Showing posts with label tape underground. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tape underground. Show all posts

Wednesday, 24 July 2013

Eat Skull - 'Jerusalem Mall' (Woodsist)

Coming off their great second album, I expected more from 'Jerusalem Mall', the song, which (if you're gonna command the A-side alone) should deliver more punch. Overall, this 7" feels like a bit of Eat Skull's different sides. My preference is for the fun, poppy stuff, represented here by the 7"s best track, 'Don't Leave Me on the Speaker'. Unlike 'Jerusalem Mall' this sounds bright, with the guitars working in a style that is melodically ramshackle instead of discordantly ramshackle. 'Thank you! Smokebreaks' is a fast punker along the 'Nuke Mecca' lines from Wild and Inside; fun, sure, but I think these work better on the longform player where there's a lot more meat in the sandwich. 

Thursday, 23 September 2010

The C&B - '1991 pre-Shadow Ring recordings' (Siltbreeze)

These early recordings aren't a shock to fans of early Shadow Ring - the same broken songforms and production techniques that characterise their first few LPs are audible on these four tunes. 'Kent Custer' (which contains the lyric 'shadow ring') is built around household percussive flopping and a a repetitive, dumb 3-note acoustic messriff. It's practically 'City Lights', but it's actually the C&B, which was short for The Cat and Bells Club. There's some tapework but not much interest in dark, searing electronics or the strange collages that exemplify later work by these guys, but that's okay. As a strategy against cohesion, 'Cave of Ice Cats' is unparalleled. I've never been to Folkestone but I can envision a dingy, cold room where these two kids were sitting around a dictaphone bashing about, the stale smell of old cigarette smoke clinging to everything. The audio dropouts are very much an essential component of this 7", but the volume dips and the tape decimation that gives the acoustic guitar such a thin, broken tone. 'Father's Dead' tells the story you'd expect while someone makes sandwiches. We hear a glimpse of terrestrial TV in the background while Harris tells his tale, and there's maybe a bit more of a sense of traditional spoken performance here than we'd ever get later (think 'Lighthouse'!) I'm so, so glad that this came out though the contents aren't surprising in any way whatsoever. Torches forward for the future, or what the future was from here.

Monday, 7 September 2009

Baby 63 - 'Quiver' b/w 'Shark Watch Maker' (S-S)

The treasure trove of early 80s obscurities, reissues from some punk tidal wave, is a gift that keeps on giving. Here, Soriano of S-S records brings two songs from the Baby 63 tape to vinyl. 'Quiver' sounds like a Ralph Records outtakes with weird, warbled grinding and tape flutter (probably just an artifact from the original source, though it sounds great) buried deep in each channel. The song changes gears a few times and resonates in air also occupied by fans of Tuxedomoon, though with a darker, more amateurish Very Good records vibe. Yet there's something Beefheartian about the singing, or maybe post-Beefheartian (the antecedent to Stump, perhaps?). 'Shark Watch Maker' is a very repetitive dark grind that has it's moaning industralism cut by some strained vocals, which pull against the guitars. I like when songs are layered with heavy minimal guitars and synths, yet the drum track is someone hitting an empty Tupperware container (or something similar household and 'small'). The liner notes explain the story of Baby 63, which was almost entirely one woman named Karen Fletcher. It took 21 years for these two songs to see vinyl and I can only wonder about the rest of her output.