I can just hear the collective sigh of you three regular readers to these eye aching missives when I say that this is just a short one following our back from the grave blow out last time out. As promised we are going to try and make these weekly affairs or at the very least fortnightly forays into record world. All said in typical rush of blood to the head fashion the next missive will in fact emerge tooled up and ready to kick in a day or two.
At this juncture can I ask that those of you who have me on your mailing list for whatever reason – can you please update your records as soon as – it seems that Losing Today has been pulled and canned and essentially doesn’t exist on the inter-web – its as though it never existed. Which all said and done brings in to sharp focus two concerning issues – no emails and the fact that I’ve lost over 12 years of reviews given that the singled out slot which ran for over 300 plus missives is kaput. Now I’m not going to get into slanging match on this forum, lest to say that I’m deeply disappointed in what amounts to a shoddy affair wherein certain persons at Losing Today didn‘t have the decency to warn me of such actions. Therefore can I request that you recheck the email your holding and update if need be to email@example.com – as ever I’m still at –
71 Pennsylvania Road, LIVERPOOL, L13 9BA, UK
And can be contacted via www.facebook.com/thesundayexperience where you’ll stumble across updates and various listening treats. Apologies for the inconvenience and believe you me this venting of anger will I suspect continue to run. .
And so with the grumbles done with…our listening habits for the last few weeks….
Just out via Quiet World is a new long playing platter from Mathew Shaw who many of you with long memories might recall edged his head above the surface and appeared on our radar in one of our – currently missing in action singled out missives – some year or so ago. Usually found paired up with Brian Lavelle as Fougou or Andrew Paine as Blue Tree, Dorset based Shaw when left to his own devices crafts out elegantly chilled atmospheric suites informed by the land structures and the natural surroundings viewed from his sonic bunker in Poole. Recorded solely at the sandbanks peninsular at Poole, his latest opus ’sandbanks’ exquisitely captures the stilled serene solitude and the silent sigh of this prehistoric landscape, cutting beneath the man made structures, Shaw taps into the regions very heart and psyche translating its lasting timeless awe into a deeply mesmeric symphonia that soothes and soars with wave like finality all the time caressed and cooed by a ghostly framing of rippling ambient choruses presaged and preserved into would be photographic stills here captured and replayed in a dimpling of field recordings. Immense.
Those savvy enough to have gotten their name on the fruits de mer mailing list will have by now received in the post a treat of some measure with the arrival on door mats of a superb double disc set entitled ‘the crabs sell out’ / ‘the crabs freak out’. a gathering of talent emerging from the ever extending fruits de mer family. Not your slack happy filler frolic, no siree – rather more a tasty and bolt tight cornucopia of psyched out gems and progged to the eyes nuggets spread across a mind melting 2 and a half hours.
Familiar and not so familiar clued in cadets swirl, swoon and shimmer from out of the grooves. This freebie compilation – yes you read right – free, gratis for nowt is a bench marking line in the sand as to how to cobble together a compilation, featuring rare re-edits, lost gems, exclusives from the likes of the Legendary Pretty Things, Bevis frond and the Chemistry Set as well as giving a brief showcasing of the talent penciled in to appear on the labels catalogue this year. ‘the crabs sell out’ comprises of seventeen psyched out sorties with the set opening with the past tense and their self titled theme tune – this cosmic blues bruiser that for all the world sounds like its been powered by a DC engine hitherto mainlines on the tail smoke of Alien Ballroom’s recent opus in terms of reference markers albeit as though docking along the way of its galactic voyage at refuelling points manned by Alphastone and Faust all dashed and dinked in a head drilling Hawkwind like haloing. Its been a fair old while since we spotted Stay on the stereophonic system – ’super heavy soul mammoth explosion remix’ is just what the good mind doctor ordered, sharing a sonic DNA with the aforementioned past tense cut, this baby comes spiked and garnished in a deliciously hazy arabesque motif that swoons and swirls atop a driving hip shimmying psyche grooving
Absolutely far out – drive time transcendentalism if you must. Adorned in all manner of 60’s threads and found freebasing on a darkening blend of brooding psych goo ’lost is found’ finds itself culled from the forthcoming platter from the hugely rated Sky Picnic, presaged upon a snake winding motif and graced and groomed in all manner of hypnotic wooziness this wasted and freakish 60’s reprobate comes across like a super skinned up Jefferson Airplane. Those fancying something a little more in the vein of a shit faced Marc Bolan under Syd Barrett mind control ought to fast track yourselves to the glam grizzled ‘occupy divide’ here served up by Anton Barbeau – a super psyched sortie that cools and coalesces with the kind of schizoid and fractured cool of Paul Roland which for those unaware of these things essentially means it’s the dogs danders.
Talking of Mr Roland, the man himself appears further along the grooves bringing with him ’Adam Adamant’ – fear not – not quite a homage to the band aid buccaneer who set siege to the pop charts in the early 80’s but rather more a celebratory nod to the swashbuckling doyen of aristocratic cool from 60’s TV folklore, a sadly short lived series peeled from a creative collective who’d sanctioned both Dr Who and the Avengers – the hero an Edwardian dandy frozen in time and thawed out in a swinging 60’s setting, all your hallmark action accouterments in place – a nemesis, a betrayed love, a hero lost and out of time and a story line bordering on the genius and ludicrous – here resuscitated by Roland whose typically eccentric English psych mastery brings to life to instill a sense of mystery, mirth and magic to the proceedings as it stalks and saunters in shadowy type peek a boo fashion. Next up the seventh ring of Saturn opt for spot of mind altering mosaics that blissfully kiss a lysergic sky dappled and dream washed in Beatles, Robyn Hitchcock and a super chilled Floyd essences for their gorgeously lazy eyed and out there ’pillsbury palace’. long admired around these here parts Nick Saloman or to give him his more recognised nom de plume – the bevis frond – has been spiking our stereo for more years than I care to remember, recently returning to the fray after a long period of self imposed exile the acclaimed stoned out ‘the leaving of London’ was a stunning sonic serving blending stoned out freak licks with folk ballads, ‘not quite home’ follows in a similar vein to the quieter aspects of that set, introspective and self revelatory, it reveals an unresolved vulnerability and the same kind of personal sensitivity that ghosted through the matrix of his ’London’album – the healing process crowned and caressed in rustic hues and dappled in a freedom that smoulders with breezy abandonment. Recently eyed on that rather spiffing ‘the man with the bio chopper’ set, Jack Elister drops the altering states tab ‘Great Esmeralda’ – a glorious overload of colours, sensations, imagery and generic twists subsumed into a pristinely head expanding pure pocket psych pop symphony mushroomed and shoehorned into a sub 4 minute hallucinogenic stew – disorientating stuff. Mentioned this in passing last missive out and again later on because we’ve got hot off the presses promos of their new single – ‘are you wool toned’ by Rob Clarke and the Wool Tones starts out with a spot of ‘phoenix nights’ chicanery before blistering and blossoming into a succulent slab of sunshine smoked 60’s groove that kisses and chimes like a buzz sawing Hamburg era Beatles shimmying up to a jangle happy Byrds which all said should have those of you much loving of the .Wicked Whispers all a swooning in the aisles.
In our humbled opinion this next lot are yet to put a foot wrong – prized from a session tape recorded in 2009 for the much admired dandelion radio The lucid Dream just exude cool, ‘hits me like I’m stoned’ is sedately smoked in the kind of bliss kissed dreamy narcotic psych pop much ventured on the kind of platters that names like Spacemen 3 and Cheval Sombre adorn that said once the blissy mists clear it’s a head down all out cosmic freak out until the groove end – stoned out seduction in short. Absolutely gem like is all I’ll say about King Penguin’s ’cedar hill’ except to add that through the smoke scarred wasteland a head bowed slab of haunting and hollowing shimmer toned country rock emerges ushered in by the ghosts of Clark and Cash on its shoulder. Those much admiring the works of explosions in the sky and the workhouse and the like may well fall hopelessly headlong into the post rock-ian atmos pop of Johnny Vines’ utterly humbling ‘American mourning’ – all at once panoramic and stratospheric, divinely hurting – like a head bowed bruised and bloodied Floyd. I wad about to say that the opening sequence of the next cut – incidentally titled ‘drifting away’ reminded me of Soft Hearted Scientists until I realised it was them, call it a curse or view it as something to be proud of but such is their unique song craft that these unsung heroes nay purveyors of pastoral psych have over the years carved themselves something of a niche in terms of style, sound and imagery. Inspired by passing glances to Barrett, Davies and Innes, there’s a quintessentially charmed old English eccentricity attaching to SHS, out of time, out of fashion and no doubt out of their minds, their acute appreciation of tuneful timeless pageantry and that impish sense of mischievously putting the listener constantly on a back foot draws a mind sharing parallel to the much missed Vivian Stanshall. A new album is set for self release later this year while FdM will be issuing forth to a unbeknownst audience a double disc sonic soiree of songs past, present and future which should in some way pass as an introduction to this most waywardly weird and wired of talents – for now ’drifting away’ – previously unreleased and barking, manages in its finite duration to deliver a love ode to a willow tree in the kind of bizarre union of mayday merriment, kaleidoscopic kisses and oddball opera that would make Circulus green at the gills. Those preferring their sounds somewhat daubes in Cambridge folk pastels and clipped in a heart heavy ghostly reflection much recalling an autumnally aching Simon and Garfunkel will do well to visit Leigh Gregory’s touching ’Eleanor’ while one time Dandelion imprint star Beau or Chris Midgley as he’s better known to the tax man graces the grooves with something of a lost gem from the early 80’s, ’poor old thing’ is a homely slice of rustic mourn that tackles the realisation of mortality, and what might first appear such a depressing concept is cheered by a loveably upbeat ’ah well’ what will be casualness. One of the moments of the ’crabs’ set is permanent clear light’s clearly shit faced ’tutsie fruitsie ice cream man’ – a live improvised studio take recorded in an admittedly drunken stupor, man they sound wasted but bitching all the same, a growling blues brute that imagines Beefheart in a fist fight with Waters. Rounding off CD1 the mighty Pretty Things with a killer cool live take from the 100 club in 2010 of the classic ’Rosalyn’ here nailed down in an up yours and tight as a gnat’s back passage booming blues drill – Stones eat your heart out.
‘the crabs freak out’ gathers together another 15 purveyors of the sonic arts, the set opens with something of a curio from the legendary Chemistry Set. ’concert intro’ is just it says on the tin lid, appearing at the Razzmatazz club in Barcelona early last year this little lovely was premiered as a backdrop marking the arrival to stage of the band, went down so well that they’ve included it here. This ambi-psych gem comes caressed in wonderment and steeled in magic ornate tip toeing key pirouettes chime hypnotically unfurling and gathering depth and dimension until blossoming into a beat driven dream coat that along the way terra-forms into a swirling haze of cosmic ice cream van overtures – blissfully beautiful. Next up Vespero who for those with ever shortening memories appeared here in the last missive as part of an absolutely must have split set with temple music wherein they covered Faust’s ’jennifer’. hailing from Russia this lot have been on the watch list of the more in tuned cognoscenti for some years having released a plethora of quietly acclaimed full lengths, taking the Floyd / Vangelis and the whole prog / space rock template as were onto the next evolutionary stage, adept at blending genres their craft is second to none in that it fuses classical, soundtrack, ambient, space, psych, post everything – such is their adept ability of blurring the lines that they have more in common with the 90’s trance scene than the 70’s prog era – ’another strangest thing in the ocean’ is a dream drifting slice of mind melting out there mesmeric groove that taps succinctly into a sonic sphere that imagines a stoned out ozric tentacles sharing studio space with a blessed out Porcupine Tree – nuff said our kid. Strut grooved stoner gouging is the order of the day for the Hawkwind obsessing cosmic overlords Red Elektra 69 on their black hole veering rock a boogie ’ride into the stars’.
Needing no introductions Vibravoid are pretty much in a class of their own – ’random generated future’ is a Hammond soaked slab of cool kaleidoscopic fuzz pop – ultra vivid scene anyone. Culled from live tapes recorded at the – er – growler rally – the impenetrable drone drilled white out that is ’cube abuse’ by Vert : X was written as a tribute to Neu’s Kaus Dinger, a heads down kiss arse slab of bearded beatnik cosmic blues boogie which unless my ears do deceive ought in the first instance appeal to those who voyage upon the monolithic mothership that is Mugstar. Prized from volume 2 of their ’butterfly revolutions’ set, Chicago’s premier psych purveyors the luck of eden hall go all woozy and wasted on the trip-a-delic ’a drop in the ocean’ – a truly mind fracturing experience with every thing dissolving and dissipating into seas of disorientation – in truth the closest you’ll come to being out there without the comedown. Equally frazzled is Sendelica’s ’space hopper blues’ – a jarring primordial cosmic jam with an obvious eye on Hendrix – be warned will melt heads. Been ages since we heard anything from Anla Courtis who when he last appeared in these pages on FdM’s ball dropping ‘head music’ set wherein a rather inspired re-reading of Kraftwerk’s ‘trans europe express’ was heard – we must admit to owning up to a embarrassing moment wherein our pain in the backside spell checker went on auto pilot and decided to name change Anla to the less attractive Anal. So with that pricking the conscience moment out of the bag lets proceed – we first hit upon Anla Courtis not through FdM but via the much loved and sadly much missed of late Beta Lactam Ring imprint, seems Mr Courtis has been peppering the headphones of the more attuned for nearly twenty years amassing along the way a formidable back catalogue via outings for blackest rainbow, RRR, American Tapes and digital narcis to name just a small select few – arriving here with an exclusive unreleased cut in tow – ’helice de Sauco’ is sumptuously carved in a stilled finger picked craftsmanship whose dry arid sedate wilderness recalls at once the delta blues of John Fahey and Jack Rose – quite classy if you ask me which of course you probably weren’t.
Also mentioned last time out in brief passing were Earthling Society who have a new full length entitled ‘Zodiak’ currently looming in record world which I heartily recommend you seek out at your most earliest convenience and in return we’ll dig out our download copy and have it praised, adored and lovingly commented upon in time for the next missive (in truth we forgot about it). Anyhow they stump up ’in the garden’ a mushrooming mosaic that finds the Earthling ones in frivolous mood, apparently as they put it in the liner notes ’a mantra to rise the kundalini serpent from the mulahadra chakra with the aid of 4 valium and 7 pints of nutty slack’ – as apt a description you’ll get to describe the unbridled carnival unfolding within, a true fringe flicker that finds the Earthling dudes leaving their galactic mother ship on the blocks instead skipping playfully on a mind weaving trip that involves at points a woozy yellow brick road where knee slapping medieval merriment occasions albeit as though refracted through the telling third eye of the Elephant 6 collective, light headed rustic follies, sitars, flutes, lutes and the occasional out there transmission – quite barking in a Bonzos on bad acid type way if you ask me.
Temple music you’ll recall from that mighty fine and aforementioned split outing with Vespero wherein they totally re-skinned the Hollies ’pegusus’ in a most alluring and beguiling fashion which on reflection we’ll just say needs to be heard to be believed – here servicing this set with ’big old sun’ – a woody and woozy slice of recycling drift pop which had us recalling ’mirrors’ era flying saucer attack all said. Afforded two bites Helicon drop by briefly for a swift gulp of cosmic tea and a portion of moon rock scone before departing like ghostly apparitions back into the ether though not before leaving as a parting gift to sweetly disarming slices of lullaby-esque star gazing in the guise of ‘introduction to an interlude’ and ‘pollen’ – breaching the ticker tape at 46 and 41 seconds respectively this brace of reprises arrive culled from their ‘suburban decay’ opus which incidentally you can find at http://heliconglasgow.bandcamp.com/ of which first listening impressions would suggest you re-tune to immediately and crank your dials to 12 and lose yourself in the bliss kissed dream pop loveliness of ‘truth or consequence’.
Think I’ve commented previously that Hills have Rifs is such a killer name – anyhow basically a one man operation by all accounts that man being DCW Briggs who on ‘remembering’ crafts a spacious beauty that somehow manages to join the dots between that man John Fahey – again – and Bardo Pond in more mellowed moods – there’s a band camp set entitled ‘wyndham fauna’ that deserves immediate inspection via http://hillshaveriffs.bandcamp.com/ .
Forced to choose our favourite moment of this second CD we’d be inclined to throw our hand in with language of light whose eerily dark and foreboding ‘Nancy’s song to psyche’ initially appearing on the gray field recordings set ‘hypnagogia’ via reverb worship wherein it was known as ‘Nancy’s song to Charlie’ – this version sees the original re-tolled and evermore sinister in presentation – there’s a beautiful bleakness that attaches to this ominous cut, whispered vocals, drone drizzled passages, murder-esque noir bleaches, frequency manipulations and a chilled to the core iciness which recalls or at least imagines a particularly youthful and willful Add N to X consorting with White Noise to craft some ghostly horror-phonic recital. Stunning in short. Which I’m afraid leaves the lonesome lunar lilts of Palace of Swords to wrap up matters and grace the proceedings with an adorably etched cosmic carnival via ‘the castle spectre’. Now that’s what I call music.
Mentioned a second or so ago language of light nee the gray field recordings have a showcasing sound player where you can sample their wares – including the aforementioned ‘Nancy’s song to Charlie’ – utterly heartbreaking and softly seductive in a noir scratched dream dinked way – anyway the link is at http://www.grayfieldrecordings.com/disco.php
And while we are all still lost in the psych haze of FdM’s quite wonderful ‘the cabs sell / freak out’ set here’s a little more musical mind bending this time from Moonwood who for those not quite up to speed is known to kith and kin as Jakob Rehlinger whose wares we’ve featured in these pages previously – apologies though because we can’t provide a link because some wit at losing today has pulled and canned the site. Grumbles aside and swiftly moving on. I’m sure we owe Jakob a review because in the mists that pass for memory I’m sure he emailed download links a few months ago to his then latest outing – so again apologies Mr Rehlinger for the scurrilous oversight. That said a message flashed up on face book announcing a new track by the name of ‘trans martian express’ – an obvious homage we thought to Kraftwerk – well not quite – think upon it as a gathering of talents – a quick name check revealing such legendary souls as Vangelis, Goblin, Carpenter, tangerine dream, Moroder and Space as in Space the French electronic popsters and not the Scouse beat pop combo of the same name. Now imagine said crowd locked in a studio with the task of crafting a humungous hypnotic head-phonic trip with a barely brief remit scribbled on a piece of paper simply stating ’terminator disco’. I’m guessing that once the arguments and the bickering subsided then after an evening nailing said template to the mast that this sprawling cosmic cruiser would be the end result. In recent memory up there with that outing by cloudland canyon for trenSmat and stealing a glance or two at Zombi. Prized from an ultra limited cassette only release through the pleasance imprint of which there are only 50 copies, ’trans martian express’ marks a seismic shift in style and sound for Moonwood, once noted for his eerie folk mantras, this new creative voyage takes him far out into the krautrock nebula. Mind bending stuff. http://pleasencerecords.com/releases/trans-martian-express – for more moonwood go to http://moonwood.bandcamp.com/ while a video show of said track looks a lot like this……
I’m suspecting I’ve mislaid a few releases kindly sent to us by the bearsuit imprint all of which we’ll do our damnedest to track down and brought to your attention / affection hopefully in time for the next missive. For now though this utterly divine thing is being aired by way of heralding a forthcoming set by Harold Nono and n-qia who collectively go under the moniker Haq – confused – indeed sit down and join the club. Now I swear I’ve heard this cut in passing somewhere else and not recently either I hasten to add for ‘bees in my feet’ – incidentally prised from the forthcoming ‘nocturnals’ full length – is a demurring slow slice of noir stained seduction whose sophisticat prowess and sumptuously crafted tapestry tingles and turns with an after lights out allure that was once the purred playground of the much missed Musetta – sound cloud link – https://soundcloud.com/harold-nono/bees-in-my-feet
More n-qia should you need it – and believe me when I say you do – can be found here – we suggest you hook up to ‘cuckoo song’ which through its lo-fi toy box playfulness has something of the tigerbeat6 collective in a face off with Takako Minekawa – https://soundcloud.com/n-qia
And as we were mentioning them a little while back word reaches us that the Earthling Society have two new cuts showcased on the latest offering from the cold spring imprint. ‘hail be you sovereigns, lief and dear’ be its name – a hulking two disc affair gathering together the finest purveyors of ‘dark British folk’ – where off to try and nab a copy for review though not before casting a quick ear over the three excerpts showcased on the labels website. First up ‘the lonely willow’ by the Elder Tree comes magically moored on the bewitched brew of the Summerisles albeit hand rolled in an archaic tongue shared by Men At Tol dolling out death rattled folk shanties. Alas Mary Jane’s ’wherever she goes’ sadly dips out of view before it gets a chance to get into full flow that said there’s enough here to detect elements of the extended Waterson – McCarthy family at work here not to mention much to appeal the inquisitive earlobes of the rif mountain / owl service collective. Best of the three ’ancient trees and fractured spines’ by thornland is a strangely curious affair, on the strength of this cut alone it hints at a sonic space shared with the soft hearted scientists – airy pastoral motifs greet its entrance all presaged by the onset of ominous recitals almost Gregorian chant like on first hearing. As to the rest of the set – expect cuts from hills have riffs, the rowan amber mill, colossloth, fox pockets, the hare and the moon, head the thunder and many more besides. http://coldspring.co.uk/discography/csr178cd/#.UPM87idFWAh
Those among you preferring your sounds a little outside the more recognised sonic spheres and ever deepening into the realms of the out there and avant-garde may be well advised to scour sympathetic record emporiums and trusted online outlets in order to bag yourself a copy of ‘night litter’. Limited to just 35 copies the latest slice of experimental shrapnel to escape the red light sound bunker is a daunting and deeply ominous set that sees roadside picnic pairing up with ex-Cindytalk man John Byrne. Of course Roadside Picnic should be no strangers in these pages, an as were genre bending sound art vehicle for dream of tall buildings’ Justin Wiggin whose releases invariably arrive and disappear in quick time in ultra limited runs and often accompanied if not with cryptic descriptions then with no information at all. This outing incidentally described by the label as ‘primo dark ambient electronics from the UK’ finds Wiggan locking sonic horns with Byrne himself one of the leading lights in the craft of sound fracturing. As said available as a ridiculously limited cassette and digital download – see links below – just one elongated suite that clocks in at a chilling 34 minutes in duration, be warned that this ought to be viewed in daylight and is not for consumption at your weekend with the family high tea soirees not unless of course your kith and kin happen to be chainsaw wielding cranks whose idea of palette purring pop happens to consist of a Scotch tapes back catalogue that pic n’ mixes its way through such warped ear candy treats as my cell phone is better than your cell phone and endometrium cuntplow – whatever happened to Scotch tapes we wonder and weep. ‘night litter’ occupies similar terrains as encountered by a youthful pimmon in his formative years, steel cold drone tides clipped in reverberating layers of dense low end manipulations, cyclical pulsars and silvered shimmers unite and coalesce to craft a somewhat hypnotic head space show possessed of the kind of slow burn subterranic transcendentalism seen more often than not on releases bearing the name Astral Social Club upon its hide, agreed its heavy going in the opening passages sounding not unlike extra terrestrial tongues reaching out to communicate through the ether or else the inner working of a galactic mother ship at rest. And while the overall texture and spirit might freewheel close to environs readily prefaced by the darker elements of a carefully picked apart tigerbeat6 roster back catalogue upon repeat listens what might easily pass for a somber stricken funeral haloing of dread and despair soon manifests in shape shifting fashion – once your listening radar has adjusted and attuned itself that is – into a mesmerising psychotropic cosmic firework flotilla and hitherto ought ultimately to have those of you much admiring of the more textured and slow to unfurl ambient passages of the at war with false noise imprint chomping at the bit. http://redlightsoundrecords.bandcamp.com/
Of course there’ll be more roadside picnic peculiars later in this missive though looming in the near distance and well worth noting on your calendars and diaries there’ll be a face off with the Italo noise legend Maurizio Bianchi entitled ’the mind is an ancient capital’.
Must admit that I’ve kind of lost touch with what’s hip and happening in the too pure universe so its comes as a welcome surprise to find that their 7 inch singles club catalogue for 2013 opens in a truly unruly manner with a ball dropping twin-set from The Beard of Wolves. ‘Wet mouth’ is a speaker melting slab of bad assed wax waywardness – at once uncouth, frantic, frenetic, dirty as f**k, rampant and rabid it explores the joys of er….well we’ll leave that for you to discover given there might be impressionable youngsters around – an absolute killer slab of bad boogie drilled to the kind of garage grizzled groove that once adorned platters punching their way out of the death pop imprint. Over on the flip ‘dead heart’ is an all together differing beast which amid its blister kissed squall a wiring paranoia exacts itself with an alarmingly attractive post punked schizophrenic friction which howls with punitive derision. Quite essential – need I say more.
Long been promising the emergence of this platter in these pages, the first of two releases to feature the exquisitely eclectic talent that is Paul Roland who has resurfaced after a period of hibernation with a brace of outings, the first being ‘in memoriam 1980 – 2010’ an absolute must have double disc set showcasing a select dip into his extensive back catalogue all augmented by exhaustive self penned liner notes – which we’ll run the critical thumb rule over in a forthcoming missive – and why wait till the next missive you might rightly puzzle and question – well we wouldn’t want to spoil you too much given that we’ve snared a copy of his latest opus – ’Bates Motel’. Due for release next month the origins of ’Bates Motel’ have a long and near forgotten back history. Its skeletal sketching stretches back to a time following Mr Roland having the great fortune of interviewing Velvet Underground’s Sterling Morrison, Nico and Mo Tucker. So relaxed was the chat that Mr Roland chanced his hand and enquired whether they’d all consider collaborating on recordings. With the reply coming in the affirmative, Mr Roland set about setting ideas to tape and in a pre internet file sharing era cassette reels where shipped across the big pond, alas due to technical issues mainly born of the different recording mediums at use at the time. After months of frustration on behalf of both parties the plans slowly simmered and eventually got shelved following the deaths of Morrison and Nico. That is until now. Rummaging around the vaults Mr Roland stumbled upon the recordings and set to work putting the top coat to the project finishing off those cuts that still remained in their embryonic stage and nailing down fast those that were completed. Clearly stressed on the press notes – ‘bates motel’ is in no way to be viewed as Paul Roland imitating the Velvet Underground as the man himself clearly says ‘that would be pointless’ what emerges instead is a 15 track set that sees the man once daubed by Robyn Hitchcock as the ‘male Kate Bush’ deploying his ever widening sonic spectrum to pristine effect, amid this magical and macabre musicalia Mr Roland opens up his musical bag of curiosities and applies his mercurial alchemy to the grooves. Sharing the same quintessential eccentric headspace that has marked out the likes of Barrett, Hitchcock, tv personalities, XTC and Genesis P. Orrridge to name but five, Roland is an aural curator of sorts picking, preserving and finitely tuning a heritage steeped in English peculiar – as though stepping from the pages of the Strand, Roland fuses a multi-layered tapestry peppered and reared upon Hammer horror, Edward Lear, Edgar Allen Poe, Alistair Crowley and cult 60’s TV all of which usher and flicker in and out of his universe, elements of baroque, Victoriana music hall, psych and dastardly death shanties shadow line his portraits endowing them with a pathological darkening that’s impressed with humour, tongue in cheek turns of phrase and a sense of mystery and magic. Upon this set you’ll encounter the fracturing and fraying psychosis sapping descent of ‘the light of life drains out of me’ here applied with a detectable Magazine like spectral post punk meets beatnik etching rubbing shoulders with the swamp gouged dead man’s cow punk blues of the rollicking b-movie blistered ’I was a teenage zombie’ replete with creaking crypt opening which ought in the instance have admirers of Mojo Nixon’s sparring with Jello Biafra for ’prairie home invasion’ chomping at the bit. Dig a little deeper to unearth the fiendish lo-fi horror phonic garage strut of ‘tortured by the daughter of Fu Manchu’ and the hulking stomp of ‘crazy’ – perhaps the sets most radio friendly cut given its out of the traps in an instant haloed in a bracing chorus candy pub rock meets power pop underpin that spikes and seers the speakers as though kissed by a youthful Wreckless Eric.
Those preferring their listening experiences couched as though circling dust ravaged plains once traversed by the late Johnny Cash should tune into ‘Cain’ as it howls with the kind of death rattled preacher blues forged at the crossroads and silvered in a timeless countrified smokiness. Lest we forget to mention ‘kali’ with its hypnotic Arabesque snake winds and of course the four bonus cuts three of which ‘cain’, ‘tortured by the daughter of fu Manchu’ and ‘I was a teenage zombie’ are here presented as raw demo variants with ‘I’m in love with myself’ a dead eyed Soft Boys dandy charmed in the kind of narcissism that loosely echoes Peter Cook’s deadpan and distant ‘bedazzled’ title track that’s possessed of a three way tug of war strut laced garage glam pout between Bolan, Bowie and Jobriath. Superb in a word. http://www.facebook.com/RealPaulRoland
Can anyone tell me what a ‘visionary you tube channel’ is meant to mean or more pertinently promise the would be viewer. Now I always took to believing that visionary was to be taken as perhaps someone with fanciful ideas often long sighted and of the future or else someone possessed of visions of things, persons or events to come. I only ask because I’ve just eyed a press release which during the course of mentioning their subject matters new single and album rounds out said missive by making mention of an accompanying video being aired on their visionary you tube channel. So with the lights dimmed, the candles lit and our Sunday best table cloth laid out we prepped ourselves with pen and paper in hand ready in the anticipation of ideas aplenty to jot or else some kind séance like apparition with messages from the beyond – hopefully next Friday’s winning lottery numbers. Well bugger me did I feel a Charlie for all we got was a video whose kaleidoscopic swirling looked as though it’d been taken straight out of a Spirograph instruction guide. At least they didn’t overstate the music though. Black Angels are the band in question, the single ‘don’t play with guns’ – written incidentally before the recent tragedies – heralds the coming in April of the full length ‘indigo meadow’. one of the coolest bands on planet pop at present, the black angels can do no wrong in our eyes and ’don’t play with guns’ doesn’t disappoint. A fuzz fuelled beatnik bastard whose potent sonic glare ripples with a kiss cool psychotropic purr that blisters, shimmies, struts and twangs like some super calibrated JMC hallucinogenic hippy chic being fronted by a day-glo dizzy Genesis P. Orridge. The bollocks.
I’ve been having fist fights with myself trying to decide which I like more, the previously mentioned Black Angels newie or the latest from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. While we can’t deny there’s a certain kiss cooling poke you in the eye kick to the head rush afforded by the Angels ridiculously infectious ‘don’t play with guns’ there’s something hitherto special about the Club’s ‘let the day begin’ that shifts it to a different level. Ripped from their forthcoming long playing set for vagrant entitled ‘specter at the feast’ – ’let the day begin’ is a cover of the Call’s stateside hit originally released in ’89 – long term devotees will see the poignant link given BRMC’s bassist Robert Been’s dad Michael was the Call’s front man who in 2010 sadly passed away following a heart attack while on sound engineer duties with the band. Impacted with a stirring panoramic stadium smoulder, left in BRMC’s hands ’let the day begin’ is blessed with a smoking desert scorched wide screened highway hogging hue that seductively dissolves around a slyly subtle snake winding riffage that comes sun baked with a hazily honeycombed bliss kissed swagger. Uber cool in short. Get yourself a free download of said track by hooking up to www.blackrebelmotorcycleclub.com– sound cloud link over at https://soundcloud.com/vagrantrecords/brmc-let-the-day-begin
Absolutely bugger all information on this lot which is a bit of a shame because Sukh’s ’Den’ has a definably daintily dipped dreamy aura that lilts and longs amid its slender melodic frame, almost ghost like and sweetly stressed with a tender ache its easy to think of a cosy toed collective blessed with the appearance of members of Low, Cheval Sombre, Damon and Naomi and the Lover Speaks all gathered and synchronised to exchange lovelorn notes all the time showered and softly coaxed by the adorably affectionate whisper of silken strums, hymnal harmonics and the crushed overlay of heartbreak. Kerchief please and pronto. https://soundcloud.com/sukhsmusic
And there was us mentioning the legendary publication the Strand during the course of our summoning up of Mr Roland‘s latest platter. From its debut in 1891 to its last issue in 1950 the Strand had secured its reputation as one of the finest titles ever to have graced the newsstands. It’s legend forged in the main by a certain Arthur Conan Doyle – the author and creator of super sleuth Sherlock Holmes whose exploits as recorded by his erstwhile friend, assistant and chronicler John Watson appeared in short story form in the publication adding considerably to circulation figures. Other noted contributors reads it should be said like a who‘s who of literary greats among the roll call iconic names like Christie, Wells, Wallace, Wodehouse and Kipling not to mention being responsible for airing in print the tales of Raffles ‘the gentleman thief’. you can download all the Strand issues from its debut in 1891 right through to the December 1922 publication via http://archive.org/details/TheStrandMagazineAnIllustratedMonthly – this collection has now fallen outside copyright as is deemed to be in the public domain.
Okay I go out to work and everything is positively 2013, I suffer in boredom tolerating a job which barely covers the bills, populated by persons with back knifing agendas and managed with such ineptness and belittling power guarding that if I didn’t know better I’d suspect the Third Reich was alive and kicking albeit being headed up by a nauseous comedy turn made up of the Krankies and Keith Lemon. And the day dragged until the 5 o’clock siren sounded and off I trod homeward on a epic journey to battle the ice, stupid people and the great non existent public transport system. Arriving home a considerable while later, so considerable in fact that I now sported some new found facial fuzz in which a small family of robin’s had settled and called their home, I fired up the noise and smoke making inter-web device and settled back for amazing sounds. Now bugger for thinking I’d been time warped in some kind of Mr Ben like dream of course without the worrying dress like a dandy clothing fetish back to the indie wars of the early 80’s but does Girls Names frankly tasty ‘pittura infamante’ sound not unlike an on the money B-Movie. Culled from their forthcoming ’a new life’ set due out on valentine’s day via tough love this Belfast based quartet have already wowed these pages on previous sightings having knocked us wide eyed and bandy with their swooning psych sweetie ’hypnotic regression’. ’pittura infamante’ cuts loose acting as a herald for the aforementioned record emporium counter hogging set all sweetly aligned in the slow atmospheric seduction of cool wave chic that recalls the dark porcelain purr of beat glider and the quintessential quiet majesty of the Church. https://soundcloud.com/tough-love/girls-names-pittura/
Available as a free download – we’re suspecting for a limited time only – and well worth nabbing is ’silver lining’ by Guards. Culled from a forthcoming set coming out shortly via partisan entitled ’in guards we trust’ this hopelessly catchy and unfeasibly addictive slice of breathless sun shiny pop oozes with the kind of effervescent 50’s coded bubble groove that swoons indelibly into the same terrains as Avi Buffalo, Ariel Pink and pretty much anything you care to select from the immensely smitten soaked song book of the paw tracks imprint. Cast in a haloing of feel good west coast vibes and clipped with a tingling vibrancy that buzz saws with such glowing affection that you swear you can feel its radiance tanning your skin, in short this babe is a honeycombed dogs danders of a paint bomb. https://soundcloud.com/guardsmusic/guards-silver-lining
And there we where humming to Killing Joke’s ‘follow the leader’ when the opening ambit of this nugget appeared in earshot. We are the assuming it’s a debuting release from the curiously named trim the barber who hail from Hackney as opposed to hailing a hackney and have been cited by their press people as a psychedelic pot punk combo though we’re assuming that’s meant to mean psychedelic post punk unless of course there’s been a brief rush of jug wielding in Camden momentarily hailed by the an in depth article in the NME as the next big thing which we’ve missed. Anyhow with the pot calling left aside which is admittedly rich coming from a badly cobbled together feature missive who many have commented upon and wondered whether our brazen unorthodox use of the English language is committed to type while on medication, ‘mind blank’ which be the name of the track is a bit of slow growing dandy that sounds for all the world as though its been time tripped from a John Peel set list c. 81 / 82 and prized and peeled from the waxen glare of a Situation 2 platter. Steeped in a finite detachment that recalls both Brilliant and the Chameleons though arguably without the panoramic bombast of the latter. Embraced in a somewhat austere cloaking ‘mind blank’ steadily gathers in depth, texture and density mushrooming resplendently culminating in a bliss kissed head trip amid its dark detailing siren like stratospheric strobes pierce its somewhat insular shell elsewhere the haloing of atmospheric effects, strutting spikes and its overall shadow lined demeanour endow it with an edginess that much recalls an on the money Getting the Fear shimmying up to a ‘seduction’ era Danse Society.
These featured in a previous tales from the attic when we ran the thumb rule over an ultra limited 12 inch set entitled ’White math’ – of course you all know that Blanck Mass is non other than Benjamin John Power taking time out from his fuck buttons responsibilities for some extra curricula activities. Following said set now comes ’hellion Earth’ which in true typical time honoured missive musing fashion we appear to have mislaid all the information about and of which if the memory serves right we are sure is available as a free to download spot of loveliness through January only. Anyhow stupidity and a lack of proper co-ordination or order in the tales from the attic sound gaff aside this ‘un is a deftly turned 10 minute slice of alluring night pop that twinkles as were though something foolishly left on the cutting room floor of an Arthur Baker studio following a heady all night recording session with a c.83 New Order with the tapes resurfacing some two decades later having been accidentally turned up by Zombi who under the spell of nightly visitations a la ‘thieves like us’ on a nocturnal setting sprinkle upon the template tapes a smoulder tanned Balearic underpin and an attractively murmuring trance like re-tuning – does it for us. https://soundcloud.com/blanck-mass/hellion-earth
And many thanks to Brian of the Bordellos who in a recent message received via face book was somewhat chomping at the bit after tripping over a demo by Manors which is currently airing on band camp and heartily advised that we check it out at our earliest convenience. The blighter’s right you know and on the evidence of this three track set alone this lot have been immediately placed on our watch list for the year. Hailing from Brooklyn – and its here that the information trail run cold – this trio of cuts originally surfaced in September 2010 and since then there’s been diddly squat which alas might require the filing of a missing persons report which is rather a shame given these three cuties come armed in a seriously lo-fi’d loveliness. Expressing elements of a youthful neutral milk hotel albeit studio sparring with an equally youthful of Montreal, these lovelorn teen breezed testaments coo and scratch with a classically eyed effervescence whose template nibbles around the edges of an as were recently discovered buddy holly songbook best evidenced on the 50‘s bubblegum breezed fuzzed up twang of ‘these things I wouldn’t do to you’ which arrives as a deliciously sprightly slice of purring power pop. Likewise with ‘pick my brain’ which is hopelessly adorned with a kind of naïve vulnerability but it the parting lackadaisical ‘mud and milk’ that hits all the buttons all at once as it dizzily demurs to a sweetly cowed trimming of twinkling bells, kookiness aplenty and a sense of ‘ah well’ resignation. http://manors.bandcamp.com/
And staying with the Bordellos a little second longer – said message from Brian also alerted to their first interview ever – surely not so – with the lesser known crew having dragged both Brian and Dan to face enquiry and account for themselves – there’s also links to all the various bordellos and related band camp releases all of which every home should own – anyhow here’s the link type thing…. http://the-lesserknown.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/if-were-doing-this-you-can-do-it-too.html
Next up and something very sexy is the latest from GHXST – entitled ‘doom girl’ I can’t recall whether this is on actual release or a freebie download – we really must keep on top of these press release mail shots – anyhow drop dead gorgeous this and seductively smoked in the kind hazily glazed fuzz fumed psychotropic shoe gazed groove that had us here marvelling through kaleidoscopic lenses, fringe parting cool that smokes like a uber cooled fuck you Sonic Youth shimmying up to the John Moore Expressway.
Absolutely smitten with this even despite occasioning into fitful bouts of humming out loud ‘the look of love’ by Dusty, latest offering from Montreal’s Doldrums – which according to the notes is something of an avant-electro project headed up by Airick Woodhead – will see a debut full length ’lesser evil’ heralded by the arrival into sonic space of ’anomaly’. After swooning responses – according to the press release – following re-drills of grimes, portishead and peaking lights ’anomaly’ is set to arrest your listening space by way of a swooning and demurring sly slice of aural seduction which shimmers with lovelorn sophistication between a sound axis upon whose curve a finite space is shared between heather duby, grimes and Susumu Yokota. Cradled in all manner of trip-a-delic tenderness and resplendent in a succulent nocturnal décor this ice sculptured gem ripples and ruptures with cooled chill toned dream wired effervescence – in short the sexiest thing on planet pop right this minute. https://soundcloud.com/doldrumss/anomaly-2013/
Just 250 of these babies all coming housed in a rather dandy specially commissioned super psyched sleeve inside of which an extended play set is pressed upon 7 inches of splatter coloured vinyl. The green question mark are a 4 piece headed up by Marrs Bonfire who in his spare time hosts the Smart Set radio extravaganza for BayFM – other members incidentally go by such names as Mordecai Smyth, Icarus Peel and Crystal Jacqueline – indeed. The actual platter comes via the mega dodo imprint run by some dude called Mike who incidentally messaged us about the labels wares which also include a full length by the honey pot and a highly tipped outing (at least by the broken hearted toy guys at brokenheartedtoy.blogspot.co.uk) by the aforementioned Mordecai Smyth all of which we’ll do our level best to include in this particular missive though failing that certainly in the next. Anyhow four suitably hot washed kaleidoscopic covers feature on this quite frankly superb seven opening with a rather faithfully woozy (and by that I mean it even comes replete with the childlike la la’s and the bizarrely deflating outro) take on the Stones ’she’s a rainbow’ here caressed in all manner of string and pirouetting key garlands and kissed with a more than uplifting effervescence. Next up ’lucie leave’ – originally committed to tape by a very youthful Floyd and written by Syd Barrett and here re-visioned with nods to the Soft Boys as a killer slab of corkscrewing lysergic garage grooved beat pop with added fringe floppy freak beat forays. Elsewhere grapefruit’s lost gem ‘elevator’ is dutifully decoded with a bracing and busily shimmer toned bubble grooved quotient of stirring sun shiny pop but it’s the bands re-appraisal of the Hollies ’Pegasus’ that seals the set and provides the EP with its centrepiece. Gorgeously arrested in a willowy folk enchantment and murmuring to a hallucinogenic mindset that utters promises of magic and wonderment, this slice of spectral loveliness tingles and trips with a dream weaved fairy like nothingness to all at once spell craft and seduce. Essential in short. http://greenquestionmark.bandcamp.com/
‘Pegasus’ as you all should rightly know appeared on a very special limited split 7 inch put out at the tail end of last year by those purveyors of wired and weird wonderful sounds – fruits de mer – which featured Temple Music and Vespero each sharing one side of the grooves with the latter covering a Neu classic and the former inadvertently heralding the release of a Hollies tribute set. Alas no more versions of ’Pegasus’ feature within but its still a highly essential set all the same and continues the fine pedigree currently being ploughed by this most beloved imprint.
Entitled ‘re-evolution – Fdm sings the Hollies’ – at title alone which will appeal and raise a chuckle among aficionados – this baby comes pressed up as a limited 800 only set on coloured wax with each edition arriving replete with an accompanying 7 inch EP which as the press boasts gives you ‘19 inches of ‘lovely vinyl’. A mammoth compilation that gathers together 16 artists hand selected by the FdM board invited along to exact their interpretations of key cuts from an era marked by the Hollies brief dalliance with psychedelia. Now I’ll be the first to admit that the Hollies have never been known to appear on my radar and for that there’s part squirming embarrassment and an unforgivable ignorance on my behalf. Faultless in terms of their lasting pop pedigree, the harmonies, the acutely catchy song craft and the addictive quality of their wares sets them aside as a 60’s chart hugging tour de force. The mid 60’s may have ushered in a sea change and a groundswell of creativity – with writers, performance artists and thinkers et al alike all converging from differing mediums, music to was similarly shifting perspective where fashion, substances and a degree of liberalist freedom collided, this shift accentuated by the pre-eminence of the album being recognised as the chief market player as opposed to the single with the Beatles ’sgt pepper’ proving a major signifier of fashion changes and in terms of conceptual ideas, mindset and craft. 1967 would prove to be psychedelia’s high water mark. That said rifle though any authorities on the subject and what you’ll notice is that amid the usual roll call of names plundering the classic 60’s era psych axis – Beatles, Stones, Floyd, traffic, cream, Zombies et al – the name the Hollies is strangely conspicuous by its absence as though airbrushed from this creative flourish. Yet ask the purists and most will contradict such thoughtful notions and cite the bands three albums recorded and released in a brief but creatively fertile 12 month period as more than evidence enough in proving to the naysayer their psych credentials. This trio of albums – ’for certain because’, ’evolution’ and ’butterfly’ – would co-incidentally see the band being afforded a degree of creative autonomy seeing them shifting away from recording songs composed by outside writing houses and instead self penning their material themselves as Nash / Clarke / Hicks. And with that FdM seek to redress the balance, raise the profile among the heads and indeed pay homage to Manchester’s finest. Brace yourself as flangers, feedback and faser effects are set for swoon on this audiac odyssey. As with the recent ‘crabs sell out / freak out‘ set – featured elsewhere here – the assembled cast comes made up of names familiar and not so familiar, moon weevil – who we understand is a cranium pie-er doing a spot of moonlighting – in particular deserving of special attention given their re-tooling of ’bus stop’ is so out there its off radar, though in truth you’d be hard pressed to recognise the blighter sounding as it does like some lunar loved up progged up and jazzed out radiophonic workshop sortie recently charmed from the vaults by those dudes at trunk. ’butterfly’ features twice – us and them obviously still smitten by their visit to Summerisle usher in an intoxicating rustic garland for their re-tread in the process daubing it irresistibly in airy fairy wisps of folk enchantment whose tongue speaks in a lost archaic language elsewhere Beautify Junkyards take on the same cut has them opting for a spot of ethereal swirl hazed ice sculpturing to craft out a colourful celestial carnival of sorts embraced in hope and invitation. Mooch through the grooves a little and you’ll stumble upon the ridiculously addictive ‘Jennifer Eccles’ here put through the kaleidoscopic viewfinder by the electric stars emerging through the opposite side as an acutely classy psychedelic popsicle.
Kosmiche-naut Jay Tausig – who we mentioned in passing last missive out with that mammoth 12 disc zodiac set – goes all eastern and mystic for his dream coated dandy ‘elevated observations’. should you be pining for some nifty hip shaking 60’s jingle jangle then the higher state’s effervescent ‘don’t run and hide’ ought to cast out these winterbound blues while lunar arabesque motifs chime and caress the seventh ring of Saturn’s lushly lysergic lilting of ‘all the world is love’ that proffers a star crossed bong passing sitting of Floyd and Traffic types. Near blistering our speakers re-stoned kick several shades of rampant rock a boogie psychosis out of ‘then the heartache begins’ – pure head in a vice motorik meltdown, think hawkwind with a hot poker up a place where the sun don’t shine. Chief stoner Bevis Frond delights and demurs with a softly bespoke and thoughtfully mellowed wander through the bruised folds of ‘hard hard year’ sounding into the bargain not unlike a chilled Robert Wyatt. Another ensemble much admired around these parts are King Penguin who set about dusting down ‘Dear Eloise’ and through the shimmer of sitars recalibrate it in a sumptuous glow that much recalls some kind of weird fusion of Byrds ‘Clark / psych / Parsons’ variations. Kookiest and cutest of the set award goes hands down to ‘everything is sunshine’ by langor which melts with a most becoming early 70’s Beach Boys aura. I’m certain that we owe at least one member of hi fiction science an apology for overlooking his solo all of which we’ll aim to remedy in time for the next missive – for now this lot admirably take on one of the most wired moments from the Hollies back catalogue – ‘king midas in reverse’ and give it what can only be described as a weird folkish kaleidoscopic earth beat groove that imagines them re-enacting bizarre medieval rituals in a curved air meets Fleetwood Mac stylee with lit twigs for wands while decorated in the local foliage and sporting skin camouflage by dock leaf and bark – but then worryingly that might just be me thinking that. Pains me as it does but if I had to choose my most favoured moments of the set, a tough call believe you me, then it would have to be the quartet of nuggets hogging groove space over on side 2. Things don’t come any woozier than the Gathering Grey’s breezily sun kissed trip-tastic flowery pop recital of ’postcard’ mind you that said aural candy push them close with their shimmer toned bespoke baroque pop recalibration of ’heading for a fall’ along the way imagining a grand pop meeting of minds between the walker brothers and left banke. Riding both close on the outside you’ll find sky picnic traversing the astral plains for a truly stoned out and smoked bliss kissed treatment of ’try it’ while the much admired around these here parts Neutron Drivers who feature members of schizo fun addict on extra curricula duties cook up a truly schizoid ‘vegetable man’ esque slice of mind fracturing psyche pop for their freaked take on ’water on the brain’. with predictable inevitability an essential listening experience. .
Next missive out – and also due shortly via fruits de mer – will feature the drop dead double disc dose of peculiar psyche folk oddness from those mercurial merchants Soft Hearted Scientists.
Cast your minds back to that green question mark covers EP we were raving about earlier – what do you mean you can’t remember – a paragraph or three ago – got it – well then we mentioned during the course of the review that Marrs Bonfire of the band – incidentally clearly not a name known to the tax man we suspect – aired a radio show by the name ‘the smart set’. well after endless searching we’ve tracked the blighter down, did we say endless, oh painstaking, the things we do and put ourselves through for you dear reader not to read or take note. Anyway in chase cutting style we’ve unearthed links and they go like this – http://thesmartset.posterous.com/ – you can also order the aforementioned record here in the these days bizarrely quaint postal type way – I’m almost weeping with nostalgia…..which is more than I can for HMV. Blaming the online retail giants is a bit kettle and pot when you consider that when HMV went superstore in the mid 80’s they set the axe on many independent retailers without so much as a pause for the shedding of a tear.
And that’s as they say is your lot for a day or two. Next missive due to materialise in a day or three – honest – and will feature that much advertised soft hearted scientists set, something from yellow6, a rise above sampler, zero tolerance at 50 and oodles more…..
As ever contact details are somewhere to front of this missive and please remember to contact us via firstname.lastname@example.org
Till then – take care,