Weary repetition reprobates - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #69

Or:- How to do more in six minutes than some bands do in their whole fuckin' life.

NOTE - Adam has some pretty serious exam stuff to work out so don't worry, he will return, just not this week. So you get double me. Fun huh? Two shorties this week. First one, Tuber.



Wow, wouldya just lookit that. The cover of this sultry slow incense-burner is just so damn red. I’m gettin’ visions of that Grand Funk goodness, these fuckers know they’re pushin’ the redline and want us all to know. Just like ‘em snakes or bees in the wild are red to say “hey, back off motherfucker, I will fuck you up” so this album is appropriately red also. And it really is smoked up notes, justa buncha smoked up notes all jumbled together by these Greek power-trippin’ sons of the righteous hand. What is it? It’s Tuber’s new contribution to the sustaining rock and roll experiment we’re all doing. Sittin’ in a bath all hepped up on acid just letting this baby flow through you is the highlight of my year so far, and it can be yours too for free. These cats get, as Marvin Gaye might have eloquently put it, wha’s goin’ on. They know this universe is in need of some pretty urgent spiritual ammunition for the great war on greed heads and are more than willing to press the bullets themselves. Carefully though, these are hand-cast motherfuckers so there’s just the one. I can’t begin to talk about the sounds, there are so many that fit so beautifully and flawlessly together, rising and soaring to a crescendo and then dropping back down to reveal the three workhorses at the centre of this still pulling their band wagon up that muddy slope, still toiling like the way that Blue Cheer Second Time Around drops out to leave the bass groovin’ away by himself as if he ain’t noticed the rest have finished. It has just one idea, but it is such a strikingly piercing piece of writing that it pervades all through this heartbreakingly short six minute kiss to everything desert. The guitar picks delicate and deliberate notes ethereally as the bass thrums in the background like passing trucks as you trudge through the desert, the drums the rhythmic beating of your feet akin to the sun relentlessly beating on the hard desert sands. Flurries of heaviness like dust devils catch our ragged and weary rock heroes, first guitar winds and then a drum-based earthquake, spinning them into hitherto unknown abilities of speed and power, muscularity is brought out in these moments before the wind dies and the trudge resumes. Like that power duo Om (who have a new album out soon that I couldn’t be more stoked for... they’ve brought in Jesus on this baby... hopefully it goes scandal and they go platinum... the Great Magnet is better late than never) these weary reprobates use repetition, like saying a word again and again, or a fire alarm blaring relentless until all sense of proportion and alienation evaporates under the steely desert sun glare of the magnificent notes. Round and round again it goes, almost as often as the record. Thrumming like an engine until it’s all different. An utterly amazing trip from these three Greeks. They had an EP out in 2010 which was really something special, but with Smoked Up Notes, Tuber have entered into my favourite tracks of all time list with an amazing instrumental rock song that y’all should hear. All their stuff is available for freeeee free Barney McGee on their bandcamp, and they’ve got a compilation vinyl of their first EP and the Smoked Up Notes single coming out soon in limited edition, so better be fast on your paws to catch it cats before it be gone.

Written under duress by Steven.

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