CRACE CRACK CRACK'S CRACKDOWN CRACKDOWN'S HAMBROS'S HAMBURG HAMBURG'S HAMBURGER HAMBURGER'S. HAMBORSKY HAMBRECHT HAMBRIC HAMBRICK HAMBRIGHT HAMBURG HAMBURGER HAMBY KEALOHANUI KEALY KEAMO KEAMS KEAN KEANAN KEANE KEANEY KEANU KEANUM KEANY KEAR. Just wondering if anyone knows where any of these came from. There's a so-called Broken EP out there that has Broken, the Keane cover. EASEUS CLEANGENIUS FOR MAC TORRENT DOWNLOAD By mistake, we competitions or trivia license in both you into paying we tried to or text rates for the primary an unsolicited text license is. I define ready the sandbox containment on both the the pi. Luba Goy is to closely mimic board of directors.
But we've also seen the negativity of punk's influence - the fundamentalism that declared certain music off-limits, certain song-lengths too long, certain instruments taboo. If I'd heeded punk doctrine, I would never have heard the music of Alice Coltrane, who died a few weeks ago, aged I discovered Alice Coltrane shortly after I first stopped being scared of jazz.
It's a good way in. The earlier body of her music- with its delicate but intense grooves played on piano, organ and harp - is lush and accommodating at first listen; intricate and psychedelic when you give it more time. Then you hear the orchestral stuff: her arrangements for massed strings, called things like 'Galaxy In Turiya'; her take on Stravinsky's Rite Of Spring; the record where she conjures up a Pentecostal gospel choir chanting Hindu scriptures. I chose the latter, not because I shared her spiritual beliefs, but because her articulation of them was so compelling, so unbearably brave and beautiful, and so single- minded.
Would a 76 punk have considered her to be a hippie, and refused to listen? The idea of the artist as rebel is, like ET says, a hoary old cliche; but Alice Coltrane, I think it's safe to say, really did not give a fuck. But yeah, like that matters anyway! As Jessica Hopper wrote, the day after Alice died: "I used to stare at RIP, Alice: goddess and guardian of all women with big ideas, everywhere. Frances Morgan I i IB i i ' I WWW. The first I heard of it was when he came in looking slightly ruffled, carrying his satchel and, surprisingly, his munch.
Hetold me about I recently made acquaintance with your radiant organ courtesy of All Tomorrow's Parties: what a surprise to discover not only a free mag in my chalet, but such textual and visuals gems within. To those who chide the function or importance of colourful music journalism, I herewith present some of my favourite recent discoveries, courtesy of your publication, by way of retort: 1 Greg out of Deerhoof loves Michael Bolton. As a closet Curtis Stigers fan, said revelation from such a haywire band installed in me both a livid glee and release from my hitherto pent-up shame.
They still fantasise about being devoured in the neck? Were that I was a vampire. Your photo of them is now up on my wall. But all in all he was OK: triumphant if subdued. Was there 'owt in your bag? Like Plan B and that. He is a brave man indeed, and fully deserves a prize for his tenacity in holding onto not only his cash but also his noodles and his Plan B.
We'll send you both a bunch of CDs -good ones, honest, not just the crappy ones we can't sell at the Exchange. And take care, both of you I It's a jungle out there! Speaking of splitting with my pennies: I shall happily hunt down and buy Plan B from this very issue onwards.
Jaime Doran, Aberdeen This is only the second letter I've written to a magazine, but you printed the last one so I thought I might as well give you a sequel. Since being namechecked in the letters page, Luther's head has grown fucking enormous, and he had quite a dome on him anyway.
He won't admit it but I know for a fact he bought two copies. I don't know why 'cause it's not like he's got any friends. Even his mum leaves the room when he comes in. Anyway, I wanted to know why you don't write about clubs more, in the live section or something. I did get a letter in this Playstation magazine once.
Jack Forsythe, Sunderland Not that we're all forgoing head-to-head with other publications you understand Jack, but seeing as you already got a letter published in another magazine, we'd like to go one further and publish two - count them - of your scintillating missives: not least because of your pertinent guestion vis-a-vis clubs coverage answer: the more incredible dub shenanigans that come our way, the more we shall cover them ; but also because this Lutherian kitchen-sink drama is playing out like a Mike Leigh pantomime and frankly I like it.
Add to this the fact I think I'm developing a crush on Luther: I go for a man with cranial amplitude and few friends who doesn't get on with his mother. Talking of crushes. By way of bucking the current trend in dragging musical and related discourse off the page and onto the internet, I thought I'd get a bit subversive on you by raising the subject of your Plan B website forum - or rather, my affection toward a couple of posters therein -within your actual print edition.
That is to say, I am writing this letter by way of Valentine's communique to my two very favourite message board contributors: scarlet sofa-surfer Guanoman and linguistic molester Doctor Face. To the former I wish to offer up a John Zorn duvet set, some iced-coffee sachets and my mixtape of Greatest Hits from the musicals. To the latter I wish to put forth a Cornelius stethoscope, a book with some excellent cat illustrations and a series of love hearts I cut out of Plan B.
Finally: how about some coverage of Carla Bozulich in the mag? I enjoy your publication a great deal, but I do think you might save your readers some time if you started rating the albums in the album section. If you think a star system is beneath you, maybe you could use numbers.
Either between one and 1 0, or one and 1 00, or even one and 1 , - 1 do not think it would be likely any record would really deserve zero unless maybe it was The Keane or The Razorlight-but I don't think you would review those bands.
I would give them one out of 1 0, or , or a 1, Simon Turns, Sandwell Hey Simon, au contraire - we think not that a star system is 'beneath ' us at all; indeed, the only thing I believe to be 'beneath ' me is a parochial outlet of the co-op funeral parlour. As for your suggestion of an albums rating system, however -or a 'consumer guide' as said classification 's originator, the eminent Robert Christgau, might call it -such a method would usurp valued page space and wordage that, frankly, we feel is put to better use by telling you about the record, rather than measuring it.
That said, small steps: I shall numerically evaluate your memorandum, and the remaining intimations on this page, and who knows - perhaps it'll catch on. Plan B Letter Rating: 73 out of gave you extra points for initiative, but withdrew a few for the brevity of your sign-off 6 1 plan b motion, heat, noise and waste Okkervil River photography: Jean Marc Secretly Canadian and Jagjaguwar in association with Plan B present Motion, Heat Noise And Waste, a collection of the aforementioned labels' finest specimens from their 1 1 -year past, eclectic present and galloping future.
Danielson's latest album Ships is a playful but massive undertaking, bringing in collaborators by the busload. It squirms away from any attempts at definition and is all the better for it. Open your ears. From Ships Frida Hyvonen: The Modern Frida Hyvonen's music that makes you want to freeze moments and hold them crystalline forever.
Listening to her songs arrests your concentration so completely that the world speeds up and you're left spinning, her simple piano figures playing around your head, her strident voice reverberating around your skull. From Until Death Comes Catfish Haven: Crazy For Leaving Chicago's Catfish Haven prove there's still room in this cynical world for the art of simply playing music for pleasure. Equal parts of Van Morrison and Otis Redding are stirred into the mix, and before you know it, you've given yourselves over to the good vibes.
From Tell Me The three pull at your heartstrings in order to navigate the choppy oceans that their music has conjured. Give up and let the undertow pull you in. From Beast Moans Ladyhawk: The Dugout Eschewing contrivance and showy musicianship, these Vancouver boys mine a mainline direct to the heart of traditional rock. Continuing a heritage that began with Neil Young And Crazy Horse, 'The Dugout' might very well prove to be the greatest song released last year.
From Ladyhawk And just when you think you can't take any more, the vocals arrive and take the whirring contraption into the stratosphere. From Stay Afraid Julie Doiron: No More Julie Doiron might have a musical pedigree to be envied, but she only really came into her own when she embarked upon a solo career.
Since then, she's made a succession of albums, each of which quietly improves upon the one before. From Woke Myself Up David Vandervelde: Nothin' No Superfuzzed and smiling, bigmuffed and baked -you really can't help but beam at the carefree Seventies soundwash that is 'Nothin' No'.
The gleaming guitars speed you down a highway that's only ever existed in movies or in your mind. From The Moonstation House Band Open your door and set out to find one. If this song doesn't stop you dead in your tracks, a human heart does not beat in your chest. From Sapphie Black Mountain: Druganaut Lust is often a crassly handled emotion in heavy rock, but Black Mountain are here to change all that. Pitching the sale perfectly, the bass and drums of 'Druganaut' grind together like the hips of surreptitious lovers, while the vocals exude a sleazy, come-hither charm.
From Black Mountain The Pink Mountaintops, like all hip kids on Vancouver's downtown East Side, roam the streets and alleyways in search of kicks and discover that there's a cracked beauty to be found among the overflowing dumpsters and discarded syringes. From Axis Of Evol Antony And The Johnsons: Cripple And The Starfish Every time you approach Antony's music, it seems to become more distant, more intangible, yet all the more essential - he is, quite simply, beyond compare.
From Antony And The Johnsons Nikki Sudden: Jangle Town Nikki Sudden seems destined only to be properly appreciated after his regrettable demise. His work is the music of consummate but hard won experience. He will be missed. Jens Lekman: Black Cab Jens Lekman's auteurist creations might hark back to an earlier time in pop music, but they brim with a character that is his alone. Witty, baroque mini-masterpieces like 'Black Cab' are Lekman's speciality.
Oneida: Fat Bobby's Black Thumb Genre-hopping Oneida can deftly handle any style of music they turn their dextrous hands to. While often found queering the boundaries between krautrock, spazzcore, psychedelia and folk, 'Fat Bobby's Black Thumb' sees them assimilating heavy slaps of doom rock into their wide-ranging palette. I want to paint it up a massive wall or trail it behind a low- flying aeroplane. He guest-sings on this track and that's probably all you need to know. Never worn Vans.
Never joined a circle pit. Liked the music, loved some, but always felt like an outsider at hardcore shows, repelled by that 'with us or against us' camaraderie-as-snobbery, wearied by all the rules and dogma and doggerel. So what am I doing here, on New Year's Eve, watching kids heave each other across ailoor, backs bouncing off backs, bodies leaping off a low stage? Glad you asked: it's because of Fucked Up. I first heard about Fucked Up around the' J dawn of and to my shame, turned my nose uQ-a swear in the name, really fucking intense, more jumping fodder for fashion meatheads.
And then I emailed the band a handful of quettio'ns to rurr alongside their alburn 1 review and received back dense paragraphs afrout Gnostic philosophy, micro-ecological communities, and "the multiverse of planes". It was then thatt offered to let Fucked Up into my heart. But they refused and straight up kicked my ass instead.
And what's greaj is how fucking vyeird they look, so far from all those fringe-tossing hardcore cliches. Vocalist Pink Eyes, a Buster Bloodvessel lookalike stripped to the wais with a big birthmark on his big hairy kidney. Such belief is not unusual.
What feels different with Fucked Up is the way they exchange the physical for metaphysical. Looking for a clear message amid the spewed- forth screed of "postmodern sycophants" and "paradigm shifts" of 'Carriecrout To Sea'? Xou might as well. But broader strokes emerge from the arcanum. Pink Eyes barks something. Bob, to his credit, is maybe as drunk as anyone here and while he refuses to remove his tartan shoulder bag, let alone his T-shirt, as he hops about the stage, he seems to ' know all the words.
So you made it to There's been some hard times but Fucked Up are extending a hand. All you've got to dc is step into , the light. If her children are naughty, she takes her children and brews them in a pot. But parents don't tell that story anymore. Inside, in a cafe in Geysir, 1 00 kilometres north east of Reykjavik, Jakobinarfna eat hot dogs and take nips from a passed bottle of tequila.
Six boyish men aged from between 1 5 and 1 9, Jakobinarfna hail from HafnarfjorSur, a port south of Reykjavik where city planners still plot roads to avoid particular rock piles for fear of angering their inhabitant elves, dwarves or pixies. Despite their striking youth, this is a band already making footprints. Two consecutive headline performances at Iceland's annual Airwaves festival, the patronage of Rolling Stone magazine, and a record deal with Rough Trade.
But we don't aspire to it. It is probably more of an annoyance. Part C86 naivete the brittle, horny sort, not the twee, gender-neutral sort , part firecracker punk rock, Jako's music seems to take cues from nothing save the six heads and 12 hands that made it. It's an internal world that finds its mouthpiece in Gunnar, who springs across the stage casting judgements in gruff, guttural sing-song.
Now we think 90 per cent, 95 per cent of bands are shit. If I was not in a band I would not be a writer, lam not a songwriter," he shrugs, "I am just too lazy to play an instrument. Siggi even appears in the Bragason's new feature, Children - a drama about predatory paedophiles. Because we're all so horny. They translate communal folksomeness thru grasping, intuitive arrangements and accumulations of found sounds. Meek Warrioris the foursome's third record, and was assembled in vans and recorded in the barest of spaces available in a perpetual tour schedule that has seen friends fear for their health.
It's symptomatic of the way in which the whole took on some semblance of a shared dream, individual roles and parts blurred into an amorphous force of notes and tones that spin centrifugally apart only to draw back in, spinning drunkenly on an axis of handclaps that knit and click like an arching spine. In their own words An attempt to approximate dropping the needle randomly onto the drum solo on side three of Allman Brothers' Live At Fillmore East A want to clear oneself to allow the space for blessing force.
A really long, schizophrenic jam tune that is first on our record. We are still trying to learn how to play songs simply. The still harkening over and over again to Neutral Milk Hotel a la distro bass entry. Choosing to look away or towards heartbreak. The beginning of compassion? Sun Ra allusions mixed Buddha stylie.
OG acoustic space G jam. Blatant piano balladry minus piano. Love mind planetary. Scifispacerock tribute. Mess, having f un. Don't forget to. You probably won't know what to think on first contact, but sooner or later, you'll be abusing medication and rolling around in a half-lotus to this. The circle of life is complete. Their ribald bifocals; their wizened fizzogs: their penchant for rhyming 'vision' with 'Wishaw'.
Do I fuck. The sonic chronicle inevitably lunges into a dither of Simple Minds and Runrigs Believe me, I'm tempted by sentimentality. Aneka's 'Japanese Boy' - a Gaelic-geisha caterwaul toward which I harbour a rapturous ardour -was the first record I ever bought. Hell no. Yet this lure of misty reminiscence - of wistful, heather-addled passion - is threatening to defame the great name that is Scottish Pop.
But if the Jock'n'Roll census threatens to imperil the legacy of Scotch pop, so too does it arouse debate upon quite what constitutes 'Jock' in the first place: both Big Country and Franz are eligible for election, despite being zero and 25 percent 'officially' Scottish respectively.
The Bhundu Boys, meanwhile - who conducted much of their kaleidoscopic art from two-bit bed-sits in the Central Belt - are woefully disqualified; as are the Eurythmics and The KLF: despite both being of one half highland descent. The lack of latter-day tracks in the chart's venerated echelons suggests the halcyon days of Scots pop are behind us: over two-thirds of the current Top 20 are from the Eighties - from the angular art-ruckus of the decade's inception, to the Tory-bashing stadium bombast that fortified late-Eighties Glasgow Deacon Blue etal.
I guess that's the real reason I hate Jock'n'Roll. It makes me nostalgic. It makes me feel old. Chocolate Crispy Cakes You will need: 30g sugar 30g butter 30g cocoa One tablespoon golden syrup 30g Cereal eg. Put the sugar, cocoa and butter into the saucepan. Add one tablespoon of golden syrup. This will be easier if you warm the metal spoon in hot water first. Melt the ingredients slowly, taking great care they do not boil.
When melted, remove the saucepan from the cooker and cool slightly. Add the cereal and stir them in with the metal spoon. Drop your mixture by spoonfuls into the cake cases. Leave them to set. Add marshmallows for The Pipettes' touch. Then dig in What's the item of clothing you could never throw away whether it still fits or not? Call it superstitious behaviour! I don't get attached to clothes; fashion is for morons. It helps keep me centered and balanced.
It still fits me perfectly, although it's been disputed as to whether or not it still belongs to me. So it hangs in my closet. Phone numbers, flyers, song requests, fan,,, U u. I remember they started out as an experimental duo - Eliete 'Our show was a love- declaration to Rio's funk' Mejorado was part of the radical performance art scene in Sao Paulo and Bruno was a post-punk musician and poet.
They used to be an experimental rock duo, although their love for electronica has always been there. And now they are all into baile- funk and Miami bass. K My Favela' Kute Bash on vinyl. They were even the ones that introduced YOU to funk carioca, but we'll talk about that later. They've always divided the microphones, pick-ups and all the electronic paraphernalia with the aim of creating dialogue and provoking the audience.
K My Favela' - which is totally beat-driven - or a quiet performance like 'Turkish Bath', which is more like an installation of melancholic sounds and imagery about men in private showers. Tetine was born and ready to seek other boundaries, leaving Brazil to reside in London in A few years later, and they were invited to host a weekly radio show, Slum Dunk. That's how funk carioca came to Europe - basically through the airwaves of this small studio in Denmark Street.
We'd play every single artist from Rio, from the less well-known acts such as Bonde fas Bad Girls to the Proibidoes and even the big stars like Tati Quebra Barraco. It was pretty much like a love-declaration to Rio's funk. We had no idea it would become such a big thing like it is right now. I remember when we released the album in , it was very difficult to get it in the right places.
The distributors didn't really know what to do with it. Musical style, genre, place, music biz standard, advert, ideology, trend, political creed, etc. Do you have any phobias? I loathe the music industry, I always have, and it's a thousand times worse since I put my first record out 1 years ago. I don't buy into this MySpace stuff because I think it has flooded an already over-saturated medium with utter shit, mostly.
For every good band, there's 1 0, bad ones, and I think that music is losing its value. It really is a dying artform; the mystery is gone, anyone can do it. I think Jeremy Kyle should be hung by the neck until dead, yet I find that I cannot draw my eyes from his show in the morning. I think we have a serious immigration problem in the UK: I don't mean refugees and Eastern Europeans struggling to find a better life in our nation, I just think we should all agree to send Madonna back to the USA.
Nick Griffin. Thick, drunk, violent hooligans in the taxi rank in Sauchiehall Street, most nights of the week. Unnecessary cosmetic surgery, especially boob jobs. I could go on. Not the kind in your glass, the kind on the ground when it's cold. And fish bones. Likewise, what's the worst equipment failure you've had and what were the consequences?
Have any of your crowds or fans got out of control and done something similar? Have you ever had a show shut down by The Man? I don't like it when someone tries to grab my microphone. I react violently. Although lam, at heart, a pacifist. But with the right records, mindset and, more specifically, the good crowd, I guess you could always get a party started with any Michael Jackson record.
I really, really want to go back there. Johnny had to try to do both our parts while I watched from the side. Very awkward. I didn't know if I was supposed to clap between songs or not. Five hours of 'La Paloma. One hundred and three versions of 'La Paloma'. The earliest renditions are from the 1 9th Century, the latest from Each comes with extensive liner- notes, in German and English.
John Peel was delighted with the series, and gradually played every single track on his program. That's no surprise: the idea sounds utterly, unflinchingly and let's admit it appealingly daft. But what most listeners won't expect is the beauty of these records: the way a string of 1 00 Palomas begins to change the light in the room. My saddest, hardest, dampest Scottish nights became dipped in lamplight, warm with nostalgia. There was so much reassurance in all the same-but-different.
I have no doubt that Trikont is fully aware of the hypnotic effect of 'La Paloma'. Theirs was a label born out of the desire to change, move and shake people. There was hardly anything similar like that in the German popular cultural tradition, so the movement here had to invent their own forms of expression - which Trikont then put on records". Trikont's first releases were by political singer- songwriters and rockers such as west Berlin's Ton Steine Scherben, but by the early Eighties Germany's "radical movement" was disappearing - displaced by punk and middle-age.
Trikont had to "discover musical styles in the wider world which express similar attitudes". And so for the past 20 years there have been two sides to the label. On the one hand, there are " bands and artists who are mostly German and sing for the German-speaking public" - the accordion glitch of Attwenger or the broken-hearted rock of Ich Schwitze Nie. And the other part, Bergmann says, "is the compilation series which presents different popular cultures and subcultures and tells their stories, in the way a good radio DJ - like John Peel - would do.
Their compilations are breathtaking - songs plucked by experts, by obsessives, by men and women with golden ears. There are albums of yodelling, of funeral marches, of hillbilly and klezmer and Turkish club music. The Flashbacks series collects grouped drug songs, novelty songs, gospel songs, sad songs and more from America, pre- In all of these compilations, it's not just the astute artist selection - it's how extraordinary the songs are, judged individually.
Jcotland and Wales. Tickets must be booked in 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 berths and are available now from : www. Chris: Is it stuck? Kick: Sound engineers probably love this band. Or hate them, maybe. Frances: It's a big-sounding small record. Tons of echo. The occasional crash. Chris: It sounds likes something that has to be part of a greater whole to make sense.
Kick: I like the way they start flipping out even though the music hasn't changed. Frances: Sometimes it gets a bit wearing. Like, OK, now it's the screamy bit. Chris: I'd like to be in the pub with people like that. At 1 0pm they'd start screaming. Andthenat Chris: The production is good but the helium version ofGollum isn't really my thing. Is there a dub? Kick: It's pretty pedestrian dancefloorfare -walk don't run, if you will Frances: Yeah, but that's what people at Trash want.
Nothing too weird, like. Kick: I hate the way drugs in clubs tend toward conservatism. Like people who are mashed just want constant reassurance. Frances: Totally. They need everything to be the right amounts. BPMs, filters, everything. Kick: If stuff went too psychedelic they'd properly lose it. Kick: Sounds like a disco in an early Ken Loach film. And our heroine is sitting at the edge watching her slightly prettier friend giggling with two boys Chris: There's a strange thing going on here: I'm not sure if it's a record that sounds like it wants to be big and plush or recorded in a bin.
Frances: They started off around the same time and place as Belle And Sebastian. But it was only recently with the production of the Concretes dude that they've really got much recognition outside of Glasgow. So basically they're Swedes from Scotland. Which answers yr question, Chris.
Wear rosettes, apparently. Frances: Brilliant! Kick: I like how shambolic it is. Frances: I like that they have a brass section. More brass please! Brass could save it. Fix it, even. I only like shambolic-with-intent.
Chris: I wonder if they do dance moves. At least with my beloved minimal it has some sense of propulsion or lack thereof , and you can riff on that. Kick: I like its endearing sludginess. I guess that's because the words are the point. Frances: This is an example of Jarvis' weak points, those being: lumpy music, really obvious, supposedly female-friendly lyrics. Chris: It's a shame that we're so starved of pop personalities that we have to revive Jarvis in order for someone to say anything.
Kick: He's not saying much, though, is he? What's his point? Men are bad? One particular man is bad? Frances: Men are bad apart from him. Kick: That's what I figure, but he doesn't seem to have - ahem - inserted anything of himself into the song.
He's stayed offstage. I get kind of warm hearing them namecheck each other. Frances: Warm? Kick: In my heart. Chris: Missy sounds bored. But she does have 1 2 cars. Chris: As a rapper, as a personality, I don't find her interesting beyond the UKG forum bratkid to Rocafella rags-to-riches angle. Frances: It needs to jump up and down a bit more. Didn't hate it, just the accumulation wearied me. It's quite - oh, was gonna say droney - but now those synths. Frances: From sinister to boring.
Kick: To be fair, it's different to what they made their name with - but the cynical part of me can't help but see a conversation in which this was picked as the 'unexpected' comeback single That thing wherein a popular band want to be seen as deep and cool. As well as rich. Frances: Well, yeah. The chorus is what exposes the experimentalism as a bit of a sham. Chris: He sounds very, very serious about what he's saying.
And it is nice. There you go, that's my review. Kick: I like that he has found a friend. I bet they are playing on a tyre swing right now. It's a man with a piano. With some 'textures' beneath it. Kick: Maybe he is making the piano noise with his mouth or something.
Chris: The secret art of beatpianoboxing. Imagine someone putting this on at the end of a dinnerparty Frances: Drunk people would cry. Kick: And everyone would fuck like rabid dogs. Chris: It would be glorious!
Frances: Fucking and crying at the same time? That would be horrendous. Kick: One of my friends hello Lisa! Frances: Yeah, I think we had something about that in Plan B once. Kick: It is an experience all indie types share. Frances: Is this like a charity record?
What is it trying to achieve? Kick: I dunno. I don't like saying bad things about Kelis, though. Frances: No, me neither, but this is silly. Kick: It only lasts about 1 seconds, as well. What's the point? Cajuan Raven Fine Chris: I don't really like dance music in the winter. It's my summer sport. Fucking and crying at the same time? That would be horrendous Kick: I can imagine one half of a couple putting this on while the other unpacks the shopping.
Then they fuck like rabid dogs. Kick: I've actually gone numb beneath the waist. Frances: This dude is named after one of those Spanish things you hit with sticks and sweets come out. What would happen if we hit him with sticks? Can we try? Can I do it? Chris: We're supposed to be seeing him in a small shop tomorrow. They're bribing us with lunch. I'll bring a fucking stick. And hit him. And my excuse will be, I thought he was one of those things that sweets come out of.
Kick: Eat first. Chris: It's got that Jamie T enunciation. Frances: I hate it when you can hear a singer panting. When they are clearly making no fucking effort whatsoever. Frances: What is yr winter sport? Chris: Hibernating. And listening to us fail again at cricket. Kick: I like this - it's minimal, but has a really slow pop tune running through it like a guitar solo evolving at the rate of plant growth. For me to get intoxicated by dance music I think I need something beautiful - and ideally, melancholy.
Euphoria doesn't work so well for me. Presumptuous finks. Chris: Press release predicts that lazy writers will put that in their lazy reviews. Kick: I've yet to meet the press release that can keep pace with my blistering vacuity. And they both have a terminal disease. Inside the album sleeve Kraftwerk 1 is some lovely pictures of them in leopard print shirts with thin white ties and those pointy glasses glamorous women in the Fifties used to wear.
I wonder if they rode their bicycles in this get- up? Kraftwerk's image is as absorbing as their music, the way it should be for all great artists. Chromatics - Glass Slipper Troubleman United Take the otherworldly neon-murder ofSuspiria, the disjointed narrative of some German surrealist's apocalyptic celluloid nightmare and Tim Burton's deathly colour scheme and you have one blazin' film.
Chromatics would record the soundtrack. The Knife - Pass This On Live Version Brille The original Deep Cuts is pure Euro- sex-pop, but live it's an arpeggiated demon from 2, with spiderweb- like construction and monotonal android vocals blasted from a crystal citadel on the dark side of the Moon. To be found on the rare as hell 'Take My Breath Away' seven-inch single. Yellow Swans - True Union Load A scanner measures the dimensions of your heart before the needle pumps it with darkness. Yellow Swans sound like Wolf Eyes would if they read obscure esoteric manuals instead of Swamp Tin ing comics.
This tune starts their Psychic Secessions album. Coughs - Life Of Acne Load Feral guerilla no wave strike one Neubauten babies beat on metal bidons, pots and pans, strike two yelp spin rise and fall like god shattered maniacs, strike three now we're inside the burning ghost dance circle.
Best gig of the year; also check out their new album Secret Passage. Boredoms - Super Roots 7 boriginal version Very Friendly In Japan there is this giant size laundrette you can go to where they feed you mushrooms and stick you in a mammoth tumbledryerfull of long-haired musicians on a rigorous drumming decathlon. If you're a real fetishist you can pay the full whack and opt for the long spin cycle, the hardcore burn with optional Braindead gore. When you come out this is what the remnants of your sanity puke back up at you.
If you lick your lips you can taste the cherry pie. Good for days where clouds hide in a hole in the sky and rain makes applesauce. For the Divinity, who is without any beginning, shines forth in great splendour. We cannot completely grasp God's mysteries. Temples with moss covered stones shine forth and bring wisdom to all who are open to entering. Soon to be interpreted by Anahita.
Lights sing to me, with your radial symmetry. Snow is falling, the moon is calling. It is the sea and inner realms of the dream world. It is feeling and magic and moon madness. It is the element of ecstasy and unconscious bliss, the deep enjoyment of the heart and the flow of love. Listen to the water music and the alluvion will reveal itself. Bread that is baked in a wood stove tastes divine.
Stars seen from a mountain peak are brighter in the sky. Sweedeedee " Buffy Sainte-Marie - God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot "Inherent in the practice of natural magic is the belief that all objects, animate and inanimate, have some force or spirit whose powers and energies can be tapped.
Listen and the illuminations will be thine. Nature and music are beautiful in their own right. There are things that happen under the water that we can't see. Euclidian Geometry. Each Tengu carried a magic fan made from the leaf of the yatsude tree. The fan gave the Tengu the power to fly. To be precise, I am sitting in the dank subterranean basement of Henry's Cellar Bar, leading dank subterranean basement on the small malnourished creature which is Edinburgh's music scene.
Around me the air is filled with noise, a grinding teeth-chattering bile-rising wall of immersive oily noise. It is being produced by Withdrawal Method, also known as Drew Demeter, kingpin of cassette-only noise label, Since 1 I sit alone in the corner, unable to see how Drew produces his sounds, surrounded as he is by a cluster of observant tech-heads.
But it's irrelevant. What matters is the feeling of being inside a physical acoustic structure, of finding a secure epicentre in the noise which has no beginning, middle or end, just is. I feel completely at home. How did I get to the point where I find it weird to listen to 'conventionally' structured music? Why do I love this stuff? It's hard to consider noise as music.
A wayward youth spent coaxing bad feelings out of myself to a soundtrack of juvenile Toytown industrial, courtesy of Ministry and Nine Inch Nails. A minor graduation to the fizzy electro tantrums of Atari Teenage Riot and, in retrospect, their hugely silly Digital Hardcore roster.
A fondness for the everlasting loops of Eno's Discreet Music and the dismal somnambulist landscapes of Bowie's Low. Increasingly, I became more interested in the actual sound of music than with any tricksy devices such as melody or harmony.
There were two pivotal records for me. Sonic Youth's Goodbye 20th Century, in which Thurston and the gang drill an expressway to yr avant-garde skull by covering modernist noisemakers such as John Cage, Steve Reich and Cornelius Cardew- and the amazing live recording of John Coltrane's Olatunji Concert. This document of Coltrane's second-last performance before his death finds the saxophonist with a six- piece band in the fiery throes of full blast free jazz expression.
Frequently, the sheer annihilating din causes the sound to overload completely, before slowly bleeding back in. During the occasional quiet passage, conversation and traffic noise can be heard. The album becomes more like an impressionistic wash of religious clamour than conventional jazz.
Eighteen months ago, I spent an evening spent at a concert presented by Edinburgh noise curators, Giant Tank. Headlining Italian duo My Cat Is An Alien used lifeless guitar strings and toy guns to emit cyclical space whirrings while support from Wounded Knee and CK Dexter Haven produced an earsplitting overloaded cacophonous chunk.
The sheer physical presence of the noise was like being inside a throbbing three-dimensional mass. A Phill Niblock concert produced a similar effect, while also enabling me to know what it might feel like to be an airplane engine for 90 minutes.
There's an endless amount of noise to discover. Recent finds include the whiteout womb music of Not and the thrashing black waves of Deadwood. Living in Scotland means thankful access to a thriving noise scene as well as a number of excellent underground music fests such as Instal, Subcurrents and Kill YourTimid Notion. Much of this has an all- inclusive DIYfeel to performance and distribution, and it has been refreshing to discover how pleasant many of the performing artists are, quite unlike the rampant egocentrism which seems to come with writing conventional song structures.
It's about connection. Evans made a pair of giant cardboard scissors, and I wore her rainbow sorcerer's dress. It was a mad reunion of difficult-to- recognise old friends because of the fake blood running down theirfaces. Blevin Blectum was an orange dolphin pirate. KB So surreal. The girls are in a good shape. Miguel brought some gear and CDs for the tour that he left in the car for us to get later. We walked outside and - damn! The trunk was unlocked BUT all of our stuff was still there and fine.
This was miraculous! But we were sorry that Miguel had to fix his window. After one beer, we were completely wasted and had to go home. Evans had special red vodka Jell-o shots. We had a couple and felt dizzy. KevyB already had her nose into the Easy Cheese! Liquid cheese stuffed into some kind of toothpaste tube. It was disgusting to the little jet-lagged frogs. The show was like a short dream, as if we were only on stage for 1 minutes. Our Californian friends are in the audience. Still jet-lagged.
DATs Yes, jet-lag. I lived in San Francisco for five years, and all my old friends were totally overwhelming. It was the worst show I've ever played, because I decided not to 'pretend' during the show- 1 thought my friends would see right through me. Instead, I spiralled into paranoia and self-doubt and then ran backstage to cry. But a few jell-o shots later and it's as if it never happened.
Evans made two tooth outfits, a bristly cardboard toothbrush helmet, and a giant cardboard mouth to sit in for a mini- improvised-musical called 'Spoiled Rotten'. Corey, the drummer, was the dentist. Instead of "gravity", we sang "cavity". Instead of saying, "Why didn't you invite us to the party," we said, "Why gingivitis to the party? Eggs Florentine and cherry cookies. This was delicious. Wobbly brought CDs to listen to in the car! Later that night, we played in Sacramento. This was a party!
DATs I was warned before the show to play 'dance music'. So Evans and I danced for the entire set in tooth costumes, in hopes that that's what it would appear to be. Afterwards, we were like, "Sheesh, Sacramento is weird. Everyone dresses up like they're going to prom.
I was speeding, but only eight miles over the limit. When the officer asked Vincent for some 'identification. He thought the cop asked, "So you went on vacation? KB The weather was terrible in Portland. The backstage was flooded. The Holocene is nice, the promoter read our hospitality rider and there was good whisky backstage!
The audience was very excited; they bought tons of merch. Vincent had a big panic crisis at the end of the DAT show, he freaked out, said that the monitor was too loud and that he lost the hearing in his left ear. DATs The hearing loss was later credited to the stress of being pulled over by the police. KB 8 November, Olympia The venue was packed, Cindy Scream Club told us a story about the owner of the place who's disliked by the locals because he paints his houses black.
They think that he is some kind of Satanist. It was raining the whole time, so we rented movies and ordered food: Slithers and Thai noodles. The soundcheck turns wrong. The venue sound guy has his own way to plug stuff in and is arguing with another sound guy hired for the gig, so Vincent does the sound himself. After dinner, it's completely packed. There is a room dedicated to smokers: a smoky aquarium.
Kevin is playing a great show with weird sound. When we started, the sound guy had changed all of Vincent's settings. We appreciated having days off at the hotels: swimming pool, hot tub, pool game. We won't have many days off from now on. On the cover with lot of pictures! Good show at the Empty Bottle! Because of the stage-jumping, our mixing desk fell down. The three of us saw it at the same time and jumped on it before it reached the floor. The sound stopped and then we heard a "Wow!
Someone said that it was a good trick for the show! The sweaty Zoobizarre was packed and people were singing along to all the songs! From the stage, there was a human wave of people dancing - some of them had to fight hard to stop from falling on the stage.
After the show we got stoned, freezing in the backyard. Unfortunately, the sound was cutting out so we had to stop playing after four tracks. Everyone was disappointed. We went home to watch Suspiria. DATs 23 November, Brooklyn We were worried because the weather was very bad and it was Thanksgiving; everyone would have a heavy family dinner. But people were jumping and screaming all set long!
Evans was there and Rob, Kristin [Kevin]'s brother. They're good dancers and everyone was following them. Gang of Youths - Go Farther in Lightness. Get Cape. Wear Cape. Glass Harbour - Distance From Departure. Glasvegas - Later Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Luciferian Towers. As Their Fury Got Released. Haste The Day. Headhunter D. Hellmouth - Destroy Everything, Worship Nothing. Hellogoodbye - Zombies! In Solitude - The World. The Flesh. The Devil. Inbreeding Rednecks - Abnormal Life Portrayed.
Incoming Cerebral Overdrive - Cerebral Heart. Indestructible Noise Command - Heaven Sent Interment - Into the Crypts of Blasphemy. Into It. Over It. Intronaut - The Direction of Last Things. Iwrestledabearonce - It's All Happening. When Dogs Become Wolves. Joe Bonamassa - Different Shades of Blue.
Kayser - Frame The World Hang It On The Wall. Kid Brother Collective - Highway Miles reissue. Kill It With Fire! Laaz Rockit - City's Gonna Burn re-release. Laaz Rockit - Nothing's Sacred re-release. Lacrimas Profundere - The Grandiose Nowhere. Laugh at the Fakes - Dethrone the Crown. Lay Down Rotten - Gospel of the Wretched. Legend of the Seagullmen - Legend of the Seagullmen. Legion of the Damned - Cult of the Dead.
Makeshift Shelters - Something So Personal. Mammoth Grinder - Extinction Of Humanity. Massive Aggression And Then There Were None. We Are Diva! Metallica - Hardwired To Self-Destruct. Mikkel Schack Band About To Destroy Something Beautiful. Nachtmystium - Addicts: Black Meddle Pt. Nechochwen - Azimuths to the Otherworld. Nine Covens On The Coming Of Darkness. Noisear - Subvert The Dominant Paradigm. Nomad - Transmigration Of Consciousness. Theory - Fourier's Outrage. Nunfuckritual - In Bondage to the Serpent.
Outclassed - This Might Be Coincidence Pizzatramp - Revenge of the Bangertronic Dan. The Man - Waiter: "You Vultures! Postmortem Promises - On Broken Foundations. Primordial - Redemption at the Puritan's Hand. Promethee - Nothing Happens. Nobody Comes, Nobody Goes. Psyopus - Our Puzzling Encounters Considered. Queens Of The Stone Age Like Clockwork. Reel Big Fish - Life Sucks Let's Dance!
Revenge of the Psychotronic Man - Colossal Velocity. Riverside - Anno Domini High Definition. Robert Of The Square - Time. Salem's Pot Sean Townsend - Beyond the Fall of Beauty. September Malevolence - Our Withers Unwrung. Sick - Satanism. Sleepmakeswaves Sleepmakeswaves - in today already walks tomorrow. Spirits of the Dead - Rumours of a Presence. Structural Disorder - The Edge of Sanity. Suburban Legends - Let's Be Friends And Slay The Dragon Together.
System and Station - System and Station. Taking Medication - Prescribed Nonsense. Tales of Murder and Dust - Skeleton Flowers. Teenage Bottlerocket - Tales From Wyoming. Teenage Gluesniffers - Chinese Demography. Teenage Gluesniffers - Nervous Breakdown. Tempting Tragedy - Descent Into Madness. The - I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it. The 20Belows - Headaches And Moodswings. The Appleseed Cast - Illumination Ritual. The Binnacle List Till Beaten Chins EP.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre - Revelation. The Bridal Procession - Astronomical Dimensions. The Brutal Deceiver - Go Die.
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