in their final movements.
sizzle-zaps and zings
rumbles and sounds of industry from a subterranean demi-god foundry
Very little information on this local project though member A.C. Way has been active in several projects in the Bay Area including Sutekh Hexen and most recently as Thoabath both of which are represented heavily in our library. Bruce Anderson performed guitars and other [etc.], and James Kaiser handled tape and other [etc.] as well as running the label Petit Mal Music (which this cdr was released on), before ultimately passing from this realm in 2017 at the age of 46.
Medium: Paranormal Field Recordings And Compositions, 1901-2017 [coll] – [Kennesaw State University Zuckerman Museum of Art]
An assemblage of recordings of and inspired by efforts to communicate with the dead. This L.P. is a companion to the 2017 Kennesaw State University exhibit at the Zuckerman Museum of Art and runs the gamut from quirky to schlock, dreamy atmosphere to interpretive high art conceptualization, with just a sliver of spooky. This is not what I was hoping it would be; unequivocal verification of the paranormal, irrefutable evidence of souls trapped between planes of existence but unfortunately it is far from it. At times engaging and atmospheric, at other times pure camp. Perhaps witnessing the exhibit would help to illuminate some of the more tawdry aspects of this album but on it’s own it appears to lack cohesion and credibility. Perhaps that is fitting, maybe the intangible should remain as such and the efforts to document the ephemeral should be unattainable and reductive.
The soundtrack to Dennis Villeneuve’s time-bending science-fiction suspense film is strange and otherworldly with unusual voicing and heavily modified instrumentation that is as mellifluous and soothing as it is abstract and unfamiliar. Deep drone, alien vocal arrangements, strings from The City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra and beautiful if bizarre vocalizations from the Theatre of Voices, sparse percussion and an overarching minimalism convey distance, introspection, and liminal phantasmic qualities. Arrival was composed by the late Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson (Blade Runner 2049, Sicario, Mandy), and was scored during the apex of his relatively short but voluminous and perhaps influential cinematic career (the third of four films films with Villeneuve). He died like a rock star, at the peak of his game, his system flooded with alcohol and cocaine which, in my mind, makes him a legend and and also kind of an asshole. However, that is of little consequence, the sound(s) that he generated were brilliant, often employing near sub-sonic drones that would utilize the incredible range and volume of modern theater sound systems to mesmerizing and visceral effect. Rivaling both Motörhead and Holy Mountain era Sleep in obscenely over-the-top volume, I saw Blade Runner 2049 (another example of a [less than amazing] film that just happened to be an exceptional vehicle for Jóhannsson’s sound design) in a nearly empty theater and was thrilled at the way my rib-cage would shudder at the unearthly sound. It became tactile. I was immersed in a compressible fluid that was both turbulent and resonate. When the medium of air becomes that warped and disturbed we can be transported to a place that is foreign and dire. Not unlike outer space or the chambers that house the hyper-evolved “Heptapods”, the extraterrestrial demagogues in the film. Our atmosphere is as untenable to them as theirs is to ours so the linguistic protagonists must meet with these beings separated by a transparent barrier in an attempt to learn, with some great difficulty, to communicate with them and the consequences that come with first contact with a species that is technologically and militarily superior. This separation from the familiar is important to the sound and ultimately the feeling of the film. Jóhannsson was aware that “people are hungry for new sounds, and for the experience of listening to unfamiliar music…” and this awareness was what compelled him to make an extraordinary film score for a striking film, with one gnarly twist, about love, determination, and communion with our extrasolar squid overlords.
A fantastically disturbing collection of recordings of the members and leaders of 12 different religious factions widely considered “cults” and in fact this compilations selects primarily from twelve of the most notorious and infamous sects from around the world (short bios on reverse). What is most compelling about this album is however the incredible variety of the tracks. The absurd childlike simplicity of the Shoko Asahara (A4) track, which considering the gravity and scope of his Aum Shinrikyo group’s actions including the killing of 13 and the poisoning of over 6000 and who was subsequently hanged along with 12 of his followers in 2018 in a rare occurrence of capital punishment in the normally life affirming nation of Japan, provides a real skin-crawling element to this release. However, it is not the only track with this quality. A stalwart rival for creepiest track predictably comes from the choir of the People’s Temple (A1), children sing merrily to a 70’s pop riff that does little to belie the impending death of 909 individuals. However, there is much more to this album than the macabre titillation of the body count. From the surprisingly talented crooning ballad by David Koresh “Book of Daniel” (A5), to the funky Beefheart-esque stomp of Ya Ho Wha (B1), to the jazzy saxophone jubilation of L. Ron Hubbard’s Apollo Stars (B2). Other standouts include the doom/psych composition “Lucifer Rising Pt. I” by Bobby Beausoleil (a former member of Grass Roots, an early incarnation of Arthur Lee’s, Love) & The Freedom Orchestra (A2) which notably, was recorded in Deuel Vocational Institution with the approval of Tracy Prison administration as an accompaniment to the Kenneth Anger film of the same name (Beausoleil was convicted of killing his friend Gary Hinman and fellow associate of the Manson Family in 1970), as well as the bitingly cynical robotic queries and command(ment)s over electronic instrumentation and dancy beats by Chris Korda & The Church of Euthanasia’s “Save the Planet, Kill Yourself” (B4), and perhaps the most unnerving (because it is potentially my favorite), an offering from the founder of the globe spanning Raëlian movement. Raël’s Viva la Vie Viva la Mour (B6) delivers a sweet and somber love song accompanied by a tenderly picked accoustic guitar that has me considering enrollment in his 80,000 member strong U.F.O. sex cult, though it is unlikely that I will find the time as I am currently immersed in practicing the Dark Arts at the most subversive cult of them all, the masochistic mind-control and sonic insubordination sect housed in building 6200 on the campus of Foothill Junior College. The most striking and perhaps disturbing aspect of this collection is the proliferation of hooks. It is an insidious reminder that music, at its roots is primal and inextricably connected to both memory and emotion. That for centuries the most powerful propaganda was employed first by the bards, then church, and most recently the advertising firm and their overlords, the architects and beneficiaries of the capitalist system. That the pop of today shall become the hymns of tomorrow, driving humankind into the compulsive recital of Dave Berry, The Beatles, Cyndi Lauper, and the Artist formally known as Prince in a prayer for deliverance from (or into) the maw (the lap) of the Prince of Darkness.
Moscow three piece, Dekonstruktor intend to drown the listener with four depressive tracks from the fathomless depths of Russian misery. Beginning with a plodding track reminiscent of 90’s era sludge. D-tuned and demoralizing with brooding (English) vocals, listeners will be pummeled by their despair, hopelessness, and antipathy.
I don’t like your name
I don’t need your game
I deny your life
I deny your mind
maybe you don’t know
see I hate your face
I don’t like your ways
-Excerpt from “Black Acid”
Seemingly influenced by Pacific Northwest fore-bearers of heaviness, Wipers, Melvins, and Thrones, Dekonstruktor are buried a little deeper the murky depths of a less accessible underground yet succeed in finding their own voice. Especially on the last two instrumental tracks which are more angular and employ noisy, unnerving electronics in lieu of guitars for an abstraction of melody while effect laden drums march us toward the precipice of our crumbling sanity. There is, however, a common thread tying these songs together, a hypnotic psychedelic element adds an interesting dichotomy to the hostility and sorrow.
12345 S. El Monte Road Los Altos Hills, California 94022
Public Inspection File