The sucker punch, Song For a Dead Pilot, is a feral and often primal bash which sounds like Roxy Music's Do The Strand thrown into a tumble drier.
Why this craziness, have these teens been O'ding on frikandels again? No; it's drummer Erik's 18th birthday. That's why. So we celebrate in full-on, Head On style.
Downstairs in steamy, sweaty, sleazy Kult, Apneu's goofy singer is wearing high heels and he's winking at people.
Assad makes Stavros sound like Sewell and would be pilloried. A punk standard with incomprehensible lyrics would disguise this flaw, as well as his inability to sing: demonstrated by his karaoke performance of Don’t Stop Believin’ at Mugabe’s ninetieth.
As ever with the things that Gudrun Gut is involved with, this is a patient and very sexy record.
Welcome to de Nobel all ye weeny boppers, this is your musical poppa!
Some use music as a way (by telling others what's 'cool' or 'important') to show how important they are. You never see these gadflies, these Osrics, on a cold Tuesday night in a converted bike shed in a Leiden squat.
Will we be digging B S Johnson & the New Brutalists in sound next year? Or the history of Enfield Cricket Club, or Iceland Frozen Foods?
A few years back a friend hipped me to this website about watching ships on the English Channel.
In fact some of the best things out in NL this year were the collaborations (DNMF top of the pile by a mile) and the reissues.
Anjou have made a record that is incredibly evocative of place, any place you want to imagine, maybe an inner space; and one that can change according to your frame of mind.
Super Empowered is not a procession of monolithic blarings.
I’ve seen Howl Ensemble play and as musicians they look nothing like the sort of band you’d think (after listening to this) they should look like; coming over as a bunch of Heavy Metal escapees.
There’s even a song called Mustache In Your Face. Jesu H. But my all-time fave is Jaded’s The King Was. Far fucking out, that ditty. What is it all about?
For the most part the tracks are spellbinding mixes of 60s/70s spiritualism, 70s prog (specifically the enticing organ/synth bits on Gong or Hillage solo LPs before the guitar battles and zany lyrics kick in) and the ambient minimalism let loose by Riley or Eno.
There’s even something in It’s Time to Be Clear that reminds me of Terry Jacks’ Seasons in the Sun. Enough for you to know. Who reads Bonnie Prince Billy reviews anyway?