HAPPY TWO-THIRDS-OF-THE-WAY-THRU-APRIL DAY

El Jesus de Magico

Just Desserts LP

Columbus Discount CDR066 2012

I’m generally pretty foggy. On a Hoboken fire escape in my memory, poised on the edge & tipping over, is a copy of Unclean Ghost by El Jesus de Magico and my big wormy thumbs-up. Feels like ages since it clotted up the room with weed trophies and the kind of teenage post-punk refry I’ve lately come to expect only from Monterey, Mexico. But I put it on, all official-like, like I know what I’m doin here, just to clear the smeg, and it held way up. Did I check in with the fistfulla forgettables between the two releases? Can’t say that I did. Sorry, folks. We don’t cut checks here at Fuck You Counselor; just credit cards into tiny pieces.

So it brings a flush to my cheeks to announce Just Desserts pops mad bottles & licks shots, for sure, and sometimes in new and mad drastic ways. But you surely don’t get the laser-fan effect you get with a good (and early) single. The two formats is different beasts, after all.

Gems are abounding herein, ripe with ticks from Chrome and Kennelmus both. Yeah, it’s a stinky, dirty stock pot kinda voyage. Heck, on the last cut, the extended, roiling title track, the leads burp from “Sunday Morning,” to a smothered “Friday’s Child.,”—ya know, “Friday’s child/Born a little ugly.”¹ I swear it gets positively classical at times. “We God Thyme,” shimmers in the afterburn of the first side like a good S2S1 oughta. Speaking of the afterburn, I’m callin “Good UFO/Bad UFO Experience,” the single despite it’s nigh-10min clock-in, just cuz that kinda snake rock don’t drop in much. Check the synth mash in there for bonus flavor points. And who can look the quick and simple joy of an opener like, “Live Dead” in the mouth?

Seems a might bit sloppy of me to just now be talkin’ on something from the Columbus Discount bunker, but at least we’ve broken the window. I meant no harm, y’all; I’m just generally pretty foggy.

In an absurdly puny edition of 100.

¹Ok, maybe not that funky, but at least that lit. I just refused to relinquish the pun.

ANOTHER AUTO-CORRECT SUNRISE

Tronics

Love Backed by Force LP

What’s Your Rupture? 2012 Reissue

Well, holla at me! This is an easier grip than the Figures of Light comp I just talked up! If ya don’t know the Tronics yet, a cursory sweep of the Hyped to Death Messthetics comps what seemed to occupy bedrooms around the nation will take you to the starting line. Shockingly, nobody wanted to admit they spun the first 3 volumes like some kinda iTunes race. Shocking. I spose what most folks call the re-insurgence of crud-fi is just kids round the same age coppin moves from old farts; everything from Eat Skull to Sic Alps and back through Pheromoans. (They call it a revolution; I’m finna call it puppy love.) Anyhoots, round about the time you get to Vol. 3, the Tronics cut “Shark Fucks” enters your life, riding Buddy Holly and Tyrannosaurus Rex with the same fervor with which Steve Treatment rhythmically nudged Paul McCartney’s pockmarked honeypot. Love Backed by Force, first dropped in 81, might seem to add nary a wrinkle to the Tronics charm. But, I swears, by the 6^th day of the title cut churning on “rinse” in your head with no complaints, such demands will seem positively rude. Just go with it. You know the analogy: more, good thing, bad, not. The rest follow the aforementioned template to wondrously burnt and frayed edges. It don’t get wild like brats do today, it just is wild, even if it’s just sittin there.

To be found where good things are overlooked.

Cursillistas

Observe Ember Weeks LP

L’Animaux Tryst 2012

Cursillistas’ last holler as a crew is the first I’ve heard. Oughtn’t be a surprise to many who know ‘em, as they happen to traffic in a sound-sense with which I seldom touch bumpers. We’re talking pretty, soft-focus, post-Kranky Records ensemble work that may just be a set of outtakes from the Hired Hand soundtrack garbled by the Space Needle. “Howling Wind II,” which contains neither howling nor wind nor II, sat just fine beside me, with its hazy memory of a hazy retelling of a record on Flying Fish—though it still baffles me hearin’ kids crib moves from New Hampshire six-string alcoholics. It’s also a fine showcase for the muffled, impromptu production. Elsewhere, the Silver Mt. Zion moves get more naked (see “Frontier Gothic;” though “Bona Dea,” is straight JOMF white boy stakeout) and the singing and the jamming and the plodding and oi I’m getting sleepy. How did I wind up with this record?! Sounds better loud, but I have tinnitus, so that goes double for just about everything.

Ok, I’ll admit it: a lazy review for a last departure. Maybe their barista careers are finally panning out? A hand-numbered edition of 214.7, packaged in a sleeve made out of dead skin lace work from the nursing home where all their grandmas live.

SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE SLIME: More Glistening Old Crust, No Q-Tips

Anonymous

Snake Attack/Corporate Food 7”

Flat 1980

I heard tell this got vacuumed up by the Killed by Death comps at some point, but I ain’t lookin to lose an afternoon trackin it down. This sits and spins just swell by its lonesome! And anyhoot, if its finna get stuffed someplace, better on Ein Bunter Abend than beside the Mentally Ills. “Corporate Food,” rollicks and shouts like a new wave Ruins, but the heinous ring modulation and dickslap guitar solo are worth the entrance fee. Likewise the A side has a NDW heart but pumps the blood of Ralph Records. Love the lyrics on that one, too, and, for that, it’s my pick of the pair. (And ya gotta give it up for a WTF cover like that. --Ed.)

A Band

Lowly Worm/No Love 7”

Nancy 1979

Coming on like mid-70s Lou gripping a Mayo Thompson outtake, the A side of this Branca/Theoretical Girls-associated single is barely there in all the right ways. Fans of Michael Hurley’s weed-crumb lyrical ethos will definitely dig the dumpy slink treatment it gets here. “No Love,” on the other hand rides the rhythm that says ‘66, ‘71 and ’79 all at once with a vocal turn straight outta Mould’s jockeys. Maybe this don’t scream L.E.S. like some folk want it to, but I say, Do you really need a whole shelf fulla Arto?

Fusetron’s got this one for a short stack. I say go, since this sumbitch is slipperier than a Gucci catfish.