DON YOUR HELMET, WE'RE GOING TO NEW ENGLAND

Merry Airbrakes

s/t

Shadoks Music LP

1973/1999

Massachusetts, everything you do makes my heart barf, except when it comes to musics. (Ok, I'll skip the latter-day straightedge mugging. Fine.) Will a dozen Trimbles or Idea Fire Companies or Twisted Villages or secret lurking free jazz sectors make up for quarterly property taxes and that guy Mitt, there? Nah. But I want y'all to keep trying.

I'll pardon you the Vietnam Vet back story that's easy enough to find round these woods, but don't go feelin starved. What's important is this Bill Homans dude sends out hot rays of zoned-out troublefolk throughout this thing like a man fresh outta solitary. Occasionally, the psyched-up blues give way to brittle, folk numbers like "Frog Song," flooded with word salad, word soup, and word-you-like-dessert?, but the whole mess remains menacing and damning even when drugged-out, droop-eyed. Though, the bracing musicianship (how often do you peep that phrase on this blog?) sure ain't hateful, neither. 

Don't let the review in the Acid Archives, which amounts to a shrug, mislead you. This LP be a weave of stubborn-ass kudzu that prospers in a field of records (rural rock/stoned Americana) that usually smudge out in just a few spins. In other words, another rusty notch for Massachusetts and well worth a check out.

GET OUT THE WET STONE

Paul Dasken

Speckled Ax 12" EP

No Label/Paul Dasken

1988

I weren't never good at filing to begin with, but even if I were I'd have no clue where to put this. Performance art? Avant garde protest? I could snuggle it in with other late-80s leftist private press/"vanity" recycled sleeve masterpieces, but I'm afraid I'm straight-up Lee Marvin in that area. Could ya spot me?

What we get here is Mr. Dasken pulling nascent ghosts of tunes out of someone's unsuspecting piano and interrupting a preacher and George Bush, Sr, with woozy renditions of "Witchita Lineman" accompanied by a glass bottle and a stick. Woo! How many records would make Robert Haigh, the Democratic Party and Alvaro blush in unison? I'll lay bills to skills there's just the one.

Like all loner classics, Speckled Ax ain't about to distinguish between foolin and real talk--nor is it fixin to clarify whether its maker is an outsider visionary or a fringe loon with a brain fulla kipple: you gotta work it out yourself. And what self-respecting record slut would look such a workhorse in the craw?

DO IT UP

WE PUT THE BUFF IN BUFFOON

John Klein
...Plays the Bells of Stone Mountain Vol 1
No Label/No Date LP

Can't find a cover scan for this. Surprised? There are tourist LPs and then there are TOURIST LPs, and I ain't apt to take those distinctions lightly. One of them zither records they hock up in Helen, GA, (whats fulla icky Beatles covers) would fall in the former, while Iceberg's Does It Live from the land of Disney would fall in the latter. This is definitely listing toward the latter. The Bells of Stone Mountain are actually several hundred electronically triggered whatsits which, I hope, occasionally accompany the world's largest laser show they throw at Stone Mountain--assuming Klein ain't shit the bed yet. Though, I suppose they could prop him up and...well, that ain't my field. Just sayin, since it seems from the liners he's the most qualified carillon player on this green world.
This is all trads and covers, of course, but the queasy tonal decay is sure to churn all those funnel cakes you just scarfed in front of trinket booth #94 into gray-water but QUICK. Sure, Joplin's "The Entertainer" sounds tame enough at first, but when all those tinkling bells start shift to the red, you'll shift to beer.
I tell ya, local droopery awaits at the back of every crate. Think of it as history on a microscopic level, where all the real weirdness doesn't happen in space, Washington D.C., or at the bottom of the Atlantic: it's happening right now in your neighbor's basement. You see this for more than 50 cents, start throwing elbows.

NOICE

LUFF, LOOK AT THE TOOL OF US... A Pair of Pincers Come Down My Pike

Here's a few off Fag Tapes what just dropped around the turn of the Armageddon Year. Ish. I figger, given the end time's approaching, I might as well hock my spare watches for a new tape deck.

Sorry the pickins been so slim, lately. Labels run from me like tickled rats.

Hive Mind

Beneath Triangle and Crescent c30

Fag Tapes

Some reason, I avoided a lot of this scene like it had something catching.  Why? Who knows. The day don't hold much innarest lest it changes my mind. So, I checked in and found a few comfy spots around the room. Though part of me wants to send this to Southern Lord with an attached "CLOSED" sign, I worry they might not take kindly. But seriously, this thing sweeps up the dirt floor basement of sludge like Gein's toenails. It ain't near as repetitive as those Sunn0))) grumps neither, instead choosing to wallow in a variety of crapulence. When Side A settled on what sounds like Maurizio Bianchi dribbling a basketball on DJ Screw's court, I headed for a secure doorway, crackers or no. Say what you want about not-so-depraved folks making this manner of rumblings. At least it ain't bloodless. Just think, they could all be getting jobs at Group-On and playing math rock!

Aaron Dilloway

Since He's Been Gone c60

Fag Tapes

I like Wolf Eyes fine--in fact, just one entry back I was speaking mighty highly of Mr. Olson. They all seem to exist in the cramped camp of folks who can hold mad balls aloft, dropping nary a one. They slip here and there, sure, but rarely am I--or most other slime I know--calling the whole thing off. So it goes that Mr. Dilloway has sent a few screamers down my street and this is but another. Side A sees Dilloway loaning Thunderboy the Two Daughters lp, while Side B sets off muffled landmines at a Gerogerigegege swap meet. Smells like the buffet's almost ready! MMMmmmm, hey wait.

B didn't quite deliver on the hungover-brain-as-burnt-granola tip as A, but it be that way sometimes.

HAZLEWOOD'S TOO DAMP TO BURN, LET'S USE THE FIREBEATS! Keepin warm with old shits

In the lean, lean month of January (not much ring to it, huh? & if there were I'd hock it for groceries!), if it be more than a couple-five dollars, I shut my eyes, hold my breath, and say, "See you in two paychecks." So me and the lady are hunkerin down in the brackish end of the pool, seein what we can scrounge up from the foam and algae to make a meal. Here's what we got so far:

Allegra - Music from the Heartlands (private press LP, mid-70s?)

Hipped to this by Mr. Olson of American Tapes, who also once said to a New England crowd, "This song goes out to standin there in black hoodies with your arms crossed." I just up and misplaced my skull. Rarely does somebody peg a whole scene so well so quick! And they say Midwesterners is slow. Ever since, I've taken almost everything he says as serious as taxes. And, hey, it lead me to things like Interstellar Encore, Lazy Smoke, and J.D. Emmanuel, so my grievance bin remains hollow.

What we got here is one dreary, parched, Southern stumbler (actually recorded in Europe, I hear?), reeking of haunt and head injury. In other words, hollaaa! First track, "Who's Sorry Now," does the business and some overtime in these drippy, smudgy months when one needs to remember the true dangers of cabin fever. Don't check your forehead, you might be holdin an icepick.

Extra nice loner bluegrass creep-out. This one shows up pretty often and, like I said, ain't gonna dropkick your debit card.

V.A. - Electronic Music Winners (Odyssey/Columbia LP, 1976)

Sometimes I forget Georgia has the worst schools in the country. Then I notice every record in every Classical section in the state is about $3.00. Research, shopkeepers: it ain't just when you backspace on Google. Matter of fact, this one goes for about 5 times what I paid, and mine's pretty clean. This comp got some digger cred at the beginning of the century when folks found out Radiohead sampled the last two cuts for "Idioteque." (C'mon, boys: two samples in a row? Who raised ya to be so sloppy?) In truth, this is a whole lot of Subotnick-style slurp-n-gurble, with some inspired sections thrown in. The closest I can approximate for ya in terms of texture is a kind of Brit free improv lack-of-phrase-as-phrase, only through-composed. Make sense? 

Paul Lansky's piece, the last on the record, is a little long for what it does, but I dig Kreiger's "Short Piece" and Menachem Zur's "Chants, For Magnetic Tape." None really have the abandon of Darius Dolat-Shahi, the goofus and gallantry of Geesin, or a gram from Raicevic's medicine cabinet, but who knows? Ya might enjoy! I ain't Keither Fullerton-Whitman, but I'm sure he'd love to chew your lobes bout it if you'd just ask.

Bermuda Triangle - self-titled (Radioactive Records CD reissue)

If I said Ariel Pink happened already but you didn't hear me, would I make a sound? Wait, that's not it... Look, were there was such a thing as fate, every dog'd have its day. Thankfully there ain't, so spazz-lounge can crawl back in its sequin hole and wait for Quintron to walk by. Ok? Ok. Peace out.

Seriously avoid. If you must tiptoe to the mouth of the cave, Mark & Suzann Farmer's Space Hymns is a good-time dubbed-out karaoke wasteland alternative. Dig that.

Gravestone - Doomsday (Garden of Delights CD reissue, original LP on AVC)

Ho man, if you change the accents on this from German to Japanese, Julian Cope would knock down Stonehenge for a copy. TRUST. Released at the tail end of the 70s on a private label, this is the stoned parking lot wilderness of Krautrock. Let's call it zitty-prog. There's a monologue that sounds like it was fed through Babelfish a few too many times, bong-sweat jams, an uptempo metal thing with an unwarranted ESG bass line (?!), and an intense drum break from a dude that surely remembers they called it "crank" before they called it...well, you get it. Very "willful boys", they released a few more after this, but I wouldn't know nothin bout that.

Til next time, mind the difference between propellent and accelerant. Don't want it to get too hot in here.

MIXTAPE #1: HELL IS IN HELLO (and my ROTY 2011)

I shudda done more promotin for this little broadcast--I mean, apart from the one-liner I sent out to about 12 people last night--but c'mon people. Can I really be expected to hold up such a bargain? This is for all y'all, sans loot, available whenever your wheezy little whim flexes. I gotta poke and pester ya, too?

It's been a long night. The title comes from Lee Marvin's song in Paint Your Wagon, but I took the song out and left the title cuz it seemed like a good'un for breakin the seal.

Don't remember much else about it's makin'. All I know is about 3 hours after I started I woke up in a tub fulla codeine and I ain't talkin a fancy tub. Only clawfoot in sight was mine.

I also wanted to use this fine occasion to name my RECORD OF 2011! One track off it appears on the mix, though I coulda used many. Just seemed like the right fit. This young feller spooked me right outta my drawers a few years ago and I aint' pulled em back up yet. It's Dan Melchior's Assemblage Blues, what everybody's been talkin up. Deserves them laurels and a bushel more. Stylistically, it feels like Peter Hammill skipped right from Nadir's Big Chance to A Black Box without even askin if yer ready (Pete is from Ealing, after all). There's all manner of plunder and mischief in these little tinctures and I'd wager there's plenty more where they came from. I was so sucked in, I just got round to Catbirds and Cardinals a week ago! (It's good, too!) So here's to Mr. Melchior and here's to my first hamfisted jab at mixtapes for the peoples. All 8 of you. Cheers!

contact Siltbreeze at sltrx@pil.net to get yer copy of the aforementioned!

hxxp://www.zshare.net/audio/988781147c62600e/
(link changed due to megaupload shutdown. Man, the folks over at Mutant Sounds must be cryin in their mead right about now!)

playlist:

Charlie Tweddle – Untitled (from Fantastic Greatest Hits)

Philip Perkins – Bird Variations #1 (from Neighborhood With A Sky)

Shagrat – The Coming of the Other One (Think Pink Version) (from Pink Jackets Required)

Dan Melchior – Riding Like Rommel (from Assemblage Blues)

Dr John – Glowing (from Babylon)

Richard Bone – R.K.M. (from Life In Video City)

Peter Hammill – A Motorbike In Afrika (from The Future Now)

Departmentstore Santas – Hey (What’s Going On Here) (from At the Medieval Castle…)

Inflatable Boy Clams – I’m Sorry (from their 2x7")

Uncredited remix

TO GRAHAMY'S HOUSE WE GO

Graham Lambkin

Amateur Doubles LP

Kye 2011

What pray tell is the sound of one man, one woman and one child listenin, you might ask? On this, the latest missive from the Lambkin camp, tis Graham and the clan, two classic platters uh fronch prog circa '75/'76 CE, and a Honda (also CE, I reckon). No, this ain't Graham runnin over sonny's big wheel while Richie Pinhas stirs a cocktail, but it do crunch & whimper just the same. Amateur Doubles continues your boy's streak of appropriated musics and environs a la Salmon Run, but I pegged Graham for a channel surfer back in the Tart epoch. You won't hear no Spanish lady counting for long dead operatives, but you will here the gentle embrace of Dutchess County innersections. And, of course, ya can count on all the time benders and detunes Poughkeepsie traffic surely inspires. Ok look see, it's hard to doll up a thing that sounds like itself, but I pegged Graham for that, too, a way's back. (It's a compliment, sure as God's holy!) What I can't figure is why nobody's chatted up the familial aspect here. We're all use-ta hearin Pole and Grancher holed up in our headphone trenches, but how many of us ever let em out of the house a spell? Blow the dust off, ya know? C'mon, they're family, right? Let em live a little! Some Amish among us is afraid just ta press the play button!  What, contempo plunderers is just supposed ta chip away at the garbage and leave the good shit on the shelf? 

Ask me, this shouldn't seem like sucha brave ride to Stop & Shop (though I sometimes had to belt a few just the same, but I were pushin carts), but it is. Which is why I'm closin this FYC year with another pat on Kye's back. Good hunting, my dear bothers! Oh wait, they've got a few. And you thought I wudn't gonna hook it up this holiday season.