There are countless luminaries of this school of infinitely compressed full-on heavy sonic trips. Another one drifts into orbit with the release of Lost Cosmonaut(s) first record, on the Glasgow Fastbuck grindcorelabel for absolutely nowt. The brainchild of David Forrest is a claustrophobic capsule full of electric worry. The sound of escape-velocity speed static is utterly crushing and it sloshes around throughout the record to teeth-rattling effect. Transmissions From Torre Bert is a stonker to start the year. Coming somewhere between a found-footage conceit about the very real lost cosmonaut tapes from the Italian Torre Bert station, and the much more fanciful fictional musings of the Kosmik Deed and others. The electric meditations, with muffled words, lost in the general sun-haze of distortion. It’s a very real refusenik anti-music, and in the age of meteorites plummeting to the ground, bringing fresh colour out of space into our grey world, and the ISON comet promising to be the most amazing astrological moment for many centuries; maybe it’s ‘bout time for that riot.
On similarly local grounds, an Edinburgh show by Homesick Aldo went off without a hitch on Saturday night at the hip new Marchmont Institute. The native Fifian blurted out his usual supersonic harmonica boogie to the astonishment of first timers and the full soul carbohydrate rejuvenation of all those already switched on to Aldo’s blues. Special props go out to his superbly excellent pointed two-tone shoes and the general atmosphere of japery in place at all times. You may have noticed a lack of new content recently on this blog. That’s because I’m horrifyingly busy trying not to fail my degree. I’m doing a dissertation on music criticism don’tcha know. Anyhoo, expect this shit to go on until May. I’ll try to update weekly but frankly, I hate you, especially you, Robert. I'm so sorry, that you don't have any free entertainment, that you don't have me loping through the jungles of shite music and untagged promo files looking for something to slightly improve the way you slouch on the sofa listening to someone else's hard work wishing you were dead. I'm so fucking sorry I can't completely satisfy some of you pricks.
Written under duress by Steven.