Four score and sonic mung - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #74
Heavy metal is kinda Black Sabbath, I mean, they laid the
groundwork for all that exemplary mung
worship that was to come right? Bitta Blue Cheer maybe? Definitely a small
group of late-sixties heads worked out the whole genre. It got all mixed with
things but basically those guys were the seed that sprouted the metal tree. I
wonder if Hawkwind realises or recognises their progeny. Or can accept how far
from the old spacerock tree they’ve really fallen. There are too many great
releases at the moment to give them all the elbow-room of a review each, and to
bring them all to y’all’s attention so I’mma cram them all inta this one
extra-long (hopefully) disquisition. Firstly, I’ve been messing about with some
serious stoner sun vibes, Hawkwind would be proud, or ashamed, I can’t tell
which.
An ode to energy - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #73
I’m a twitchy, instant gratification kind of guy; I’ll be
the first to admit. Years of computer gaming and using my iPhone during
television commercials have whittled down my attention span to the point that
unless I am being constantly assailed I’ll get bored. I long ago lost the
ability to listen to post-rock (also known as the genre where nothing ever
happens) and art-house films long ago slipped from my grasp. It seems to be
that I’m sliding into being unable to do anything, my tastebuds too have
weathered poorly against the constant assault through which I put them and are
now able to taste nothing but weapons-grade Cheddar and strong spirits.
Musically I’m slipping into punk and amphetamine psychadelia as the only genres
able to hold my interest enough to be transcendent. I’m sure the long summer days
will mellow me out but right now I need a Red Bull rush to keep me going
through the night, and Radio Moscow are the band to do it, as well as their new
incarnation, Blues Pills. Although it sounds like shitty reviewer spiel about
whatever inconsequential bullshit band just realised an inconsequential
retrograde album, there really isn’t a dull moment on Radio Moscow’s 2009 album
Brain Cycles. Offering a wild kaleidoscopic haze of rock and roll scrawled
across a disk like Jackson Pollock was in charge of record pressing. Blues
Pills, two parts Radio Moscow and one part Janis Joplin have been tickling our
interest for a while, and now they’re firmly here, leaping into our stereos and
hearts with a massive release of a re-recorded Bliss single and three other
songs absolutely perfect for this no doubt short lived summer heatwave we been
having.
A recommendation under duress - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #72
Oh shit. Oh shit! It’s all happening again! Remember that
killer Lysol workout? (me neither, I was two) when the Melvins released an
album named after the drain clearer Vachel Lindsay drank to rid himself of this
earth and it featured 35 minutes of unabating Iommiisms. Brave as that was,
when the Lysol drain cleaner company threatened to sue for use of their name,
the Melvins hastily recalled all the records and taped/magic markered over the
name and re-released the same fuckin’
records. How awesome is that as a rock and roll story to be sure and tell
yer wee-‘uns. A career suicide more certain that if the Melvins had drank the
bloody stuff instead of naming their album after it. And yet, when they emerged
from the lawsuit-proof bunker they discovered they had a cult on their hands,
like Willard with Kurtz’s blood still on his hands. Well my dears a new band
has emerged on the scene with an 18 minute EP full of the same heart-stopping
career-flameout-guaranteed rock and roll that will Hiroshimafy your speakers
before you know what the fuck and just like that Melvins LP will leave
completely perplexed joy in the wake of its motorbike roar.
I saw Sleep - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #71
Or: - Lebanon! Lebanon! Hashishian! Rubble me, I’m a fifth
century stone Buddha.
Or: - Stoner caravan from deep space arrives.
Or: - Sun beams down on to the Sandsean reigns.
Rocket City Riot - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #70
Well y’all it’s actually been quite a productive day of
digging through the mountainous music industry slag heap looking for the few
overlooked gems. Like that Tuber piece of magnificence Rocket City Riot’s
self-titled debut single is only six minutes long, but we get two tracks, both
instrumental and both really excellent in a instrumental MC5-type way and I’m
excited to bring y’all it now. What we’re given is two tracks of the rawest
retaliation, kicking out the jams and kicking against any notion of anything
except the groove. The riffs are 800
decibels across, and only a lifetime long and so relentlessly, recklessly,
resoundingly catchy I feel like I’m hearing Karma to Burn’s Almost Heathen
again; but the riffs are more dynamic than that, less repetition and more
progressiveness, holding forth these three lambaste the landscape from atop a
medieval tower constructed of Marshall amps and issue forth a endless tide of
sturdy and unstoppably catchy noise-rock underground type stuff. Rocket City
Riot is the excellent name of this opus and it’s perfectly titled. The guitars,
particularly on the self-titled opener are just a riot, so instantly catchy with real low-down ball-cranking
heaviness behind them without it becoming overwhelming. It’s a thudding a
psychedelic desert journey, seen through that hazy rainbow heat vision and
looking at all the mirages down the highway while the drums do the driving.
It’s got tempo too, far too many guys nowadays fuck about in my ears far too
long, wasting the time they take and taking too much, Rocket City Riot is right
on the money and doesn’t hang about. It’s a spectacularly great single that’s
already merited twenty or so listens. And I’m excited for the rest of the
catalogue.
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.
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.
Surf aliens must die! - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #68
NOTE – Surf Aliens Must Die has been created by Steven for
the purposes of this review. It breaks down a lil’ summin’ like this. Side One
is Moonliner Vol. 1, Side Two is the newly released Moonliner Vol. 2.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in any kind of
trouble, really, real trouble. But
there’s always the legacy, that whole wall of vintage and that whole hard drive
of stunning quality stretching back in time and in space, spanning 60 years and
the globe. Rock and roll, the
undeniable bible of bad, the walking, strutting monument to misbehaviour. And
it ain’t ending! It’s still under construction like a needlessly elaborate
cathedral, there are still bits of it being unearthed too, Pentagram only
really came into existence recently; as well as all the smart and clever heads
working all over the world under all imaginable conditions both spiritual and
physical to make sounds. I’ve been really trying to dig around and come up with
these contemporary heads because while I love taking you on my Raw Power trip,
I figure you aren’t huge fans and would rather I led you to something new. And
with that, let me take you on my little Brujas del Sol trip (that’s Witches of
the Sun to you).
The Survivors' Suite - Keith Jarrett - LICK MY DECALS OFF, BABY! #49
A
drone… a sound evocative of a seafarer’s horn. Deep, earthy, but above all
furtive. A moan at first; a deep, earthy groan, as if nature itself were
longing, to be reconnected with that which was lost. The yearning cry of the
lonely islands shrouded in mist “like the hollow of a thirsty earth from which
they broke off,” the folk-songs of ancient mariners, the vast expanse of water
and sky, lonely, in solitude. Thus begins The
Survivors’ Suite, with Keith Jarrett’s bass recorder playing the part of
aforementioned haunting sound. As we are enveloped in our seclusion, however,
mysterious semblances of bass and percussion paint an almost elegiac picture.
The bassline, uneasy but regular, gives the track a backbone, its insistent
presence like the waves or the tide, casting the track forward in its drift. With
the eventual unity of the percussion and bass, the recorder is lost, and the
track delves into quiet contemplation for a brief moment before a new sense of
rhythm is established.
Al Cisneros - Ode to the Shrinebuilder - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #67

For the last few days I’ve been ill, as ill as an ill thing
that had too much to drink last night, which has been impeding my training and
led to me slinking about my flat in darkness feeling like royal arse listening
to nothing but Om on repeat, I already had that angst-generating bile-vent over
the abomination that was Live
Conference but for full spiritual recovery amongst terrible illness (it isn’t
that terrible, it’s quite bearable really, I just like whining) there has been
nothing else on the turntable but Om’s side of the Om/Current 93 2006 split
Inerrant Rays of the Infallible Sun (Blackship Shrinebuilder). This ain’t gonna
be an over-spill of word vom like normal, it’s only eight minutes, but getting
longer every listen and it’s oh-so-juicy.
Al Cisneros - Wanted dead or alive - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #66
Being a switched on head it is my honest and important
message to not only put on the blues-and-twos around releases certain to send
you into distorted nirvana but to also put a corollary on those which fall
short, sometimes a single disk or a whole wave of a band that is best avoided
like a high density minefield or a extremely boring person at an otherwise
pleasant dinner party. Even the very greatest head-expanders do it, drop a
clanger every so often, even Sabbath had that Born Again trouble that won’t be
fully atoned-for until everyone even remotely responsible is taking a dirt nap.
I put on a big warning stripe for any Sir Lord Baltimore release except their
astonishingly good debut, I dedicated a whole article to giving the wave-off to
Karma to Burn’s latest and now I give you another big fat no to add to the hundreds of full-on hell yess I’ve given. Today’s dud offenders may come as a shock
because they’re one of my favourite recording artists still recording, Om. The
logical continuation of the Sleep idiom. But I just took delivery of this side
cut, so you’d be forgiven for assuming my following words are just the drunk
raves of a lunatic fan who has lost all sense of perspective. To that I’d say: so?
In memory of Adam "MCA" Yauch - LICK MY DECALS OFF, BABY! #48
I’m
a little late in writing a response to my favorite Beastie Boy’s untimely
death, simply because it’s been so hard to process. I only got into the band
about 2 years ago, and their music still hits me with freshness and fills me
with enthusiasm. What’s more, it had been a hope of mine that one day the boys
would come over to the UK again and tour, and I guess the realization that
it’ll never happen hasn’t quite hit me yet.
Somebody buy that man a beer, I got run down by the motorik madness gone rouge - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #65
This retrospective/recommendation was written in one night
on the first listen to this new LP by killer Kraut artist Pharoah Chromium. The
album is Electric Cremation, I don’t think I mention that. I didn’t intend to
give y’all a hip on just one hit, but I felt compelled to bring this to you as
soon as I could.
Right off the bat I just know I’mma love this Pharoah
Chromium record so damn much I may just have to settle down with it. The first 35
seconds of side one have already indulged in that true Melvinite post-Iommiism with
such dedication and affection I just wanna take the record and play it for
y’all individually. There also been some organ worship that brought back fond
acid flashbacks of Yamantaka Sonic Titan trips with such pleasing instant
mind-transferall I just gotta tell y’all, I felt a little summin’ summin’ in my
bones. It all went a bit electric too. Just what are they putting in the water
in Berlin to make you drop this motha’fucker motherfucker? Whatever it is,
drink up and drink deep because it’s closing time at the bar and you’ve got a
universe to master.
Top ten piano loops in hip-hop - LICK MY DECALS OFF, BABY #47
Something
a bit different for today, as suggested by my good friend and fellow hip hop
lover James, whose own top 10 list you can check out here.
Basically,
there are a lot of different sounds that are often sampled to make hip-hop
beats, but some of the most common are piano beats. Why this is I’m not sure,
but the diverse sound of the piano can give rise to some menacing sounds, some
chilled ones and some absolutely banging beats. This top 10 list is slightly
atypical but hopefully contains all of the above.
"One of the best bands on the planet" - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #64
Rock and roll is a revolution. It’ll keep spinning, tuned-in
heads will keep making records for nobody to hear so that we always have fresh
slices for the soundtrack to the revolution, when we decide a large proportion
of things we do are completely stupid and actively get in the way of what makes
us truly happy. Alas, until that day utterly superb bands will continue to
churn out mesmeric records and surprise me every few months with a real
humm-dinger and you fuckers are all too blind and too stupid to notice. I like
to know how you think the world is ever going to get any better if you just
roll over and let the record companies tattoo your arse with their copyright. I
present to you a wonderful opportunity to fuck those cunts at Apple right up
with a simple act of revolutionary penance, and out of it you’ll get a superb
rock and roll record to treasure that is unique and funny in a way a lot of heavier music isn’t and the smug knowledge
that Apple are a few pounds/dollars/euros poorer and the band are a great many
pounds richer. Go out, right now, before you read any further, and buy Megafauna’s debut album, so that
they get a flush of attention and can make another one. You won’t be
disappointed. Give as much as you like, I guarantee whatever you paid will be
worth it.
Iggy paternity test comes back positive! - #IN SEARCH OF SPACE #63
There’s always been a fundamental difference between hippies
and punks, as the Young Ones aptly demonstrated time and again. I’ve always
thought that hippies, with long hair and flares, earthy colours seemed kinda soft around the edges, fuzzy; punks were
strictly defined, rigid lines and angles, ‘sharp’ was their adjective. So when
you start talkin’ ‘bout psychedelic punk
I get a little... hazy. That’s the label slapped on Baltimore’s Vincent Black
Shadow, not to be confused with Canadian female-fronted garage-pop the Vincent Black Shadow. Nope this is
definitely Vincent Black Shadow, sans the.
And what does this fusion of fuzzy and hard sound like? A caterwauling railway
to a thousand words of oblique sexual innuendos? Certainly does. This
rollicking 30 minuter is sure to set your legs a-quiverin’ and your speakers ablaze
with a sultry blend of erogenous zone-stroking careful instrumentation with
punk layered in like three shots of Stroh in the office Christmas party punch.
And a punch it certainly packs, with a lyrical superiority to rival Iggy
himself, lead singer Adam Black Savage wastes no time sand blasting his vocals
across the spectrum in the greatest Iggy fashion, vocally gesticulating and
cavorting as the songs come to broken-LP stages of rotation, slowing right the
fuck down until all that you can hear is the wind.
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