by Tony
Rettman
Unlike
many others of the human race, I don't see much greatness
in summertime. When I was a wide eyed, innocent tyke, my father
took me to the beach one early, early morn. As we walked further
and further down the slope of that hot pain-in-the-ass sand,
my eyes caught sight of the hypnotic rippling of the shore.
As my pops took my hand and led me down the way, I couldn't
get my peepers off the tide going in and out. It seemed to
calm me, make me feel at one
with all around me. As I got closer and my eyes more clearer,
I noticed something real weird-like caught in the waves' dance.
Just then, the item in question rode itself off the tide and
washed up near me. A foot long turd laid not three feet from
me. I didn't scream or make note of it to my dad. I simply
walked away from the water and that's where my love affair
with the sea ended. When you bring up the glory of the shore,
I just think back to that peanut-encrusted loaf and run back
to the sancutary of my apartment. 'In that air-conditioned
craphole there lies beer and records and I'm sure I'll
never wake up to find a turd in my bed. At least, I hope I
never
do . . . Anyways . . . All the below mentioned stuff has made
this gross ass humid as hell season pass by a little quieter
and quicker, so give 'em your time, will ya???
If memory
serves you right, you might recall a rather spiteful review
I did a year ago for the debut LP by The Suntanama.
I wrote something about how if a great straight up Rock record
goes past the radar of the Blastitude readership in this age
of wrestling masks and Neo No Wave, then I give up. As I watched
ignorant review after ignorant review pile up on the record,
I really contemplated retiring from the concept of hope all
together. Just when the proverbial neck was in the noose,
The Suntanama's highly unapologetic and appropriately titled
second full lengther Another came through to raise
both my spirits and roof. The record steps down further into
the murky tar of late night grooving while obscuring and mixing
the influences even more to keep the Mad Lib happy critics
on their toes. (But don't worry, I'm sure we'll see at least
one review mention CCR.) A deeper, grittier production this
time 'round provides the proper spotlight for all involved.
Tight, chooglin' rhythms with John Allen's simple, effective
leads almost dancing around Keith Connolly's knee-buckling,
load-bearing guitar style. Although everyone comes out a winner
here (here...have a trophy) I gotta say Catfish's voice and
wordage have progressed in a big way. His voice creates something
outta everything, and volleys around grunts, whispers and
aches with little effort. The words on tracks like 'Missolit'
and 'Roughcommon' are the anthems I've been waiting for my
whole, crappy adult life...no doubt about it. If you've got
shelves full of early 70s Englanders pretending to chew on
dung (and Americans for that matter), then this will obviously
ring your bell. If you don't fall into that club, still give
it a try and learn to love the fact that whiskey is the new
ginseng. www.dragcity.com
And since
we're in the neighborhood, let's talk about some recent No
Neck Blues Band crap...like the 'Intonomancy' CD
recently released on their own Sound @ One imprint. Like 2001's
'Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Names Will Never
Hurt Me' CD, this batch of jams was recorded in a proper studio,
and it might take some time to get used to the streak-free
recording. Once you work yourself over this useless hump,
you'll come to the conclusion that the band's natural intimacy
is still there and the stunning capture of sound fits their
development like a red rubber glove. The general gist of the
disc is the sound of bygone English freak units like The Third
Ear Band or Hapsash and The Coloured Coat funneled through
the eyes and ears of American paranoia. For those who like
their NNCK raw and dirty, I will point you towards the ridiculously
packaged 'Ever Borneo!' set on the Seres label. Apparently
the contents of this LP and single spans the past five years
of NNCK's activity and plays to me like a greatest hits of
jams I've never heard. The way the tracks are presented forces
sequential thinking as far as the group's progression is concerned
and the moments where the pyramids of 'improvisation' and
'jamming' meet and dissolve are plenty. Parts of this sound
like what the meeting between Sun Ra and The Blues Project
SHOULD OF sounded like and some of it sounds like butt nekkid
mud caked hippies searching for Glastonbury Tor. Both Dickie
Treece and Brother Ah would be proud to claim these guys as
their spiritual sons...and why the fuck shouldn't they???
Both of these things should be available at www.forcedexposure.com.
Enos
Slaughter have a NNCK member in 'em, so let's throw
them in here. The fledgling Philadelphia label Tequila Sunrise
has released a limited CDR of a performance E.S. did last
fall outside of The Philadelphia Record Exchange. And, of
course, it's a good 'un. The selection of tracks from the
show makes the event come off like some backwoods backporch
throwdown where someone spiked the sour mash with acid. The
trio picks, plucks and pulls their strings into almost unfathomably
dense moments, but they always seem to know when to pull back
and give the strings, sounds and crowd a time to breath and
figure out what the fuck is going on. This must of been the
shit to watch...where the hell was I that night? Probably
watching Fox or eating Trenton-style at Scavo's. What an onionhead
I am . . . tequilasunrise@nme.com
When Rob
Thomas handed me a copy of Sunburned Hand Of The Man's
new LP on Eclipse, 'The Trickle Down Theory Of Lord Knows
What,' I was naturally ecstatic. When he later told me in
the evening it was a record of 'nothing,' I was naturally
bemused. When I got the thing home and spun it, I kinda/sorta
understood where he was coming from. Compared to the funkified
Ash Ra Tempel style jamming to be found on their CDRs and
limited vinyl releases, this stuff does seem a bit stripped
down. It might lack something in the electrified instrumentation
department, but it makes up for it in spades as far as severe
mind fuckery goes. Like all of SBHOTM's material, there's
always a groove to latch onto, no matter how minimal, so that
element is there, but it's the shit clipping around the air
of it that's so dangerous. Cheapo keyboards and sequencers,
tranced-out acoustic guitars, effects-laden ghosts/vocals
and the
sound of Tim Buckley on the top of a mountain, singing through
a busted megaphone. Anyone who was lucky enough to score a
copy of their 'Tour Only' CDR 'Magnetic Drugs' is probably
still cowering in a corner over its sinister, dissident ways,
as it is just as fucked as this LP. How long these dudes will
dwell in their new found maraca and casio glory, I dunno.
Whatever they do, I'll be happy as hell over it, knowing they're
always trying to confuse and please everyone and anyone who's
a breather. www.eclipse-records.com
Another
unit everyone has been blabbing about is the Portland duo
Nice Nice. Their three song 7" entitled
'There Will Be Slogans' makes me wonder what all the fuss
is about. The drummer sounds like he's trying out for a spot
on Tortoise's 'Monsters of White Rock' tour. There are a few
moments of well-intentioned electronic burps and bursts from
the non drum playing part of the unit (Jason Burhler) but
the cold white funk has gotsa go. To think they come from
the same land of Lockjaw and Poison Idea is truly frightening.
I could picture a whole loft fulla Brooklynites really digging
on this and THAT is where I just can't hang. www.whitedenim.com
Although the idea of a mag containing a Keiji Haino update
doesn't really get my maurdo pumpin', I can't really dismiss
this second issue of Arcane Candy. The main
reason for this is the very lengthy and highly interesting/informative/entertaining
interview with Don Bolles, former member of such LA combos
as The Germs, 45 Grave, Vox Pop, Nervous Gender and...oh yeah...Celebrity
Skin (ugh). Besides being the inventor of the generic Hardcore
Punk drumbeat, Don has been a collector of Avant Garde vinyl
since his early teens and the interview concentrates on how
he discovered these sounds and used them to prolong his dementia
over the years. Both the photos and dialogue are priceless,
and serve as a large wad of insight into the ying-yanging
neurosis/psychosis that fueled The Germs. It should sit very
nicely next to your copy of the 'Lexicon Devil' book that
came out last year. But still, I look through this guy's review
section and I can't help but wonder what he listens to for
fun. When he invites his buddies over to get blasted, what
does he put on? A Harry Partch box set? On the good side,
he seems to keep a non-snewty pants attitude on the proceedings,
so that's cool. A few more issues certainly won't hurt the
world, so let's see some more. You can get it from www.forcedexposure.com.
The Scissor
Girls, AZ, Birde of No No, etc. I never really got. But this
solo LP by Azita called 'Enantiodromia' suits
me quite well, thank you. Some have said something about this
being Steely Dan-esque, but I wouldn't know about that...
REALLY, I WOULDN'T! (Quick, stash that copy of 'Pretzel Logic'
under the couch NOW!!!) What I do know is this album gives
me a queasy feeling of desperation and shattered bliss that
only comes to me when I hear Robert Wyatt's 'Rock Bottom'
or 'Ruth is Stranger Than Richard.' Anyone who's cried their
eyes out to Bill Fay's 'Time of the Last Persecution' on a
late night would probably benefit from owning this as well,
but I digress...The melodies are lilting, the rhythms solid
and the wordage poignant. There's little doubt in my weak
mind that this is a good contender for one of this year's
best. If this endorsement doesn't have you jogging down to
the local record shoppe, you're either A) A person who doesn't
give a crap about my opinion (I can understand that), B) A
person who doesn't understand a word I say (ditto) or, C)
Yet another phoney, too-young-to-be-so-jaded asshole. Either
way, I gain and you lose and that's fine by me. www.dragcity.com
Why Frontier
has bothered to reissue Rikk Agnew's solo
LP from '83 entitled 'All By Myself' is beyond me. But I am
quite happy they did it, seeing as my OG copy is sitting somewhere
in used record store heaven. Hearing this with new ears (and
I got 'em on sale too!) I can't help but feel this might be
some sorta Punk Rock version of 'Oar.' Rikk played all the
instruments himself and to say his brain wasn't as swiss-cheesed
out at this moment in time (in between being in The Adolescents
and Christian Death) as Skip Spence's might be a fib. Whether
or not he ever came at Steve Soto with an axe I do not know.
The album coaxes itself around the classic OC Beach Punk sound,
and nods to the Paisley Underground sound that was just coming
out of the West Coast at that time. The moments of long-winded
aggro (like the album closing "Section Eight") show
this record to be just as confused, disturbed, and life- affirming/altering
as any of these highly regarded and priced one-manned efforts
men with floppy (or no) hair won't shut up about. This record
sticks its middle finger high and mighty in the name of individuality.
Do you do the same? www.frontierrecords.com
So if
you've been hanging around the same social clubs as me, you've
probably been hearing much bally-hooing about a new Finnish
ensemble named Avarus. Of course, most of
their shit has been done up in miniscule editions on cassette
and CDR. The kinda stuff only Don Rettman and Sir Sienko would
own. Luckily, the HP Cycle label out of Canada has done up
a whole ACTUAL LP of their stuff in a decent sized edition,
entitling it '3' and I'm loving the thing like a shrub. Like
most of the newer Finnish improv units before them (Kemialliset
Ystavat, The Anaksimandros, etc.) they do the communal acoustic
hippy hoe down quite well, but it's not all roasting weenies
around a campfire and talking mysticism for this lot. Thank
fucking Christ. When they do plug in, strap down your bric-a-brac
because it's a low end rumbling stumbling type-a-thing like
you wouldn't believe. 'But,' I hear you say, 'Are they as
good or maybe better than Finnish groups like Appendix or
Rutto?' How dare you even ask a question like that! I thought
you had more style and class than that! That's it! Get out!
hp_cycle@hotmail.com
The
Geeks were a band that existed in the Northern California
area from the late 60s to the early 80s. If you believe everything
liner notes tell you (and I suppose you should) they turned
onto Free Jazz in their early teens and started to play out
and record under the influence of the Punk Rock shot heard
around the world in the late 70s. They put out an LP and a
7" in their time of existence, but the S-S label has
just put out a 45 of totally unheard stuff of theirs from
'82 that's pretty dang interesting. The one track has a snakey
maraca-shakin' groove behind it while guitars and brass toot
and false-start around its edges. It sounds like a NNCK jam
twenty years before the fact. The other track, 'Hey Wreck,'
is a belligerent bass- heavy sax-squealing number with vocalist
Mark Chambers bellowing like a burgerless Marlon Brando. This
would probably make Dave Morton giggle his ass off, but it
makes me wanna/hafta crap my pants. Oops! Pooped 'em! Anyone
willing to part with copies of their 'It's Not About Notes
Anymore' LP or 'Poland' 7", get in touch. www.s-srecords.com
If you're
like me, you're probably real fat and lazy. Thus, you most
likely missed The Magic Markers when they
blew through on an east coast tour in the start of this summer.
Well, lucky you (and me), as they squeezed all the best jams
from their trip onto a CDR to enjoy in the idiot-free air-conditioned
joy of your sitting room. Sure, you don't get the visuals,
but that's what eyelids are for. Those who haven't had the
pleasure of seeing or hearing this trio are in for some real
disorienting fun. One minute you'll be bopping along to a
simple, danceable beat with guitars slashing in and out, and
then the fuckers will abruptly throw you down a corridor of
darkened mirrors while creaky electronics and aimless drums
ATTACK ATTACK ATTACK!!! The loops thrown are what make this
the treasure that it is, of course. Steve Howe could never
do this shit. Peter Banks maybe, but certainly not Howe. A
whole LP of Magic Markers material is going to be served up
soon on Ecstatic Peace and you better be ready for it. As
far as getting a hold of this thing, well, um, er....your
best bet might be bugging the kids at Apostasy. Give 'em a
try at apostasy.tripod.com.
[This just in -- contact the Magic Markers direct at petenolan@hotmail.com
--ed.] P.S. Word I just hoid is that The Magic Markers will
be doing another tour with new loves of Northern Mass. The
Believers by the end of the summer. Check it out...
I've only
known two people who ever owned Ernie Graham's
solo record from '71 and one of them played on the damned
thing. So ya know you better dance a dance, light a sparkler,
and buy a pound of pot over the fact it's been reissued by
TWO labels in a year's span. Jesus, do you know how good your
life is? Let me fill you in...Ernie was an Irish rocker who
hung out with the trad folk group Sweeney's Men back in the
mid-60s. He lured one of their members (Henry
McCullough, later member of Wings) into starting a Psychedelic
band named Eire Apparent. E.A. went off and did well, even
touring the U.S. with The Soft Machine and Jimi Hendrix. Hendrix
later produced the band's sole LP 'Sunrise' (Buddah, 1969).
When Ernie got back to the U.K. he fell in with the 'Down
Home' posse of Brinsley Schwarz, Help Yourself, etc. These
bands had thrown their puffy silk shirts and velvet bellbottoms
into the wind to don overalls and dig into the cold, wet British
soil to find some U.S. West Coast sunshine. Of course, they
succeeded with results that would make Steve Stills shit in
D. Crosby's droopy moustache. Right before Ernie joined Help
Yourself for a spell, he did a solo LP for United Artists
with everyone from the above mentioned bands sitting in and
this is the thing I'm talking about. The vibe of the record
is obviously laid back, but not too mellow to keep you on
your toes. The opening track 'Sebastian' sounds like a twist
between Van Morrison's 'Sweet Thing' and Lennon's 'Oh! Yoko!'
'Blues For Snowy' is a sinister Beefheartian groover, complete
with my all time favorite guitar solo from my all time favorite
guitarist, Richard Treece. Hell, to make matters even more
brow-raising, the track 'Belfast' makes the act of pixie dancing
into a funky, sultry thing. Of course, tracks like 'The Girl
Who Pulled The Lever' and 'Don't Want Me 'Round You' fill
the quota on sleepy eyed dope-fueled Band-inspired greatness.
This disc is yet another testimony (like The Brinsleys' 'Silver
Pistol' or Help Yourself's 'Strange Affair') to the bizarre
unpinnable thing this group of bands had going on. They interpreted
an entire culture of music into their own vision and style
and ended with something so bizarre, it still baffles motherfuckers
to this day. Throw that CDR of blender noises in the trash
and get with this NOW. www.vinyljapan.com
or www.huxrecords.com.
If you
have anything you want talked about in 'Living Like
Burt Reynolds On A Mac Davis Income' send it along
to:
Tony Rettman
1189 Parkside Ave
Trenton NJ
08618
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