First of three quick fire missives
Featured turntable treats this edition……
Jara Tarnovski, Laura J Martin, Magik Markers, monks kitchen, the wharves, the rosy crucifixion, ummagma, bryce hack ford, Michael a grammar, tara king, death and vanilla, tara experiment, kopek millionaires, monks kitchen, September girls, clay pipes, pale Sunday, bart and friends, northern portrait, the leg, six years, cymbals, the oreohs, star spangled banana, the rosy crucifixtion, the wharves, snowbird, jack elister, sendelica, the luck of eden hall, stay, black ink, oiseaux tempete, eat lights become light, dan haywood, fuxa, white ring, pieter nooten, jon derosa, Jacques charamac, god is an astronaut, androgynous mind, roadside picnic, truth about frank, the devastations, john carpenter, millipede, perth, apricot rail, fossil coolective, haarts, beautify junkyards and the vacant lots…..
Stumbled across this on a little wander around cyberspace a remix by Gurun Gurun dude Jara Tarnovski for friends B4. Seriously head tripping stuff is ‘silhouettes (6 easy steps to becoming a paranormal researcher mix)’, just feels like your mind space is dissolving as though the by product of some extra terrestrial brain mulching probe, very out there, woozy and subterranic, we suggest you crank up the volume for full headphonic hypnosis. www.soundcloud.com/gurun-gurun/b4-silhouettes-6-easy-steps-to
Taken from her recently released ‘Dazzle Days’ full length for the esteemed Static Caravan imprint here’s a rather enchanting animated visual by Jess Swainson for the delightfully frail and fragile ‘half perfect’ by Laura J Martin, a gorgeously woven slice of wood crafted folk cradled in magic and wonderment – perfect for those still pining for a pre ‘the dreaming’ era Kate Bush…..
You can stop by our review of the wonderful ‘dazzle days’ by going to www.marklosingtoday.wordpress.com/2013/10/06/laura-j-martin/
New video type thing from the Magik Markers who you might – or might not as the case may be – recall us mentioning a little while back by way of the appearance of the freakishly ape shit agit groove of ‘machines’ and the demurred ‘ice skater’ sharing platter space on a dinky limited 7 inch via drag city. Due soon their latest full length ‘surrender to the fantasy’ is ripe and read for record counter fist fight action with ‘bonfires’ finding itself sent out as an advance early warning jab in the eye. Shy of the sub three minute mark with enough tape time left to allow Nepalm Death and other such like enough in the tank to record at least an album or three, ‘bonfires’ is your skull fucking wired to the teeth primitive no wave goofball earth beat ju-ju – detuned, out of tune with no tune – we’re reading your minds markers dudes – deranged, demented and damn essential,
I seem to recall us mentioning the Monks Kitchen ages and ages ago, can’t recall just now what the hell it was or where we got it, I assume prized from the label site, it must have been good otherwise we’d have never featured or mentioned it and any it came courtesy of the tried and tested Wonderful Sound imprint and home of course to the Superimposers. Anyway the blighters have a new album out, monks kitchen not the superimposers, that afforded a strangely comical press release were your thinking ’yeah right sure thing’ until you actually hear the album and you think – ‘yep they have a point’. so in the meantime – while we go scurrying in search of a copy I’ll waffle a little more by telling you that said album is called ’music from the monks kitchen’ of which so far one cut has taken our ear, well in fact if truth be told they all are, but you know we are all in favour here of picking out a ringleader which in this case happens to be the lolloping prairie lovely ‘I wanna go’ which as it happens manages to coalesce something of a becoming hybrid that draws together the sweetly perky jangle chime of a young Byrds with their latterly countrified persona and leaves it smoking bitter sweetly in the crackling glow of a roaring campfire.
We eyed this whilst checking in on another release by the same label, a Wharves / the Rosy Crucifixion split album if you must know via the Soft Power imprint. Anyhow we’ve been somewhat smitten by a honey of a seven inch they apparently released a few weeks back by Marnie. Alas no information on this other than to say there’s been a pledge music campaign raising funds in the hope of pressing up a full album entitled ‘crystal world’. Anyway as said they sneaked out this little twin set of which the lead cut ‘the hunter’ had us much in mind of Salon Boris, a kind of dream dazed slice of purring minimalist electro disco equipped with an ice cooled Moroder styled pulsar and allured in lunar orbs sweetly sighed in forlorn fancies and sounding not unlike it has to be said an embracing St Etienne / Dubstar hybrid at play in Visage’s futuro pop playground. Are Weird records still going – must check- I only ask because the flip cut ‘the wind breezes on’ sounds ripe for admirers of the label, clipped by an analogue engineering and dinked in a becoming 80’s spectral sheen it emerges from its frost fused hideaway to unfurl, blossom and radiate with star crossed seduction.
Equally getting approving nods and the occasional sly side wards glance are duo Ummagma whose two self released full lengths – ‘antigravity’ and ‘ummagma’ will in the course of time be lavished with praising words in near future musings. For now though word has reached us a new remix turned in by Mind Movies of the duo’s cut ‘river town’. The original version appearing on their self titled debut is a gorgeously spirited slice of sepia twisted torch that’s delicately shimmered upon sun fading mistrals snaking dreamily across idyllic south sea hideaways, sound wise located on a finite axis to which at one end reclines the romantic purr of Musetta whilst on t’other is sensitively perched the Sundays, between these points an affectionate dusting of Le Mans and Duruti Column’s Vini Reilly’s exemplary riff tweaked needlework daub and colour the faintly sketched canvas with something approaching bewitchment. Entrusted into the hands of Mind Movies, ’river town’ is totally transformed, retuned, recalibrated and relocated to some galactic outpost wherein it orbits amid a distractively alluring solar snow storm activity that coos longingly in the lovelorn folds of the shortwave set and the tangling of Pram like wooziness though not before dropping by for the occasional refuelling and being serviced by Cornelius. Bit o the gem the both of them if you ask me. www.ummagma.com/ummagma-ummagma.html
Much entranced by this little cutie since it entered our listening space earlier today, primed and picked as an advance sortie to usher in the imminent release of his debut outing for the Prah imprint, incidentally entitled ‘fair’, the 23 minute aural odyssey ’run-on Cirrus’ is a gloriously mind tripping slab of mesmerising cosmicalia. Crafted by Bryce Hackford, ‘run-on Cirrus’ is a terra forming stellar dream coat, somewhat taking its cue from Jean Michel Jarre’s ’magnetic fields 1’ in terms of style devices and the sculpturing of a seamless panoramic mosaic. Amorphous and free flowing, ’Cirrus’ is best experienced through head phones with the volume controls cranked to maximum for them you get to take it all the miniature detailing dimpling this expansive canvas, starts out like old school Cheju or early Expanding catalogue, a lilting lullaby of sorts mottled in a sweetly demurred lunar waltz as though a dozing ISAN in stasis rubbed and rushed upon by crests of fuzzy snow storms. Slowly but surely the melodies dissolve and dissipate only to reform and forge anew, the advent of the showering spray of cyclonic celestial waveforms endow it with a majestic dream dazed aura which again shape shifts at the 9 and a half minute mark wherein the motorik murmurs momentarily power into life only to be subsumed in seas oceanic overtures that purr and radiate into swells of euphoria to court a star twinkling light show as though powered by a super chilled Eat lights become lights priming the soundboard of a hulking close encounters styled galactic craft. Think that covers it. Any questions? www.soundcloud.com/prahrecordings//bryce-hackford-run-on-cirrus
Possessed of the most drop dead gorgeous chorus hook you’ll hear in such an age, literally fizzles with the kind of sun burst euphoria and effervescence that we swear we’re getting a tan just for being in earshot of the blighter. New from Melodic and due for brisk counter action in January is the ‘random value’ EP by Michael A Grammar which when it arrives will come pressed up in all manner of digital variants as well as a limited heavy weight wax edition coloured in purple. ‘the day I come alive’ prized from that set is rippled in soft psyche shimmers and shoe gazed sighs all cooled in a hollowing spectral classicism that purrs and pouts majestically like an animated house of love amid moments of reflection and ruptures ablaze in sky dissolving rainbow fractures, this honey without doubt cued by the Boo Radleys ‘Lazarus’ is lushly glazed by the lysergic bliss kiss of a youthful Sonic Boom Spectrum. www.soundcloud.com/melodic-records/michael-a-grammar-the-day-I
Been a while since we featured the Moon Glyph imprint in these missives, rest assured we’ve fired of request notes to hopefully ensure we’re back on the mail listing. In the meantime two rather fine releases with which to draw your attention to.
First up Tara King th. who you weren’t previously aware – like us – hail from Paris and have just released the quite frankly must have ’Hirondelle et Beretta’ set, their second as it happens for moon glyph. Possibly or possibly not as the case may be named after John Steed’s late 60’s side kick, and yes I know its pretty un-cool and deviating from common consensus to say this, Ms King was always our favourite Avengers girl ahead of Mrs Peel this fact compensated somewhat by our belief that Ms Rigg turned up as the best Bond girl in ’on her majesty’s secret service’. anyhow enough of that and back to the sounds, okay it’d be true to say that ’L’Enquete’ occupies some demurring secret 60’s hideaway populated by members of Broadcast, Pram, L’Augmentation and Stereolab all gathered as though government agents operating under the smokescreen of being musicians but really in truth forming a collective of ultra hush hush spy chasers – features oodles upon oodles of harpsichord , think I’m going to cry with joy. Better still ’le vie continue’ sounds as though its just stepped straight out of a late 60’s TV action spy-rama show, a gorgeously crafted slice of hypnotic lounge groove of the type you’d rightly expect to trip its way out of the finders keepers / trunk imprints with this exotic fancy sounding not unlike the Winston Giles Orchestra being headed up by John Barry. Exquisite stuff.
Second up from moon glyph a rather special release from death and vanilla who according to the press notes hail from Sweden. ‘vampyr’ was recorded live during a semi improvised performance they were invited to play at with a view sound tracking the screening of Dreyers’ horror classic of the same name at the fantastisk film festival last year. For the event the usual core duo where expanded to a quintet wherein they utilized moogs, zithers, glockenspiels and vibraphonettes to craft an eerily magnetic score the best of the three showcased tracks on the label player being ‘vampyr theme’ whereby amid the spine tingling atmospherics emerges a beautifully pirouetting moog waltz dinked with chiming corteges all tailored to an enchanting melodic merry go round trimmed in a archaic folk tongue. Elsewhere the macabre minimalist sounding ’blood transmission’ hovers and hangs with disquieting dread to a deathly white and chilled foreboding which ought to appeal to admirers of the early work of Add N to X. www.moonglyph.com
And back with the monks kitchen. Many thanks to Adam from the band for hooking us up to this. ’shake’ is their latest single, its being sneaked out as an ultra limited 7 inch with each and everyone of them much deserving of a good home especially if that home happens to coo and surrender to the sounds of the Earlies and the Low Anthem. A cover of a lost Sam Cooke number here given an incredible re-branding, ’shake’ is here found re-housed of its original sassy soul bop surroundings and sumptuously reclined and finitely distilled in a vintage preserve of glowing mountain spirituals and moon shine necked murmurs all bottled up in a most attractively teased feel good warmth which by our reckoning ought to be ripe for the up and coming festive season play list fodder. I’m getting all misty eyed now.
Moving picture show goes a lot like this…..
Those purveyors of indie twee chime pop Matinee recordings celebrate their 15th anniversary with a rather spiffing 15 (what else did you think it was going to be) track celebratory compilation entitled ‘a Sunday Matinee’. shoehorned amid these rarefied grooves friends familiar and forgotten shimmy and serenade to a hand holding shy eyed rush of teen spirited effervescence and bitter sweet growing pains. Among the prize pickings the lo-fi lilting saccharine shimmy that is September Girls 50’s bubble grooved ’Danny Wood’ arrested in vintage honeyed harmonies and snared upon a growling riffola to sound not unlike a beat happy Shonen Knife rubbing up and cosying up to the Shangri La’s. somewhere else the electric pop group’s acutely cute ’parliament square’ all longingly drenched in Hey Paulette April showers. Those much loving of their sounds shuffled in a distractively south sea shimmer tone might be best hooking themselves up to the Clay Pipes ’someone who wanders’ – must admit that I’m more than a little smitten by this as it seduces the listening space reclined as were under the caressing cool shade of palm trees feasting upon a coalescing brew of kane gang and bluebells platters. Ripped to a more than attractive power surged strut gouged groove Pale Sundays’ ‘in the hardest moment’ storms the barricades sounding not unlike a ‘Seamonsters’ era Weddoes albeit as though forlornly cuffed by the dulling misty eyed ache of the Hoverchairs. Also serving and earning their stripes the bruising and brief ‘there’s no place’ by Bart and Friends echoes to the sorrowful sculpturing of the Smiths more vulnerable sorties, within its short 66 second tear stained and hollowed hello it prizes its way through your defences and in a flash has your surrendering heart hoisting the white flag. A youthful James are called to mind with the appearance of northern portrait’s ‘the young and hopefuls’ while Charlie Big Time’s ‘one step closer to enemies’ ushers in like some bracing shoulder to cry on apparition. All said we’re a tad taken by the honey glowed soft psych Spector-esque shade adorned shimmer pop of Strawberry Whiplash’s ’September Saturday’ which unless our ears do deceive purrs to a Blondie-esque motif all effervescently teen thrilled in Lush like glazes. Gem like. www.soundcloud.com/matinee-recordings/sets/a-sunday-matin-e-compilation
First peak at the forthcoming Cymbals ‘the age of fracture’ full length due January via tough love is the rather nifty ‘erosion’ – a whirl pooling flotilla of pulsing motorik beats and chime loop riff corteges all indelibly daubed in a dance floor dizzying carnival of chameleonic mosaics refracted through a Robert Smith mid 80’s viewfinder and bolted on by a coolly betraying and becoming strut pout that for some reason had us fondly reminiscing a youthful Comsat Angels. www.soundcloud.com/tough-love/cymbals-erosion
Oh yes we do love this, new thing by Rubicks side project Six Years offers a more darkening and primal soft psych perspective from its electro dream popping sibling. With an album in the can entitled ‘rivers’ due for unveiling via sharp attack, the shadow lined beauty that is ’imagination’ is released on temporary parole to stalk, saunter and seduce your listening space. Coded with a prowling b-52’s ‘rock lobster-esque’ riff snake wind and sounding like a dark hearted Serge and Brigitte performing a psychedelicised spell craft over Animotion’s ’obsession’ this honey just smoulders with intent.
It’s a little know fact that we love inserts, stickers, badges, posters and indeed postcards around these here parts. And so almost guaranteeing that this little deranged delight got to have a go on the stereophonic sound system pretty much as soon as it had been broken out of its mail wrapping was a little postcard from song, by toad records boss man Matt scribbled upon which was the taunting message ’see what you make of this deranged lunacy!’. 10 minutes later and we’re nodding sagely in agreement, okay its not up and at you with its hands around your throat, it certainly doesn’t encourage the hiding of behind a sofa or the nailing down of loose objects not forgetting to ensure that no small wildlife is within listening cruelty. Yet there does remain that – where are they coming from with this and where are they hoping to go with it – question that haunts you throughout. Its fair to say that ’oozing a crepuscular light’ by the Leg is the work of imps who’ve long since ditched the pop manual in favour of crafting sounds for amusement, agitation and annoyance – scratch whichever don’t apply, curtly refusing to kowtow to any kind of script the eight tracks featured here have a wilful tendency to keep you stumbling on the back foot with the only complaint being that the blighter only just makes it to the 23 minute mark. As to the record itself incidentally out soon on both CD and vinyl, the riff rustling ‘Dam uncle hit’ leads the charge in a riotous display of cowpunk carnage the likes of which has scarcely been seen around these here parts since the early days of the Violent Femmes and finds itself quickly knocked of the affection perch by the dishevelled ‘lion licker’. A smoked little gem that sounds for al the world as though its sneaked from the song chest of Daniel Johnston – that’ll be the got his shit together version of Daniel Johnston heard on those essential sketchbook / pickled egg and for us outings a few years ago not to mention that damn fine pairing with hyper jinx tricycle via important. Somewhere else looming large and found somewhat skulking behind a fracturing half man half biscuit persona is the wired and skewed schizoid Beefheartian stew that is the Fall-esque ’25 hats’ – a freaking no wave wig flipper scalped in art grooved posies and attached with a teeth gnawing psychosis unto which in our frazzled hearing we detect something of a nod to a young Clinic. Freaky theatrics and all the fun of an evil fun fair don’t come any better than the demented and dastardly power house (see pre electronic pioneering Raymond Scott) fury of ’chicken slippers’ – a kind of Victoriana shanty set to a screwballing calamitous silent celluloid. Best of the set is left till the last with the disquieting arrival of ’celebrating love’ which initially we took to being a homage of sorts to psyche freakishness of Arthur Lee rather than yer actual cupid type stuff – we’re still not convinced we’re that far off the mark, that said this darkly macabre mosaic soon assumes a murderous balladering intent to sneak by nightfall across the withering wastelands of a ’junkyard’ Birthday Party with an early career Black Heart Procession as their guide. In short – yep you are right Matt – deranged lunacy but my kind of deranged lunacy.
Video of evidence of lunacy is here…..
Picked this up from Probe records on a rare visit to the outside world on a quest to pick up the latest issue of Shindig. ‘you’ll want to hear this’ came the advisory recommendation as said CD was pressed into my palm. No information of anything attached though what we’ve managed to garner through a quick flick on the inter web is that they hail from Halifax, number three in the ranks – two sisters and some dude I gather and have recently been witnessed supporting Lawrence Denim and the Darling Buds – blimey the Buds are they back. The Oreoh’s be their name and come sporting a new 4 track CD. Flame grilled in honeyed harmonies, insidiously catchy chorus hooks and kissed with a shimmering strut grooved 60’s pop sensibility there’s no doubting that the Oreoh’s know their way around the crafting of pristine pop gems not least is this more the case than on beautifully slinky bubble grooved purr of opening cut ‘truth be told’ while ‘deduce’ with its cutely scuffed riffage radiates with a consuming and searing power popping effervescence. All said its the brace of cuts tagged to rear of the EP that had us a cooing not least the untitled #3 gouged in a garage growl and impishly borrowing loosely the coda from the Monkees ‘(I’m not your) stepping stone’ which in truth has to be heard to be believed. However edging it in the preferred cut stakes – though only just – is ‘midnight in Paris’ – this honey comes blooded upon the soft psych spell craft of the Heartthrobs all dinked in a haunting and hollowing though none the less divinely shadow drawn spectral aura.
What’s that, you fancy some wig flipping, fuzz flared fried freak beat with a side order of primal primed garage growling groove to go with plenty of smoking strut savvy sounds. Our inner garage psych eye has been wobbling since this dude arrived to do real bad things on the turntable. ‘pebbles 2000’ is the stoned out happening debut platter from the new lords of fuzz – Star Spangled Banana – the wildest (and most feral) cats on the scene, in fact the only cats on the scene cause it’s a scene they made up, its called bubble grunge – yeah kids word on the street its cooking a gas. Here found rifling through your record collection and having a snigger. Fifteen bonged out beatnik grooves feature within, there’s twang (’surfer George‘), trash, goofball and sheer shit faced badass-ness to be had here a kind of one stop psyched out party bag rummaged from the bins of those Pebbles / Nuggets / Back to the Grave sorties and re-branded with kooky updates of all your favourite prehistoric pop pretties all done to sound freakier, weirder and more out there than the originals themselves giving you a chance to junk them in order to make more room for future star spangled banana off spring. Among the assembled crowd undergoing sonic facelifts grooves by the likes of Paul Revere and the Raiders, Flipper, Wimple Winch (perhaps all said the only disappointing version here with ‘save my soul‘ not quite possessing the snarling bite of the original), Them 9a killer psychotropic take of ’I can only give you everything’), the Monkees (the kaleidoscopic country folk rumble that is ‘circle sky‘ has to be heard), 1910 Fruit Gum Company, Chocolate Watchband and some band called the Beatles. Its here you’ll be greeted to the bitching headf**k cover of ‘(I’m not your) Steppin Stone’ which to these ears sounds like a seriously wasted and wired to the eyeballs Brian Jonestown as well as a pretty nifty and smoking near faithful appraisal of ‘lets talk about girls’. somewhere else there’s the Cramps-esque primitive stomp of ’hanky panky’. Should say that by the time you get to side 2 things begin to unravel, essentially the more shit faced side of the platter and with that the more interesting, aside the frantically worse for wear and warping 50’s bubble grooved ‘123 red light’ there’s a trio of Lennon and McCartney ditties being wonderfully bludgeoned. First up the trash savage butchering of ‘I wanna be your man’ should by rights be the stereophonic staple diet of any right minded ugly things reading head while ‘why don’t we do it in the road’ is just pure horn, cannibalised and caned into a mutant caveman boogying stomp as though headed up by a seriously dosed up Roky – oh and ‘you can’t do that’ is pure genius evil. Blighter comes pressed up on thick slabs of yellow wax all housed in a eye catching Velvet-esque sleeve with free CD (for those who don’t have a turntable – heathens). Bad boogie for bonged out beatnik. Squares needs not apply. Guess its okay to say at this point these dudes feature members of the high priests of weird the Alien Ballroom nee Kool-Aid (global tyranny) – didn’t want to tell you earlier cause that would have just blown your mind. Essential stuff. www.soundcloud.com/buffalo-joe/star-spangled-banana-pebbles
Just a very brief mention for this while we go on the search for full promos. From the same label that brought that damn fine Marnie single – featured here earlier on, Soft Power are to release shortly what sounds on early listens like a killer split album that pits both the Wharves and the Rosy Crucifixion on opposite sides of a limited 250 only wax platter. The Wharves do a neat line in alluring soft psych freak folk, reference wise Stealing Sheep, the Smoke Fairies and the Haight Ashbury appear to usher into their enchanted sound space. However that said we were much taken by their side parting ’deepwater horizon’ which unless ears do deceive is steeped in a long lost archaic tongue of a richly vivid English folk pageantry informed by ’wicker man-esque’ mosaics and steeled in hidden village mystic rituals and mayday follies. As to The Rosy Crucifixion its twang chords set for stun, reference wise they draw heavily from a rich bloodline whose roots originate directly back to Link Wray, from what we’ve heard so far – again its parting track time with ’night of the Wailers’ – no doubt referencing the 60’s garage beat band and Bob Marley’s side men – getting the agreeable nods around these here parts and sounding like a nifty slice of electro shocked shimmer twang or else some b-movie sci-fi set whereupon duel the mighty man or astro man against a Meek mixed Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet. An absolute must if you ask me. www.softpowerecords.bandcamp.com/album/the-wharves-the-rosy-crucifixion-split-vinyl-lp
Happened across this late last night just as we were powering down for the evening, alas we can’t remember where exactly we picked it up from though if we recall rightly there’s an album due sometime in January. In short the closest thing to heaven, or at the very least the Cocteau Twins, that your likely to hear till the year end and beyond. Snowbird finds Cocteau-er Simon Raymonde shimmying up to Stephanie Doyen for what is one of the most beguiled beauties we’ve heard all year. Thawed from that forthcoming set is the aptly titled ‘porcelain’, a breathless slice of bewitchment cradled in the fragile elegance of daintily dipped Antonymes murmurs, sensitively toned in an alluring classicism and softly kissed in the genteel tremble of hushed melodic timbres. Shimmered in romantic arcs and bruised in lovelorn lilts, Doyen’s demurred siren-esque coos soothe, sigh and seduce amid an enchanted magicalia dimpled in the twilight twinkle of Brontean swirls. www.soundcloud.com/bella-union/snowbird-porcelain
And so its back with Fruits de Mer (this one arriving just as we were drawing this missive to a close) with their now legendary seasonal subscriber give away. Who could forget previous festive gifts such as the ultra rare ’we come bearing gifts’ cassette from 2009 – a copy of which – rumour has it – recently exchanged hands for over 200 of your Queen’s notes. The following year the letter box rattled and the welcome matter purred to the gentle thud of ’the ’a phase we’ve been through’ CD while last years treat was the ambitious and hugely enjoyable double CD set ’the crabs sell out’ / ‘the crabs freak out’ – a mammoth 32 track account of strange sounds bubbling just beneath the radar. And so to 2013, with the label hosting its first all dayer one hazy Saturday in August what better way to document the event than to carve out an wax artefact of the happening for posterity. A specially pressed 7 inch in a mock up ’live at Leeds’ style sleeve that’s certain to be a thing of envy among your friends and peers. Our copy alas is your even rarer promo sadly without funky sleeve – darn – but still pressed upon its digitised settings four cuts recorded at that special Borderline event. Jack Ellister opens the occasion with his home grown ’old south’, a gorgeously intimate slice of rustically hued longing tweaked in introspection and perched upon a lilting hope hunting bitter sweet refrain yearn fully hollowing to an out to sea recline, which as it happens has something of a Beau meets Louden Wainwright III thing about its wares. Stay serve up ’I don’t see myself’ and a mod topped freak beat beauty it is all blessed with a kooky Hammond drenched and lysergic riffola freeform middle bit that’s primed with enough wasted wooziness as to have beards growing spontaneously. Sendelica take up the pilot duties to drive deep into the mystic transcendental folds of the mind with their re-enactment of Floyd’s ’set the controls for the heart of the Buddha (sun)’, just out there is this, jazz snake charms and bonged out arabesque wooziness equip this smoked out dude with a tripping third eye travel bag. Last and by no means least the Luck of Eden Hall arrive to bring matters to a close though not before scalping your stereophonic serenity with a rampant and wildly out of focus and day-glo grooved hexed hep cat re-reading of the Floydian ones ‘Lucifer Sam’. well cool.
New soon from the esteemed Sub Rosa imprint will be the debuting self titled release by Oiseaux Tempete. Described by their label as ‘a militant force, a sonic odyssey that retraces the qualms and queries of a sickly and dysfunctional Western society’ and primed for listening affection in coming despatches. For now though ripped from the album ’buy gold (beat song)’ is a brooding head bowed beauty of slow burn epic proportions, all at once bruised and betrayed, this apocalyptic storm cloud snakes and stirs with such forlorn wound licking majesty that one suspects it is the by product of a high council summit meeting gathering together Godspeed, the Grails and Black Heart Procession, tears will be shed in the falling shadow of its piercing solitude.
Indeed we did feature this a missive or two ago but its so lovely that we felt it deserved another airing, the latest from Black Ink – not sure whether its actually out yet but we heartily recommended that you stash ‘tangerine’ somewhere alongside that blinding tokolosh releases currently found heading out of the static caravan record factory. Dipped and swirled in all manner of 70’s motifs and sounding not unlike a young Jeff Lynne this off kilter honey swoons and shimmers seductively with such slinky side stepping cuteness that it’ll be under you skin and making a home for itself before you can say ’hellzapoppin what the buggering hell’s that’
Moving picture evidence –
Gorgeously idyllic slice of forest folk foraging to be had on Dan Haywood’s intimately cradled ‘dapple’ via southern bird. Now we mentioned this a few weeks back with the parting promise that we would give a account of its loveliness in more details at a later time. Well that later time has arrived though admittedly a lot later than we originally intended given the fact that the CD decided to make a nest for itself under a stack of CD’s whereby it hid itself in a hibernatory cocoon. Well that’s our story and one that we’re sticking with. Recorded on location deep in the forest of Bowland, Haywood and his like minded band of merry men and woman set up camp and with tape machines set at record to capture the beauty, the grace and the simplicity of an age faraway from the maddening hustle n’ bustle of modernity and quietly reclined in a secret corner hidden amid the lush green lowlands of an English village preserve. In essence ‘Dapple’ is a love note to the rural countryside, each of these ten trembled treats are sweetly sprayed in a rustic lilt charmed by chirping birdsong, the assembled throng of chaffinches, blackbirds, wrens, woodpeckers and robins as much a part of storytelling symphony as its listed and noteworthy minstrels. Amid these gathered musical posies Haywood and co whittle out by way of a handcraft so rarefied an ornate 25 minute story telling bouquet dimpled in a frail and fragile tapestry of an ancestral musical weave. Amid the grooves simple tales of simple folk spirited away to translate at times like a dreamily envisaged version of spring watch presented by a less bawdy Rambling Sid Rumpo all dappled in village hymnals and signed in the sighing pageantry of village fete canters as on for example ‘floral dance’. somewhere else the understated and faintly drawn whisper of the forlorn ‘lapping wave’ bitter sweetly sails clutching yearn fully upon passing drift wood while best of the set is the fog bound murmur of ‘suspicious farms’ hoisted it is upon the same darkly dinked ballade ring as that found on platters borne of the name Lupen Crook and the murder birds.
Time to hang out the bunting for the much loved rocket girl imprint who reach that most special of milestones with the arrival of their hundredth release marking the occasion with the digital only celebration that is the frantic nights awake fretting over what to call it – ‘various – 100’. of course we tease, about the sleepless nights that is and not the title for it is indeed called ’various – 100’, I guess its title alone says a lot as to what rocket girl is about, emerging in 1997 with the debuting pairing of the legendary Silver Apples with husband and wife duo Windy and Carl on a limited 7 inch, the label has always maintained an understated though none the less a consistently eclectic persona and has like similar home grown labels such as Static Caravan and Fortuna Pop established itself as a by word for taste making reliability and with that always ahead of the curve. Once of the Cheree / Che trading stables and largely responsible for bringing the likes of the Telescopes and Bark Psychosis to indie bedrooms and beyond, Vinita Joshi has maintained and gathered a formidable who’s who of the dream pop / shoe gaze and space rock glitterati on her roster – Low, Piano Magic, Sonic Boom and Add N to X are among the many as well as current mainstays Robin Guthrie, Fuxa, Clan of Xymox’s Pieter Nooten, God is an Astronaut and latest much chatted about space cadets the frankly out there Eat Lights Become Lights. Sixteen tracks feature on this celebratory landmark release, a smattering of the imprints latest wares – two from each as it happens I you don’t count three fro Fuxa and one from White Ring – that includes three previously unreleased exclusives. Much adored around these here parts since their early sonic utterances via Enraptured a few years ago, Eat Lights Becomes Lights open the partying fanfare with the euphoric dream dipped celestial carnival that is ’bound for magic mountain’ before relocating to more demurred Dusseldorfian climes with the orbiting lunar lilting motorik murmured ’eletromagnetika’ prized from the much admired recent third full length ’modular living’. Admittedly we’re a little embarrassed to say that somehow duo White Ring have so far managed to evade our roving listening ear, how can that be (cue welcome missives from some kind soul telling me not so and directing me to reviews we’d penned years ago), anyhow ’roses’ is your first generation post punk styled cold electronica, for fans of the Weird imprint, this sparsely threaded minimalist beauty ushers in like a coolly detached No Ceremony dropkicked into the dark elegance of an ExPost Facto soundtrack rewired by a very youthful the Knife. I’m suspecting we might be a little light on recent Fuxa releases, ’dirty d’ their latest is currently in orbit (represented here by the hypnotic ‘dream (don’t give up)‘ and the mind expansive dean wareham meets spacemen 3-esque shimmer toned ‘shout out loud‘) not to mention that drop dead gorgeous 2 track ’sun is shining’ which I should say literally blew us away and featured a rare appearance by Add N to X‘s Ann Shenton. Anyway here with ’some things last a long time’ originally by Daniel Johnston and here sumptuously surrendered by the alluring glow of Suicide meets Cheval Sombre vibes. Touchingly intimate and signed in the kind of quiet majesty and ethereal elegance that once upon a time tripped the grooves of releases emanating from out of the Constellation label – and here I’m thinking Set Fire to Flames albeit equipped with a mood lightning cortege of bitter sweet inflections that shimmer almost frost thawed in their twinkling spectrality. Well that’s the case on ’ode’ by Pieter Nooten whilst ’transit’ prized from his recent ’haven’ set is stressed by the melancholic murmur of twilight enchantment and tearfully stained in the sorrowful ache of softly stirred strings and the distressed dressing of forlorn ambient arcs. God is an Astronaut bring with them ’light years from home’ and ’transmissions’ the latter an exclusive live recording a hulking strut riddled sky parter modelled much in the style of the Workhouse while the former a gorgeous statuesque ice dipped gem bathed in stratospheric sirens. Somewhere else Jon DeRosa serves up the sedately smoked ’true men’ and ’signs of life’ with the former proving something of a tear jerker and the latter ghosted in hollowing coolly caressed 60’s motifs that mellow and ooze with an off guarded sophistication to recall Matt Munro. Then there’s an unreleased nugget from Anthony Reynolds in the shape of ’why honey’ which to these ears sounds not unlike a quietly bruised Mick Harvey doing Scott Walker sorties. Mr Reynolds appears again this time building a sweetly attractive rain drizzled down tempo noir soundtrack around the a Colin Wilson narrative while Jacques Caramac and the Sweet Generation step to the plate with ’snowballs’ – again frustratingly another one we missed this un being sneaked out a month or three ago and to these sounding like the kind of tangy summer kissed west coast cutie that in a different age would have been leading a bubblepop charge out of the summershine, bus stop and seminal twang sound houses. To the next 100 hurrah…..
I’m sure that those chaps the Truth about Frank are well ordered decent sorts capable of polite conversation and witty repartee, what fair folk would look upon as the life and soul of the party. However put them in a studio, wire them up with electronics, noises and other outer worldly sound making gadgets and the blighters assume the shadowy and predatory menace of a stalker who watches Korean horror flicks by way of light entertainment. Absent from our sound space for some two years, 2011’s ‘cannibal work ethic’ being much marvelled here as well as I seem to recall were a stash of unreleased recordings put together across three CD’s by the duo for our listening pleasure, all of which words fondly typed about we’d love to direct you to though alas they are currently stranded on a failing hard drive since losing today saw fit to cease operations and with it our directory of 13 years worth of reviews going into some cyber black hole. Teeth gnashing aside the good news is that the Truth about Frank are back, better still they sound even more sinister now than they’ve ever sounded. ’the carrion’ EP features three horror-phonic slabs of aural architecture providing prove indeed as if any was needed or for that matter asked for that this hive mind are adept at the crafting of abstract isolationist collages, which on another day we could refer to as pop but that would be stretching the boundaries. As said three suites lurk within, the minute ‘about Frank’ opens communications, originally commissioned for the Crow versus Crow radio show, in short its akin to finding yourself stopping off one dark late night at weirdsville, heavily inscribed in dark industrial grunts and mechanics, a ghostly avatar disturbingly greets you at the entrance from therein your on your own amid a uneasy and disorientating macabre playground of sound mosaics, the themes fractured and broken appear like subliminal flashes as though some arcane experimentation in mind wiping conditioning with you the guinea pig up for processing. Disturbing doesn’t quite cut it. Those thinking ‘organism dying in transit’ is going to prove any easier in the listening experience stakes ought to think again. Put together along with ‘smoking’ to form the sound-scape for a short film showcased at the recent No Gloss Film Festival, it finds the duo voyaging ever deeper into the inner spheres of sound, subterranic minimalism, disquieting earth beat loops, pulsar murmurs spliced with the occasional albeit brief snowburst of euphoria all dampened down in an eerie disturbia. As to the parting ‘smoking’ – best described I guess some micro chipping love note, or then maybe not given the appearance of ghostly bowed shimmers and the evocation of spectral tidings from the void give this something of a dissolving effect which in truth wouldn’t go looking too much out of place on an early EAR back catalogue. Out via LYF incidentally.
Staying with things slightly off radar, a handsome package received here just t’other day contained two of the latest projects to include DotB’s Justin Wiggan. We are going to leave the ‘magpies and lies’ part of the equation for a second and first take up the challenge posed by ‘slowborn enemy of the fate’. what can we say, attractively packaged might be as good a place as any to start, issued by a giant fern its a limited 50 only cassette housed in a dinky little handmade wooden box – looks most fetching, inside along the tape an insert foldout. Two tracks feature within, now unless we are very much mistaken or maybe our ears are getting a little attuned to this type of stuff but this may well be one of the most accessible Wiggan adventures since that glorious Cocoons outing for static caravan a year or two ago. still edged in the experimental noise mediums ‘judges’ is rather more less etched in doom drilled gloom as has been the want of roadside picnic releases in recent times, in fact if you scrunch your ears up it actually sounds – wait for it – shoe gazey – well either or the shrill of recently cut nails running down felt covered chalk boards. So high end on the sonic spectrum its as though in their attempts to climb the scales to achieve to achieve a bliss like equilibrium that these montages are actually disintegrating. Sound wise not unlike some imaging of warring Archangels in readiness for battle gathered together for a stand off floorshow lighting the very heavens with their sunburst symphonies. In sharp contrast ‘be kind with me and I will destroy you’ over on the flip of the cassette operate in a low end sonic insulation emerging into what can only be described as a 32 minute cyclonic chiller, not your easy listening, bowed orbs, shimmering glissandos and weaving intermissions from the beyond, not an out and out aural assault but more your sinister hanging ominously in the air styled disquiet. www.agianfern.bandcamp.com/album/slowborn-enemy-of-fate
Indeed I know its hard to believe but we’ve lost the email that accompanied this little nugget so apologies if the info is a little – shall we say – basic, anyhow no denying that this ought to be on your wants list especially if your listening delights happen to orbit to the sound of Cheval Sombre, Sonic Boom, Love, Lee Hazlewood and Syd Barrett. New thang from former Women guitarist Patrick Flegel, here operating under the guise of the Androgynous Mind, is an imminent 5 track EP by the name of ’nightstalker’ due soon on Faux Discx, and a brooding mama it is. Pitched in the kind of ghostly gravel gouged psych blues that shimmered forlornly across the withered and spectral opines of the Devastations frankly awesome ’Loene’ debut from a few years back, ’knock on my door’ is clipped in a darkly prowling 60’s classicism that howls and hollows with the kind of head bowed reverence of a young Johnny Cash albeit loosely wired upon the type of smoking slow burn sparse detailing of a quietly surrendering Cheval Sombre in cahoots with a out there and bliss kissed Dean Wareham shimmying up to John Carpenter (no not that John Carpenter but the dude who put out that spiffing ‘season‘s 7 inch for Mexican summer way back when we were so much younger). We will try and secure full copies for a full review. www.soundcloud.com/faux-discx/androgynous-mind-knock-on-mind
John Carpenter incidentally can be found at www.johncarpenter.bandcamp.com – think we might need to flag this up for a quick peak in future missives because its been a while since we last checked in.
Additional notes – just in case you’ve never heard ‘loene’ by the Devastations you can nab it here www.devastations.bandcamp.com
And back with Roadside Picnic for a second serving of sonic weirdness. Available as a limited 40 cassette via centipede farm, the four track noise niking ‘magpies and lies’ is a wholly differing affair, not quite as fierce some as that full on assault provided for by that bludgeoning ‘and yet it moves’ collection for Jehu and chinaman but nonetheless cultured in something spiked in an uneasy detachment and sense of something foreboding. At over an hours long worth of frequency flipping, sonic distortion and acute isolationism, this slice of shrilled sound sculpturing finds Mr Wiggan / Roadside Picnic operating at the height of his oblique powers. Now I know there’s the old joke about power electronics and the casual referrals to it being akin to having your head drilled but never did I quite expect to hear such flagrant use of garden shed dwelling machinery this side of an early to mid 80’s German industrial ensemble performing panel beating exercises on record – yes I’m talking about you guys Einsturzende Neubauten wherein it appears all manner of drills and circular saws are weaved and processed into the completion of a sorrowful post apocalyptic soundscape. Serving as the sets centrepiece ‘fear of an oath’ makes up what amounts to 2/3rds of the album, split over 2 parts it’s a volcanic aural autopsy ripped in speaker melting wave forms of blurring skree distortion while per part 2 matters appear to solidify and assume a white noise technoid phrasing and all manner of whirring degrading which in truth is even more disturbing a listening experience than the effects of being pinned flat against the wall from part 1’s titanic assault though admittedly it doesn’t help the cause any with the blister forming sun scorched snowstorms that manifest towards the mid way section. That said if its all out audio terrorism that tinkles your fancy then those heads among you loving their space destroyed by industrial acid dipped searing sonics might do well to batten down the hatches for ‘the gift’ and prepare to have all manner of brutalised harsh sandblasted sonic skrees scalds raining upon your listening space – certainly with doubt pissing in the same putrid pool of kylie minoise and sissy spacek. Damaged stuff. www.music.centipedefarm.com/album/magpie-lies
Spotted this after a little nosying around on the interweb – as you do – this ‘un is out via failed recordings – I think – a limited to just 100 copies cassette by Millipede who in essence is one Joseph Davenport who with the aid of an arsenal of treated / processed guitars, wiring electronics and tape loops does a neat line in celestial riff ruptures which unless our ears are listening to something entirely different sounds like a perfect bedfellow to that recent Revenant Sea / Roadside Picnic outing and which by the sounds of ‘pale’ is stationed on the very outposts of the shoe gaze / dream pop cosmos and bearing down not unlike some un-mastered and raw heavenly epistle from my bloody valentine albeit in cahoots with flying saucer attack. Without doubt the work of a keen admirer of the late 80’s New Zealand noise scene. Incidentally ’pale’ comes prized from millipede’s second in a planned set of three albums – this one being called ’the lower world’, the other one by the name ’realms’ and the forthcoming trilogy completer as yet untitled. We will be rooting for full audio for a fuller review for now – here – www.millipede.bandcamp.com/album/the-lower-world
Latest loveliness from Aussie dream studio Hidden Shoal sees the imminent arrival of the new perth single ‘greasy moon’. ripped from their forthcoming sophomore set ’what’s your utopia?’, ’greasy moon’ is a slow ice thawing slab of darkly unfurling majesty cradled amid a ghost light seasoning of subtle soft psyche strobes marooned in cool cold wave texturing and spectrally dappled and harnessed upon swathes of waxing and waning oceanic opines unto which a sense of a shadowy gravitas bleeds – best filed somewhere near the Church in terms of understated bruised beauty. www.soundcloud.com/hidden_shoal/perth-greasy-moon
Staying with Hidden Shoal a little while longer, now this is quite simply arresting, been a while since we hooked up to the sounds of Apricot Rail, I seem to recall their last visitation in these pages many, many years ago had us all seductively cooed and frankly speechless in adoring admiration. It seems Perth’s finest have a new single out, ‘dore strauch’ be its name, lifted from their ‘Quarrels’ album which I’m suspecting we need to hear as soon as, this honey is pure pastoral kaleidoscopia. Woodwinds, glockenspiels and the ornate rustic reel of folk madrigals weave a sumptuously hypnotic haven of vintage village green follies by way of an ageless craft honeyed in a regal pepper-corning that could easily be a spell crafting Ozric Tentacles lassoed from their astral planes and moored to some lush green idyllic meadow whittling woodcuts with circulus and sproatly smith under the watchful proud eye of a certain Mr Oldfield. www.soundcloud.com/hidden_shoal/apricot-rail-dore-strauch
A moving picture show to accompany said delight is here…..
Okay we appear to have struck a seam of gorgeousness here, first perth, then apricot rail and now this from the fossil collective who’ve been peppering these pages on a regular basis of late given they’ve been dropping off demurring track by track crumbs from their ’the water’ EP which incidentally in case you were wondering is now out via – I think – dirty hit. We’ll try and nab copies for full review in the coming days. For now to celebrate its release the duo are making available as a free download taster their cover of the flaming lips ’do you realize’. must admit this brought a fair old tear to the eye wafting in as it did in a sepia smoked radiance to set our witching hour sitting all aglow in a divinely demurred spiritual sigh, this just aches and trembles with such lovelorn resonance that you feel obliged to nuzzle up to it and throw a comforting arm around it. Utterly beguiled that said wait till you hear ’and if you go (I’m coming along)’ from their latest set ‘fraid its made of stuff to make grown men crumble into sobbing children. www.soundcloud.com/fossilcollective/do-you-realize
Mentioned this a few weeks back – think hulking pedals to the floor sky parting atmospheric 80’s pageantry roughly tuning into the Chameleons though mellowed and determined by Inch Blue and then some more….by Haarts – new single ‘article way’….
At present holed up in their secret sound bunker putting the gloss treatments to an original score for the 70’s animation film ‘fantastic planet’, we won’t deny we’ve been some what smitten and adoring of Lisbon based psyche folk alchemists Beautify Junkyards of late. Appearances via the esteemed Fruits de Mer imprint have seen them applying their ethereal bewitchment to a finite selection of familiar and more often than not – once thought and rightly considered – untouchable classics which on paper without having heard them you’d be inclined to dismiss as some sort of foolhardy whimsy (‘radioactivity’ and ‘from the morning’ are two such that instantly spring to mind). Self released and limited in nature Beautify Junkyards release their self titled debuting platter. Within sit nine carefully re-tweaked covers including that aforementioned earlier this missive version of Vashti Bunyan’s ‘rose hip November’ here aglow and beguiled in the most unreal and beautifully spectral rephrasing. An absolutely faultless set – and I mean faultless for here there’s no filler, no rush – just the sweetly arresting track by track cascade of beautified classicism pitched with such adept fragile craft that swooning faints and jaw dropped awe might well be a recreation happened upon with each repeat play. Those among you still sniffing at the fact it’s a covers set might do well to immediately fast track to the brace of nuggets found hidden here before you care to pass judgement for all said nothing quite touches both their variations of Nick Drake’s ‘from the morning’ and Kraftwerk’s ‘radioactivity’. Drake purists will – aside considering his compositions the finished work – more often the holy grail as were – be all to familiar that the author was meticulous to the point of near perfection so its with no surprise that on those rare occasions when cover versions emerge there’s a tendency for sharp intake of breath. In recent memory only Rhys Marsh and the Telescopes have managed to acquit themselves admirably and bring with them an additional small facet to the canon. In their hands ’from the morning’ is refreshingly opened up and applied with a radiant romantic lilt something though which present on the original was somewhat dulled and obscured, though now re-instated with an affectionate almost outer worldly rustic elegance. As to their re-reading of Kraftwerk’s ’radioactivity’ – you’d have to go some distance to hear a cornerstone of modern pop re-housed and relocated in such an eloquent way and here removed of its cold wave futurist hypnosis and supplanted with a chiming pastoral cortege that aside coming on like a demurring shy eyed Tunng sounds for all the world as though its vacating in the Summerisles. Peppercorn your listening space with some dainty re-evaluations of lost gems by Heron, Linda Perhacs, a remarkably homely and lovelorn re-reading of Bridget St John’s ’ask me no questions’, a touching take of Roy Harper’s ’another day’ and an exquisitely crafted sweetly lazy eyed prettified pastoral posies made up out of Donovan’s ’song for the naturalist’s wife’ and you have yourself an intimate and indelibly inscribed love note. And dare that we part without mentioning our favourite moment of the collection – an utterly beguiling and spell crafted nailing of Os Mutantes ’fuga no.2’ in our much humbled opinion worthy of the entrance fee alone. www.beautifyjunkyards.bandcamp.com
I’m fairly certain we’ve stumbled across this lot at one time or another in previous incarnations of these missives, one for the Christmas wants list I sorely suspect. Hailing from Vermont, Messrs Artaud and MacFadyn make up the Vacant Lots and are here founding shimmying to the seasonal soiree with a cover of Martin Rev’s ’no more Christmas blues’ which in its original form tripped up on the Ze imprint in that golden year of 1981 for what has since been billed the first alternative Xmas compilation (‘a Christmas record’) unto which upon whose grooves cuts by the Waitresses’, August Darnell, Was (not was), Suicide, Material and James Chance curdled. Anyhow this version comes prized from a Cleopatra set entitled ’psych out Christmas’ that boasts a tinsel tree gathering of dudes such as the fuzztones, iggy, dead meadows, dead horses, psychic ills and more besides – a copy of which we’ll have to nab. Staying with the Vacant Lots though for now, a merry minimalist mind wiring cutie, acutely faithful to the original and here sprinkled with a fuzzy sassiness that’s smoked and chivvied in a hypnotic psych blues head warp replete with nifty Dale / Wray growls and showered in lysergic snow flakes, shades are essential. www.thevacantlots.bandcamp.com/album/no-more-christmas-blues
Hailing from somewhere Stateside and again having something of the spirit of Suicide about their wares are the excellently named the tara experiment – a minimalist electronic consciousness that appears to be headed up by the Dada Man who is here aided and abetted by the mysterious Eathgirl who assists with floaty vocals. This tinselly twin set was recorded late summer just gone at the office of experimental music and film and beyond that the trail of clues goes quiet. That said we can vouch to saying that flip side ’everywhere its Christmas’ does loosely orbit the spectral shimmer of Rev / Vega’s ’dream baby dream’ emerging from the haze as a cold wave smoked out slab of sparsely wound hallucinogenic head tripping Sunray styled soft psyche. We here though are rather taken by ‘Christmas in the observatory’ where upon sat atop the purposeful meditative whirr of a mooching drum kit all manner of woozily kaleidoscopic lysergia happenings seek to colour your listening space in florescent hazes and mind warping dream drifts- I suspect this won’t be the last time that these aural apparitions befall these musings. www.thetaraexperiment.bandcamp.com/christmas-in-the-observatory-single
Sounding scarily like some proto teen thrilled Generation X – I kid you not – albeit after a night down at the local boozer hanging out with various professionals and the greedies types – this pogoing punked up power popped paint bombing slab of two chord grizzle is haplessly described as ‘complete Christmas cheese with a maddeningly catchy tune’ – and really who are we to argue, ramones with sleigh bells it be, this fella comes heading out of Manchester and its by the Kopek Millionaires who I suspect are made up in the ranks by Messrs Skullknuckles, Vincent and Mumey. Anyhow this is available until Christmas day wherein if you purchase the whole CD there’s promise of 4 of other snot nosed cuties and a free mystery cool gift. www.thekopekmillionaires.bandcamp.com/track/christmas-girl-3
Next missive will feature all manner of lovelies from the magik markers, 62 miles from space, Manitou, dog bite, plank, cosines, tunes of glory and more…..
We love records, cassettes and even CD’s so should you feel the desire to contact you can get in touch in the following ways –
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We’re also on sound cloud and twitter but I’ll be buggered I know the address that said if you really need them then send an interesting record or tape and we’ll root out the details.
As ever take care of yourselves…..xx