No Fucker - No Flesh Shall Be Spared
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wolf eyes covered "noise not music" but it's not on this demo.
sounds like: uh being really angry i guess
Showing posts with label lo-fi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lo-fi. Show all posts
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
religious knives
Religious Knives - It's After Dark
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hey btw these folks are coming to seattle on the 15th, go see them
"It was always going to be tough following up a record like "Remains." For me the Religious Knives trio of Double Leopards' Maya Miller and Mike Bernstein and Mouthus stick-man Nate Nelson were at the top of their game with that disc, bringing to mind the finest elements of early Popol Vuh and blending that with a roominess, a sense of outsider bliss which was impossible for me not to fall in love with. It was the sound I'd always wanted from Double Leopards welded seamlessly with the kind of percussion that wouldn't be out of place on a Sublime Frequencies collection, and in that the Knives had become almost their own sub-genre. Strangely then for their second long player the band have tripped almost headlong into a world of heroin-soaked fuzz-rock - a sound not too many hops, skips and jumps from a Morrisson-less Doors or even The Stooges.
Those of us who managed to lay our grubby mitts on the stunning "In Brooklyn After Dark" 12" last year will already have an inkling at the sound they're approaching, and indeed that track pops up as the extended introduction to "It's After Dark." Grimy, fractured and primal, this is music that sounds as if it's been recorded in a basement as a near psychotic Abel Ferrara frustratedly attempts to daub oil on canvas in the room above. There are plenty of links here to the trendy and recently re-emerged no-wave scene Sonic Youth so proudly represent, but somehow the trio manage to sidestep this faddishness. It was a track that surprised me at the time simply for the fact that it was so different from their previous work, but a track that has elevated with each play, and one which sounds infinitely better when you crank the amps up to eleven. From this extended introduction however the Knives' sound creeps and crawls mutatedly around the psychedelic rock genre with dashes at smudgy, drugged out half-tempo balladeering, fat organ-led grooves and even nods toward the rock-pop flourishes of the equally genre-bending Magik Markers. It doesn't always work either; occasionally the single-mindedness we became so accustomed to on tracks such as "Bind Them" is fractured to give way to a rare fragility. The fog breaks for a moment
and our suspension of disbelief is broken, the band become mortal for a second - vocals cracking and silence becoming dead air. This is however exactly what makes "It's After Dark" a totally different beast from it's predecessor, a brave record which almost resets the band in my mind at least giving them a set of rock 'n roll credentials they possibly never had before.
"It's After Dark" is precisely that, music to sit awkwardly in-between you and that nerdy girl in the over-washed X-Ray Spex tee shirt as you sip on a cheap bourbon and give out wry, uncaring smiles, music to accompany you as you wander alone back from the show wondering silently whether she even gave a fuck. It is music for mixtapes and heartbreaks and exactly the kind of noise the tiresome blogosphere needs to replace their ill-founded adoration of the Animal Collective or Grizzly Bear. Don't believe me? Flick over to "It's Hot" and play it three times. you can almost imagine Iggy Pop himself crawling around the corner, limbs flayed as he dribbles a chemical-rich saliva over your new rug. Give the ten-minute epic "Noontime" some airing and you'll be sinking hopelessly into the whirling synthesizers and chanted vocals with scant regard for the consequences, and it's around this time you realize that there's simply nobody else like Religious Knives. Fuck the genres; New Weird America? Noise? Psychedelia? This is good, old fashioned American rock music, and sure, the band might not have got it entirely right - but that's what makes them so damn good and what forces you to remember why you fell in love with music in the first place. Just remember this ain't an album for the attention deficit generation, you need to listen more than once - trust me, in about six months this will have gone from 9/10 to 10/10."
sounds like: rainy spring weather where the air is heavy
download
hey btw these folks are coming to seattle on the 15th, go see them
"It was always going to be tough following up a record like "Remains." For me the Religious Knives trio of Double Leopards' Maya Miller and Mike Bernstein and Mouthus stick-man Nate Nelson were at the top of their game with that disc, bringing to mind the finest elements of early Popol Vuh and blending that with a roominess, a sense of outsider bliss which was impossible for me not to fall in love with. It was the sound I'd always wanted from Double Leopards welded seamlessly with the kind of percussion that wouldn't be out of place on a Sublime Frequencies collection, and in that the Knives had become almost their own sub-genre. Strangely then for their second long player the band have tripped almost headlong into a world of heroin-soaked fuzz-rock - a sound not too many hops, skips and jumps from a Morrisson-less Doors or even The Stooges.
Those of us who managed to lay our grubby mitts on the stunning "In Brooklyn After Dark" 12" last year will already have an inkling at the sound they're approaching, and indeed that track pops up as the extended introduction to "It's After Dark." Grimy, fractured and primal, this is music that sounds as if it's been recorded in a basement as a near psychotic Abel Ferrara frustratedly attempts to daub oil on canvas in the room above. There are plenty of links here to the trendy and recently re-emerged no-wave scene Sonic Youth so proudly represent, but somehow the trio manage to sidestep this faddishness. It was a track that surprised me at the time simply for the fact that it was so different from their previous work, but a track that has elevated with each play, and one which sounds infinitely better when you crank the amps up to eleven. From this extended introduction however the Knives' sound creeps and crawls mutatedly around the psychedelic rock genre with dashes at smudgy, drugged out half-tempo balladeering, fat organ-led grooves and even nods toward the rock-pop flourishes of the equally genre-bending Magik Markers. It doesn't always work either; occasionally the single-mindedness we became so accustomed to on tracks such as "Bind Them" is fractured to give way to a rare fragility. The fog breaks for a moment
and our suspension of disbelief is broken, the band become mortal for a second - vocals cracking and silence becoming dead air. This is however exactly what makes "It's After Dark" a totally different beast from it's predecessor, a brave record which almost resets the band in my mind at least giving them a set of rock 'n roll credentials they possibly never had before.
"It's After Dark" is precisely that, music to sit awkwardly in-between you and that nerdy girl in the over-washed X-Ray Spex tee shirt as you sip on a cheap bourbon and give out wry, uncaring smiles, music to accompany you as you wander alone back from the show wondering silently whether she even gave a fuck. It is music for mixtapes and heartbreaks and exactly the kind of noise the tiresome blogosphere needs to replace their ill-founded adoration of the Animal Collective or Grizzly Bear. Don't believe me? Flick over to "It's Hot" and play it three times. you can almost imagine Iggy Pop himself crawling around the corner, limbs flayed as he dribbles a chemical-rich saliva over your new rug. Give the ten-minute epic "Noontime" some airing and you'll be sinking hopelessly into the whirling synthesizers and chanted vocals with scant regard for the consequences, and it's around this time you realize that there's simply nobody else like Religious Knives. Fuck the genres; New Weird America? Noise? Psychedelia? This is good, old fashioned American rock music, and sure, the band might not have got it entirely right - but that's what makes them so damn good and what forces you to remember why you fell in love with music in the first place. Just remember this ain't an album for the attention deficit generation, you need to listen more than once - trust me, in about six months this will have gone from 9/10 to 10/10."
sounds like: rainy spring weather where the air is heavy
Friday, March 7, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
pukers
Pukers - Beach Cop
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"”Where are you going, what are you doing, you’re doing a bad job, you’re doing a bad job.” Lyrics like these – and song titles like “Look at Me” and “Don’t Look at Me” – are what elevate Pukers’ meta-thrash into an even wilder arena of high art internal debate. Beach cops aren’t the only law enforcers brought to task on this savage C32; bike cops and park cops get equally brutalized. Since semi-temporarily relocating to Culver City/LA, Pukers have ditched the dead dog worship for a more conceptual crowd-surf across the polluted waters of stream-of-songciousness. The results are sick and blazing. Especially seeing as how the A-side finds Britt sitting in on electric axe for a session while the B stars Manda’s intuitive six-string synergies. This is some supergroup shit."
sounds like: napalm death drowning, stubbed toes, living next door to an underground wrestling ring
download
"”Where are you going, what are you doing, you’re doing a bad job, you’re doing a bad job.” Lyrics like these – and song titles like “Look at Me” and “Don’t Look at Me” – are what elevate Pukers’ meta-thrash into an even wilder arena of high art internal debate. Beach cops aren’t the only law enforcers brought to task on this savage C32; bike cops and park cops get equally brutalized. Since semi-temporarily relocating to Culver City/LA, Pukers have ditched the dead dog worship for a more conceptual crowd-surf across the polluted waters of stream-of-songciousness. The results are sick and blazing. Especially seeing as how the A-side finds Britt sitting in on electric axe for a session while the B stars Manda’s intuitive six-string synergies. This is some supergroup shit."
sounds like: napalm death drowning, stubbed toes, living next door to an underground wrestling ring
Sunday, March 2, 2008
psychedelic horseshit
Psychedelic Horseshit - Magic Flowers Droned
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"The sounds on Magic Flowers Droned captures the rickety skeletal pop of Step Forward-era Fall, the lo-fi fuzz of Swell Maps, and static noblesse of Slay Tracks-era Pavement. Is that classical enough for ya? For sure, this full-length debut is no Parsifal, but to these guys, sometimes a spear is just a spear and The Holy Grail is a movie made by Monty Python. As for Wagner, four outta five housepainters will tell you theirs is a name you can trust. Now where'd I put that joint?
Considered by the Columbus cognoscenti as the "little brother band" (Stooges-style) to Times New Viking (MC5-style), Psychedelic Horseshit first came about as three buds determined to crash a hippie fest and jam retardo. When asked for their name, singer/guitarist Matt Whitehurst replied, "Just call us Psychedelic Horseshit." The band killed, the name stuck, and thus the die was ignominiously cast. Since then, they played with the Urinals, Country Teasers, Dan Melchior, Blues Control, toured with Pink Reason and Times New Viking, ruled a couple showcases at the 2007 SXSW, basically doing what they can to lay the foundation for the release of this debut LP (a previous 7-inch on the Columbus Discount label made many 2006 Best Of lists, too).
Distempered, jaded, harmonious, and ramshackle, Psychedelic Horseshit keeps the glass half full; the question is, do you have the courage to drink their wry and wizened brew? Sure you do, it's the tonic of champions!"
sounds like: best friends, things falling off shelves, helping your mom paint a room over the summer
download
"The sounds on Magic Flowers Droned captures the rickety skeletal pop of Step Forward-era Fall, the lo-fi fuzz of Swell Maps, and static noblesse of Slay Tracks-era Pavement. Is that classical enough for ya? For sure, this full-length debut is no Parsifal, but to these guys, sometimes a spear is just a spear and The Holy Grail is a movie made by Monty Python. As for Wagner, four outta five housepainters will tell you theirs is a name you can trust. Now where'd I put that joint?
Considered by the Columbus cognoscenti as the "little brother band" (Stooges-style) to Times New Viking (MC5-style), Psychedelic Horseshit first came about as three buds determined to crash a hippie fest and jam retardo. When asked for their name, singer/guitarist Matt Whitehurst replied, "Just call us Psychedelic Horseshit." The band killed, the name stuck, and thus the die was ignominiously cast. Since then, they played with the Urinals, Country Teasers, Dan Melchior, Blues Control, toured with Pink Reason and Times New Viking, ruled a couple showcases at the 2007 SXSW, basically doing what they can to lay the foundation for the release of this debut LP (a previous 7-inch on the Columbus Discount label made many 2006 Best Of lists, too).
Distempered, jaded, harmonious, and ramshackle, Psychedelic Horseshit keeps the glass half full; the question is, do you have the courage to drink their wry and wizened brew? Sure you do, it's the tonic of champions!"
sounds like: best friends, things falling off shelves, helping your mom paint a room over the summer
Friday, February 29, 2008
hello and mattress
yo
http://www.mediafire.com/?3zxmzzibkc2
http://www.mediafire.com/?9lzmznksyn1
sounds like: mr. canning, men with moustaches, strip mall drone
i am paul and i will give you music
thx
okay so first i give you mattress
this dude rox
Mattress - Eldorado
Mattress - Who Do You Lust?
"Mattress may bring images of discarded furniture, caked and reeking of dead skin and matted clumps of hair. From the lip-chapping desert air, a deep bold voice collides against ancient rock walls, stabbing icicles in the rubbery flesh of cacti while oozing sinister intentions across lizard flesh. Mattress is what Suicide's first album would have sounded as a blues band: confrontational, sinister and somehow still dancy. Like more recent era Nick Cave low dark vocals meets old era Smog, pop with a lonely bedroom recorded desperation. Rex Marshall is a one-man rhythm ace of prison water torture repetitive beats and slippery casio keyboard progressions."
sounds like: mr. canning, men with moustaches, strip mall drone
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