"Forgotten masterpiece"? Not in this parish. Companion piece toAstral Weeksin stream of consciousness channeled songwriting and off the cuff delivery (plenty choice vocal tics and trademark mannerisms to be had). Journeying westwards as ever, into pastoral Irish tradition, invoking poets - Blake and the Eternals - and citing metaphysics - discussing Baba, no less - before this became depressingly rote in yer man's oeuvre. Still possible to care about the quest and, lest we gush, get swept away.
As Mr Harper basks in warmest media glow he's enjoyed for quite some while, y brawd offers an uncharacteristically cheery set recorded, mostly, on then newly acquired Hereford sheep farm. Perhaps it was the Farmer’s Weekly Royfeature - odd but true -that alerted Macca and Linda to woolly livestock mutual appreciation as both are along for the ride, adding uncredited guest vocals.
Roy mellow and reminiscing; still Roy trenchant and biting.
Hans-Peter Lindstrøm gets his space, dance, electronic, psych-out synth climax thing on; rounding-up greater and lesser-known tracks off earlier vinyl releases. Clinically crafted retro-disco sound that's as much home listening as dance floor friendly. Deft melodic hooks and lying in wait at epicentre: ten-minute Moroder monster There Is A Drink In My Bedroom.
Neo-pagan thaumaturgy as Gnod swap spacerocking capers for percussive ritual in acoustic Kraut vein. Three jammed out Cosmic Joker slabs of peyote enhanced building bass loop, chimes 'n bells, drone and chant. Patience required and amply rewarded. Ability to pull off hackneyed Native American vibes without embarrassment shows certain Gnodlike genius.
Go chop up combustibles, light bonfire and watch strange faces in the glow.
Death In June's romantic despair and apocalyptic fear reinhabited. Denmark's Moongazing Hare serves up five Douglas Pearce pieces with understated measure and emotional connect that, to y brawd's ears at least, render more illumination and drama than portentous source material. Personal revelation, sturm und drang free.
Book-ended by original weirded out versions of Seeger's Book of Ecclesiastes retoldTurn! Turn! Turn!. Sweet Judy Collins points the way: getting under the skin of others' work while having her own tale to tell. Holding the knife bloody to the throat of love.
High water mark period Serge. Paired with Jean-Claude Vannier to build monolith in miniature with this fabulous soundtrack set. Masterpiece Histoire de Melody Nelson is just around the corner, and it shows.
In which LORD YATESBURY (Archdrude) gets pipe-beating Blue Cheer / Sir Lord Baltimore / Sabbath on own ass. Or...
"I should warn y’all that I have, for this particular album, returned to some pretty fundamentalist rules regarding the recording. As you know, Brain Donor adopted a tight glossary for their music very much in the same style as that found in the ZOOLOGY retrospective from The Teardrop Explodes. Inspired by both, I’ve returned for DARK ORGASM to some of The Teardrops’ 1978/79 work and plundered not the music but the law in which it was created. From my point-of-view, only a coupla months into the recording schedule, the method has already yielded several excellent new songs that I could never have reached without the formula. Three songs (“Hell or the Other Place”, “White Bitch Comes Good” and “Looks Like I’m Goin’ Down”) are dedicated to my ardently heathen belief that (in these increasingly Christian=Sir Cliff times) St Peter’s place as the pearly gate-keeper is no longer tenable, and that the blond Death Goddess Hel should be returned to her rightful position at those sacred portals – just as she always was in these northern realms (see Norse Myths and early German tales) before cruel Christian theologians appropriated her name for the hot place where all the baddies go. In the wake of the London bombings, what has become most clear to me is the importance of every Briton’s fundamental right to believe in Fuck All, motherfuckers! Those who choose to insult and murder and create mayhem on behalf of their own deities (“My invisible sky God is better that your invisible sky God”) can take a motherfucking hike across the Channel… and that includes all monotheists. Meanwhile, all the rock’n’rollers, artists, Hindus, and other free thinkers can get down to some real living on these sacred islands."
Thrilling, chem lab experimental blues tinged rock. With Beefheartian yeowl Edgar sings insouciant and groovy. Letting it all hang out to the point of downright unpleasantness - viz. Psychopath. Cracked English tea party vibe in Kevin Ayers vein and well worth investigation.
(Read PV-Y!'s short-trousered EBB reappraisal over at Terrascope)
Think Eno's discreet deconstruction of Pachelbel's Canon meets Göttsching's E2-E4. Yes, pumpingly pleasurable. Ravel's Bolero and Mussorgsky's Pictures From An Exhibition given to von Oswald and Craig as unmixed multi track recordings of Berlin Philharmonic directed by Herbert von Karajan. Moritz isolates individual elements and assembles lines for pre production subsequent to creative fiddlage under duress of vintage drum machines and serried ranks of analogue synth.
Listen in one sitting. Gym rats on treadmill and OCD house cleaners will find particular fulfillment.
A step on, up and perhaps backwards. Amnesiac fog 78s sampling plunderphonics stripped away, leaving a frequently piano driven ambience recalling Harold Budd, Max Richter, and Erik Satie even. Elegiac and melancholy vacuum hum and static crackle. Kirby / Caretaker is still in mourning, though no longer for a history repressed and returned in spectral form. More straightforward modernist angst: fin-de-siècle paean to degeneration, cohesion and connectedness. More haunting than haunted.