diskant is an independent music community based in Glasgow, Scotland and we have a whole team of people from all over the UK and beyond writing about independent music and culture, from interviews with new and established bands and labels to record and fanzine reviews and articles on art, festivals and politics. There's over ten years of content here so dig in!
John ‘Drumbo’ French: Through The Eyes Of Magic review and interview
Here’s a review of John French’s recent Beefheart history opus Through The Eyes Of Magic and, what’s more, an exclusive interview with the man himself. Thanks to our guest contributor Stephen Toman for this!
Perhaps not with the smartest of reasoning I am finding myself these days purchasing a lot of seven inch singles just based on their artwork. As the format becomes sadly rarer by the week, this growing personal throwback for me presents itself more as a piece of art rather than a salient music format. This single is a very good example of this. I really hate the way the world of the single has gone now, the Sunday charts are so pathetic it is unreal and there is no way in hell that a band selling an MP3 or two on a given date will or should constitute a single release. The idea of doing an “MP3 single” is one so redundant to me. The other day I heard a pretty decent song by a band from Liverpool and I decided to check out the release date of the song I found myself faced with a two week wait to buy it from iTunes etc. I promptly laughed my fucking arse off as I found the song on seconds via Hype MP3. It is what they deserve.
This release however is the polar opposite of such backwards management. For me passion oozes from the tangibility of the release. So who the hell are The Dustaphonics? I have no idea what their music sounds like but what I do know is that they come with amazing artwork.
Looking at the sleeve alone you get the impression it is going to be dirty, like something you might find in a John Waters or Russ Meyer movie. Yes, music from a better time. The cover features a golden age comic beauty, shameless and suggestive.
Having already reviewed the record before even playing the record finally upon hearing it I find myself introduced to something that sounds akin to The Cramps fronted by Lisa from the BellRays. It is slow paced and dripping in swagger with dirty sax spewed sporadically over proceedings. This is very fun stuff.
The writing credit includes the name “T.L. Satana” which indeed does turn out to be Tura Satana, most famously the star of Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! which lends another exciting aspect to the record as it transpires that she is indeed responsible for some of the lyrics/words in some capacity (although perhaps she didn’t realise it).
Perhaps the less said about the b-side (a cover of The Jiants “Tornado”) the better.
Thesaurus moment: pine.
Much of the album is distinctly without the dark artistry found in the British jazz quintet’s previous offerings. ‘Peepers’ find these arctic puppies far more careful in exposing mad technical skillz. They’re not bursting to restrain themselves either, things are well held back and content. A less twisty, tricky release: the gold is in the shrewd developments of ideas: form takes precedence here, placement rides high, especially in the title track (listen and listen again andlistenagain here). It’s one of the most cannily organised tunes I’ve heard for in yonks. Good on them! Mr Drummer, Seb Rochford, is on it as ever; impressively natty, inventive and slick jazz drumming.
With ‘Peepers’ everything seems more than ever on the BuMpY side – smooth riding is for the most part chucked out, along with the all-out disjointedness so familiar with PB. The opener ‘Happy For You’ instantly glistens with guitar chords, chiming in my head in an oddly ‘wistful’ way (funny to describe vibrating strings as wistful). ‘Peepers’ as a whole is irresistibly optimistic but I worry that it won’t last as long in my hifi than their earlier releases. All the same, it gave me meaning to a wonderful week of my life full of couchsurfing and weird chocolate cake. As I said, and will continue saying: Good on them!
http://www.myspace.com/sebastianrochford
Pascal Ansell
The Sone Institute are one of those acts that produce a wide series of sounds that exhibit a huge scope of imagination and lengthy influences that provide a distinct setting for the task ahead. Listened to with a clear head, yours will be a mind soon muddled and disfigured by the sounds and images imposed onto your soul.
In the past Sone Institute have displayed a talent for spilling beats over the most cautious of tones in a style similar to Broadcast while mixed with an easy listening intellect and kitsch awareness (appreciation) akin to that of Jonny Trunk. Within such a gesture there is true fluctuation of two grand and downbeat worlds convulsing and marking something wholly fresh into the ground. With Curious Memories they have expanded further on this premise extending their arsenal and truly succeeding with every avenue they visit.
The album begins with a thunder bolt followed by crazed and disorientating fairground attraction atmospherics on the wonderfully named “Inter Asylum Cross Country”. The track sounds like something RZA may have cooked up and used on one of his scores. Truly a song to come with stitches.
With “The Wind Began To Switch” the record reaches a frenzied pace as handclapping hysteria coupled with grandiose strings that sound straight out of an American television cop show from the seventies bursts onto the scene. The crazy beat sounds excessively like Lalo Schifrin’s work on Dirty Harry only now bettered to a blistering pace.
Eventually it all mellows out quite significantly, changing identity like a chameleon on a mirror, touching zones that you might expect as output from acts on labels such as Ninja Tune and Kitty-Yo. A true blissed out harvest of an experience occurs as ambience overrules the exotic early impetus of proceedings in assaulting fashion. It has to be said the swinging of systems in such schizophrenic style does make for a difficult listen.
For some reason I come away from listening to this record with the theme music from The Professionals running around in my head.
This is music for the movies.
Thesaurus moment: flick.
Danny Milanese, who makes fucked up tunes under the Ultra Bonbon moniker, also apparently makes visual art. Paintings to be precise. And he’s got a new series that he’s working on called Harsh Noise For Your Wall, which, if you don’t know, is a terrible/hilarious pun referencing the idea/philosophy/genre Harsh Noise Wall.
He’s only got a couple HNFYW paintings for sale at the moment (pictured above) but more should be following soon. Judging by these little 200×300 images, they certainly seem to evoke that HNW aesthetic, and I’m sure they do an even better job when seeing them in person. They’re 8×10 acrylic & oil on board originals for 20 bucks a pop (shipped sans frame). That’s one sweet fuckin deal to own original pieces of art influenced by HNW for so cheap. No use resisting, cave in to your desires.
I used to have an online buddy hailing from Norway. In fact I feel when she disappeared from the cyber world I actually lost a potential love for in Line Larsen I truly feel I met (in an online capacity) a potential soul mate. Our interests were similar and we exchanged similar worldviews and a sense of fondness prevailed that could have remained/lasted strong for a long time. When she disappeared off the face of the internet I truly feel fearful that something bad occurred to her in real life. I really wish she would get back in touch I miss her so.
At this point the single has almost concluded as I acknowledge that the first time I am playing this seven inch I am paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to it. My bad.
Beach House appear to have come out of nowhere, they are being lauded by all quarters as a sudden stream dreamy (sometimes drippy) bands begins to overwhelm indie pop. If it were a bit louder you might compare it to the shoegazers.
It all feels rather minimal. Half the time the vocalist (I’m loathe to say singer) appears to be making up words, exchanging lyrics for noises they appear to be making up on the spot.
There appears to be a prevailing leaning towards an eighties slickness and sensibility to sound at the moment. I am truly struggling to decide whether this is a good thing or not. Here with “Norway” I am being presented with a layered set of sounds padding out a strange set of sentiments being exhibited by the frontman that be. With creeping, underlying sonics I would not be surprised if new My Bloody Valentine material were to sound like this (or at least the demos might).
Perversely this ultimately sounds to me like the singer from the Wannadies fronting the accompaniment of Ryuichi Sakamoto in “Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence” mode with a dabble of MBV effects stirring underneath. Random.
The b-side sounds a bit like Scrawl.
They’re from Baltimore but not like in The Wire (the TV show not the magazine).
I think I missed the point.
Thesaurus moment: hut.
I have a total hard on for anything Parts & Labor related. Any album, split, or solo project they do, I will be all over it and Dan Friel is no exception. He handles the electronics and vocals for P&L but when he goes solo, he forgoes all vocals and just goes crazy with his damaged electro blasters.
Obsoleter was originally released on cassette back in 2006 through Night People but sold out (with good reason). Friel and Spooky Tree were kind enough to put it out on vinyl for all of us who missed out on the awesomeness a few years ago.
This is similar in sound to his last release of new material, Ghost Town, which shouldn’t come as a surprise because Friel is doing shit that is unlike anything else out there right now. It’s harsh and melodic, massive and hollow, gritty and lush, and creates hypnotically blissful ear candy that spans the grand desert jungle. This is electronic music for those weary of the clubs or the ambient drone and are looking for something to blast when you’re rolling down a grassy hill getting covered in dirt.
Funny thing about me and Obsoleter… I was playing this at your traditional 33rpm forever until one day I noticed the innocuous footnote on the bottom of the back sleeve reading “45RPM.” HA! So I got pretty used to this running much slower than it should. But even though I’m totally used to the proper speed now, I still think I prefer a couple of the songs slowed down. I feel like a complete ass. Has that ever happened to you?
This is a terrifying seven inch that really has to be seen and touched to be believed. Housed on one-sided vinyl the reverse of the release is snakeskin seven inch. Lush. Quite frankly it makes me feel queasy to touch, sick to experience and ill to move onto my turntable. It is also a disco plate with one of those large jukebox holes. In this day and age such aching decadence is purely criminal, this is most definitely the best way to go out.
With this record Graffiti Island do it again, this is all painfully great stuff creaking like coolest hula party never assembled in a manner that should cause Calvin Johnson to reconsider his output of recent times and take pride in the fact that he has influenced so many that are now doing things so much more better.
There is a Petsmart theme to this record, a tone of affection that comes with the wrong love of having angry pets. Well, perhaps not but that is my interpretation. Sue me.
At the fear of sounding too gushing the package just turns me on with its warped Snoop Dogg crossed with Garfield gone wrong cover artwork. This is graffiti of the highest order, a demonstration of smut and angular thinking.
Returning to the music the pulse is strong with this one. The rudimentary guitars are survived by vocals ascribing major intent as an echo blossoms to scintillating and terrifying degrees. “Demonic Cat” in particular describes a high degree of mischief with its “666 lives”. The lurching motions of the song perfectly describe the movements of somebody up to no good. These songs would be perfect for the Batman TV series soundtrack. If only Adam West hadn’t already made it.
262/300
Thesaurus moment: chum.
Machinefabriek gave the world a present (today?). You can now download and listen to the earliest recordings of Machinefabriek before “Machinefabriek.” Songs compiled from 20 CD-Rs he self released way before his debut full length Marijn came out on Lampse. Songs that sound almost nothing like the Machinefabriek we know and love today.
De Jonge Jaren sounds like Machinefabriek making a Notwist/Aphex Twin record. Yeah, tons of electronic beats, pretty poppy, kinda catchy, and really fuckin good. Hearing the roots and foundation of the guy who went on to record Marijn is endlessly fascinating to me and I bet I’m not the only one, which is probably why he released this.
There’s a text file included in the download that tells the story of how Machinefabriek came to be and where these songs came from. It’s a pretty great read, especially the part about his metal phase where he “became a master in drawing unreadable band logos.” Imagining this guy being really into Cannibal Corpse is fucking hilarious for some reason.
From the ever-fertile Leeds scene of slightly-fucked rock musics emerge These Monsters, a raging behemoth of a traditional power trio with added saxophonist (who also occasionally plays synths). And some very big amps.
The sum of their three years of existence so far, this 7 track album space the best part of 40 minutes of heavyheavy sax-addled space rock with the occasional shouted vocal sitting in the background. Quite simply, it’s exhausting.
Live, These Monsters are an intriguing proposition. Four very committed young men throwing themselves into some prog–tastic heavy rock abandon, they’re as likeable as they are freaked-out. The huge amps help pummel the killer riffs into your skull and everyone ends up smiling stupidly. You can’t but help have a good time.
So it’s my regret to report that I really had a hard time listening to this record. Yes, the band’s performances are great and they run breathlessly through more ideas than most other rock bands have in their entire careers. Unfortunately, the sound of the thing is simultaneously muted and wearing. It sounds like the band have turned their amps down and turned the compressor up in a bid to give their riffs and chops maximum clarity. It certainly shows their musicianship up nicely, but none of the overblown instruments that knock crowds for six in a live environment sound pleasing to the ear and the whole thing feels like the dynamics have been squashed out of it.
Yes, so many records of so-called “heavy” bands have suffered this treatment in the never-ending loudness war, but I can’t for the life of me see why a band of this ilk would feel the need to squish the life out of their enviable sound in a bid for their records to sound good on a shitty radio or MP3 player. Yes, this is a very personal complaint, but when such tactics render me unable to physically sit through an entire record of not disagreeable music, I’ve got to say so. And this is coming from a Kevin Drumm fan, so cut me some slack. Or just call me a an old fogey if you want, but all I can hope is that the LP sounds a hell of a lot easier on the ear than the CD I was sent.
What I did manage to tolerate (between breaks) sounded like a promising album, if one that’s monotonous sounds end up aggravating rather than stimulating. There’s a distinct lack of light and shade to These Monsters’ songs anyway, which is forgivable for rowdy and raucous live band, but is pretty hard to take in the comfort of your own home. A little more variation, more exploration of different sounds and tones, would have worked wonders for all the arse-kicking riffery that this record celebrates. And there was me thinking that the caterwauling sax would be the hardest thing to adjust to.
At the end of the day, These Monsters are an undeniably talented and intriguing band. I’d suggest you check ’em out in the live environment if possible, or mebbe just give the Youtube video below a listen and see what you think. But think hard whether you’d like to spend 40 minutes of your life pummeling your ears into a dull oblivion.
