The real virtue of this song is that it runs the same exact amount of time it takes to follow these instructions on how to eat a Pop Tart. The cast of instruments (slinky guitar, phased-out drum kit, bass and organ) are introduced swiftly enough for me to get the Pop Tarts out of the wrapper and into the toaster just in time. Caitlin Loney's bored-as-fuck-but-that's-the-point vocals refuse to give a shit as I transfer the Pop Tarts to a plate, and the song enters a brief groove while I enjoy whichever flavor I've chosen for myself that day. It's a virtue, and a very handy one at that... I've managed to create another new subgenre called PopTartArtPop: brief, pocket-sized, colorful, and sometimes found between the ass and head of a cat. Freelove Fenner hold down their corner, and The Particles aren't too far off.
The Montreal duo have their new EP available on cassette via Fixture Records starting in early October. I imagine pineapple hair to be sort of like a beehive, but fruitier... and thus the EP is rightly named.
Braindead. Beaten and abused. Nothing but a meat puppet from the scalp on down. Spent the day sucking down dirt like a grave robber on the hunt for a wristwatch.
Better keep this brief.
Ladies and gentleman, the past won't be haunting us anymore, the present passed us by, and the future failed to come at sundown yesterday. Welcome to the post-future world. What comes after the afterlife: Sand Circles. Robocop music straight out of Stockholm. Sounds like sitting alongside the highway with a radar gun waiting for somebody to beat sixty-five. Better believe I've ordered my copy from Not Not Fun.
On Prison Art's reissue of Each Other's demo, former members of Halifax's Long Long Long pump out some golden sounds: rich guitar pop with no small amount of whack-job psych freeloading its way onto our shores like a van-load of prescription meds. Some beautiful stuff here, pink-cheeked and earnest. The recording's crisp, the drums stick, and the guitar shines.
Purchase Taking Trips direct from Prison Art to get the download and this sweet looking product, too.
In other news, making up for some lost time here, so we're gonna take it back to some recordings we've missed in past months, maybe even rewind a year. So if you find the urge, follow us into the light.
From the UK's Clan Destine Records comes a new tape release for the KVB. Short for Klaus von Barrel. As in barrel of whiskey, double-barrel shotgun, barrel over the falls.
On first listen you're going to pigeonhole this band all wrong. Pu-pu-puh-please let me tell you about your mistake. First thing's first: you gotta dig into the psych, man. Don't think of it as black nail polish disco. Consider the drums, the photon blasting synth sound. This is speed metal for the toxic waste crowd, sludgecore for treadmills. Songs like "Burning World" and "Slow Death" owe more to Wooden Shjips than they do to, I don't know, pick some band that looks like the Cure but sounds like Men at Work. Klaus brings the burning grooves the way that soothes that itch. The one where you find yourself at work and you just gotta jump outta yer skin if you don't shadowbox your way to the greatest fire-able offense story the water cooler ever told. About to freakout, my man? Slut up to the Klaus. You know you like to wear your pants tight for a reason, am I right?
You want my opinion? I say these guys belong on Thrill Jockey if they come stateside (aka the correct side). Which isn't to say that Clan Destine hasn't done right by these guys. The label that's also a second home to Ela Orleans is one to watch with your ears open wide enough to see your brain.
So, yeah, bandcamp's been treating us well these days. Too bad you can't buy a shot and a beer for a computer. The tape's limited to 100 copies cause that's how you keep em begging for more. And good luck converting the change in your pocket into pounds if you want to pick up a copy. Guess you gotta better chance of making your cursor click play down below for all of zero dollars.
I wish I had the right setup to be able to slow these tracks down to a gurgle. Is it possible to improve your listening experience by sprawling limpon the floor and groaning? Cause I'm giving it a try. Gotta swutt it out. Swutt! Spelled with two t's cause that's what's upp.
Okay, so I know I'm not setting off any metal detectors here with this review, considering this tape's been floating out there for a few months now, but...
The fact that this is a solo project is what really gets me excited. Beyond feeding my delusion that I could put something together like this given enough time in a closet with no food, the Tunnels project points to another spoke on the creative wheel surrounding the members of Eternal Tapestry, a phenomenal psych band with multiple recordings this year that are all quickly reaching our year end top ten list. Nick Bindeman's the dude's name behind Tunnels. Remember it. From the Thrill Jockey page:
In the spring of 2008, Bindeman began playing live sets singing over a
four track recorder. His initial output, like a dirtier, playful
Suicide, with backing tracks acting as vehicles for live exploration.
Bindeman would often go into a frenzied state, mumbling and slurring
through slapdash songs. These performances gradually evolved into more
cohesive and clean music and recording became the focus of the project,
writing material through the recording process and eventually falling
victim to the lure of pop.
Tunnels sounds like some kraut-y version of flightsuitwave, a brand new subgenre I just made up so that I can feel better about the fact that my collar's flipped up while I write this. And The Blackout could have been the soundtrack to some East Berlin bootleg version of Top Gun if the cold war had been fought purely over cultural differences like it should have been--wait a sec, that's right, I found a German dub of Top Gun on Youtube, for you, and then I slathered Berlin's video on top. Now you can't possibly claim I don't love you. Shh. I said, shhh, now. Let me just brush back your bangs.
Back to the Blackout: there's plenty of bedroom tape aesthetic smeared across this release, but the production's got a poppier, hookier, and less abrasive sound than that might lead you to believe. Even if Bindeman's purpose hadn't been to set a bunch of assholes loose in the clubs windmilling with a stiff posture and a gold-rimmed pair of aviator's on, that's exactly what Tunnels has done for us (Urban dictionary def: 2. I was at the club the other day and this one guy totally showed me up when he started windmilling. He got like, nine chicks). It's mechanical music, but it's not macho. There's a dancefloor backbone to it that makes this the right shit to kick at parties, and I dare you to resist pumping the keg with a more perfect efficiency.
You can listen to the entire damn thing on Soundcloud, or you can do what I did and get suckered in by the prospect of engaging with some sweet, sweet 20th century tech by buying the tape from Thrill Jockey (originally available on Troubleman Unlimited).
I'd call my band Chunnels, by the way. Anglophile-style. Fuck, it's past noon on Saturday. Time to starch some turtlenecks.
