GANG WIZARD: "Robert,
11/98 and other hits"
CS (UNREAD
RECORDS)
"Yowling
and surly California improv." That's how this band
was described in the catalog for Tape Mountain, which
is a tapes-and-cdr's label run by one Jake Anderson. Mr.
Anderson records music as Celesteville (see
below...), and in fact plays in Gang Wizard on this
tape. So, when he says "yowling and surly improv,"
he should know, and after listening to this tape several
times in the week or two after Chris "Unread Records
CEO" Fischer mailed it to me, I still think that
phrase is an excellent way to describe it, along with
a phrase of my own, which goes "hammering, confounding,
harsh, droning, honking, boiling/bubbling/simmering, not-necessarily-a-good-time-but-still-rather-compulsively-engaging."
If I'm not
mistaken, Mike Landucci, who runs the Blackbean &
Placenta label, is the founder and/or leader and/or most
constant member of Gang Wizard. Another notable member,
for all I know on this release only (I have a Gang Wizard/Ashtray
Navigations split 7-inch that I don't think he's on),
is David "Hertz-Lion"
Cotner, who plays on 3 or 4 of the tracks here. Another
notable member (plays on more than one track) is Brian
MacDonald, but probably only to those who, like me, are
subscribed to the Drone-On email discussion group, for/on
which Brian is one of the more engaging regular posters.
AND THE MUSIC:
Surling and yowly indeed! In The Wire magazine,
David Keenan wondered why "there isn't a Dead C tribute
group in every small suburban town the world over."
Well, Gang Wizard seem to be the Mission Hills, CA chapter,
especially invoking some of the C's more frenzied and
harrowed moments. It's that strong bad-acid kinda stuff,
which might work best at a low volume unless you want
to terrify everyone within earshot. Not that it's all
lingly and suryow though -- it can take a while, but the
musicians often forage their way into more spacey and
subdued atmospheres.
Also like the Dead
C, Gang Wizard sprinkle abstract songs here and there
among their free-form jams. They don't do it as often
as the Dead C did on say, Trapdoor Fucking Exit,
but more often than the Dead C does now. In fact, the
vocals on "Crazy Persuasion" are almost goofy
in that L.A. underground poetry-punk kinda way (and the
song also sounds like free-rock-with-occasional-vocals
contemporaries 360 Sound of Des Moines, IA). The album
starts with an actual series of strummed guitar chords,
and you can even tell between the major chords and the
minor chords. The next song, "Candidates for Seperation"
also features some chords and a singer who actually sings
the title. Also, on the 'verses' there's this great sharp
feedback tone that rings throughout, louder than the vocals,
for that Modern Dance effect. The song also features
some great garage-rock organ playing. It's the kind of
stuff that really glues all the far-flung space-noise
improv on this tape together. I've been listening to it
a lot.
CELESTEVILLE: Invisible
Tape CS (UNREAD RECORDS)
If
you didn't notice in the previous Gang Wizard review (I
don't blame you, ya can't read everything), sometime Gang
Wizard member Jake Anderson, who lives (lived?) in Tualatin,
Oregon, records solo music as Celesteville. This project
has released a tape called Invisible Tape on Omaha
tape etc. label Unread Records.
I've listened to
these two Jake Anderson-affiliated tapes back to back
more than just a couple times in the last couple-a weeks,
and ya know, I just can't help but think of them in comparison-contrast
terms. (I'm such a geek.) Though Invisible Tape
does feature extended sections of instrumental freenoise
that definitely are in the "Gang Wizard aesthetic,"
this is a more restrained music, with words like "yowling"
and "shrapnel" not coming up nearly as often
as they do during Gang Wizard. The first song ("A
Tableau") is just that, a song, but it's still black-tunnel
music, a very slow, somber song, with strange guitar flare-ups
on the chorus and in the zoned-out solo sections. Sort
of like Gang Wizard crossed with Codeine (the band, not
the drug).
There are several more songs, and even what might be called
"Lou Barlow-influenced bedroom psych" type songs,
but they're much less confessional. In fact, I don't even
really notice the lyrics...this tape really fits the Unread
lo-fi aesthetic, as if he's not only singing in his bedroom
but actually singing from under the covers on his bed,
and the words are often drowned out by the distorted electric
rock pulse he's usually singing with and the way it overloads
the tape. The key to the songs is the atmospheres, which
are more Kraut-y than you usually hear from Barlow-ilks.
For example, on the second track, "Mercury,"
Anderson's vocals are swirled into an overdub stew featuring
a cheap electronic drum-machine pulse, droning cheap-organ
chords, subtle percussion, and sci-fi synth whoops and
whorls. Jake's song-forms sink just under the surface
of this electronic tide and float there, almost imperceptibly.
And by track three, "Try," there's no sight
of a song anywhere, it's just two free-form guitar improvs
dubbed onto a four-track one right after the other, the
second one while listening to the first one. It's good!
I dare say it's right up there with "Lee is Free."
It's followed up with
another nice murmured ballad that sits in that sweet spot
somewhere between Neil Young and the Dead C. And, throughout
the tape it's never too long before the song-forms are
abandoned entirely for long instrumental improv tracks
that clank and burrow and hang in the air, like a sparser
version of the stuff on the Gang Wizard tape. This is
especially true on Side Two, which contains an amazing
burrowing improv noise piece in which all sorts of fumbling
sounds fall around a lurching retarded robotic casio loop.
Here and there Jake cuts in some other tape entirely,
sounding like him or someone doing wild tape-distorting
piano improvs, but he always cuts back to the defective
robotic casio loop. And then, just when you're totally
convinced this is an instrumental, he starts singing a
sad folk song over the loop which works pretty well. Then
all of a sudden the music stops. End of album. I had to
take it out and check to see if the tape didn't get eaten,
because it sounded too abrupt to be correct. But it was
correct, and I ain't gonna argue with ol' Celesteville
Jake, 'cause he's pretty good...
LINKS:
Blackbean
& Placenta
Tape
Mountain
Unread
Records
NURSE WITH WOUND:
A Chance Meeting on a Dissecting Table of a Sewing Machine
and an Umbrella CD (UNITED DAIRIES)
Finally
got to hear A Chance Meeting by Nurse With Wound,
and hindsight sure is 20/20. This kind of noise jamming
has since been bettered by many groups, like Borbetomagus,
A Handful of Dust, The No-Neck Blues Band/K.Salvatore/S@1
posse, even Rake. Admittedly, NWW probably were the first
'post-punk' group to really discover this territory, and,
as is usually the case with first-timers, their moves
have become crude in hindsight. The sound of machetes
hacking away at the very dense underbrush of subsubsub-subbaculture
is not always a sublime one, especially when you're the
first explorers to land on whatever shore.
In this case,
a musical shore, with the flora and fauna beyond the beach
being 'post-kraut noise jamming on rock instruments and
electronics.' The first track, "Two Mock Projections,"
is s-u-n-k SUNK by blues-wank guitar soloing by John Fothergill.
The other guys are deeply burrowing into abstract electronics,
but this guy is soloing along like some Clapton fan. Clapton
guitar is even hard to take in its proper stadium-rock
context, but here it's even worse because it's keeping
me from the total abstraction that the other two much-less-overtly
wanking musicians are making me crave. I know, it's supposed
to be a juxtaposition, stadium rock vs. abstract avant-classical
electronics, a sort of musical representation of the album
title, but even in that context it's some pretty lame
guitar wank.
Track two,
"The Six Buttons of Sex Appeal," is an immediate improvement,
beginning as it does with some exemplary prepared gtr
screech - a post-Incus Donald Miller sort of attack -
though it is immediately taken down a notch by the entrance
of a wack drum machine that might justify the "industrial"
tag. Mostly NWW don't deserve that tag, though the feeble
'scary' Orridge-esque vocalising that goes on from minutes
4 to approx. 6.5 doesn't help. (At least it only takes
up two-and-a-half minutes of the album.) The gtr playing
is inspired throughout, never lapsing into Clapton-isms,
and in fact, when switching to a more 'note'-based approach
towards the end, becoming even better, and the madly programmed
and stereo-panned drum machine soon rises far above the
'industrial' sound, aspiring toward the synthetics-gone-mad
feel of Can's terrifying "Peking O" or the loopy, rubbery
drum machine antics of early Kraftwerk, Kluster, and Organisation.
"Six Buttons" ends up being a nice spread-out electronic-chatter
jam, the kind of thing that lives up to the reputation.
On this
more uplifting note, Side One ends, and I begin to see
this album like a game of Blackjack. Hearing the first
track quickly sink under wank is like opening a game by
being dealt a lowly 5 card, but the second track is like
being dealt a 6 and sure enough, the third track, "Blank
Capsules of Embroidered Cellophane," taking up all
of side two, is the 28-minute face card that gives the
listener "21." It begins with a real head of steam: a
bowed-percussion whine going against a freezer hum while
Edgard Varese himself scrapes away on percussion - this
activity chirps along for a while, and is soon enlivened
even more by surprisingly adroit free-classical noise
piano, something like Tilbury-era AMM, a couple years
before said era even began. After another chunk of time
the taped voice of a French girl starts speaking, not
unlike an alien transmission from Keith Rowe's shortwave
radio. Hey, you're thinkin', this is glorious, but it's
a 28-minute track, and you just know Fothergill is going
to go into some more prog-lick blues guitar, and sure
enough at about the 18-minute mark he does. It's pretty
wack, but by the 20-minute mark, thanks to some psychedelic
mixing and stepped-up playing from the percussion and
organ, his wank starts to subsume into the spaced fabric
rather than obstruct it, and it no longer sounds like
Dave Gilmour sitting in with AMM.
And
of course, Nurse With Wound has gone on to release some
two or three hundred albums since this infamous debut,
with Steven Stapleton earning the appelation of "the
best selling avant garde musician of all time." I
would assume much of the subsequent NWW work is less crude
than A Chance Meeting, not that I would know. I
haven't been contributing to Stapleton's best-selling-ness.
I borrowed A Chance Meeting and I have to give
it back this Sunday. The only other thing I've ever heard
by NWW is a three-minute snippet from "Soliliquoy
for Lilith," rudely truncated during the Napster
download I used to obtain it. (Though three minutes is
enough to tell that "Soliliquoy" is quite a
bit less blunt than A Chance Meeting and I would
like to hear the whole thing sometime, but it's not high
on my shopping list.)
ADDENDUM:
This just in! (1-25-01) From Chris Sienko:
'The
"blues guitar" on the first track of "Chance Meeting...",
at least according to Stapleton in an interview in The
Wire, was not the fault of any of the bandmembers (unless
he was lying or changing his story). According to the
interview, the three members of the band (Stapleton, Fothergill
and some other guy) were raking and beating away, when
all of the sudden, the producer/engineer (who was basically
letting them use the studio for free on an off day) told
them what they were doing was "way out there" but wouldn't
sell without a hook. Since they were kinda indebted to
the guy for the opportunity to record, they let him "help
out," which resulted in the producer coming in with a
guitar and wanking out the clapton-esque blues riffs along
with their klangenbangen. So, Fothergill may not be to
blame after all, but maybe I misremembered the story,
too. Personally, I think the blues guitar makes a nice
contrast. The scraping/banging isn't especially engaging
to my ears. Anything to liven up the proceedings. But
I understand why nobody I know who owns this album likes
it.'
YOKO ONO/JOHN LENNON:
Two Virgins CD (ROCK CLASSICS)
Here's
an infamous record. Celebrity nudity is always infamous.
I think I've looked at the cover photo more times than
I've listened to the CD in the six years since I bought
this grotty reissue. ("Rock Classics" really
does seem to be the name of the label, though there is
a "Tetragrammaton Records" and a "Creative
Sounds, Ltd." listed in the fine print.) How about
I play it again, for the first time in years, and try
to ignore the celebrity trappings and just see what's
what….
The record
starts with ghostly hums and whistles that suggest a big
echoey 'lo-fi' recording space and are probably 'noise
music.' Then comes crashing sounds that are definitely
'noise' music, probably coming from the spring-reverb
of a guitar amplifier being treated in a most indelicate
way. Whistles and hums continue, and if the whole ambience
was on a cassette by Chocolate Monk and featured someone
from Deacar Pinga, Harry Pussy, or The Shadow Ring you'd
be 'all over' it, jack. What does kind of throw this underground
mystique is the voices of John and Yoko -- as soon as
you hear John's cheeky stentorian British accent and Yoko's
stoned giggling and extremely trademarked caterwaul/warble,
all you can think of is j
o h n a n d y o k o c e l e b r i t y r o c k s t a r
s n u m b e r n i n e n u m b e r n i n e n u m b e r
n i n e r o l l i n g s t o n e m a g a z i n e i n t
e r v i e w a n n i e l i e b o w i t z p h o t o s e
t c e t e r a
e t c e t e r a.
But you never get
'that' feeling for long. After all, Two Virgins
is 'noise' 'music', and it's a single 30-minute improv
noise jam (even if it was split into two sides in its
original vinyl edition, it's been restored to a single
uninterrupted track on this CD reissue) marked by big
stretches of dumbfounded space, raunchy noise in its purest
sense, and free-floating/falling-alien quest-moves. Unfortunately
every five or eight minutes something happens to put us
back on Planet People Magazine, usually when the two are
audibly trying to be 'themselves,' Yoko overdoing her
fairly limited 'tortured vocalise' technique (her bits
are a lot better when she's being subtle and quiet, holding
soft gliding notes rather than cackling loudly) and John
hinting at rock'n'roll progressions on piano or guitar.
He's at his worst when he indulges his vaudeville/music
hall/comedy side, playing ragtime piano and shouting out
cheeky British things. He's at his best when he creates
amazing buzzing/crackling feedback sounds, and a few moments
where he proves himself even more adept - and restrained
- than his wife when it comes to screaming.
There's a lot of
weird swirling sounds going on here, and it's hard to
suss out exactly where they're all coming from. This might
be lame of me, but I get the feeling that John is doing
the lion's share while Yoko mostly adds vocals. Actually,
Yoko might be running an analog delay pedal as well, creating
primitive feedback loops - at one point a rather obnoxious
one is going on and John says "Excuse me?" The loop shuts
off suddenly and in the silence John says "Thank you."
This sort of casualness benefits the record - it's a mixed
bag, but it makes no attempt to hide the fact that it's
just an off-the-cuff jam, which effectively removes the
pretentiousness/piousness/purchasability trap that so
much 'classic rock' is marketed with.
Not that
its a 'must have'. The possiblity of Two Virgins wearing
out its (rare) welcome a bit is always just around the
corner...one such moment comes during the last half of
the piece: despite John's pretty good job at making a
spontaneous shortwave radio collage, Yoko's simultaneous
vocals aren't really coming off like a collaboration --
she's not getting inside the shortwave radio sound,
it sounds more like she's just superimposing her trademark
'weird' vocals onto the proceedings cuz she'd be bored
otherwise. Where in other places her trademark 'weird'
vocals are exciting, here they are just a placeholder,
and believe me, when it comes to improv jamming of this
sort, a performer/jammer should never underestimate the
facility of silence as a placeholder. I swear, I can even
hear it in her voice, that she's thinking about stopping
and just letting John play solo for awhile (which she
does in other parts of the jam, to good effect), but she
just keeps on going because she knows she'd be bored if
she didn't, she doesn't want to just sit there and patiently
be silent for the benefit of the piece….
Well anyway, that's all
conjecture, and I am definitely one of the 3% of all WASP-derived
Beatles fans who admire Yoko Ono, and like I said, this
is a pretty fine peek at the real freedom rock of 1968,
and Chocolate Monk fans might just be ready to rediscover
it. I'll let Mr. and Mrs. Ono have the last words about
it.
John: "It was midnight
when we started 'Two Virgins,' it was dawn when we finished,
and then we made love at dawn. It was very beautiful."
Yoko: "It's music.
It starts with a kind of pianissimo and kind of largo.
And then it goes on increasing in speed as well. And then
it goes into a crescendo and it goes on and I mean, that's
music. You can notate that."
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