"Tosses all manner of monkey wrench into what actually are, structurally speaking, mutated pop songs, melding avant-noise, sound collage, musique concrète, and video game belches; what comes out is wildly imaginative...actually reaches a level of noir-like viscidity."
Jaki Leibezeit devotees take note: here be lockstep drumming.
01 Faust - Extract 7 02 Staff Carpenborg & The Electric Corona - Lightning Fires, Burning Sorrows 03 Sefil - When To You Come, I'm Wait For You 04 Jam - Friends
05 Inner Space - Coitus, Ergo Sum
06 Mother Sunday - Midnight Graveyard
07 Blackman Lane - Hunger
08 Proud Flesh - Devil Flight
09 Live Experience - Before Dead a.k.a. Cry For Betty
10 Swinging Safari - Toccata
11 Tyll - Tim
12 Trafo - Auto-Bahn
13 Yet - Try To See Her Again
14 Anima Sound - Trinity 2
15 Lony & The Misfits LTD. - Birthday
16 Tomorrow's Gift - At The Earth (Part 1)
17 Slut - Heavy Surf Sound Blues
18 Michael Anton & Amok - Jesus Makes You High
19 Dave Pike Set - Mathar
20 Exmagma - Marilyn F. Kennedy
21 Trede Selection - Sound Too
Check out spurensicherung.blogspot.com for Kraut Mask Replica; Tune In, Turn On, Drop Kraut; Get Off My Kraut.
Familiar Ghost Box trooping of the tropes: Garner's The Owl Service; Machen machinations; the Great God Pan; Toopian sinister resonance of the uncanny; 70s local television rurally themed programmes.
A rarefied furrow, rewardingly ploughed. Get with it.
June 30 1934 Hitler launches the Röhm-Putsch aka Operation Hummingbird: political murder spree including liquidation of Röhm's paramilitary Sturmabteilung. Death In June...hmmmm(ing).
Under-rated entry in Douglas P.'s martial oeuvre. Stirring.
Kinky, overwrought and in thrall to C93-DIJ cyclic monotony n strum. Nevertheless, some tasty atmospherics created. A rubber-wrapped future beckons in the cold meat industry.
Michael Cashmore enlists fellow travellers Tibet, McDowell, Stapleton n Douglas P.. Wicker willow the bone white goddess. Thunder perfect n rociscrucial.
Ancient wind instruments, vintage Moog synthesiser flourishes and what can only be termed, reluctantly, as Elizabethan harpsichord "work outs". Highly mannered, make that preposterous, baroque 'n' roll. Somehow, all captured in lead pantaloon's juxtaposition of period klobba and Specsavers eye-wear.
The whiff of generic coming of age 70s teen TV prog theme. Utterly, bewilderingly po-faced.
Indulge y brawd's occult attraction to George's insistent cheeky chappy double entendres and relentless right hand. With his ukelele in hand (or his little stick of Blackpool rock), mother, what'll he do now?
Robyn Hitchcock reincarnated in New York basement as lo-fi outsider folkie. (Tip o' the titffer to the good Dr Watson under whose auspices such fine entertainment reaches this parish.)
With what our North American cousins are wont to call a "sophomore" effort, SK dial up the prog flourishes while sticking to core MO: synth and organ driven blissed out minimalist repetition in T. Riley styled psych face off. Grappling bravely with cliche - grandeur via crescendo a la Godspeed - winning through by building intensity upon small sound bank fortified into maelstrom of melodic texture. Tidy.
