Tales from the Attic V- ‘revolutions of a 45 kind’…

Tales from the Attic V- ‘revolutions of a 45 kind’…


By jiminy I do believe we’re getting the hang on this deadline lark this one being a merest one day late – okay I lied about 5 days – agreed it is slightly truncated this time out but in fairness its packed with prime slice morsels of listening loveliness not least an early preview of the autumnal aural ear wear coming out of the fruits de mer stable shortly. More about those shortly. Those of you missing the normal elongated rambles will do well to keep tuned given that we’ve bagged two weeks off from 9 to 5 hell and will be profusely littering our update page at www.facebook.com/thesundayexperience with all manner of strangeness, sublimeness and indeed slimeness will be there for your enjoyment / excruciation. Anyway onward with the records and stuff – contact info should you need it is at the footing of this rambling monologue – we may even have competitions next time out – way hey.

Currently on the reading table – we’ve recently stumbled across our copy of Kadwo Eshun’s excellent ‘more brilliant than the sun – adventures in sonic fiction’ – sick of the Brit pop rewrites clogging up your book case telling you it was the most remarkable and key note eras in pop’s extended and lushly varied pantheon – well this tome marches to a different tune – originally sneaked out at the tail end of the 90’s to little fuss or fanfare this hugely well worked tome is an amazing literary exploration in to the alternative sonic space journeyed by the sample-delic and cross generic fusionists who’ve shaped the music landscape over the course of the last 4 decades, from the jazz fission period of the late 60’s to the emergence of hip hop orientated electro and the onset of jungle and techno. Mid way through ‘publikation’ – a considered and hugely engaging biography of Dusseldorf’s finest sons, written by David Buckley the tome is probably the nearest that you the mere spectator / admirer and fan will ever get to peaking inside the collective’s inner circle, alas noted for its absence of the groups two main protagonists it does however offer a wealth of insight from former band members most notably Karl Bartos, authoritative and well researched the book goes some way to debunking long held myths whilst giving voice to fan perspectives – Foxx and OMD in the main and revealing what most of us always suspected a shared mindset that was as brutally dismissive as it was clinically perfect – see the quite frankly outrageous treatment of Conny Plank once he’s served his use.

Magazine wise and something that should appeal to those whose paper stand pick ups consist of stuff like shindig, ugly things and galactic zoo dossier is the premier issue of flashback. A gargantuan publication the size ands weight of a small coffee table and attractively priced in so much as you get change out of 6 notes. Put together by ‘galactic ramble’ / ‘endless trip’ author and head honcho of the sunbeam imprint Richard Morton Jack, this heavyweight tome – and I mean heavyweight – like coffee table creaking – just in case you missed the bit about it being the size of a small coffee table – seeks to savour and delight in the sounds that most other magazines ploughing similar plots see fit to step over and avoid. 212 pages in length – all on high grade quality paper replete with colourised plates -’flashback’ promises to plug the gaps in your knowledge of all things – according to the top of the tin – ’psyche, prog, jazz, folk, blues and beyond….’ – with contributions from another key note author – Patrick Lundborg of acid archives fame. In this debuting issue the 100 most underrated guitarists, david axelrod, linda hoyle, fanny, the rebirth of vinyl, mad river and a hugely enjoyable journey into the roots of psychedelia per the centre stage spot ‘exploring the unknown’ as it neatly joins the invisible dots between the disparate forces such as musique concrete, Dadaism, fluxus, 50’s exotica pop and the early pioneering electronic film soundtracks and cosmic suites to the 60’s avant scenes and the freely available emergence of lsd.

Shhh, keep it under your hat, but we’re a little bit fond of this ’un, maybe it’s the way it appears to breezily saunter nonchalantly under the radar and past your defences tipping a cheeky wink as it shimmies by, or maybe it’s the fact that blessed with a melodic recipe that marinates exotic flavourings cured in honeyed sun stroked afterglows and a blissfully kissed knowingness that has me reaching for the repeat play button. Mind you its exactly 4.30am in the morning, all is quiet and maybe just maybe its radiance and off kilter feel good laziness is just what I need to uplift the sombre stillness invading this ungodly houred silence. Of course I could impart to you the subtle David and Bacharach tingle it exudes or its almost softly effervescent clipped adrift and lilting seafaring homeliness. Whatever the reason we are smitten – you’ll probably feel the same after one single earshot. Incidentally its by Tim Burgess – you may remember him as the front man of the Charlatans, there was a nifty single reviewed here somewhere last year by him, he has a book out at present entitled ’making stories’ which we really must grab, this by the way is ’white’ – its peeled from a forthcoming full length ’oh no I love you’.

Now bearing in mind its somewhere approaching 3.15am yes I started listening to this before the burgess cut and then went back to it – why the hell I’ve seen fit to giving time checks is beyond me but I guess it – hey – lends to the atmosphere somewhat. And so to Bong. Now bearing in mind the previously mentioned release was so uplifting and sunny and quite frankly just what we needed at 4.30am – time check again – bugger me I’ll be giving weather and traffic reports next incidentally cold to mild and cloudy with a prospect of light north west breezes – the roads are quiet – or at least will be when the joy riding bastard down the road wraps himself cosily around a mischievously placed lamp-post. Now if you happen to be sitting alone during the witching hour Bong may or may not be the ideal musical backdrop you’d care to have breathing through your hi-phonic speakers, on the aptly named ritual productions, their sound lends itself to something of a dread filled ceremonial calling of horned ones who given the nocturnal setting wouldn’t be dropping by for tea and cakes and a quick catch up on world affairs. Its grim, foreboding and deathly unflinching and something which dressed only in a pair of shorts and a battered James t-shirt – incidentally the ’come home’ one for those who like to make notes of such things – and without the offering of some sacrificial offering I feel inadequately attired for. Let’s just say that opening salvo ‘wizard’s of krill’ is purely for playing in the day time – well creepy and soul sapping. Initially rearing its head in 2009 on a limited 500 vinyl run all of which disappearing on sight the self titled Bong debut gets a deserved go on CD for the first time following the acclaim met by their recent ’mana yood sushai’ set – a copy of which we feel we need in our lives right now not least so that we can scare the bejeezus out of the local folks. To describe and best enjoy these three slavering brutes you’d be advised to pause a second and skin up the fattest blow you’ve ever done, spark up and let your head space melt away for the aptly named Bong appear to have – shall we say – been imbibing in mind mushrooming substances in the laying of this leviathan like beast for so addled and tripped out these monolithic primordial mantras probably sound in their wasted and hazy heads like brutish techno fry ups though without the enhancement of additives are slowed to such despair driven stillness that they consume, suffuse and glower menacingly like some aural black hole sucking the light, energy and spirit from their surroundings. In short they make Earth sound like happy, clappy all singing and dancing smiley souls of the party. ’asleep’ is particularly invested in the kind of low end arid dry drone mirages that translate with deathly desolation , the maddening throngs and slo core reverbs ripple and rupture your listening space with hopelessness. Somewhere else ‘the starlit grotto’ – really tell me they are kidding – just needs to be heard to be believed – the ultimate head fuck – a stonking beatnik bastard that seamlessly shape shifts across a number of generic sonic species – a hulking psych fused transcendental journey into the third eye is what you get – monastic chants, subtle middle eastern accents, pulsar riffage and an air of dark foreboding reverence inscribed with the kind of lost archaic tongue and tripping Tibetan vibe that you’d expect to find grimly gouging the grooves of releases by beta lactam ring regulars – Soriah, un festin sagital and seven that spells the latter albeit though in cosmically minded moods. All said the doomy droning dogs danders.

Woooaah – hold your Goddamn horses there sunshine – sophomore album – wooaah pardon me – sophomore you say – doesn’t that mean there’s been a debut before it – aw man I’m really seething now – to be passed over with ‘moving parts’ is a mere oversight some would say, to miss ’eleven’ is well a sheer good to honest slap in the chops. Now us here are not known for being vindictive but hey – we were reaching straight for the cutlery drawer and selecting suitable knives for sharpening. But do you know – ‘tightrope’ is so damn nice that feel obliged to let such indiscretions go. Anyhow the latest from Mr Fogg who has in recent years occasionally appeared in these missives with various single releases and not albums I hasten to add (do you like the way I did that – its called playing nice – that sense of guarded sarcasm tempering the tone) – well we are very fond of him – this un his latest is culled from his recent as yet unheard and unseen – second full length ‘eleven’ – sorry I just couldn’t resist – beautifully braided in a softly dimmed monochromatic and minimalist setting that delicately unfurls with forlorn and fractured grace to blossom by its end into a tear trimmed panoramic cutie which unless ears do deceive put us much in mind first instance to the much missed birdpen though on repeat listens hinted and sweetly arcs like a youthfully sparse Swimmer One. A moving picture show type thing looks a lot like this…..

There’s an album entitled ‘black music’ incoming via last gang which will be proceeded in a few weeks by ‘alone’ – the authors Dark Horses hail from Brighton and I don’t mind saying that this has been on constant repeat since rearing into our ear space little over an hour ago. Embraced with a cooled stare you down chic, this minimalist frost tipped slice of brooding and beguiling darkly purring electro groove owes its parentage to the austere blip bop pop of the Cobra Killers and Client, that said our radar tweaked to recall the subtle undertow of the Creatures muddying the mix while those minded and much in mourning of the missing in action maudite dance nee the clerks may just swoon and shimmy to its noir sculptured blank generation sparseness. http://soundcloud.com/darkhorsesmusic/dark-horses-alone

Equally sparring for affection is the debuting album from Deep Sea Arcade which I’m must apologise right now for we’ve mislaid the information on – anyhow until such time when we get our head out of our lame backside – can we just give you a heads up that this is quite the most alluring collection we’ve heard plastered upon a debuting platter since the sound carriers many moons ago. Indeed that good – opening cut ‘outlands’ which is becoming something of an affectionate obsession is a dizzying doe eyed darling that’s drizzled in demurring kaleidoscopic eddies and the subtle opine of soft breezily blown 60’s signatures that sigh and saunter between the forlorn and the quietly euphoric, all this trimmed and turned to the lilting sway of honeyed harmonics – from what we’ve heard so far this may well be a late contender for one of the albums of the year. We will be bag with oodles of info by the weekend close. Honest.

Incoming from Western Vinyl shortly will be the long awaited and much anticipated fifth full length from Austin, Texas’ finest purveyors of post rock. As part of a run up to herald the release of ‘stranger’ the label have seen fit to sneak out a teaser cut in the guise of ‘days’ in order to whet the appetites of their appreciably grown group of admirers. Hugely expansive and panoramically detailed ‘days’ sees Balmorhea playfully shedding their skin and migrating their math core motifs to a readily more sedate and seductively symphonic setting by way of teasing their trademark template to a rich amorphous persona upon which to its armoury the dimpling of stirring string arrangements and an exotic south pacifica accent lends to a dream woven demur of idly adrift and delicately euphoric impressions. http://soundcloud.com/western_vinyl/balmorhea-days

Latest in the new line of aural autumnal delights from those evergreen psych purveyors fruits de mer sees the release of a tasty twin set from Finland’s (says here the home of Santa Claus – I beg to differ young men – I’ve a john lewis catalogue dated 2005 that says otherwise)Permanent Clear Light. Of course this lot should need no introductory fanfares around these here parts having in recent times been regular FdM mainstays, this latest single pressed up in a limited edition coloured wax serving of 800 comes housed in a tripadelic 3d sleeve. On one side of the wax a newly penned lysergic nugget whilst on the flip a cover of a lost treasure from yesteryear. ’higher than the sun’ alas not the once upon a time head expanding chill factored gem from primal scream from the dawn of Brit pop and the sunset of rave instead this one finds itself entwined in a lushly radiant slow burn web of crystalline lysergic chimes, woozily spaced out effects and statuesque winter turned regal symphonics. We are thinking mushrooms, flowers and acid afterglows the moods mellowed to near bliss states splinter resplendently to arc in mind melting corteges of Floyd-esque opines. There’s an airless floaty seduction that emits from the softly translucent and cosmically anointed core of their frankly remarkable re-wiring of Van der Graaf Generators ‘afterwards’ which was essentially a contract releasing Hammill solo affair by rights. An absolute faultless and smoking re-interpretation unto whose bow appears a rephrased slice of psyche folk hallucinogenia that sumptuously drifts amid the minds inner eye trimmed in trippy mirages all blessed and kissed as though an altered states union of traffic and cream types journeying the limitless cosmic voids.

Ridiculously infectious and much to our embarrassment an absolute age since we had his wares swooning to cut psyched out shapes on our turntable. Anton Barbeau spits out tangy tones of pristine pop dinked kaleidoscopic curios like a zonked out crystalline Catherine wheel. Three prime cut slabs of florescent freak beat perch upon this uber limited vinyl only outing for fruits de mer – incidentally arriving in a choice of two colours. First up on the inspection table a previously unreleased edit of his ’psychedelic mynde of moses’ nugget – featuring a guest appearing Nick Saloman on guitar – plugs into the DNA of Robyn Hitchcock to summon up the spirit of Syd whilst cloaked in a shimmer toned psych soaked pop armoury that struts, swoons and saunters to a rarefied fried and trip wired tongue of a classically lysergic Soft Boys. And did we just mention Mr Hitchcock well here’s a quite frankly turntable trashing and speaker spanking take on Robyn’s ’sometimes I wish I was a pretty girl’ here given a healthy dose of glam pop radiation that sees it morphing seismically into a manic mutation of youthful Sparks panic pop attacks and wig flipped effervescent euphoria – don’t mind admitting its totally fried. Wrapping the set up – a cover version of Mr Cope’s ‘out of my mind on dope and speed’ here refitted with NASA engineered turbo chargers and sent headlong into the farthest reaches of the cosmos with the mighty Hawkwind big bearded and stoned off their faces manning the controls. Your record collection needs this.

Here’s a pretty nifty take of the same cut by lowend automatic – any info on these guys would be greatly appreciated….

Utterly taken by this since it reared up on our listening radar though I’m fairly certain we well have uttered words of affection in an earlier missive given that when we first eyed the video we had something of a déjà vu moment – of course that could be the vindaloo or the fact that I’m now suffering musical premonitions in my sleep. Causing something of a stir on that there blogosphere and initially preferring to remain mysterious and anonymous – ring any bells No Ceremony – the neighbourhood have emerged from their shadowy secrecy and about to break cover with a new 10 inch EP from which the quite frankly divine ‘female robbery’ is peeled. Clipped in noir-ish atmospherics and drip dried to a panoramic wash of trip hop beats this sweetly souring and yearning gem is beset with a darkening majesty which imparted by a delirious nightmarish psychosis opening soon blossoms into something poised and preened to a statuesque and subtly macabre motif that sounds as though it ought to come with a made in Bristol c. 94 sticker on its hide – in short a dream team half lit studio tryst between massive attack and the aloof. All this comes enhanced by a chilling sepia dripped monochrome video retelling the tale of abuse, violence and murder with a little girl the centre of the story – but who you might ask ends up in the home made grave – well it takes a few viewings before the not so obvious answer comes to the fore – lets just say its about letting go of ones lot.

Video is here while a documentary features straight after…..

Now I know what your saying right this minute – your thinking we need a spot of abrasive toe tapping punk rock-ol-a and with that in mind a neat little cassette – I know young folk – vinyl is a mystery and now they are flinging these things called tapes your way and your wondering what the hell do I do with this and how the hell do I play it – blighter won’t fit in the toaster, the dvd tray and bugger me its bigger than my mp3 player. See progress is not all its cracked up to be – downloads are all well and good as space saver and convenience but surely there’s an embarrassment quota to be had as you run off for a jimmy riddle and your mates scroll through your entire record collection in your absence creasing themselves in laughter at your purchase indiscretions. Indeed vinyl is one thing but nothing quite matches the much maligned cassette – never will you have the trials and tribulations of mangled tapes, the hours of fun with pencil in hand (a thing we used to draw with) spooling the tape along or how about dodgy tape heads that played your cassettes wonky in fast and slow variations so that Bonio sounded as though he had clamps on his testes (an improvement I hear you say) or else all your fave songs sounded as though they’d been given a monastic chant stylee – and lest we forget snapped tapes and the intricacies involved in trying to patch them up with selotape. Thems where the days non of this skip to the next track malarkey – no it was all about precision, patience and nifty side skill in hopping between the rewind and forward buttons. And why do I mention this you may well wonder – well simply because there’s a rather fine cassette only release about to emerge via the excellently named bitching cassettes imprint. Limited to just 100 tapes, this cassette pairs together the much talked about Runaround Kids who hailing from that well known epicentre of rock n’ roll that is Wakefield have to date boasted a full length album under their collective belts – alas missed here to much nagging grumbles – ‘into the light’ is a mildly infectious slab of your good to honest hardcore alt bop that unless I’m much mistaken reveals a band whose after hours listening entertainment has fugazi and leatherhead sharing the spoils, spazzed out time signatures, stop start disjointed rhythms, melodic math rock craftsmanship and a vocalist whose impassioned and dare I say frantically urgent delivery had us with a mind to reach for our old stash of Stiff Little Fingers ear ware as well as an inkling for rooting out those all to essential reception era weddoes grooves the spills occupy the other side with the equally tasty ’atomic Arabian face buster’ who likewise have been the authors of a much admired by all accounts full length – again missing in action here – and who are at present though not necessarily right this minute nailing down a follow up for philophobia – more awkward time signatures though I must admit I love the way it erupts into a glorious slab of skewed euphoria with all the attending arrangements seemingly playing from different pages, wonderfully addled and fractured – guess that means you’ll be wanting it – wouldn’t blame you. Not sure if I’m allowed to share this sound cloud link – but hey – I’d like to think we are amongst friends – so bugger the consequences – http://soundcloud.com/philophobia-music/sets/bitching-cassettes-bc002/s-qxMY3

The Orb and Lee Scratch Perry ‘golden clouds’ via cooking vinyl – must admit I’m in total agreement with the lads at norman records on this one, for when I eyed this in the local record emporium I did feel the momentary pang of ‘what have they done now’ rumbling distantly in the recesses of my psyche. Indeed one of the finest records ever, ’little fluffy clouds’ is forevermore on the fabled list of ’do not touch’ moments in recorded folklore, so when its author stumbles in with dub legend Lee Scratch Perry you have to take stock, pause the disbelief and pray something gets brought to the party. Happily ’golden clouds’ works, but then you do have to reposition your headspace to appreciate it, gone are the Rickie Lee Jones samples and the tripadelic ’fluffiness’ of the original and in its place a kind of stoned afterglow which is just as well given that Mr Perry sounds completely shit faced as he weaves his way through some trippy mantra which at first sounds as though he’s trying to find all the words rhyming with junk he can muster, add in the disconnected shuffling breezes of wonky beats and you get the sense of something fractured and just a tad fried, any discernible reference to the original comes to the rescue mid way through with the arrival of the familiar sun chilled chiming motifs. Over on the flip ’golden clouds – the instrumental’ which is like the a side only without Lee and hitherto dusted with a delicate middle eastern charm. All said quite tasty if I’m honest – arrives on yellow wax housed in a eye catching die cut sleeve and criminally limited. There’s an album just out which now having partaken of this I’m itching to have as my own.

The third of those essential and hugely recommended fruits de mer autumnal delights comes with the release of new recordings by those purveyors of kaleidoscopia The Chemistry Set. Currently trimming and smoothing the edges for what’ll be a new full length this trio of tunes are the first fruits borne of those sessions and include a mind altering flowering power pop flavoured ear candy retuning of tomorrow’s ’hallucinations’ which would ordinarily have the returning votes officer declaring it a hands down set stealer where it not for the accompanying groove packing ‘time to breathe’ and ’come kiss me vibrate and smile’ – the former aglow and sweetly affixed upon a crimson cooled curvature whereupon all the keynote psych reference markers from the Floyd to the Eden Hall converge in a murmuring mind melting myriad of dissipating mirages and smoked out blissfulness leaving the latter to exact its infectious rash like zeal with a lysergic rush of hot wash psychedelics finitely cut amid a swirling roller coasting ride of breathless swoons and pouting hip shimmying effervescence – expect frenzied transistor overkill amid the cooler disc jockeying cognoscenti.

Out right now via trouble in mind – though be quick because word has it that this is getting appreciative glances from the more informed in crowd – is the latest 7 inch from Jacco Gardner. Having already served notice of intent with the scarce as hen’s teeth ’clear the air’ for the Spanish imprint action weekend which I’m pretty miffed to have to report we missed out on – still we’ve nailed ‘where will you go’ which is rather nifty and well worth seeking out not least because it comes pressed up what looks like an accident in the pressing plant involving a child’s paint palette of mutated yellow / brown and green coloured wax. Two cuts you’ll find etched into the grooves the lead out being the dreamily dinked ‘where will you go’ – couched in a ghostly hush, this divinely drifting slice of soft psyche stirs and shimmers like some cosmic dust wind bringing in its wake a super chilled and lovelorn Cheval Sombre found here colluding as were with a beguiled mamas and the papas all of whom spellbound by the chiming cortege of star lit mellotron motifs – does it for us I can tell you. Over on the flip sits ’summer’s game’ which is described by the press as a harpsichord toting Colin Blunstone engaged in heavenly psychedelics which is a good call and probably would have been an fitting end to it all where it not for the fact that our ears appear to detect trace elements of a slow smouldering lost and left lying on the cutting room floor Lee Hazlewood motif celestially chinked by a studio visiting under the cover of darkness tweaking Joe Meek all trimmed and translated by the mindset of a youthful fortdax. Did I say essential.

Something else that came highly recommended during a quick raid of our local record emporium was the latest from Society. Well we say latest – ’all that we’ve become’ is in fact their debut – alas no absolutely no information about this one sided affair – safe to say its awash in the kind soft smoulder that hints at the majesty of the Walker Brothers in their celebrated head bowed pomp albeit as though relocated to the rain draped streets of a nocturnally lit mid 90’s Bristol scene underground, the fading echo of 60’s motifs frame the gliding strings themselves sympathetically shouldering the feint heart tremble of a tear stained parting unto which flow the succulent delicate demur of seductive sophistication as all caress and converge in a devilish pact to tug heavily on your heartstrings with an aching finality. An utter gem.

Moving picture show goes like this…..

Must admit that I’m feeling slightly under dressed sitting here in my pants and me battered and near trashed James ‘come home’ t-shirt because listening to the tuneful of tastiness that is ‘warm chills’ by the Persian Claws I’m getting these distinct 60’s styled dropout vibes that have me thinking I should be on some west coast beach replete with surf board under arm calling everybody dad-io and excitably shoehorning into each sentence the words cats and scene – this lot come highly recommended – or should I say have been recommended highly for years by those chaps over at Bordellos HQ – a quick flick through the recommended additional listening menu reveals that this brief boogying honey is in good company with Loveland who as you all know is the side project of Lana Fuzztones – blending b-movie twang and a vintage mutant gouged beat grooved shimmying rock-a-hula, Persian claws flout, pout and flirt with a demurring and well heeled familiar coda that purrs to the femme pop fatalism of the Shangri La’s et al whilst coolly packing a seductive pop scribed knowingness more reminiscent of the much missed Brand Violet – old school picture show to accompany said song is here…..somewhere….


Staying with that there you tube and continuing with the feline theme here’s some good wholesome vintage blue grass rock a boogie from the late great Jimmy Murphy entitled ‘here Kitty Kitty’ – dig that howling harmonica…..dadio….blighters have disabled the embedding codes so its gonna have to be long hand I’m afraid….http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIBn9TMqaHk&feature=channel&list=UL

Seriously long overdue apologies to the luck of eden hall whose ‘butterfly revolutions – volume 2’ has so far escaped critical earshot – mainly due to the fact that it was much loved and overplayed to near deathly destruction in our gaff. Anyhow a note posted somewhere else by Gregory from the band informs all that there is just one copy left of this soon to be hailed classic set at cd baby. Also seems the band have sneaked out a limited to 200 set entitled ‘alligators eat gumdrops’ which we will endeavour to critique in full in time for the next missive – this time next week in case you are wondering – for now though you can sample the album in its full glory by tweaking your settings in the general direction of http://theluckofedenhall.bandcamp.com/ though we here recommend that your first ports of call take in the beautified and yearning cosmically speckled bubble grooved psych glam shanty ‘a carney’s delirium’ and the psychedelicised shoo bop of the snazzy ‘ten meters over the ground’ replete with brassy forays, moments of fraying psychosis and headspace re-arranging noodling….

Another ensemble much deserving of an overdue apology are Thumper Monkey who feature at least one erstwhile ex member of brand violet who we mentioned in passing earlier – from the first appearance of their debuting ‘pig heart’ way back in the early 00’s the cast was dyed and a clear statement of intent was ushered forth that Woodman and Co would not only furrow a musical path so distant and unrelated from their previous teeth cutting adventures but that this fixed vision would take them far beyond the boundaries of your passing fashion jumping one hit wonder needle dropping indie tag team. With each passing release they’ve matured and sophisticated their song craft to a point where the comparable doffing of musical caps can be made with the heavyweights new and old of the progressive rock fraternity. A sixth album entitled ‘sleep furiously’ nearly upon us and due for release on Halloween the band unveil the first of four recorded videos to herald its arrival. From the opening strains of ’the rhetorician’ a beautifully fractured slice of pastoral wistfulness envelops the would be listener, adrift and buoyed upon the genteel tail of a soft summery breeze this disarming gem at once frail and fragile is clipped in a honeyed thoughtfulness which by the application of a deft melodic intricacy endows it with a spectral spell craft that’s both ghostly and tenderly introspective and hitherto gives hint of an aural navigational radar that is primed and directed towards the sonic outer spheres exploring a indigenous populace that pays home to the likes of the Porcupine Tree and the mellower and less schizoid variants of Radiohead.

Full review for this barnstorming beauty in the next missive – the Bordellos sound factory has been busy in full tilt of late – so much so we can’t keep up with what we’ve heard and what we’ve yet to hear – save to say there are bordellos and related solo sets lying in wait. The EP available via http://thebordellosbieber.bandcamp.com/ and the small bear imprint http://www.smallbearrecords.com/ whose catalogue boasts a postcode retrospective – is this the same postcode who in the near past had outings via the much missed filthy little angels label – if so we want one – like now – anyhow back to the Bordellos and by way of a little teaser – the EP incidentally is entitled ‘bring me the head of Justin Bieber’ as fine a title as to have entered the pop pantheon since that well known toe tapping scouting march extravaganza ‘ging gang goolie’ – we’ve plumbed for ‘the gift of noise’ which unless we’ve had a life threatening bang to the head sounds to us as though its breeding distance echoes of ‘I’m not your steppin stone’ albeit here as though force fed through the Mary Chain fuzz box and beset and rounded upon by those noise niking guided by voices disciples Southall Riot.

Moving picture entertainment to boot – here’s the promo for the lead cut ‘Justin bieber’….

Arriving soon in a strictly limited pressing of only 300 the latest offering from Xui Xui promises to spook the hell out of the lighter elements of their fan base and should prove something of a listening treat for all those who tune into the ear-wares of the trenSmat imprint – we are thinking astral social club – and the ever evolving sound collage canon of dream of tall buildings’ Justin Wiggan. ‘quagga’ is set to see the light of day on the celebrated kingfisher bluez imprint – all abstract noise sequence very much influenced and steeped in BBC radiophonic creepiness and much admiring it seems of the analogue atmospherics and early sonic explorations found on those excellent noise / electronic anthologies put out by Sub Rosa a year or so ago. Coded in a sparse and minimalist velour ‘quagga‘ sounds not unlike some distant distress call from some ancient space cruising leviathan or in short Louis and Bebe Barron re-threading the soundtrack for ’close encounters of a third kind’ – arrives pressed on clear vinyl as though you needed any further encouragement.

Staying with the Vancouver based imprint for a second for it seems that kingfisher bluez are currently engaged in a subscription only singles club – limited to just 250 spots – thirteen single sided releases are promised all drawn from the buzzing local scene and set to include outings for the likes of dead ghosts, white poppy, rose melberg, weed, dity beaches, Apollo ghosts and more – for further info go to http://kingfisherbluez.bigcartel.com/product/kingfisher-bluez-single-sided-singles-series-vancouver

And talking of trenSmat no sooner had the printing dried on this particular missive and we were about to head for the door and into the sunlight having been ensconced for days on end furiously scribbling this particular epistle when we were alerted about the next offering from our favourite label. Already vying for the best release to date tag, this humungous outing isn’t due out until November, as ever strictly limited to such a point that it‘ll no doubt disappear on pre order alone the label welcomes to the fold Cloudland Canyon for what promises to be an epic mind altering journey. Pressed up on 12 hulking inches of heavy duty wax this set promises a spectacular 23 minute sonic odyssey of cosmic cosiness that as well as appealing in the first instance to admirers of Zombi and Goblin per ‘born blonde’ may well have Vangelis disciples tuning in droves for the futuro motorik groove of ’sea cycles’ – in addition there’s your standard download add on’s which when accessed turn up an additional two star lit salvos in the shape of the bespoke Jean Michel Jarre dreamscape ’four fold phase’ whilst ’songbirds’ is a gloriously trippy psyched out shanty that sweetly blends the chill tipped elements of the seahawks and Discordia into a soupy galactic mirage. Frankly a must have acquisition.

And briefly back with trouble in mind whose wares we were checking out when we stumbled across these cuties – the luminanas are duo Lio and Marie Luminana who to date have bagged under their collective belt a smattering of acclaimed singles for the much loved hozac imprint as well as a self titled debut full length for TiM – described by the label as a fusion of Gainsbourg / Stereolab motifs submerged in fuzzy freak outs and re-drilled to sound like Nuggets stompers – not arf r’ kid having been quite bewitched by the sample cut currently oozing from the labels player we are happy to report that ‘down underground’ is a smooching slab of hypno-krauto-franco-flip wigging-fuzzed out loveliness that had us recalling and indeed reaching for our copy of electrelane’s much fancied ‘rock it to the moon’ set – filed under ultra cool – and before I forget – the link to the player – cause you want to hear this like NOW – is http://troubleinmindrecs.com/catalog.html

And so this particular missives last call…….

Now its not common knowledge around these parts – but we here are rather admiring of the Cure – its not an obvious thing and not something I’d immediately admit to – but a quick rifle through the record collection reveals that we’ve done a fair old trade in Cure releases over the years seemingly picking the blighters up on sight and lest we forget the weekends spent in the fixing of the comedy fright wig and the applying of make up in the dark whilst attaching the live wires of an electrical appliance to our knackers not withstanding doing all this whilst being perched precariously on a skateboard balanced on a beach ball with the full effect enhanced to perfection by the sleeping rough for a few nights to hone that Liz Taylor gothic bin man look.- dems where the days I can tell you. What was always special about Mad Bob and Co and still is, is that their releases always reflected inside upon the grooves what it promised on the tin in so much that ‘Lovecats’ sounded so – er – positively feline and slinky, that ‘Lullaby’ was predatory and teased in a subtle nightmarish isolation, ‘Friday im in love’ – so irascibly effervescent and loved up and ‘Strange days’ – so claustrophobic – you get the picture hopefully. Anyhow there was a more than fine homage put out a few years ago by the esteemed manimal imprint entitled ’perfect as cats’ which gathered an array of talent covering a wealth of Cure curiosities across 2 discs – an impressive set that included the likes of bats for lashes, rainbow Arabia, gangi, caroline weeks, the devastations and many more imparting their own unique take on the Smith and Co songbook. Why am I mentioning all this you may well puzzle and ask yourselves well simply because in recent weeks we’ve had two quite nifty Cure covers drop by our way. The first from Caned and Abel whose re-fit of ’lullaby’ has apparently received the blessing of Mr Smith – this version readily more club focused is dragged out of its shadow playing paranoia and retooled by the onset of hulking big beats applied to a smoking after glow sophistication replete with MC add on’s and trimmed and underpinned with a sleekly honed cool chassis. Over on the flip you’ll find the Adamski re-cut – Adamski – blimey that’s a blast from the past, a smooth operation typically clipped in an itchy and inescapably infectious 90’s retro technoid chill down velour that easily recalls in its initial moments 808 State flirting with Future Sound of London before materialising and terra-forming into a booty shaking Shamen like nugget. All said pretty much on the button. Morain opt to tangle with ‘lovecats’ – culled from the bands debut ‘are we lost’ EP due for release by Indigo and available as a free download with an album currently cooking in the studio and set for release at the years end. Pretty much faithful to the original in everything bar the removed of templates crafty sensuality, Morain bring along something to the party that sounds to these ears as though they’ve just sauntered out of some 50’s bandstand TV extravaganza which is no bad thing in case you’re asking and something we suspect that might be up the street of you cats into kitty, daisy and lewis et al….video type thing to follow….

That’s your lot – after a brief intermission we’ll be back in a few days with oodles of hip grooves with which to note on your wants lists and beat a hasty path with to your local record emporium….not least some killer gear from Paul Roland known to some as the Edgar Allen Poe of psych, loads of Bordellos related stuff, something tasty from July – new recordings no less, something from James McKeon – that‘ll be he of hi fiction science that is if we can get the download link to actually download, long promised Justin Wiggan grooves, some stuff from the much adored first fold bunker – apologies as these are way overdue having been mislaid, some of arrowe hill, some bird imprint gear, silver apples – that forthcoming trenSmat reviewed in full a download which Stephen kindly flew over just as we were putting this edition to bed, some bear suit weirdness – if that is we can locate the cd in time and whatever else falls our way…….which may well be this here Woods album which we’ve just picked up…..

Ps…that trenSmat forthcoming is blistering – just heard ‘born blonde’ in full…..

As always random updates can be viewed on occasion via www.facebook.com/thesundayexperience or you can email at [email protected] – if you should so wish you can also get us by snail mail where you can send records, blank cheques, offers of marriage and humorous death threats to – 71 Pennsylvania Road, LIVERPOOL, L13 9BA, UK.

Till then take care of yourselves, stay out of trouble and peace and all that kind of stuff…


The return of Tales from the Attic – the sixth Act – is tentatively pencilled for 20/09 transmission.

God is in the TV is an online music and culture fanzine founded in Cardiff by the editor Bill Cummings in 2003. GIITTV Bill has developed the site with the aid of a team of sub-editors and writers from across Britain, covering a wide range of music from unsigned and independent artists to major releases.