With screwy sounding surf guitars and vocals delivered in the style of a teenage Mark E. Smith the relentless brawl of Male Bonding is a fun step back to the lo-fi scene of the late nineties that felt capable of taking on all comers using instruments akin to items made from cereal boxes.  In a world that sometimes appreciates raucous, loud and distorted guitar explosions when soughting a pay off, this is the stuff of kings.

The comparison that immediately springs to mind when considering Male Bonding is The Yummy Fur crossed with an aggressive Vampire Weekend; I think they might more appreciate a nod towards the No Age element of their stylings.  Regardless any band that states that the Drowned In Sound forum is “like an indie British National Party” (as in Loud And Quiet magazine) cannot be all bad even if the jibe just stretch Mick Hucknall.

On the flipside Cold Pumas provide something altogether more atonal.  Caked in white noise with machine drums straight from the nearest factory pounding its way to dysfunction, piercing shards of jagged guitar then arrive and enter the mix as a device to confront.  These people playing on this record are not men, they are a well oiled machine pumping out sounds in a most efficient fashion on a production line of noise with the sole purpose and intent of putting the listener at ill ease and to make them move (convulse) involuntarily.  Health never sounded this good.

Thesaurus moment: noisome.

Male Bonding

Cold Pumas

Faux Discx

It is always a relief to discover that a legend of the scene still “has it.”  Split over a sexy side and a noisy side Lydia Lunch once unveils yet another set of vocal styling.  Spread over six songs this beautiful piece of twelve inch vinyl is a nasty and distinct return to form.  With James Johnston and Terry Edwards on board there is little chance of this sounding bad.

Proceedings open up with “Another Man Comin’ (While The Bed Is Still Warm)” and the greatest song Royal Trux never recorded.  Herein Lunch is almost rapping as she sounds more like a hip witch than ever and dirty with it.  The collision is heavy bass, dark Hammond and jagged guitar stabs make for a funky soup .

Soon saxophones are added to mix as a nightmare smoky lounge scenario broaches proceedings all in a Bad Seeds setting.  By the time the Sexy Side comes to a close the saxophones sound as if they are initiating some kind of rabid violent act of female empowerment.

The Noisy Side lives up to its billing providing a more dynamic threesome starting with the aural drowning that is “Baby-Faced Killer”.  The sentiments do not improve any as a distortion heavy cover of Lou Reed’s “Kill Your Sons” attempts to melt my stereo.  Soon the reality of proceedings hits that the quality of the music is far outweighing the standard of the words being spoken.  Regardless of this fact it still falls/comes together as positive but hostile musical act.

It is now Sunday night and I am still writing this fucking review long after I have purchased it.  In the distance some bozo is playing “Radio Gaga” by Queen at some ridiculous volume and it is making me sick.  With view to drowning it out and representing on my own behalf I am playing this at a creasing volume and plainly it just work.  Now I await the feeling of a boot being thrown through my open window as the person that just turned off his Queen record retaliates.  Oh course that person needs to finish borking their partner first.

Thesaurus moment: decadent.

Lydia Lunch

Sartorial Records

Right. How the hell do I go about describing this? John Mulhearn is a Scottish musician, brought up touring around the highland games circuit as a solo piper of traditional folk music. He is also extremely interested in electronic and experimental music and has crafted an album combing these interests. Yes, that’s right, this is an album of experimental and electronic adaptation of traditional bagpipe music (with one exception).

What? Why are you running away?! This is ace, honest.

No seriously, it really is very good indeed. John has spent vast tracts of time to craft interesting textures and timbres as settings for traditional melodies, mucking around with their arrangements and styles to create an experimental electronic music album that manages to break new ground by looking at its distant past. There are bagpipes on here, but you’d barely notice them for the digital shudders, samples, MIDI pipes and horns.

All tracks are arranged, recorded, performed, mixed and produced by Mr Mulhearn, but he has numerous collaborators assisting with snare drums, french horns and other of their ilk. Undoubted highlights on this record come from the piobaireachd (go look it up) vocal contributions of Allan MacDonald on “Lament for Own Roe O’Niall” and “The Desperate Battle of the Birds”, the latter featuring some tenebrous horn drones, gorgeous plucked acoustic guitar and lilted (yes, lilted) pipes. It’s absolutely gorgeous and probably the best cut of the 9 tracks on offer here.

I was lucky enough to visit the Outer Hebrides this summer as part of a pilgrimage to some of the most desolate and beautiful countryside these isles have to offer, and every time I chanced upon an all-too-rare place to refuel with nutrition or culture they were playing fucking Runrig on the stereo. I should have brought a dozen copies of this with me and shoved them in the faces of everyone I encountered. This is true traditional music: embracing the present and looking to the future.

John Mulhearn at Myspace

You gotta respect a band named after the heart-searing autobiography of a Vietnam veteran helicopter pilot. I assume that’s what they’re named after anyway, as any self-respecting band should be. Unless they’re Fucky Disease. Or Bathtub Shitter. I digress.

Chickenhawk are now 4 chaps, having been just 3 for their releases since their formation four years ago. Another Leeds band seemingly destined for great things, they specialise in making a terrific riff-tastic racket that now sounds nicely filled out with another guitar added to the mix. Another band who have the chops and aren’t afraid to show it, their songs veer all over the place between rhythms, tempos and timbres, generally with a lot of shouting and hollering over the top. I haven’t got a clue what they’re singing about on any of the 3 songs on offer here, but who cares?

First up is “I hate this, so you like it?”, 5 minutes of frantic rock madness that starts with some manic guitar shredding before evolving into a series of riffs and passages so complex that no man would dare write them down. Actually, it’s almost dancey during the verses, but the choruses do the half-time breakdown like all your favourite classic hardcore tracks. It’s a shame that the middle-eight suddenly devolves into that incredibly boring ner-ner, ner-ner, ner-ner, ner-ner cliche riff that all boring rock bands resort to when they can’t think of anything more interesting to do, because everything else adds up to a pretty sweet track.

Middle track “Son of Cern” has a similar mix of prog-tastic chops and changes, all the while retaining a totally rockin’ vibe throughout. I wonder if all Chickenhawk start going a bit batshit during the middle eight so that  any discernable song structure goes out of the window, as this one does stuff similar to the first one. It’s still great though, with some usefully horrible FX’d guitar “solos” thrown in for good measure.

Last track “NASA vs ESA”, seemingly about dreaming about being an astronaut but not knowing which space agency to go for, finishes up proceeds with some more dance-friendly riff-frenzies that veer about all over the shop in a very exciting manner indeed. Drumming in this band must be exhausting with all the rolls and cymbal work involve, let alone memorising all the changes, stops, starts and whatnot. Impressive stuff.

I’m told that Chickenhawk will be touring and playing one-off gigs all over the country between now and the end of the year and I’d definitely recommend checking them out if they’re playing anywhere near you – check out their October tourdates on their Myspace page below.

The ‘A. Or Not?’ EP is released on Wednesday 9th September 2009! Chickenhawk: Decent chops. Total rock mayhem. Oh, and here’s a zombie-themed music video for your delectation:

www.myspace.com/chickenhawk

www.brewrecords.com

There’s a few different Treetops bands out there but this particular tape is from Mike Pollard, the dude who runs Arbor. Knowing that, it seems a bit strange that this tape came out on Monorail Trespassing. I’m sure he was just spreading the love.

Eternal Sky is suuuuuuper minimal. Though not quite as minimal as, say, Phill Niblock or Yoshi Wada. But this is still some bare bones drone. The opening track, “Hope Always,” sounds like the wind is breathing and “Voice Of Man” could be the sound of clouds meditating. Everything has a strong organic quality to it, even though I’m sure the only instruments used are synthesizers. But I’m pretty sure synths are one of the only ways you can make such stretched out, blob-like drone.

This is some special stuff. It’s not exactly blissful, but it’s certainly elevating. Simultaneously dense and airy. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for long enough and you’ll wake up finding yourself levitating in your seat. Absolutely gorgeous. Highly recommended.

Treetops
Monorail Trespassing

Are you a male, 30-something IT professional with an undying nostalgia for the music of the 1990s?  I am, I’m afraid.  So is MJ Hibbett, and, being an unpretentious sort, his songwriting eschews complex metaphor and sticks to simple tales about his everyday existence – songs about workplace crushes and getting older and settling into suburban life.  That’s admirably honest, I suppose.  In fact, if you’re in a similar boat, you may find yourself thinking “Great!  A songwriter who sings about my life.”  After all, isn’t most pop music aimed at teenagers?  Isn’t it about time we had a champion?

I found myself reacting to this album in that way, then feeling a little bit guilty about it.  There is value in finding the beauty in the mundane, for sure.  The films of Mike Leigh are rightly praised for exactly that.  But there’s not much art to what Hibbett does, and I’m not sure that it’s healthy to enjoy something just because it validates your own existence.  Not at my age.  I should be looking for transcendence in my art, lifting my soul out of the world of mortgages and washing-up, not reiterating it over a dated britpop soundtrack.

But there is a degree of good-natured humour here without tipping over the novelty-band precipice, and I can’t help but smile at images like that of Sir Clive Sinclair on the cover of Heat.  And that dated britpop soundtrack is implemented with confidence, some nice hooks, and the occasional moment of joyous bombast.

So maybe I just need to pull my head out of my backside and admit that I quite liked it.  Sometimes it’s ok to be everyday.

MJ Hibbett’s official site

Prehistoric Blackout might not be a name recognized right off the bat. But Taylor Richardson, the force behind PB, also works with Daniel Lopatin in Infinity Window. And Daniel would be the dude who’s making everyone blow their load as Oneohtrix Point Never. So there’s a roundabout way of why Prehistoric Blackout should matter and appeal to you, as if just my saying so wasn’t enough.

Stone Reaper is a murky mess that doesn’t leave you feeling filthy when you’re done. Great, right? You get all the joys of rolling around in grime and then you just get to stand up when it’s over and say, “That was a fucking blast” and not have to worry about taking a shower or anything. Your palette is somehow already cleansed. Don’t ask me how it works. I’m just passing it along.

I haven’t the slightest idea what Taylor’s using to make these sounds. Guitars and synths most likely. Regardless, though, it rarely sounds like any straight up instruments. Kind of like a field recording/purely electronic hybrid. Sometimes you got the churning sea ready to explode when the storm comes, other times it’s fairy bubbles popping in a stuttering breeze. But of all the different sounds are coming out of the speakers, it’s always drone. Hypnotic drone, dynamic drone, dull drone, bright drone, it’s all here. Except for the last half of the B side, with lots of clomping around, making something that could be considered a beat, and a caterwauling guitar, almost like Richardson’s attempting to make a pop song. A totally fucked up pop song that would never ever get radio play, but we know what’s what. And this is definitely a pop song at heart.

Prehistoric Blackout
Pizza Night

Sometimes it takes the most traditional of instruments to make the most personal statement of music.  The depth of one man not relying on the lazy method of speech to communicate is one that surprisingly speaks volumes in this case and example, echoing lost moments of pleasure and pain in a very non stifling or exclusive way.

In modern music history often the cello has appeared on the recordings of some of the greatest acts ever but only in a sneaky saboteur type role that fills out and lends weight and strength to the sound.  Often it can appear to be something of a lazy gesture for an act to introduce a string section as it exploits the reality that it is an instrument that sits very uneasy in the centre stage, especially in more modern settings.

With this in mind seldom in modern composition, away from soundtracks and generic classical recordings, has the cello been given the breadth to lead in such a context and manner (indie/alternative).  As a result Andy Nice stands out in this field inhabiting a similar sort of territory as the Dirty Three but in a more direct manner.

The comparatives that echo most in mind are a nod to the Penguin Café Orchestra at their most beautifully downbeat as well as the kind of score music that you will fortuitously often come across by accident in Asian movies such as In The Mood For Love and Sympathy For Lady Vengeance.

Spread over seven tracks Andy Nice is a true professional and dedicated veteran to his trade and has worked hard to earn his stripes as a master of his instruments.  Currently part of the string section in The Tindersticks his musical resume includes Baader Meinhof, Cradle Of Filth and Sade.

The reflective nature and journey of the music on show serves as a perfect calming companion to the most contemplative of moments.  Prozac on ice.

Thesaurus moment: meditative.

Andy Nice

Front And Follow

Death Row Greatest Hits
The Death Row Greatest Hits compilation that I picked up for three quid in a charity shop a little while ago. It can successfully make me feel like I’m rollin’ in my Hummer, Entourage-style (more of that later), through the palm-lined streets of Hollywood – when I am in fact pootling through a rainy Oxfordshire B-road in my Ford Ka with a CD player plugged in through the tape deck. [Simon Minter]

Eating Us by Black Moth Super Rainbow
Sunny melodies, analogue synths, excessive use of the vocoder; in another dimension Air made this album right after “Moon Safari”.  Will I still be listening to it in a year’s time?  Probably not, but for now it’s the perfect soundtrack to a scorching summer. [Alex McChesney]

V/A – The World Is Shaking: Cubanismo fromthe Congo 1954-55 (Honest Jon’s)
I’ve only really discovered Honest Jon’s slew of releases made up of the best bits of ‘field recordings’ by ethnomusicologists that are stored up in some vast vaults that make up the legendary EMI archive in Hayes, but they’re all fantastic collections. This is the latest, tracking the earliest stages of “rhumba” music that would dominate the sound of African music in the ’60s and ’70s, heavily influenced by Cuban music brought home by sailors and workers and mixed with existing msuical forms to create something new. It’s all incredible, danceable, soulful stuff that sounds as great DJing at a house party as it does sitting at home and soaking it in. Totally brilliant. [Dave Stockwell]

Klezmer
Oh good lord. A record? Well… I’ve been listening to a lot of klezmer and it has got me very excited walking to the shops with clarinets and trumpets whirling around my head. Klezmer is extremely lively music with oodles of humour and sadness. At the end of some tunes it gets itself into a bit of a frenzy with speeding up and increased madness – a surreal treat well worth its weight in pretzels. [Pascal Ansell]

Merriweather Post Pavilion by Animal Collective
I might as well say that anyone who’s not bought Merriweather Post Pavilion by Animal Collective yet should do so immediately. It will definitely be my album of the year, unless someone records an album that’s literally perfect in every conceivable way before then. From this year’s releases, I’ve also been enjoying Cymbals Eat Guitars, Dan Deacon and The Flowers of Hell. [Stuart Fowkes]

Doom – Born Like This
At first I didn’t really pay any mind to the latest MF Doom incarnation and then suddenly one day I was hit with the track “Cellz” which opens with Charles Bukowski reading his poem “Dinosauria, We” and quite frankly it sounds as if the world is ending. I have never been able to work out over the years how come Marvel Comics haven’t sued a large part of the hip hop community into oblivion. Overall it’s a pretty solid record if not a perfect one but the superhero samples, old skool beats and trademark MF Doom rhymes (mouth too close to the mic, very few stops for breath, all smashed out direct in a very straight line) makes for one great episodic adventure. [JGRAM]

Everything I own
I just bought a new laptop the other month and have been childishly delighted by my iTunes play counts being reset to zero. I am now relistening to all 4423 songs in my iTunes library and enjoying every minute. Well, every two minutes at the moment as I’ve ordered them by song length. I am very guilty of listening to the same 5 albums and 4 songs for months on end so this is a real shake-up for me. I may get more bored once I hit the 5 minute mark but at the moment it’s a blast of Huggy Bear, The Yummy Fur, Lung Leg, Kenickie, bis, Gay Against You and other lo-fi joys. Hurrah! [Marceline Smith]

If you don’t know, I kinda have a little obsession with The Skull Defekts. Especially their new album, The Temple, which totally twisted everything I thought I knew about rock music. The Idealist is Joachim Nordwall, who plays guitar and sings in the Defekts. However I Am The Fire is most certainly not rock music. Shit, there isn’t a beat to be found on this record. It’s all ambient noise drone awesomeness and it’s fucking grand.

I think the best way to tackle this is on a song by song basis because each one is so drastically different than the rest. It starts out with the comparatively short “The Knives Are My Eyes” and tricks you into thinking The Fire might be a shimmery blissful record. Well, you’d be wrong. The rest of the tracks are dark almost-but-not-quite doom drone. “To Make Exact Copies Of Every Mistake Ever Made” is 17 and a half minutes of throbbing, pulsing, rumbling beasts in the pitch black night, never changing course. The beginning is the same as the end and it could go on forever without you even knowing it had killed you in your wide-eyed hypnosis.

“I Am Not Here” is 100% oscillation, totally fucking with your sense of direction and perception. One minute you’re face down in the dirt and the next you’re standing gazing at the stars. The latter half of the song continues the mind fuckery but in a more static way. The kind of thing that you probably wouldn’t hear if you were in a car or train, even with headphones on.

My favorite track is “The Cranium” which is absolutely terrifying. It sounds like capital punishment via an electric room, which would be similar to the electric chair except this room would be more like a Tesla laboratory and you’d die from lethal amounts static electricity. I’m pretty sure this is what that room would sound like on the inside (minus the agonizing screams).

And then there’s the weird as fuck “The Declaraaation Of Indeeependence” which sounds like it was recorded in the ’30s by some batshit insane swamp hermit who used his swamp gas and swamp frog friends to accompany his ultimate manifesto. And there’s almost 15 minutes of that stuff. Just some guy ranting and babbling in a blown out language that I’m pretty sure is neither English nor Swedish. This is the sort of thing you’d find playing on a phonograph in the back room of a legit haunted house.

I Am The Fire finishes off with the appropriately titled “My Head Is On Fire.” Appropriate because if you are the fire, then clearly your head is also the fire. It’s a nice closer because it cleanses your aural palate from all that crazy shit you just heard. It’s the motionless thunder before the tornado hits. The white noise you hear when you all else is silent. Preparing you for round 2.

The Idealist
Nosordo