Sep 24, 2012


Mountain Cult
s/t LP
Little Big Chief Records 2012

I wait for the next cleansing flush of expectorants to turn my bean into a cider spigot. From the opposing side of my cramped front room booms the hungry clamber of a band from Brooklyn whose name does not cause snickers to jerk the faces of the smart marks. Hey, if you can't get "Location, Location, Location" right, ain't there always good ol "Timing"? It mightcould be the mucus talking or the room ringing and throbbing like an old TV, but this music makes perfect sense to me. A touch of heavy blues, a crash course in Dope Guns and Fucking in the Streets, and a healthy rinse from a Tori Kudo neti pot* will get you far in these tryin' times. Hell, in any time! "Overachiever" alone shoved 80+ blues/noise wannabe messes into my "maybe" pile, and it's all the way on Side 2! No idea what is being sung/said since there's so much tranquilized vocal fry (in my family we call it "talkin' up yer sleeve"), but I ain't worried none. Even the extendo-jam "Videodrome" what closes out this mug is so soaked in fever sweats, you won't need that electrified clay wall after all. What was I sayin' about Brooklyn? Ah, who cares. These scuzzbags can hail from wherever they like. Now, pass the NyQuil; I got work to do.

Kudos to Little Big Chief for pressin' this creepster on 45rpm; I need the exercise. (Though, like most good things, it is even better at the wrong speed.)

Knock 3 times here and give a listen here.

* He really do make these! 'Course, now that I say so, I won't be able to find that one distro that was hockin' em for 35 a go...

Sep 17, 2012


F.J. Macmahon
Spirit of the Golden Juice
Circadian Press reissue 2012 (original: 1969)

Wasn't I just talkin' bout this up in here?! Think it was when I was really talking on the Lower Plenty LP. (note: Hard Rubbish gets better every go-round.)

Unbeknowst to most (and me) it seems, Circadian Press brought this rare bit of quaffage back into the fold after a sizzurp-length minute. Won't be a long run neither, and these are prob'ly slipping into home shelving units all over right. RIGHT NOW.

I suppose it's worth askin whether you're really hurtin' for another vurp from the ever-churning guts of private psych-folk reissue campaigns. This is a bit differn't, ya feel me? F.J. done did but one long player and made every second of it drip with one-take clambers and hungry chances. Don't expect another Higney herein, but an inauspicious swab of Van Zant-style country and Leonard Cohen would get ya nearer. Circadian says it stands beside Neil and Kristofferson, but this is too alienated to be that jovial. And the picture just gets fuzzier from there, I'm afraid. Just rest assured it's as awkward, heartbusted, and American as one could hope--and that pretty much sells itself in my county.

Holla at yer boys!