We’ve Made Such Advances

Like picking at a scab, I can’t seem to stop reading all about the extra-terrestrial trainwreck cult/religion known as the Raëlian Movement. Raël’s followers adhere to beliefs that are guiltlessly sex-positive and staunchly anti-death penalty, and while sorta naive, they don’t appear too overbearingly proselytizing, like those pesky Scientologists. Apparently, few things give em more pleasure than lying back, staring up into the night skies, and looking for signs that the space people are finally returning to live with us in balanced harmony here on Earth. What’s to worry about a little stargazing? Well . . .

For starters, there was the publicity stunt involving Eve The Clone Baby, to speak nothing of shysters allied with the Raelians like Clonaid. Then, there’s “rule by those with high-IQ scores” known as geniocracy, and the prickly matter of that darned swastika. However, their charismatic leader and prophet Raël not only had a close encounter that would make Whitley Strieber proud, but he’s a singer songwriter to boot – check out his ernest tribute to our otherworldly creators, “Elohim“. It’s an odd match not exactly made in heaven.

Raël aside . . . my musical interests have been charting similarly off-world orbits as of late. You know and love it as Space Rock. Things like NEKTAR’s Journey to the Centre of the Eye from 1971 (a vital but unheralded work upon which reams of intergalactic musical travel were lain), PSYCHIC TV’s Trip Reset from 1995 (Genesis P.’s last, great psychick stand while in exile in San Francisco) and HELIOS CREED’s On the Dark Side of the Sun from 2003 (even more inspired/tweaked than usual, and with better drumming). But I can also vouch for the fact that Space Rock, circa 2008, is as alive and creative as it’s ever been. The evidence:

1) THE LEGENDARY PINK DOTS – Plutonium Blonde (ROIR Records, 2008) Utilizes a wide array of disparate but effective elements: harsh electro-skreeee textures, dislocating shifts of NWW-like déjà vu, EMS Synthi keyboard figures straight off of late 70’s Tim Blake LPs, wistful Syd Barrettesque pop songs, and Edward Ka-Spel’s uncanny but biting lyrical incantations. As always with the DOTS, they weave moments of gorgeous, tranquil utopian bliss but never ever shy away from all the ugly Earthbound shit that makes outerspace seem such an attractive destination in 2008. It’s akin to dropping L and then stumbling around an urban financial district: yes colors/sounds/emotions do bleed seamlessly, but your thoughts can’t not preserver on the cold-blooded vibes from all the uptight, callous money-grubbers who’d trample you in a sec if they thought you were in the way of an almighty dollar. It’s a powerful statement they’ve made this time, and if we gotta have political leaders aboard the Mothership, I’m voting for DOTS. Sample it here.

2) FARFLUNG – A Wound In Eternity (MeteorCity, 2008) Disaster Amnesiac reminded me about these guys with this post, and now I can’t stop listening. Broadly speaking, there are two camps of post-HAWKWIND Space Rockers: those who wallow in the new agey, prog/ambient aspects of that band’s 80’s/90’s work, and those that swear solidly by the sub-SABBATHian riffing, earshattering volume, hairy eyeballs and gigantic boobs that defined their first half dozen recs. FARFLUNG fall squarely in the later camp, kicking up a heavy rock meteor shower that leaves thick ionization trails wherever it’s heard. Though that doesn’t mean FARFLUNG always set the controls on overdrive; they know how to ebb gracefully, flow gently, and then power back into full-throttle hyperspace at a moment’s notice. Can aliens get stoned? I’m told that if they do, they’ll start Lactating Purple – which is an appropriately HELIOScentric point of reference for this band. Check out their one-eyed sonic attack here.

3) SPIRITS BURNING & BRIDGET WISHART – Earth Born (Voiceprint, 2008) Ok so this one is gonna bum the hell outta all you unrepentant HC types out there. SPIRITS BURNING are an international “Space Rock collective” comprised of balding, tied-dyed babyboomers who you may/may not recognize from stints with MIKE OLDFIELD, HIGH TIDE, CITIZEN FISH, JEFFERSON STARSHIP, MOOCH and a gazillion other frizzyhaired, tekno-pagan bands you only hear about if you read Aural Innovations webzine regularly. They jam a kind mellow, groovy electronics-infused prog that, on a good day, updates the wiggy fusion of GONG into the 21st century in inspired fashion. On many other days, it can sound like the cloying background music you’re tortured by in Whole Food Supermarket whilst searching for foodstuffs that validate all your chickenshit “right living” middleclass aspirations.

For this rec Bridget Wishart has joined up, a woman who earned her wings singing with a GWR Records-era HAWKWIND, ca. 1990. Don’t ask me how, but her vocals & songs – the surprise grafting of zero-gravity Kendra Smith numbness onto winsome Kirsty MacColl adult-oriented galpop – make these studio concoctions way more appealing than my jaded descriptions do justice. As with the best Space Rock/Pop, here space becomes a not-so subtle metaphor for that beautiful interzone outside the narrow confines of nuclear family, workplace, & capitalist endeavour, where real freedom and happiness is again attainable. As a good friend-to-hippy, it doesn’t take much to get me floating right out there with em. The brave among you can check this out on iTunes here.

Butlins Heavy, Pt. II

Continuing on from my last post, I’m back to let you know who I thank and/or curse for ruining a little bit more of my precious hearing this past weekend at ATP’s Nightmare Before Christmas 2008. Off we go:

1) THE MELVINS 2008 – Just the best established heavy band on the planet today, period. And I got to see em play twice. While they may not have been the first punkers to get heavy, their endless explorations and permutations of the concept over the past 2+ decades continually blow minds wherever they are heard. Who else would be confident enough to adopt a new rhythm section – the BIG BUSINESS guys – who, on a good night, are capable of upstaging the original members 6 ways to Sunday? Only crazy Buzzo and Dale.

Live, THE MELVINS played most of their amazing new Nude With Boots CD, surely in my top 10 for this year and the best reimagination of LED ZEPPELIN I’ve heard in a decade. Buzzo’s always a commanding presence whether playing rhythm gtr, pealing vicious leads, or growling cryptic lyrics; Jared looked and played bass like Davey Crocket might’ve skinning a coon; and the masterfully tandem drumming of Coady and Dale linked songs into seamless chains and/or destroyed entire sections of the audience on a whim. It was glorious.

They ended the first set with a defiantly in-your-face a cappella(!) version of “The Star Spangled Banner” which, after the election and this kinda gig, gave us American ex-pats permission to again stand proud. On the second night they played completely insane versions of “My Generation” and “Boris the Spider” with Jared mumbling and crawling arachnid-like through the audience. Nuts! All this was capped off by Jared & Buzzo singing Merle Haggard’s “Okie from Muskogee,” which got me pondering just what other kinda ugly ornery beauty has helped shape the contorted wonder that is THE MELVINS.

2) ISIS – The RADIOHEAD of black metal, ISIS is a big deal these days and for no apparent reason. Fans talk of “climatic, shifting dynamics” and “cinematic tension and release” but all I hear is a bunch of control freaks trying desperately to flatten everything out into one smooth, highly-polished aural pancake. It was not only boring but maddening trying to figure out what the damn appeal is. They can’t write songs (any more than 1 or 2 chords would ruin the gloss), there are no distinctive players or voices (although one of em did chime like U2’s The Edge), and the deadly seriousness with which they approach the whole thing gets me thinking these dweebs need to away from their Playstations a bit more frequently. Hopefully ISIS stuck around to get schooled by the some of older acts over the weekend.

3) MASTODON – Wunderkinder in the latest phase of heavy, MASTODON hit incredibly hard and physically powerfully like HIGH ON FIRE accompanying NEUROSIS on a flaming chariot into cosmic battle. Unlike ISIS, these southern boys took some real chances: gtrist Bill Kelliher was sidelined by illness and so they went ahead and played as a 3-piece. Without the dual gtr harmonies, the THIN LIZZY influences exhibited on their records were largely absent, and the sound was left wide open to shed light on individual playing.

Singer/gtrist Brent Hinds played relentless, ever shifting circles of notes that worshipped at the feet of John McLaughlin, drummer Brann Dailor used distinctly jazzy flourishes to color what otherwise might’ve been straight thrash playing, and Troy Sanders filled the substantial space between with monolithic bass chords and his wispy beard. While their sound may have been forged by gods, it was hammered by fellas who obviously engaged life in human terms. We were impressed, lemme tell ya – and their cover of THE MELVINS “The Bit” (with ample help from Buzzo, Dale, and Coady) reminded everyone just who carried that hammer to Earth first.

4) THE BUTTHOLE SURFERS – Only caught about half their set, but I’ll make a stab anyway: Gibby was as misanthropic, self-obsessed, and offputting as I remember him from the Locus Abortion Technician tour in ‘87. I don’t care what Johnny Depp says, he’s a liability to the human race. But that don’t mean his band (esp. pinhead Paul Leary) aren’t still totally hot – they are, and have a uniquely skewed pop sensibility that spits out great songs as often as Gibby hollars abuse at the audience. Not sure what their confrontative abjection of yore is suppose to mean in 2008, but hopefully they’ll train their freak on new and wondrous musical activities in the near future.

5) THE LOCUST – Again only caught some of these guys, but they buzzed and freaked hella loudly around the periphery of my vision and hearing long after they’d left the stage. How does one describe the extremities trod here . . . Unitarded grindcore? Pigfuck electro-thrash? Powerviolent nerdprog? Mike Patton most definitely invited these guys, and for once I’m glad he did – so long as somebody made sure they reboarded their spaceship promptly afterward.

6) THE DAMNED – They started with alotta strikes against them: the sonics and lighting were very awkward, the keyboardist wasn’t plugged in for the first few songs, and the audience already pretty beat from the day’s hard rocking. Their challenge: how to follow a brain-crushing MELVINS set and win over a crowd of tired, heavy-loving longhairs with a sound that’s basically revved up, 60’s inspired party pop-rock. It wasn’t a match made in heaven, and alot of people didn’t understand what all the hubbub was about. But me, I watched keenly, moved in closer, smiled widely, and bounced evermore frantically through a rip-roaring set that included among others “Fan Club”, “Love Song”, “Dozien Girls”, “Under the Floor Again”, “Alone Again Or” and a gnarly take on “Smash It Up”.

Dave Vanian – once again sporting ghoul makeup – sang with a voice that gets stronger with every year you haven’t bothered listening. He’s now as clear and confident as a late 60’s Scott Walker, only he doesn’t forget how to laugh when he gets intense. Captain Sensible can’t move his neck too much these days but his licks were as wild, raw, and exciting as contenders half his age – his underappreciated talents still have the power to make the night skies burn with mystery and joy. Septuagenarian keyboardist Monty Oxy Moron both grounded and colored the songs when he wasn’t showing us how he pogoed back in ‘76. The rhythm section was less distinctive (Rat Scabies left some big shoes to fill) but still solid and able. Best of all the great new material – harkening back to Strawberries-era glories – had me searching vainly through the merch area for their just-released, killer So, Who’s Paranoid? CD.

Yep silly ol’ Captain got naked and mooned the audience at the end (go YouTube it), but that doesn’t change anything. THE DAMNED remain a totally vital rock n roll act into their 4th decade. Plus: they were the only band I heard who actually thanked THE MELVINS for the invite to play! We at PS Recon thank em too.

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Thanks to Nathan Wind as Cochise for the awesome photo of Buzzo

Butlins Heavy, Pt. I

ATP’s Nightmare Before Christmas 2008 at Butlins in Minehead: leave it to Mike Patton & THE MELVINS to curate what had to be the most unorthodox ATP festival the UK has yet witnessed.

For once, heavy was well represented – not by mainline metallers, but rather by that odd/difficult end of beard-swinging hessians who visibly irked the SLAYER fans I had the pleasure of standing next to one evening. Also, there was a dearth of trad indie acts on parade, and the indie-aligned who did show up – THE BLACK HEART PROCESSION, SQUAREPUSHER, maybe BOSS HOG – were relegated to afterhours/second stage action. This must’ve bummed the skinny sweater contingent something fierce. And then: there were all manner of wha-the-fuh picks in the mix (JUNIOR BROWN, VOCAL SAMPLING, THE LABEQUE SISTERS . . .) getting everyone to scratch their heads at least a couple times over the weekend. Clearly, contrary is a musical esthetic that Mike and Buzzo both wallow in. And wallow we did.

But it was a fucking great weekend all the same. As I saw so many good bands, this post’ll haveta continue into another post next week. But let’s get started with a rundown of some of the hallowed ones who really sought fit to screw a nut straight into my headstock:

1) THE MELVINS 1983 – I just fucking love that these pillars of Modern Stoner/Sludge still stand proudly by their punker roots. This reconfigured lineup sought to recreate the very earliest MELVINS stirrings, and though they couldn’t lure Matt Lukin outta bass retirement, that didn’t bum their death trip one iota. Their songs at this point had a rapid, multichord gunfire attack I most associate with the GERMS (GI) rec, and at least one set of lyrics was about yr welfare running out – which really dated things. I mean c’mon: is welfare even part of the English language in Bush Jr. Amerikkka? Even when they slowed the beat down, it was in a gnarly slowcore vein that got me thinking D.I. doing “Richard Hung Himself” rather than anything SABBATHoid. A great little history lesson into the house that Buzzo built, and I bet it spun heads other than mine too.

2) TEENAGE JESUS & THE JERKS – Odd tableau vivant of long gone, late 70’s Lower East Side anticulture. James Sclavunos reinacted Bradley Field’s monomaniacal stare & snare, Lydia the 40-something Polish matron reinacted Lydia the mad teen runaway, and Thurston Moore made sure the bass sounded exactly like what he loves about their original 45s. They did every song they knew, and one twice (“when you’re this ugly you better be perfect”) and the set lasted 20 minutes. I dug every moment of it, but that’s what I say every time I come in contact with Lydia in a live setting. Hey: when’s she gonna corral THE WEIRDOS into revisiting that bitchen 13.13 LP with her?

3) THE MEAT PUPPETS – Had that couldn’t-give-a-fuck confidence that comes with knowing you’ve honed your thing to a sharp knife edge, these guys were a breath of fresh air at the end of long day of relentless rockin’. Oh man does Cris Kirkwood look to’ up and it’s no secret he ain’t much in the way of a bass player no more. But he was there at the beginning, his voice still sounds sweet, and it’s a brother thing I suppose. Anyway Curt is so fucking good at flatpickin’ they all can just ride on his coattails. I don’t actually own too many Pups recs, but I recognized most of the tunes: “Touchdown King”, “Plateau”, “Up On the Sun”, and a great and soaring rendition of “Look at the Rain” that had me grinning ear to ear. As I was really burnt by this point and some fool kept spilling his beer on me, I skipped out before the end. But what I witnessed was powerful enough to get me planning to explore all those Cobain-era records I’ve never bothered with.

4) JAMES BLOOD ULMER – Just James, sitting front and center in a suit, ringing out all alone with his voice and gtr. He strummed open tuned blues while simultaneously hammering-on lead jazzy lines/notes in true harmolodic fashion. The stuff from his recent Bad Blood In the City CD sounded especially powerful, separated entirely as it was from the annoying pro/tech impulses of producer Vernon LIVING COLOUR Reid. James is as deeply rooted as John Lee Hooker but somehow sounds futureforward and freewheeling all the same. Check out his great solo Birthright CD from 2005 for a taste of similar magic; by all means see him shred live while he still walks the earth.

5) FANTOMAS – I watched this performance with a bunch of very sweet but oh-so clueless Mike P. fans (“he’s so cute”). And like FAITH NO MORE and MR. BUNGLE before them, FANTOMAS was nuthin by a monumentally loud, complicated waste of my time. Yes they can stop on a dime, but so can MY SHITS, and that’s not a pleasurable sensation no how. Eggheads may love the near superhuman athletic ability it takes to perform such music, but I can’t ignore the ever-annoying presence of Patton’s pipes and ego. Anybody got any ideas how we can keep him away from the mic for good?

6) BIG BUSINESS – Bassist Jared Warren performed with an unassuming earthiness that reminded me of Mike Watt, and in tandem with drummer Coady Willis’ whirlwind Neil Peartisms I almost believed I was watching GONE tear it up after Ginn had stepped out back to smoke a fatty. Some guy named Dale Crover eventually stepped up to sling gtr over the top of their din, but honestly: this rhythm section woulda made anyone sound angelic. Somewhat expectedly, straighter-laced heads in the audience couldn’t seem to comprehend the depth of beauty unfolding right in front of them, but the seeds were planted. Fruit will follow, you’ll see.

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Shit I didn’t even get around to ranting about ISIS, MASTODON, THE BUTTHOLE SURFERS, THE DAMNED, or THE MELVINS 2008. Check back in a couple/3/4 days or so for Pt. II . . .

Thanks to curiouslypersistent for the nicely blurry ATP photo

The Hangover After The Nightmare Before Christmas

Just stumbled in from a very long weekend in Minehead, Somerset for ATP’s Nightmare Before Christmas 2008, as curated by Mike Patton & THE MELVINS. And man, am I beat. Got soooo much gushing praise for the ignoble ones called THE MELVINS – not to mention MASTODON and JAMES BLOOD ULMER and THE DAMNED and . . . yeah ya just might have to come by and entice with a six pack to hear all about it. Do expect to read a summary of the weekend’s highlights here at PS Recon in the not-to-distant future.

For now, get a load of the handdrawn caricature of Yours Truly morphing into Henry Rollins fronting BLACK FLAG, ca. 1984. Noted SST Records-loving artist Brian Walsby of DOUBLE NEGATIVE drew this of me in no time flat as I checked out his merch table. It’s no doubt the closest I’ll ever get to actually rockin’ with Ginn, and my wife says Brain nailed my shit-eating grin perfectly.

There is a Greater Blackness

With doomsday scenarios giving shape to all your kids’ Playstation gameage, eco-collapse looming down every aisle of your local green grocer, and very real signs of global financial collapse damn near everywhere else, it’s a stumper why more startlingly-bleak writers such as Thomas Ligotti haven’t bobbed up through the murk as of late. I, for one, could use more of his brand of black-hole plummet fiction. Ligotti’s creepy meditations on nothingness act as vindication to those of us who know THE BIG FEAR all too well. And I’m guessing more of us then let on know a little something about THE BIG FEAR. He’s got a great, new-to-paperback anthology out entitled Teatro Grottesco (Virgin Books, 2008), in which he spins a series of yarns that dig deeper into the worrying, gnostic nature of cosmic nonsense than anyone in their right mind ought to.

But it’s Ligotti’s Crampton book + CD from a few years back, co-written with Brandon Trenz, that for me stands as the real contender in the apocalyptic fantasy sweepstakes of the new millennium. Apparently this work began life as an X-Files teleplay (would be curious to hear just what the network slushpile hacks made of this!), eventually morphing into a Scully/Muldor-less narrative that David Tibet’s Durtro Press – god bless ‘em – published in 2003. It’s still a teleplay, which only adds a extra level of disturbing confusion to the cosmically paranoid prose that is Ligotti’s trademark.

Beginning as a fairly straightforward detective narrative, our fearless protagonists quickly find themselves sliding off the roadmap and in to that horribly unspeakable place we all know exists, but few dare to tell of. You know: that place where ventriloquist dummies eye you just a little too closely, waitresses in out-of-the-way diners know what you’re gonna say before you even think it, and clowns in tricolor wigs make you the butt of maddening practical jokes that are just not funny. And then as you feel you might be able to at least get oriented, he yanks the damn rug away, leaving you suspended Wile E. Coyote-like for a spilt second above the biggest, blackest hungry mouth you never got a chance to feed. Yeah Crampton is that place where even someone like dumb George W. is a mere pawn in a bigger, more twisted game, a game that makes even less sense than the one we’re all caught in now.

And what could top this madness, but an accompanying CD entitled The Unholy City of musically-driven “dream texts”, all which swirl associatively around the very same horrific obsessions! The 6 cuts found therein – spoken prose pieces backed by darkly repetitive, guitar-based soundtracks inspired by THE SHADOWS and SANTO & JOHNNY- were created entirely by Ligotti himself in his home studio in Bunghole, America. Here our maestro comes to life like the midwestern-born twin of Boyd Rice you also guessed he was. I find myself returning to these recordings for reassurance-in-reverse whenever I’m feeling utterly subsumed by THE BIG FEAR. Which is not infrequently.

Do read Ligotti my friends. Then pray the doll ambling across your bedroom floor didn’t just wink at you.

THOMAS LIGOTTI – “You Do Not Own Your Head” (Durtro Press, 2003)