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FLOWER TRAVELLIN' BAND - The Times (Best of, 1975)

Betcha never thunk a cult band like this 'un had a "Greatest Hits" package now, didja? Well, they do sho nuff. I can't imagine why I'd need to give even thee skimpiest of outlines introducing y'all to these gents. If you've been here before or surfed yer way in looking for FTB, you know what to expect by now. If by some miracle or some standard form of human ineptitude ya don't, I did beat my gums at top speed over their "From Pussies to Death in 10,000 Years of Freakout" bootleg here. I will give y'all a quick piece of my always sterling consumer advice though: this collection is essential for no other reason than to spare yer earholes thee torment of slogging through their misgiuided trawl through thee muck of tedious prog-rock, "Make Up." Here ya get thee best ditty from that disaster in thee Godzilla Vs. Mothra thunder of thee Sabbariffically doom-laden "Hiroshima."

Track list:

1 Satori Pt. II
2 Satori Pt. I
3 Shadows of Lost Days
4 Hiroshima
5 Make Up
6 Look At My Window
7 Spasms
8 I Wanna See You

In comments.

Leave My House!

VARIOUS - Teenage Shutdown: I'm Gonna Stay

With a compilation subtitled "Target: Fuzz!" ya know ya can't lose if yer a fan of good ol' infantile 60's garage goop. That's right-- this sucka is dedicated to thee use and abuse of mankind's Greatest Achievement: the distortion pedal. And I don't wanna hear any arguments-- y'all can have yer penicillin, porn and high-def TV's... I should damn well dedicate this here blog and all of its contents, my every fucking breath for that matter, to Red Rhodes who designed the first fuzzbox and handed it over to the Ventures for "2000 Lb. Bee." I say we start counting thee earthly hours beginning in 1962; we can even keep thee "A.D.," ceptin' now it'll mean "After Distortion."

Most important of all though, is thee fact that this here damn fine collection o' snot includes the Modds' "Leave My House." Even if the rest was padded out with 16 selections from "The Village Peoples' Most Buttastic Remixes," it'd still be worth checking out for this cut alone. Even with all the collector scum "super sleuths" out there, little to nothing is known about 'em, or how their ditty came to be molded into one of the most perfect examples of ineptitude transformed into genius. The song itself is pretty standard sub-Stones swagger 'n' snarl until... we get to that guitar "solo." Imagine if you will, a two-year old toddler with hands big enough to handle a fretboard-- now hand an axe to that kid and let 'em pluck away, and you've still got no clue how incredibly amusical and yet right fucking on this hapless endeavor into guit-flail is. Dottie Wiggins sounds like Yngwie Malmsteen in comparison!

Tracks:

1. The Mondels - I Got A Feeling
2. Mongrell's Band - Be My Girl
3. The Wanderer's Rest - The Boat That I Row
4. The Peabody Hermitage - Something So
5. Modds - Leave My House
6. Greg Barr & The Barr Association - Dance Girl Dance
7. The Great Society - I'm The One For You
8. Oscar Hamod & The Majestics - Got To Have Your Lovin'
9. Ides - Psychedelic Ride
10. The Grains Of Time - No Matter What They Say
11. Lou Capri - Love And Kisses
12. The Mondels - You'll Never Come Back To Stay
13. The Rock Garden - Super Stuff
14. The Moxies - I'm Gonna Stay
15. The Black Banana - Listen Girl
16. The Night Mist - Last Night
17. The Sceptres - But I Can Dream

In comments.

Subterranean Cave Blues

LUSTMORD - Paradise Disowned (1983)

One of those people that like to fire up the neurons to awaken the amygdala deep in yer medial temporal lobes? It's ok-- humans enjoy being scared for whatever primal reason preprogrammed into our DNA... likely has something to do with our constant wrestlin' with our fragile mortality. Anyway, as much as I'd love to play shrink with y'all and continue in vain to dazzle with my half-understood fancy words, let's talk some 'bout Welshman Brian "Lustmord" Williams, the grandaddy of thee "dark ambient" subgenre. Here, kats n' kitties is an artist willing to walk that extra mile-- literally-- to stir up thee horrors lurking in yer subconscious.

Now a lotta artists like to refer to themselves as "underground," but how many of 'em actually recorded there? Mr. Williams has a leg up on the rest of 'em cuz that's exactly what he did for "Paradise Disowned"-- descended into subterranean locales like the crypt at Chartres Cathedral, Dunster Abattoir in Bangor and even the bottom of the fucking ocean! To further cause yer delicate little heart to beat a little faster, he utilizes infrasound-- frequencies below 20 Hz that are known to inspire dread in those exposed to 'em. Throw in treated field recordings of Tibetan horns and monk chants, and you've got thee perfect 3 a.m. album (should thou have thee proper constitution). Now that's what I call "underground" music!

In comments.


STABAT MATER - S/T Promo (Bootleg CD-R, 2001)

Finland's Mikko Aspa is one of my favorite people currently toiling away in thee extreme music scene today; actually, mebbe I should rephrase that as I've never actually MET the guy. I am in awe not only of his talents and sense of aesthetics, but of his work ethic as well. How prolific is he? Well, he's currently thee vocalist of Deathspell Omega, and is the sole member or contributes in one way or another to Clandestine Blaze, Grunt, Creamface, Nicole 12, Fleshpress, Clinic of Torture and Alchemy of the 20th Century among a half dozen others. He is also thee proprietor of black metal label Northern Heritage and power electronics imprint, Freak Animal. Ah yes, he also dabbles in your favorite, sticky little vice and mine: porn, as editor of "Erotic Perversions" magazine and owner of "Public Obscenities" video.

Some call Stabat Mater "funeral doom," which is a term I absolutely abhor-- it brings to mind alla those yawn-inducing, goth-inspired swillmeisters like Wormphlegm, Catacombs and Rigor Sandonicous, which aside from their equally slooow tempos, are too mired in perpetual suckage to be lumped alongside Stabat Mater. What I hear comes down to "you can take the boy outta power electronics, but you can't take power electronics outta the boy." Every slothful guitar riff sounds like it's been filtered through some form of electro-grime, encrusted in feedback-swirling filth. How sluggish is it? Let's just say ya got plenty o' time to pour another shot of Maker's in between chord changes. There is also extensive use of samples-- Gregorian chants, and most effectively, a would-be female victim screaming at the precise moment Aspa spews, in his heavily-treated gargle, thee chorus of "Give Them Pain."

These five tracks, although some of 'em have made thee rounds on comps and splits, were never supposed to see the light of day. According to thee version of thee saga that I've heard, Mikko gave a handful of copies to "friends" as a taster, only to discover it had been leaked all over "teh intrawebs" only days later. Oh well, with friends like those...

In comments.

Join the Legion!

CIRITH UNGOL - Paradise Lost (1991)

Thee cult band to end all cult bands, Cirith Ungol had a sound that blended equal parts European proto-metal a la Thin Lizzy, Sabbath and Budgie as well as thee then-burgeoning NWOBHM sounds of Judas Priest, Angel Witch and Saxon. Their closest American contemporaries would be Manilla Road and Brocas Helm, though I find all three bands so unique it's difficult to lump any of 'em together without encountering serious stylistic road-bumps-- this ain't cookie-cutter swill, folks: this is a band that had a vision of heavy rock filled with now-classic swords & sorcery imagery backed with riffs as megalithic as Tolkien's "Pass of the Spider" from where they took their name.

Formed in 1972 in Ventura, California, with original moniker Titanic, they once counted future Angry Samoan Pat Galligan among their ranks (for all y'all trivia geeks). With his departure, their lineup solidified around guitarists Jerry Fogle and Greg Lindstrom, vocalist Tim Baker, drummer Rob Garven and thunderbroomer Michael "Flint" Vujejia. Scoring a deal with now defunct indie label Enigma in 1980, they unleashed "Frost & Fire" the following year to howls of derision from rockcrits and metalheads alike. In all seriousness, it's easy to understand why in hindsight: there were no masturbatory exhibitions of technical virtuosity or glossy radio-ready ditties that were hallmarks of mainstream metal at the time. There was quite simply no musical references to use to measure 'em by, and if you've got a fucking head half fulla gray matter, you've come to realize by now that 99 % of the entire human race has absolutely NO DESIRE to think for themselves. Tim Baker's smoker's cough rasp coupled with banshee shriek is often an obstacle for many as well, though I personally can't imagine another vocalist living or dead better suited to front this combo. Be that as it may, they soldiered on in virtual anonymity for three more LP's-- 1984's "King of the Dead," 1986's "One Foot in Hell" and this platter, their swansong.

Straight up, this is thee "worst" Cirith Ungol album; but saying that is akin to calling "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath" the "worst" of that unfuckwithable sextet of early Sab Slabs (at least in thee JTP Pantheon). That is, it would be thee crown jewel of a mere mortal band's catalog. Lindstrom, Fogle and Vujejia had bailed by this point, replaced by Jim Barraza, Joe Malatesta and Vernon Green respectively. The majority of the material stands tall alongside early Ungol, with thee exceptions of some ill-advised wanderings into thee major key like "Heaven Help Us" and the almost-anthem, "Go it Alone." Such missteps are easily forgiven when skullsmashers like thee epics "The Troll," "Chaos Rising" and most surrealistically, a cover of Arthur Brown's "Fire" are included, however. For C.U. noobs, this is probably not the place to start-- that would be "King of the Dead," which is their magnum opus. It is easily available and should be a part of every collection of any self-respecting rocker.

In comments-- and leave one you ungrateful swine!

Gummo OST

I think a heartfelt round of congratulations are in order to thee Harmony Korine/Larry Clark/Vincent Gallo Axis: you've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that American filmmakers who dabble in "existential" cinema are every bit as stupefyingly dull and redundant as their European counterparts. Please, take a bow. Perhaps we should throw Chloe Sevigny in there as well, as she appears to be some kinda "muse" for these rather uninteresting gentlemen-- my dearest darling, no matter how many times you appear naked or perform sadly unimpressive fellatio on one of your cast members' members, you'll never be Uschi Digart. NEVER. For those of you who have no idea what I'm on about... I really don't care.

Regardless, there's seldom soundtracks --if EVER-- that include the likes of Sleep, Bathory, Burzum, Absu or Spazz, let alone all of 'em on one handy shiny disc. So, whomever compiled this collection deserves to be commended, if not the film itself, which is a grainy, fake documentary about youthful rednecks growing up in an Ohio Nowheresville. It's filled to the brim with contrived attempts to shock that will only offend those whose bourgeois sensibilities haven't allowed 'em to discover life beyond thee anonymous suburbs in which they dwell. So be thankful I'm providing the music, not the visuals.

Tracks:

1 Absu - The Gold Torques of Ulaid
2 Eyehategod - Serving Time in the Middle of Nowhere
3 The Electric Hellfire Club - D.W.S.O.B
4 SPAZZ - Gummo Love Theme
5 Bethlehem - Schuld Uns'res Knoch'rigen Faltpferd
6 Burzum - Rundgang Um Die Transzendentale Säule Der Singularität
7 Bathory - Equimanthorn
8 Dark Noerd - Smokin' Husks
9 Sleep - Dragonaut
10 Brujería - Matando Gueros 97
11 Namamax - The Medicined Man
12 Nifelheim - Hellish Blasphemy
13 Mortician - Skin Peeler
14 Mystifier - Give The Human Devil His Due
15 Destroy All Monsters - Mom's and Dad's Pussy
16 Bethlehem - Verschierte Irrelgiositat
17 Mischa Maisky - Suite No.2 For Solo Cello In D Minor-Prelude
18 Sleep - Some Grass
19 Rose Shepherd, Ellen M. Smith - Jesus Loves Me

In comments.

tr00 Blackened Basement Psych

BENIGHTED LEAMS - Astral Tenebrion (1997)

There's a reason why musty old clichés become musty old clichés-- there's a kernel of truth in 'em. Take for example, this one: "One man's loss is another man's gain." And how does that apply to thee Platter du Jour thou ask? Well... Alex Kurtagic aka Benighted Leams (although someone named Wulfhild apparently sits in occasionally on bass) sat down in his bedroom, garage or basement with thee full intention of kicking up some good 'ol fashioned blasphemy to make Beelzebub proud. Problem was, he had absolutely no idea whatsoever how to program a drum machine-- thus, there's nothing remotely resembling a digestible beat throughout this entire album. The wildly askew synth-thud, perhaps the most blatantly mechanical-sounding "percussion" I've ever heard committed to tape, kinda provides a bit o' random punctuation here 'n' there... on different songs for a different record unfortunately, though.

He also musta lost his Satanic Bible cuz the lyrics seem to have been written with the help of some half-understood astronomy texts. So, instead of the typical "I'm Gonna Recrucify Jesus" or "Skullfucking in Lucifer's Name" stuff black metal connoisseurs have come to know & love, ya get far more ungainly titles like "Hermetically Leering as Frigid Blores Obumber" and "Succeeding Departure From the Chryse Planitia." Hardly the kinda subject matter Gorgoroth would approve of. Mebbe because of his self-confessed upbringing of "dismal squalor and desolation" in South London, he was looking to the spaceways to metaphysically escape from his earthly prison (yes, I'm completely fulla shit, I know-- I stole that from George Clinton). Whatever the case, his fretwork is more than competent; much more. The multi-tracked riffage is filled with aspirations of Wagnerian grandeur; sounding at times like Hawkwind taking a stab at "Ride of the Valkyries."

Awright, awright. What I'm trying to say is that despite his failure to make an opus that has anything in common with black metal (or metal of any kind for that matter), we get ourselves a fine slice of outsider psychedelia that rivals Skip Spence's "Oar" or the Red Krayola's "Parable" in that fine little corner of the aural Twilight Zone. Sorry Mr. Kurtagic: your loss is our gain (well, mine at least, anyway).

Beam yourself to the comments.

I Always Maim to Please

SLAUGHTER (CAN) - Strappado (1986)

One-Two... FUCK YOU!!!

Oh yessss... this HAD to happen. How could I not present to y'all in all its unrestrained, bloody-knuckled fury thee proto-death metal monster that is "Strappado"??! 22 years on and I still feel the adrenaline charging through my innards, making me a slave to thee thrashing madness contained on this magnum opus. It's next to impossible not to be filled with rapidly dimming visions of myself and merry band of no-goodniks stomping around the rural wasteland we inhabited, fulla cheap booze, screeching every word of every ditty contained here; ghetto blaster on the most sober bastard's shoulder (usually the guy who could grow a full beard at fifteen who bought the shit in the first place) as we wandered around looking for somewhere, anywhere to escape from thee frigid Kanück winter.

What can I say? This is a maelstrom of fat, buzzing guitar, gargled vox and relentless skins-pummel that was/is nothing less than the smoldering embers that created the death metal inferno that would ignite a few years later. All these Toronto boys did was distill their riffing to its most barbaric essence, unleashing a sound that was more extreme than anything else at the time, proving once again that simplicity is thee key to all great R&R. There were obviously a lotta Scandinavians listening closely-- that oh-so-sweet guitar tone associated with the likes of Entombed, Grave and Dismember is already in full bloom on "Strappado"-- but not one damn one of them Swedes ever wrote anything as anti-headbang-proof as "Tales of the Macabre" or "Death Dealer." Fuck it, I see no need to beat my gums together any further-- get yer worthless ass...

Into the comments.

Oh yeah-- if ya were stoopid enough to miss their equally godly "Surrender or Die" demo it's here, dumbass.

Dirt May Be Your Santa Claus

MELVINS - Tora Tora Tora (4 x 7-inch bootleg, 1995)

Not a whole lotta need to scribe a damn thing about these gents. Yer either thee type that'd eagerly consume a tape of King Buzzo, Dale Crover and their bassist of the week wrestling with thee beer shits (Coming Soon! With Mike Patton as 'guest' flatulence) or you'd have a smirk on yer mug for a week if their tour bus fell off the face of a 200 ft. cliff (hopefully with Mr. Patton on board). Depending on the day, I fall into both camps. However, if you fall into the former, here's a decent, if not spectacular-sounding boot from their "Stoner Witch" Tour. If I had a scanner that wasn't a complete piece of trash I woulda included deluxe pix of thee exquisite packaging-- a hardcover book fastened together with actual bolts which opens up to reveal sleeves for each 7-incher... but the truth is, I don't. So who cares?

Tracks:

revolve / skweetis / with teeth / night goat / specimen / concert warning / kisw interview / hooch / queen / johnny reno / gunfighter / oven / goose freight train / goggles / sweet willy roll bar / radio interview / road bull

In comments.


UPSIDEDOWN CROSS - S/T (1991)

I've oft-heard this band described as "Flipper's Retarded Younger Brother," and certainly even after the most cursory exposure to the mongoloid whose had his Tonka Truck stolen yelp of Larry Lifeless, the comparison has some merit... but there's something far more depraved at work here. Not that it comes as any surprise when you consider this combo's pedigree: three-quarters of Boston, Massachusetts debauched purveyors of slothful noise-punk, Kilslug (the aforementioned Lifeless, bassist Cheez and guitarist Rico Petroleum). Sitting in on skins was, from thee "Holy Fuck! I can't believe I enjoy an album with HIM on it" file, J. Mascis.

This is disgusting, filthy, down-tuned decadence. Since we brainless humans like to deal in primitive concepts like "good" and "evil," I'll bite and call it perhaps the most "evil" recording I've ever heard. There ain't a corpse-painted creep with 666 odes to Lord Gobbledygook to his credit that can touch thee confrontational slime that'll ooze from yer speakers when the disease known as Upsidedown Cross launch into one of their Hymns of Heinousness. Imagine a lobotomized Tony Iommi with a seriously unhealthy fetish for his wah pedal and yer still coming up short in getting a handle on the kinda fuzz-scuzz on display here. Couple that with Larry Lifeless' testimonials like "Jesus was dumb," and "a phony" which I admit sounds pretty stoopid typed out here, but spat from his noxious piehole takes on a (much) higher level of blasphemy.

Fuck it-- here's a crudely disturbing video for "Mass in Blood." Don't say you weren't warned.

In comments.

Sister of Satan Praise Thee Lord

DIAMANDA GALÁS - Malediction and Prayer [1998]


Obviously the natural heir to Patty Waters' throne as Thee Seductress of Shriek, Diamanda Galás has made some of the most powerfully disturbing albums of the last two decades. I count her among my favorite artists of all-time, yet I must confess something: I very rarely play her music. And that's not a feeble attempt at being a wiseass-- I quite simply very seldom have the emotional commitment that should be mustered to wallow in her oppressive and demanding oeuvre. Her Gospels of Gloom are swaddled in a despair so thick, at times it feels as though you're been asphyxiated by the Cold Hand of Death itself. Hers is not an art form for the passive listener-- her works are best listened to in the clear thinking hours right before dawn, preferably alone with zero distractions.

"Malediction and Prayer" was recorded in various locales during Ms. Galás' November 1996 to June 1997 World Tour. Comprised of covers ranging from B.B. King ("The Thrill is Gone") to Phil Ochs ("Iron Lady") to Billie Holliday ("I'm Gonna Live the Life"), it is a barebones affair featuring only Galás' four-octave voice and her minimalist, classically-trained piano tinklin'-- and believe me, that's more than enough. Her golden throat is an instrument unto itself, capable of capturing immeasurable depths of melancholy as easily as dizzying heights of righteous anger. Particularly striking is her take on the Shel Silverstein-penned "25 Minutes to Go," a minor hit for Johnny Cash. Galás expunges the light-hearted black humor of the original, a novelty song about an outlaw awaiting his execution, leaving its skeletal remains as the funeral dirge its creator is unlikely to have ever imagined. She imbues the piece with such utter hopelessness that as each minute is counted down, the tension becomes nearly unbearable; by the time she's reached the inevitable conclusion, the breath of the hangman might as well be hideously caressing the back of yer neck. Needless to say, it's doubtful you'll be blasting this at the beach this summer.

In comments.

Brown Metal Hoedown!

LUGUBRUM - De Totem (1999)

That's right: Brown Metal, and Lovendegem, Belgium's Lugubrum are its only exponents. Their songs revolve around their twin obsessions of beer and carrots, not hackneyed far right politics or Anti-Xianity. They wear straw hats and smoke corncob pipes... got yer attention yet? How about if I told ya that their music, although deeply rooted in the lo-fi grimnity of second-wave Norwegian black metal, features an occasional banjo?** How about if I revealed a few of their perverse song titles such as "Udder of Death," "Beard of Disease" and "Midgets of Evil"? Now forget all that shit I just typed, cuz thee blurry, buzzsaw guitar riffs and positively maniacal vox lift this several tiers above yer garden variety novelty act.

"De Totem" is an album that requires incessant listening for it to reveal its full scope. It may sound ridiculous, but I'd (almost) put it in the same category as "Trout Mask Replica"-- so fulla polyrhythmic insanity that yer initial reaction may feel like attempting to navigate a labyrinth with corncob pipes in yer eyes (smoking a pipe of yer own may help; and I'm talking about the one yer big brother smoked, not yer dad). There's a section of heavily-treated guitar in "Beard of Disease" that I swore was a lap steel the first dozen or so times this filth desecrated my earholes, and yes, it does sound like vocalist Barditus is being anally raped by Godzilla, but when you take the time to learn the verbiage of his depraved poetry, thou shalt recognize his genius. Check out the lyrics to "Inner Magma," for example:

Sulphurous visions
in yellow vapour
Contorted crater
Scalding indigestion

Violent eruption
Fertile deluge
Cleansing from the core
The smell of rebirth!

They don't hardly write 'em like that anymore.

** = Sadly, since moving to thee urban sprawl of Ghent, they've abandoned 'Boersk Blek Metle' (Farmer Black Metal).

In comments.

MERCYFUL FATE - The Lost Tapes 1978-84

Ok everyone: put on yer black leather studded beanie caps with thee glistening chrome propeller. For we are not concerned with thee (at times) questionable fidelity of this here bootleg. No, our aim is to slip into our frequent roles as nerdy musicologists. We must dissect every nuance and subtlety of a contraband recording such as this one... and we must be precise. So, first up we have "Hard Rocker," which one could say hearkens back to Hank & Michael's daze as the Brats (which you absolutely, positively MUST check out if'n ya haven't already) with its punky, garage-metal riff and unbridled sloppy energy. Now is it just me or does King Diamond's voice sound at least an octave lower'n usual? Could it be that *gasp* his testicles actually did drop at some point??! Perhaps all this time he's merely tied an elastic band around 'em... or even had the soprano snip? Ah, so many questions, so few answers. For example: is that the "Highway Star" riff liberally borrowed on "Love Criminals"? Why no! How could this be so when the song evolves into an embryonic version of "Into the Coven"? "Some Day" seems to have some of the neo-classical pretensions we 'Fate fans have come to know and love... waitaminnit... I know that quasi-baroque melody line! Why, if it ain't "Desecration of Souls" as a mere infant! Move over, King Tut-- this is a discovery that easily dwarfs a moldy old carcass like you. "Death Kiss," as even the most casual fan-- if there is such a thing-- knows, was the original sketch for DON'T BREAK THE OATH's "A Dangerous Meeting." Here, you can check it out in varying stages of completion, although I recommend playing the second featured version first as it is far more primitive than the first one (these bootleggers seldom seem to have a sense of flow, do they?).

Until next time, I'm removing my beanie. I'll leave further excavations and insights up to y'all... or not.

Track list & specs:

1 Hard Rocker
2 Combat Zone
3 Love Criminals
from THE MERCYFUL FATE DEMOS, 1982
4 Evil Lord
from THE BLACK ROSE Sessions, 1978
5 Some Day
6 Death Kiss
from THE MERCYFUL FATE DEMOS, 1981
7 Persecution
8 I'm Alright
9 Death Kiss
from THE 'DANGER ZONE' Sessions, 1982
10 Shadow Night (Devil's Daughter)
recorded Live in Copenhagen, Denmark, August 15, 1982
11 Walking Back To Hell
12 On a Night of Full Moon
recorded Live in Copenhagen, Denmark, July 23, 1982

In comments.

Do the Icepick

GEROGERIGEGEGE - Recollections of Primary Masturbation

Welcome to the world of Juntaro Yamanouchi, the gay, cross-dressing noisemonger behind Shinjuku, Tokyo's Gerogerigegege. The Gero first raised its ugly mug in 1985 with the "Studio & Live" LP, and have ever since released a huge catalog of noise, ambient and uncategorizable works-- many of which are high on the record collector scum want-list, and go for ludicrous amounts of money. Then again, how many bands consider masturbation an instrument (courtesy of Gero 56 aka Tetsuya Endoh)? Maybe they're justified with their obsession in this case (?).

My fave has always been "Tokyo Anal Dynamite" (included here in full), which contains 75 (!) tracks, all of which are short blasts of noise (under a minute) prefaced with Juntaro's nod to the Ramones by screaming "1-2-3-4!!" between each "song." You'll be laughing yer ass off by about the 20th time he does it. Er... I do anyway.

This Collection Contains:
- Kitanomaru Hyakkei 7" EP
- Senzuri Champion LP
- Senzuri Monkey Metal Action 7" EP
- More Shit 7" EP
- Tokyo Anal Dynamite CD
= 338 Songs!!

In comments.


PRIMITIVE CALCULATORS - S/T (1979)

Make no mistake, the racket of the Primitive Calculators coulda spawned from only one place: the soulless, dreary confines of Sweet Home Suburbia. A place where, if you were a bored teenager in the mid-70's, solace could only be found in conspicuous consumption, heavily thumbed issues of Creem and the well-worn grooves of Velvet Underground, Godz and MC5 LP's. That outpost of gloom for the Primitive Calculators was Springvale, outside of Melbourne, Oz. With nothing more than the desire to Get The Fuck Out, they armed themselves with a Moserite Guitar, Wasp & Roland SH2 synthesizers (ie: primitive) and a Roland CR-78 drum machine.

I already gave y'all a taste of this combo a few posts down on the "Can't Stop It!" compilation (see "Broken Legs, Broken Face"), and this LP was their only official output during their brief existence (1978-82). If you dig Chrome (judging by the success of my "Chromosome Damage" triumvirate, I'd guess a lotta ya do, he says, checking his stats), Suicide or the Screamers, this is definitely up yer analog electro-skronk alley. Atonal and (still) futuristic, squawking one-note guitar riffs battle with the beeping and whirring din of dissonant keyboards and hyper-fast android thud. This is a far more challenging, not to mention rewarding listen than anything outta NYC's much ballyhooed No Wave scene-- and much less precious or irony-caked. And hey, any band that dedicates their longplayer to the Godz' Jim McCarty gets a special notation in my Cool Book.

In comments.