Archive for August, 2008
Crystalline
On record The Big Pink is Robbie Furze (now or ex of Panic DHH, Alec Empire) and Milo Napoleon Cordell (creator of Merok Records; descended of peers?). Live, more are enlisted – members of bands of such calibre as Guapo, Sunn 0)) and Sunburned Hand of the Man, according to this Pitchfork ‘New Music’ post by James Knight last Friday (22 Aug). Run the player and the link together and watch depth build; ziggurat howls, escalator noise, tripping percussion, ceremony in the echo chamber.
MP3: The Big Pink - Crystal Visions
Water Rib to Cry Cloud
Baby Venom’s first track includes the hook of one yet to be written. A sad-eyed seed, destined for the dim-light Blancmange found while at the bottom of a new-wave weapon well. The sorry sound of a radio cassette player with dying batteries, cut – dead electric – cutting, at least; it’s last transmission, lost in part, static to static, boom to bust box.
MP3: Baby Venom - Moms and Dads
MP3: Blancmange - Holiday Camp
Flamingo Dancer
Th£ Samps are hard to pin. First, there’s the name - Th£ Samps? The Samps? Th Samps? Yeah, three whole choices. It’s certainly a quandary. Whatever - the similarly equivocal ‘TrainCUMMINGS a Litl More’, flown suburban birds, glides in a kind of taxed mundane, a dance pushed the way of small-town, big-bar cohesion by the bump ‘n grind intimacy of others but dosed with enough madden to set it flailing exempt, a wastrel booty bumping the drinks of statue bores, catching far riddim.
MP3: Th£ Samps - TrainCUMMINGS a Litl More
Saturdig
Or how dirt-nailed, vaccuum-pocket crate diggings disaffected to dredging Saturdays for bore cure. So for penury, A/V cider: ‘Teenage Genocide’, Urinals, ‘Silent Night, Deadly Night’, Harmonia, Bradford, Let’s Wrestle, ‘Love Caboose’, Messrs Randall and Spunt.
Jerk-Off Love Song
Dispensing with vagaries, London’s American Spirit know what they want and they’re gonna get the dry hump they’re after, rubbing blue-balled up through worn denim against some nubile ass. Less a booty call, more a mundane fuck bulletin, Karen coos through ‘The Honeymooners’ as Bundy is found dry-tongued and determined, a narky jerk you can respect a million times more than the similarly sex-wrecked, supine wetlads to be found in shit dude bands like, I dunno, Blink 182 or The Teenagers.
MP3: American Spirit - The Honeymooners
Nite Glide
Original photo: Travis Peterson
In search of totems and musical Troma, Nite Jewel glides sublime, for now at least, on b-movie synths and bass creeps, cruising city unerred and damp with the falling. Serene and rudderless: Ramona, friend of Ariel’s, conscript for Simonetti, blending with the hoods and their prowl glower, the gutter-strewn and the giddynaughts, ‘Chimera’s a liquefied monument, cherubs and gargoyles pimples fleeing the same marble skin.
MP3: Nite Jewel - Chimera
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