Sunday, 25 April 2010

FAMILY BAND Blessed Ep (self-released CDR)


Family Band is some kind of creepy new folk or maybe new country that has a wee bit of Low, a smidge of Cat Power and other such things, but gropes around in the mire enough to find some strength of character and stand on it's own feet. I tracked this via the Arthur nexus of cultural detritus and these cats were nice enough to send this five song release all the way to Hobart – and well, it's been played a lot by me ever since it landed in my post box. Craft and song writing are the core of Family Band on this sampler, but I was drawn in by the sweet timbre of vocals and the slight darkening of the instrumental sounds- a little echo here, a tiny muffling there - as if everything was swathed in smoke. A hint of otherworldliness never hurts.
Melancholy and simple, there's something that slowly unfurls with repeated listens – the subtle feedback swatches, the strange poetry of the lyrics all have found a tiny niche in my head. I like to sit in our kitchen and drink red wine of an evening with this one, and it seems that the music likes that too. Wooden floors and garlic and rain otuside.

Check it all out here. Tell 'em I sent you.

THE PAUL KIDNEY EXPERIENCE – Flower Punk


This is a huge stumbling splattering mess of sound. It's music as expression, unleashed Id breakout, it throbs and it's a cosmic lurching slug that exists in different time phase, oozes past dimensional gaps, has sex with mountain ranges in the past eras of the earth's geographic history. This music roars, screams, and humps the couch because the whole sound, where it in fact not mere sound but in fact one magic daemonic entity, and said enity would be so, so out of it's tiny mind that it would be certain that the couch is a large sac of molten jelly that can only be prevented from exploding and causing a potentially fatal overload of bad vibes by being humped. Soundly. Because it is, actually, sound. Right?

Alright, calm down. Blimey, was that the caffeine talking. Look this CDR release on Sunshine and Grease is a one-track monster. It's a big old jam by a bunch of freaks from Melbourne. It sounds like these things do, which is like a fucking mess fucking a couch. This is no bad thing at all – I'm a couch-rooting advocate. I've done it and if you haven't – well you're probably too old and may have missed that vital window when couch humping is a genuine option, because you can't fake it – I just tried and the magic is gone.
How lucky am I then, that this big throbbing wave of sonic mess exists to transport me back to a glorious time when I could hump couches with total commitment? I do wish I'd been there to see this recorded because the joyful, expressive explosion of 'music' - and I use the term loosely - is infectious and exciting. This is not some epochal release but it is the sound of people going fucking nuts and loving it, with little regard for form or narrative other than that which is imposed by the tyranny of music's time-based nature. Special mention must go to Matt Gleason for providing propulsion and a thrilling sense of vertigo, but all the players are having a ball, none less than the man himself, Mr Kidney. Screaming and growling and avoiding any semblance of words – well there are some but fucked if I can make them out and why the hell should I try? It's scarcely the point.

The point is that this great big splat of fluoro paint bombing is a great start to any day, a good end to any night, a smokers delight and a fun listen. I guess it might be in the Acid Mother's Temple realm, but then again, it could also just as easily be a squalid little universe of it own, one with elastic boundaries and lots of shrilling guitars that carry screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaming monster with long, skinny limbs into the clouds where they can piss all over the deserts and bring new life, over and over again in an endles cycle of destruction and renewal that echoes Ragnarok itself

Or something like that. I dunno, it's fucking nuts. Good shit.

out now on Sunshine & Grease. In an edition of 100. You snooze, you lose.

Thursday, 22 April 2010

Music is Math

Well, I sure have neglected this dang blog of mine - and it's a bit crappy, as I really do have a whole lot of interestng music to waffle crud about, but in the meantime - this is a pretty interesting little talk about well, stuff like music blogs. I'm guilty, we are all guilty, but give this a little time and see what you make of the opinions here:



the fellow making the comments is one Chris Weingarten.

Wednesday, 30 December 2009

Rowland S Howard

Well, there goes a great Australian musician. I've enjoyed his music for most of my life, and to know that he will not be writing anymore songs evokes a sense of loss in me. I never met the guy, but did see him perform.

anyway, there's this clip from ATP.

Nice banter, as well as a great song.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

Machines Of Indeterminate Origin 0.5 Presumption



I found, after a very pivotal listen to this EP, which took place heading along a highway to Burnie, that M.O.I.O. was Good Car Music, and that will tell you something about anything.
We all know the importance of the car to the formation of Rock itself, but the actual feel of speed on highway was never described with more sonic accuracy than Krautrock – that infectious beat describes forward motion like nothing else. The kraut beat gave birth to many children, and its minimal beauty has travelled great distances, shifting its form but never loosing that forward-to-the-future drive – whether hypnotic or interrogative, the sound of the autobahn is a watershed of vast proportion. We hear it in the ecstatic drone of the Spacemen Three, the OCD compulsion of Suicide, the groupthink of House Music and all its squiggly mutant children.
It’s also present here, providing an essential spine for a crafted, considered music that manages to satisfy intellectually and thrill the body into rocking right the fuck out. Yes people: M.OI.O is thinking headbangers’ music,with krautrock influences.
Y’know, this stuff is a music writer’s dream. There’s so much to get your teeth into: Kraut-metal-punk that negotiates space so that the music can stretch out but not become thin. Sinewy and muscular without delving into masculinity, the band’s name is appropriate and enigmatic. It’s mechanical, but not in the traditional way. It flows like mercury, each drum thud becoming a controlled explosion: destroying vertically but leaving the head floating free, nodding uncontrolled.
So much springs to mind –the groove-driven throb of lost Australian metal titans Christbait, the controlled glide of Justin Broadrick’s music – as well all I’ve already mentioned.
Importantly for me though, there’s more of a move into some kind of secular trance ritual that sets this apart from it’s many influences, and gives this unpretentious band a small but well carved niche in the rich tapestry of modern heavy music.
This Ep is sketchbook and map to an interesting future, and introduces a band well worth keeping an eye on, for one thing I am certain of, is that blending and tweaking isn't done yet - this is a watchmaker of a band, and whilst we can see the mechanics moving, the sense of obsessive craft that this band emanates will ensure that more and better is to come
If intrigued by my gushing sycophancy – and that was my aim – get in touch with band.

try their myspace, and you can hear what I'm rabbiting on about.

ratbag

Agora II from Julian Percy on Vimeo.



this here is some noise generated by Julian Percy under his Ratbag moniker. Give it a touch I say, because Julian is one of the best noise makers I have the pleasure to know.

Thursday, 5 November 2009

The Internet is full of delight and terror

A few amusing musicish links

Julian Cope has written a eulogy for Dickie Peterson of Blue Cheer

Self-proclaimed counter-culture gurus Byron Coley and Thurston Moor have writ another Bull Tongue column - and this one has some interesting clips included.

Here's some recent noise from the ever-entertaining Oren Ambarchi and his cohort Robbie Avenaim.



I'm pretty endlessly fascinated by Oren and his various musical ventures. I think in the end, it's the splattering majesty of The Menstruation Sisters I enjoy the most, but just about everything this chap touches is worthy of some investigation. Robbie I know less about, and that's something I really must rectify. He was involved with heckling me for wearing a Burzum T-shirt though, and given that it was at a w0g gig, that seems reasonable. More than that I really can't say.