On this 2014 EP, their sole release, the Industrial Noize duo are trying to act like they don’t smoke pot– but we all know that they do. Side A has decaying monks like you might find in the ossuaries of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini in Rome, not far from the Via Veneto, where ‘La Dolce Vita’ was filmed all those years ago: monks trying to sing hymns as their throats crumble to dust. Seriously a lot of monks: hardcore Industrial fans already knew what I was talking about. OK it might just be A2 but it feels like both tracks. Side B is definitely more acoustic and less ‘ugh, I put my hand in something foul’; also, fewer (no?) monks: The Death Industrial Kraf-Twerk machine beat shows no sign of tiring its slow and dreadful progress as tortured sound sources are pushed to a climax. Mastered by Kris Lapke of Alberich and Furisubi. Plays at 33.
Just in time for the holydaze, here is the 2017 Christless single from Sweden’s masters of hopeless, gothic Martial Industrial. Bring it back again for this year’s meretricious airwave revelries. Hit the killswitch and be better than human as you learn to fail with members of Cold Meat Industry superstars Arcana, who bring you two hammering battlefield ballads of holiday blues resignation and distinctly Scandinavian moroseness. This material is more song-based than some of their earlier work, and perhaps even more so than the lyrically-driven compositions on 2016’s devastating ‘Unclean’ album. Peter Bjargo, the head Sophian, is also married to Arcana/Sophia siren Cecilia Bjargo. Continuing the 50s theme, hear Him on side A and Her on side B, both in full bah-humbug mode. More of an elegant Martial Pop sound on side A that gets into Allerseelen territory. Side B is the lurching, too-drunk-at-the-Christmas-party spiteful (Lina?) Barbie doll. Both sides are genius because this band can do no wrong. Plays at 45.
Another salvation seven inch, 2012 split on purty
powder blue vinyl. The Gospel Claws hail from some happy
suburb of Tempe AZ, bursting with dancey 80’s mod pop,
and a drop of holy water-cum-wine from the CCD classes
where they hatched plans for catchy hooks during catechism?
Singer Joel Marquard sings of ambition and with a hint of
British accent (a fine American pop tradition).
On the flipside, a one man band rises from Phoenix.
Owen Evans deserts his Andrew Jackson Jihad for a chance
to Roar (or is it ROAR?). Anyways, a slower paced start,
with mournful synth…that works its way through the
trees and a hazy “Dream” field to a few rays of joy. This
feels like a song that Brian Wilson’s psychiatrist was
trying to medicate and eradicate. Why? Rainy day pop is
not mental illness, certainly not in Phoenix, nor in my
house, nor in Mitch Lemay’s apartment on a winter day.
Two five minute chunks of sound performance recorded live in 1990, I think, in Zurich Switzerland. We’ve all been to this type of event–a ratty warehouse with people sitting on the dirty concrete floor and a couple of guys making random sounds using toys and junk. No way to know what we’re hearing exactly, although there are voices here and there, and a violin shows up near the end of side A. Other than that, it’s all rumbles and scrapes and squeaks. Noise-wise, this is not particularly noisy; it’s more like lo-fidelity sound recordings of who knows what. Kind of rad for nearly 30 years ago.
Beautiful blood-red 7″ from two harsh noise masters, released in 1994.
With this addition, KFJC now owns the complete back catalog of Worldmadeflesh recordings. (There is only one other release, a split 7″ entitled Japanese Torture Comedy Hour, also featuring Autoerotichrist.)
Richard Ramirez (of Black Leather Jesus and more), brings some serious coprophagic cacophony. Very dense, heavy, and mean. Infinite ever-shifting layers of explosions, screeches, and roars. A thick wall, with only brief interludes of piercing electro-fuckery.
Autoerotichrist is Russell Mason of Enemy Soil (also well-represented in the KFJC library). His side is more dynamic and full of abrupt changes. It almost has a call-and-response structure at times, like being pummeled by alternating fists. The blows come harder and heavier, as you bleed out your ears.
Play at 33.
Scuzz punk from Gresham, Oregon. Stevie Blunder on vox, Niko on drums, Vomit Master on guitar, and Ellis Dee (not KFJC’s Roland Blunt) on bass. Late ’80s punk, discernible vocals all on the theme of pee-pee. Whistle solo on “We’ve Come to Kill.” FCC clean, but definitely disgusting. Translucent yellow vinyl limited to 200 copies.
2018 7” EP from Oakland post punk trio of Max Nordile on sax, Alejandra Alcala on bass, and Sam Lefebvre on drums. Four energetic tracks of logical chaos, wacky vox, rhythmic contortions. There’s nothing new about this no wave, but that’s quite alright – you can hear they’re having fun and it’s hard not to laugh along with them. From new local label Fine Concepts.
Pretty cool find – 7″ EP released sometime in the 80s from America’s Greatest Noise Artist himself, Emil Beaulieau (the alterego of Rrron Lessard of legendary label RRRecords, but you knew that). Four short tracks with all the trappings of power-drill-to-the-forehead harsh noise, but the experience of listening to this disc isn’t quite like that. Maybe it’s because within the clipped blasts are mysterious drones (T1), whistling melodies (T2), distorted guitar and whimpered vocals (T4) – you know, that velvet touch. Emil hopes you like it, but if not, well…
2007 7″ single from New Zealand experimental artist Campbell Kneale (see also Our Love Will Destroy the World and metal-influenced Black Boned Angel). One five minute track that tells a strange little tale, beginning with a noise collage of vibrating metallic sounds, like wire cables being wrapped, stretched and strained. But then the abstraction gives way to something more defined: a driving guitar and drum rhythm, a thick drone fog, and a monstrous swarm of chirping frogs. Together, the sounds paint a scene of headlights approaching in the dead of night.
Hollow Sunshine “Cold Truth b/w I Wandered ” 45
2014 single from this Seattle duo that listen to their elders. Slow and
thick (not Earth slow but slow) more shoegaze that sludge. Anvil anthems,
Reuben Sawyer is drummasaurus and guitarist and all non-mouth things.
Bass vertabrae support that kind of Projekt fuzzed guitar. Morgan Enos
sings steady above the thrum. His phrasing on “I Wandered” leans over
the edge of the riffs nicely. Even better when Nina Chase chimes in
some harmony vocals about halfway through. Could see that cut being a
chest-rattler live. Lean to the pop and you could connect these guys
to Charles Brown Superstar, step to the heavy and you might find Thou.
And apparently we can thank Thou for delivering us this slab of
Hollow Sunshine. -Thurston Hunger
Gloomy, necro Black Metal with an old skool pagan/NS sound (lyrical themes unknown). This is the solo project of one member of Bone Awl. Galloping Shadow, AKA He Who Gnashes Teeth, runs the Cinereous label also.
On this 2012 EP, neither side gets too fast, but there is a glowering aggression akin to Akitsa, early Graveland or perhaps Coldness from Portugal. Only this limited test pressing has the excellent cover art.
In terms of the classic 90s BM sound this is much more traditional than Bone Awl. Elite riffs both sides. The B side has a more aggressive vocal and a keyboard part. On the other hand, the A side has more pride and spite and it may be the better one.
Everything is rusty, broken, falling apart here. All that’s left is your honour. Must be time to kommit suicide in your bunker. Don’t forget to poison the kids first.
Ouch! Two quick hits of roaring blasting screaming screeching noise wall from A Fail Association (Gregory Babbitt) and The Cherry Point (Phil Blankenship). A single-sided 7″ released back in ’03 on Blankenship’s Tronix label. Only 178 were made.
I *think* it’s supposed to be played at 33, but to be honest I couldn’t tell much of a difference vs. 45. I also couldn’t tell much of a difference between the two tracks, but in a good way, since both are balls-to-the-wall take-it-to-eleven total aural scorchers.
Something about the khene, that tall bamboo/harmonica
whatever you want to call it killer Thai instrument.
When I hear it it feels like a summons, and then the
chanting/singing that goes with it comes on like
an insistent invocation. If you squint your western
ears on this, you can hear a tropical foreshadowing
of Alan Vega with Suicide maybe? The slight reverb
on the male voice, side A is stately goes on long
enough to make me really wonder what they are saying.
I like it when Kane Dalao (internet says he’s a
National Artist for Molam style as recently as 2017)
I’m not sure when this 7″ is from. On the flipside
Wichian Nongthong, has a musical name and delivers
a peppier take, but still stripped down to the
power of voice and khene. The controlled wavering
of the voice, so skillful and compelling. This is
*not* on ZuDrangMa’s label but was found in their
store, I really should have got more information
(or found someone at work from Thailand) but hell
the music stands on its own just fine. Makes
we want to slap a speaker on my car and drive
around the Bay Area belting this out.
More singles salvation from the last lost milennium. Set your
ears for 1994, when lo-fi was less an aesthetic choice than
a technical necessity (okay, maybe a little o’ both). Still
back when Garage Band was *two* words. This collection wears
its sonic sincerity on its sleeve (and with all the little
paper inserts for each band that have stayed along for the
ride like kids never leaving the nest).
Nik ‘l’ nip: US (?) singer with UK accent (always a winner),
wait for the pause on “…..hate you”. Ah angry youth
Stampled: Shrill feedback fest in front, guitar strumbles/stumbles
behind it and way back at the end of the hall, a female
sings her song. I see you.
Emmeline: Bassy + crawly + creepy + mumbly – my four favorite
forgotten dwarves on this waking beauty.
Bottlecap: Nasal-to-whistle ratio is high on this acoustic tune
that wants to defenestrate you.
: Probably part of the next number but it stands
alone, the sound of shoeing an ancient robot horse.
Shoebox Full of Love: Sweet pop gargling in tape hiss.
Ringfinger: If Juliana Hatfield were the real McCoy? Someone
should have married this song 20 years ago, and they
could teach their kids to cuss in a cute way.
This kind of damaged pop could make a comeback in my ears,
but it’s nice to listen back to it now nonetheless.
Another one for KFJC’s 7″ sanctuary of singles, 1993
Minny tinny shimmy pop (no clear Kramer involvement
though). Four piece band a la mode (two guitars).
Title track is a feedback drenched ditty which loses
its way in my ears. But you may appreciate any form of
psych flashback (or an extra two minutes to cue up some
US Saucer.) “Orange Pants” fit a lot better ’round my
head and hits a kind of Blake Babies freeze frame on the
time line. I like the dizzy guitar interplay on the verses,
and Pamela Valfer’s voice rising above them high ringing
notes to boot. Her singing also was nice on “Spoonerism”
just got engulfed. “Half Man, Half Jerk” closes our
time capsule, Jed Kersten taking over the mic with a
Lee Ranaldo-esque talk-it-while-I-rock-it, on a song for
all the brother-in-flaws. Drummer Peter Anderson gets some
nice tom aplomb and hi-hat cooking. Is this what people
did before tweeting, record short songs with hooks as
emojis? Uhayunno? Mebbe….
Rock with controlled anger and slippery slide guitar,
not full-on art damaged, but art-inflected. “Millions of
Transports” lurches in and out of gear, the singer (Pete
Ryan? it’s been a while, 1995 for this misfit single that
has found its sanctuary station). The song has heft and
a commuter breakdown, as whoever sings, mutters at the
end “We don’t talk enough….and we work too much.” So
the good news, your troubles in 2018 may not be so new.
On the flip side, I can almost file it as a Boston-based
answer to the UK’s Camberwell Now, high-praise and maybe
biased by the abby-Norman lyrics, and a conquest question?
It’s a puzzler, but not too proggy so fear not. You can
tap your toes safely, and you might even hear a little
violin strung-along behind the trenches of those slithery
guitars. Violinist Liz Tonne appears to have kept a hand
in sound game; even worked with Greg Kelley of nmperign
so she got weirder and maybe others did as well. Perhaps
posting this review will bring ’em out…or send us more
from the old Ratfish imprint, which seems to have had
some tasty treats back in the day nee milennium.
Can’t go wrong with bongo drums and Farfisa organ for a soul warm-up party with bottom jeans and floral everything. This is actually Nasser Bouzida from Wales who has produced retro-soul material used for hip-hop and funk 45 DJs. A side Bongolian has some surprising echo chamber effects, B-side Farfisian is an organ jam fest. Can you dig it?
I think the reason I like writing reviews is that it allows me to really let out a part of the real me that I don’t show because few folks would get it. Also, no one reads them anyway so I can say whatever. Such is the case for reviewing this glorious little 45, this HOT little piece of vinyl. First, the title. Just say it slowly and let it roll off your tongue: “Electrocardiographs of a Cathode Ray Tube”. Oh. My. God. What a turn on. Electrocardiographs of a cathode ray tube: what the hell is that and YES PLEASE!!!! Stephen Cornford created this piece. Stephen is an… wait, let me sit down… Stephen is an “installation artist and experimental musician who works by reconfiguring consumer electronics.” Wait, there’s more: by “repurposing Walkmans, TVs and other scrap heap finds, Stephen Cornford’s work erase the boundaries between music and sculpture.” This is THE SHIT, Stephen and you’re my man. I love this stuff so much. So what is it, really? In a performance of this piece in Firenze, Cornford described it as two cathode ray tube TVs amplified with brain wave sensors. The ECG pick-ups are attached to the TVs to amplify them. An amplifier, or oscillator, is fed into the TVs video input where he then picks up the TV screens electromagnetic emissions. He’s recording the energy of the tubes and seeing if they have a brainwave, so to speak. Fascinating, really and truly. The two sides of the 45 are gentle, repeating electronic heartbeats of static and fuzz. Variations occur with every pulse even though the pattern may at times seem similar. As each piece progresses, the differences in sound are more apparent. Everything is alive. Cornford also runs Consumer Waste Records which puts out electronic and electroacoustic recordings. Bravo.
We’re going to be tardy like it’s 1999. Maybe a Mitch
Lemay archival revival for local folks, dust to Duster,
ashes to the past and a shout-out to Streelight (grateful
that is still spinning in these digital daze.) Sang to
jangle with an old Merge feeling emerging. Bass slowly
rises as the guitar strum-strums-strums. Tears are
wiped away, perhaps by Jen helping out Keith with backup
vocals and a cashemere hug. “Subtance Abuse” never felt
sweeter, a sslow syrup poured into you, even if you are
cramping up in a fetal position. “Grasping for Reasons”
sounds like its sinking in the same sorrow boat, with
po’ ol’ cello typecast as the town crier going down
with the relationship. It’s a love song in decay, two
in the boat to start but by the end of the song,
they’ll be on different shores. Actually the cello
gets stronger and starts pushing him to safety.
Adding this, and the “Hero Zero” 7″ in 2018 shows
KFJC is a safe haven for long lost singles, at least of
the vinyl variety. Good luck to you and your ex in the