L7 -- HUNGRY FOR STINK (Slash/Reprise)

Okay, disclaimer time: It must be obvious to everyone out there that I'm not completely rational on the subject of L7, My Favorite Band In The Whole Wide Stinking World. Nevertheless, you must BELIEVE, deep down in your heart, EVERY WORD I'm about to tell you, for it is TRUE!

Okay, this album totally crushes from the word go. Twelve tracks, four REALLY LOUD women with an attitude problem, this is nowhere near as shiny-sounding as their previous album. (Which still rocks harder than 99% of everything else out there, by the way.) Produced by ggGarth Richardson (the guy responsible for the sound of recent albums by Rage Against the Machine and Surgery), this is considerably more punk in the places where BRICKS leaned toward metal. We're talking plenty, plenty heavy, and a hell of a lot noisier.

"Andres," "Stuck Here Again," and "She Has Eyes" are the "catchy" tracks (meaning the ones most likely to be "radio-friendly"), everything else is totally crazed. One good thing about the band's apparent determination to play every single venue on earth at least twice is that as good as they were before, they are now even much, much better; the whole band sounds like a scary killing machine. Suzi and Donita are doing all sorts of interesting things on guitar, particularly on "Riding With A Movie Star" where the lead guitar duels with the keyboards (courtesy of Roddy Bottum, on loan from Faith No More), and on "Can I Run" and "Fuel My Fire," where the guitars are especially intense. And since other reviews never mention her, this is a good place to mention that Dee is godlike and most of the weenies in the drummer magazines should be taking lessons from her... plus Jennifer's bass playing, as usual, is capable of making objectives levitate on command, always a useful thing.

On "The Bomb," the band sounds like someone soaked them in gasoline and lit a match before turning on the tape recorder. Picture amps on fire, pit bulls running loose in the china shop, the drum kit screaming "help me help me" as Dee breaks sticks, guitars making terrifying noises at a volume far beyond the point of pain... you get the picture. The song moves like a freight train out of control and headed straight for YOU; step out of the way or be pancaked!

"Fuel My Fire" and "Freak Magnet" are plenty intense themselves, great kiss-off tunes with snotty lyrics to live by, but the ultimate kiss-off has to be "Shirley," about female race-car driver Shirley Muldowney. Driven by samples from the movie HEART LIKE A WHEEL and rocking like a bastard, samples of sexist sports commentary are interspersed with samples of Shirley crossing the finish line first, as Jennifer exclaims, "How many times/ Must we toe this line/ Halting me/ Is a fantasy/ How many times must you be told/ There's nowhere that we don't go?" Best of all is when the obnoxious sportscaster asks Shirley "What's a nice girl like you doing in a drag race like this?" and she replies, "Winning." The band loops that phrase over and over again just in case you didn't get the point. Total coolness....

The weirdest song on the album is also the last, "Talk Box." Over a talk-box guitar and piles of distortion, Donita sings while drenched in mountains of echo: "Last night I had a dream/ Scared the shit out of me/ 'Cause you were dying...." A big lumbering beast with creepy lyrics, this might be the best song on the album. Although it's hard to tell with so many other good ones to compete with....

I could go on for another twenty pages or so, but enough -- here's the bottom line: DEAD ANGEL approves of this CD. This is total godhead. Every track is great. Well, what are you waiting for? Go GET IT... if it's good enough for ME to play it six times a day, it ought to be good enough for YOU....

L7 -- THE BEAUTY PROCESS: TRIPLE PLATINUM [Slash/Reprise]

L7 gets introspective.... I'm not sure what to make of this, actually. In some ways this may be the best thing they've ever done; in other ways it's their most unfocused. That creative urge is just a tricky li'l devil, eh?

Let's start with the good stuff: "Drama" is classic L7, a loud and aggressive dose of in-your-face attitude and stadium-sized power-chording; "Off the Wagon" is probably the catchiest thing they've ever done (even though the guitars are unnaturally squashed). They work up a swaggering bass line and a sizeable chunk of sheer menace on "I Need," and its that booming bass that carries the weight -- it sounds like a good song for a rumble, especially with Suzi shouting like she wishes her words were brass knuckles. They actually manage to successfully shift gears on "Non-Existent Patricia," a mysterious blend of acoustic and electric guitars, subtly processed vox, and some seriously striking carefully-harnessed feedback. In fact, controlled feedback is one of the biggest thrills on this album, popping up everywhere with great results. Apparently somebody in the band has been listening to the Band of Susans.... And "Bad Things," its dippy title notwithstanding, may be the best thing they've done since "Wargasm" (my personal vote for the ultimate L7 track of all time) -- a song designed for high-speed driving across an endless highway, propelled by hurricane riffing and easily the best lyrics on the album.

Which leads into the bad stuff: I don't know how much of it has to do with Jennifer's departure from the band, but the lyrics in general on this album are... um... well, I'm going to be charitable and say they're not up to their usual standards. Granted, they have never claimed to be rocket scientists and wouldn't know the significance of a benzene ring if it bit one of them on the ass (this IS punk, after all), but really, when you have a song like "Lorenza, Glada, Alessandra" (basically a gimmick masquerading as a song --the tempo keeps speeding up) where the lyrics, in total, are "Lorenza Glada Allesandra / Lorenza Nicola Allesandra / Lorenza Glada Nicola / I love you I love you I love you," I tend to think this falls a bit short of greatness, eh? The lyrics for almost everything here are either dippy ("Moonshine" is the worst offender in this respect), entirely too minimalist ("I Need," "Must Have More"), or else freighted with all sorts of cryptic meaning possibly related to Jennifer's departure ("Bitter Wine," "I Need"). It also doesn't help that they borrow a little too liberally for inspiration at times, even from themselves: "Drama" sounds like the offspring of "Mr. Integrity" from BRICKS ARE HEAVY, "Non-Existent Patricia" employs a (watered-down) riff flat-out cribbed from SMELL THE MAGIC's "Broomstick," the vox on the chorus of "Bad Things" is awfully reminiscent of Front 242's "Animal," and "The Masses Are Asses" sounds entirely too much like a beefed-up rewrite of "Pretend We're Dead." This is generally not considered a healthy sign.... Plus the bass in "Non-Existent Patricia" sounds like shit and the vaguely experimental "Me Myself and I" doesn't quite work. Oh well.

Still, there's enough other interesting things happening here, new things, to argue the case that this is merely a transitional album that will lead to better things once they get it all sorted out. (Now, I'm not terribly convinced that there will even BE a next album for various reasons, but that's beside the point.) I already mentioned the terrific bursts of harnessed feedback; there's also some nifty slide guitar happening in "Moonshine," much greater attention to production in all the songs (almost everything has intriguing stuff happening in the background, if you listen for it), and "Bitter Wine" is a genuinely eerie turn for them, incorporating ominous psychadelia and bizarre sound effects to make up the strangest, most original things they've ever done. If they continue to move in this direction, that could have interesting results.

The biggest problem here is that L7 seem to have become obsessed with the idea that their albums need more variety -- certainly they've complained in interviews that they were really unhappy with BRICKS ARE HEAVY because of its supposed lack of such. The only problem is that L7, in my opinion, have always excelled at being loud and monolithic and that for a punk/metal band, "variety" usually translates to "unfocused" on record. While there's no denying that this is their most varied album, a lot of it fits together in jarring fashion. That goes back to the "transitional" thing, I guess....

In some ways i think they would have been better off removing about four songs, then extending the monolithic riff in "The Beauty Process" to about fifteen minutes. THAT would have been the true pinnacle of godhead. Alas, instead said riff is contained in a "song" that lasts less than one minute... boo hoo....

L7 -- "Andres" CD-5 [Liberation/Slash]

This features a mildly remixed (for radio?) version of "Andres" and "The Bomb," both from HUNGRY FOR STINK, but the REAL reason for owning this is the KXRT Fresno radio interview, which is the most hysterical thing you'll ever hear outside of SPINAL TAP. Imagine L7 stuck in a DJ booth with a nosy, nervous DJ as the lunatic fringe calls in one after another (my favorite is the cranked-out speed freak who wants to know if they're "into seances"). It cannot be described; it must be HEARD to be believed.

What I want to know, though... is there REALLY a band called Pudgy the Whale?!?!?! What a SCARY THOUGHT....

It took me a while to catch on to the fact that I've heard Lahannya before -- on the Zenflesh compilation AMDUSCIAS, to be exact (see DEAD ANGEL # 34) -- partly because it's been a while and I review so much music that it all goes in one ear and out the other, and partly because Lahannya's revamped sound is miles removed from the gritty kitchen-sink aesthetic she displayed on the compilation track. The track in question was "Drowning," available on this EP in both a re-recorded version and a remixed version of the original. Now, the sound of most tracks on the Zenflesh compilation was roughly akin to what you might get if crazed weasels managed to get their paws on a cheap four-track mixer (not that this is a bad thing, mind you), but the sound on this EP is far more professional... plus she's managed to acquire some band members, so she doesn't have to do everything herself now, which leaves her free to concentrate on what she does best, which is layered sheets o' droning vox. I suppose you'd call this goth or darkwave (whatever it is, it's definitely poplike), and if you pressed a gun to my head and forced me to come up with a vocal comparison, i'd have to say she reminds me of a considerably less histronic counterpart to that breathy gal in October Project... but ahhhh, the OP gal never droned as well as Lahannya does, and droning is key in my book, especially when it's someone who can actually drone in key with melodic flair.

The songs themselves aren't terribly complicated, which makes sense since they're built around Lahannya's vox (layered and often, as on the new version of "Drowning," multitracked to provide counterpoint); what makes them interesting, outside of the ethereal vox, are the sounds. "Drowning" features a weirdly compressed distorto-guitar and hairy bass that sound highly unusual in this pop context and make a nice contrast to the vocals. On "Narcotic," most of the subtle flourishes and unusual sounds come via the drum programming, which moves thorugh a variety of tones as the song goes on. My favorite song is "Losing Yourself," a slow burner anchored by a three-note bass drone and sprinkled with acoustic guitar arpeggios, over which Lahannya sings and drones; halfway through, electric guitars come flooding in like an avalanche. Simple, yes, but most effective. The final track is the remixed version of the original compilation version of "Drowning"; most of the rough edges have been sanded away, true, but there's still a strong hint of the original kitchen-sink weirdness, and the cello sounds as fine as ever....

Alan Lamb -- PRIMAL IMAGE [Dorobo]

The recommendations above are sort of misleading... those are actually the only two pieces on the entire disc. They're also both quite brilliant. What we have here are two compositions of wire music, the result of the hobby of an Australian neurosurgeon who apparently spends his spare time not playing golf, but instead uses contact mikes to record the sound of telephone wires. (His colleagues probably think he's quite odd... but then, they're the ones who wear funny clothes visible to the naked eye from Saturn and spend all day swatting tiny round things, so what do they know?) Lamb has recorded these sounds then mixed them down into two compositions purely through crossfading, and the results are eerie... and amazingly organic, given their origin. It's all about the principle of "integer harmonics of the fundamental" (do i hear LaMonte Young pausing to listen as he combs the knots from his beard?) and resonance. Lamb provides in the liner notes an "explanation" of his art that practically requires a degree in acoustic physics to understand, but what it boils down to is that very long wires that are also quite thick vibrate at a frequency below 1 Hz, causing only the harmonic overtones to fall within hearing range. And those harmonics resonate. They resonate in a BIG way. Is this the sound insects hear when they shuffle through our much larger world? If it is, no wonder they fear us.... Terrifying in an inexplicable, primal way, yet haunting and even beautiful, this is the actual sound of physics at work. This is beyond amazing. One can only hope that he has lots more material like this and intends to release it all. If you buy only one "experimental" album this year, make sure this one is it.

Alan Lamb -- ORIGINAL MASTERS: NIGHT PASSAGE Dorobo]

For material that was primarily recorded around 15 years ago, it sure has taken a long time for Lamb to issue this follow-up to (the stunning) PRIMAL IMAGE, hasn't it? But then again, Lamb is a surgeon and probably a hyperperfectionist, so maybe it's not so surprising after all. At any rate, it's finally here -- three tracks, just under 50 minutes worth of eerie wire music. Mondo, mon. As usual, the packaging is brilliant -- Dorobo puts a lot of thought into their graphics and the results are always most stylish; this one is no exception. Sure, it's black and white, but the charcoal design and streaks of light (wires under flash, perhaps?) is most hep.

First up: "Night Passage," one of the last pieces recorded on the half-mile stretch of abandoned telegraph wires that Lamb refers to as the "Faraway Wind Organ." The recordings mixed down here were, in fact, the last of that era -- when he went to visit the wires again a few months later, they had been destroyed by lightning. These recordings were made between November 27 and December 2 in 1984; the beginning and end come from the last tape made, while the body in between comes from tapes made on previous nights. I would assume that the main difficulty in getting this down into listenable form came from sorting through the tapes, assembling test takes, then finally mixing it all down into something coherent; that may well be what's delayed the CD for so long. The results prove that it was worth the wait -- crumbling, subterranean noises give way to high-pitched wailing and other unearthly sounds, like the world's largest blown transformer sputtering to an untimely end. Like the pieces on the earlier CD, this is a long one -- just under 25 minutes -- and its progression is a complex one. God only knows how much material was spliced in from all the different tapes, but the final mix is seamless... eerie and compelling, a series of dark wire drones only occasionally burst apart by other disturbing sounds.

"Last Anzac" -- recently previewed in an issue of HALANA magazine -- was also recorded on the same wires, although these tapes are even earlier: the piece is composed of recordings from six sessions in April of 1983. The sounds are different, less drone-oriented and more vibratory, with some wires climbing up the sound spectrum until the resemble chiming bells or an army of alarm clocks. I'm not sure if this is a different mix or not (it's been a while since I heard the magazine's disc), but it sounds every bit as out-there as it did when i first heard it. About halfway through the wires start to sound like klaxons -- appropriate in light of the song's dedication as an anti-war statement of sorts (Anzac is an Australian holiday commemorating the soldiers who were killed in World War I at Gallopoli; one of the sessions was recorded on that holiday, April 25). The klaxons come and go as the tension of the wires become more intense, with the shuddering sounds flowing and receding in waves.

The final track, "Meditation on Spring 8," was recorded live in October 1997 at the opening of the Spring 8 Synchotron in Kobe, Japan. The Synchotron is one of the world's largest electron accelerators, and Lamb was asked to build a wind organ and perform a piece to "help remind the people at Spring 8 of the more primal rhythms of nature, not found in cities and certainly not in a synchotron of 8 Gigavolts." The sound of this one, again, is a bit different -- the wires here take on a reedier sound. (There are also a lot of background clinks and clunks, ostensibly the sounds of people puttering about and Lamb himself tinkering with the wires; they work well to fill in the gaps between the wire sounds as they reach a crescendo then fall away into silence again.) The rumble underneath, present in all of the wire recordings Lamb has presented so far, are more distant and less pronounced this time. A large part of this piece consists of Lamb playing the "Great Bow," a two-meter nylon string running vertically from the wire to the ground and tuned to B flat. The results are interesting, and as he actually "plays" the wire in this recording, the results are considerably less random -- but no less eerie and grandiose. Perhaps his next batch of recordings that come to light will feature more of this style....

(Having safely dispatched the rest of the weasels since emerging from their brief respite, the dynamic duo return to the Command Center. After spending some quality time berating the Moon Unit and threatening to pee on his head again, TG settles back in the Command Recliner and starts fiddling with dials and knobs.)

C12: What are you doing now? I'm almost afraid to ask.

TG: We've gotta get a review going for this Lamb of God disc. It must be hot shit because the Moon Unit was playing it constantly for weeks, but I haven't had time to listen to it myself and there's no way you're man enough to review this. So we've got to generate a review, which is just what I'm gonna do if I can figure out how the damn Review-O-Tron works....

C12: I thought it was out of order. (eyes pop out while looking at the latest issue of LATEX LUST, one of many such magazines scattered around the room)

TG: It just came back from the shop the other day. About time, too -- he's been winging these reviews for a while now while it was gone, it's making him sloppy. (focuses on a handful of dials and switches) Hey, I think I've found it here. Man, it looks complicated... Ah shit, i don't know beans about this stuff... uhhhh... (fumbles frantically at the Command Panel) Where the hell is that selector switch? Ah, there it is. (starts flipping switches on the Review-O-Tron)

C12 (looking nervous): Be careful with that thing! God only knows what it's been modified to do... you know there are no limits to the depths of the Moon Unit's perversity and I do see a toolbox lying in the corner....

TG: Oh relax, nelly boy. (spins dials, pushes button) Okay, here we go... this should generate a review of the Lamb of God debut that's, um, more or less consistent with the Moon Unit's, ah, what the hell do they call it, you know, style....

(tape rolls)

Imagine some mean-ass high-velocity technical metal played wid phat precision at mad volume 'n you more'n halfway there, doctor. Factor in da uberprocessed death-metal croak-of-a-thousand voices and you startin' to move like one o' mah fair-priced hos. Give it up for a cryptic sense of... man, of... shit, well, everything -- and now you gots da full picture 'n shit. They players, mothafucka! What makes 'em mo' interestin' (to ma ears, anyway) than most o' dem fancy-ass li'l death metal bands litta be they technical leanings -- man, they sound like one o' da most discplined bands around, like maybe Vinnie the Fist been providin' da motivation, uh huh. Dis da mos' spot-on tub o' precise riffage for mean bidness since maybe like, early Swans, man. Dis be partic'ly true of they drummer, who be so precise 'n intense the dude often sounds mo' like a mechanical drill press than a human being 'n shit. Da rest of da band blow mad style, heavylike, just as precise 'n every bit as forbiddin' in both sound 'n volume, know what I'm sayin'? My fave dollar-changer on da disc, 'bout as spiffy as mah main ho Angelina, woo she 'bout as slow 'n nasty as dis tune, dat be "Terror 'n Hubris in da House o' Frank Pollard." It also be da slowest, leas' initial-like, which leads me to wonda what da band would sound like if they eased off da gas pedal a tad 'n shit. Plus it do dem good, they learn to swing like them cats from Sly 'n da Family Stone, maybe. Oh yeah baby, dat be a righteous idea. (Then again, I currently be thinkin' just 'bout everything sound betta at half-speed, so dat may just be mo' me than anythin' to do wid da band.) I also mad dog all over da tricky near-fade in "Black Label" that turns into a growin' spiral of tornado drummin' before da band kicks back in to whup yo' fat ass 'n shit. They sound heavy -- like Rosa, that fat bitch on the bottom o' my string! -- pretty much everywhere, 'n they has some powerful strange (but good, in a sorta pimp-vibe kinda way, if you know what I mean) ideas about sound, partic'ly regardin' vox. Fair warning, Jones: da singer, Blythe 'n shit, has a serious death-croak goin' 'n changes gears 'bout as often as Mike Patton or maybe dat hood down da street what keeps tryin' to boost my Lexus. Dey even fuck wit' da drums now and then -- they mad stylin'! Da result be they has a mad distinct sound dat gots to also pound you' ass into da pavement like a tiny-ass ho under a jackhammer 'n shit I greatly approve of dis band 'n shit, they gots fuckin' class, brother. Ah like....

Oh yeah, mad props fo' da exceptional art -- definitely not yo' standard death-metal issue by no means -- 'n Steve Austin's engineerin' be absolutely phat an' full-on amazing, know what I'm sayin'? Da political bent of da intentionally cryptic lyrics makes me be thinkin' they gots to be mad fly on Napalm Death or Crass, but they sure don't sound like eitha of them. Know what I'm sayin'? Interesting, know what I'm sayin'? Dis be an excellent band 'n an excellent album, man. I'd let them come fuck my hos any day of the week. These be real men. With any luck these here album gonna unseat them panty-assed losers in da nu-metal fad....

(tape reel finishes)

C12: Well. I see. That was just wonderful. Don't you think so, Henriette?

TG: All right, so maybe I should have guessed that having it set on "Pimpolizer" was maybe not such a hot idea. Fuck. Look at these voice settings -- "Collector Geek," "Schizolizer," "Sheep Pimp," "Overly Technical Weenie," "Freak Fucker"... how am I supposed to know which is the one he actually uses to do reviews?

(faint sound of sardonic laughter wafts from the well)

C12: You're not helping matters here, Henriette....

TG: All right, so I fucked up here, give me a break. Look, why don't you cue up another one of Sienko's reviews while I try to figure this thing out....

C12: By all means....

This six-song cd-ep from Austin's three-piece Left Out is a nice one. Highly listenable, catchy, melodic fuzz-rock, like all that horrible nu-metal junk and teenpop spoo never happened. I deeply grok that spidery guitar on "Sunshine" and "The Worm," not to mention the well-tuned chainsaw fuzz everywhere. The beats get a bit tricky on "Am I Dead Yet" and "Ladybug Mansion" opens with a countrified guitar riff that would have sounded at home on Nirvana's NEVERMIND, and at no time do they show any evidence of fooling around. Three guys on guitar, drums, bass makin' crunchy poptunes at high volume and doing a better job of it than most of the yoyos currently passing themselves off as big-deal alternative new muzak pop stars or whatever. Listen to this instead, you'll be happier.

I'm not sure what compelled me to buy this album. Probably the sight of Ute, mondo gorgeous even though she must be getting on up there in years, on the cover all swaddled in black leather. I've been meaning to buy one of her albums anyway ever since i saw her commanding performance in the live at the Berlin Wall performance of Pink Floyd's THE WALL on video (she played the part of Mother). So here i am, with this album in my CD player, kind of perplexed... this is definitely not what i'm used to listening to, hah! I should have known, though -- Ute is essentially the last of the cabaret divas, and this album pretty much reflects that. Still, for an album that is so thoroughly steeped in traditional cabaret stylings, it has a surprisingly modern sound, and it doesn't hurt that a number of "alternative" heavy-hitters such as Nick Cave, Elvis Costello, and Tom Waits contributed songs written especially for her. While this takes some getting used to, the more i listen to it the more i like it. The immediate attention-getters are "The Case Continues," the moderately smutty (and amusing) "Tango Ballad" (cowritten by Weill and Brecht), and "Little Water Song" (Nick Cave's contribution). I'm so ignorant about this kind of stuff that i don't even know how to refer to it, but it sounds very... this is what i imagine Vegas shows to be like, that's probably the best way to put it. Only on this album, it's all filtered through an "avant" sensibility and even when things get a bit too pretentious for my tastes, there's always Ute's eternally amazing voice to listen to, if nothing else. Recommended, but with reservations (it may not be everyone's cup o' java)....

Lhasa Cement Plant -- BACK TO BOLIVIA [Warpodisc]

Weird, disconnected avant seminoisejazzorsomething from members (past and present) of Borbetomagus and assorted deviant friends. The opening track "Telefunken Soap Shock Rock" is one of the better tracks -- jazzy snare drums set the beat while one melodic guitar centers the whole thing with repetitive basslines and the other guitar wanders all over the place is crazed subatomic fashion. ""Graphite" continues the same idea, only faster and with more head dirt from the second guitarist (and more noodling from the first). One of the more annoying things about this album quickly becomes evident: they either spend too much time on disconnected noodling that amounts to mostly nothing (as on "Typhoon") or, when they hit on something truly swank like the diseased chicken-picking twang of "Moonlit Road," they fade out almost as soon as they've begun. Argh!

Some of the noisier, more bludgeoning pieces (the ones that at least approximate something recognizable as "rock") are pretty interesting just for the gruesome textures being mashed through the speakers: "The Edge of Between," "Precession,"and Pat's Polex Plant" all have some pretty substantial grooves and/or fire-breathing guitar fury in them. Some of the highly devolved "it could be jazz if they played it faster and turned the pitch control back up" tunes are reasonably suave in their own right (see ""Lackawanna Laocoon" or "Clewless"), and the ending blow-up-your-CD-player noiseothon "Back to Oblivion" is pretty hep, although it's nowhere near as brain-damaging or stereo-destroying as the liner notes would have you believe (for that you'd need "Prey" from the last Brutal Truth album, which really will fuck up both your mind and your CD player).

My overall impression is that it's okay. It makes an interesting document of what the Borbetomagus guys do with their spare time, and it's worth hearing, but I think Donald Miller's time (at least) would be better spent churning out more stuff like FLOOD (see review two doors down). But then, free jazz is not exactly my specialty (i like Sun Ra, but i'm not sure i understand him), so maybe i'm just missing something....

Lhasa Cement Plant -- CHAKRA FULL OF BLOOD [Warm-O-Brisk]

Here the Lhasa guys take on a different tack -- they confine all their ideas to fewer tracks for a longer period of time each. So while the first CD had 16 tracks, this one has only five, but the "shortest" one is 9:55 in length and the longest is 23:19. The emphasis this time around is more on deconstructionist studies in noisemaking -- meaning there's not much to latch onto in the way of structure, especially since the drums seem to be emanating from somewhere beneath the floorboards, especially on "Cut." Granted, there's some pretty interesting textures happening in the chaos -- Miller and Smith are both fundamentally sound guitarists, even when they sound like they're trying to dismantle their instruments with pliers -- but if you're concentrating on it directly it gets a bit tiring after a while. I suspect most of it would work better as background ambient music, bizarrely enough. "Track" (the third selection) is an exception; one guitar (Donald Miller's, i assume) dominates while the bass, drums, and other guitar rumble away in unpredictable fashion in the background. I like this approach better, where all the instruments aren't fighting at once to bludgeon you into jelly. "Piece" works just about as well, for similar reasons -- the drum and bass lock together for a muted rhythm as the guitars make wonky noises that gradually build in volume and scope before receding again, like slo-mo footage of an avalanche that's abruptly reversed. "Number," however, is where things really get out of control. To begin with, it's over 23 minutes long, which is a long time to sustain interest... although they're helped considerably by the fact that Miller unleashes lots of really disturbed yowling noises from his guitar at regular intervals. In fact, some of the sounds on this one seem to point the way to what Miller moved on to doing on FLOOD, which is kind of interesting. As for the other instruments, they stay mostly submerged until somewhere near the end of the song, at which point they actually all come together and start churning out something with an actual audible structure (gasp!) while Miller's guitar saws and yaws. It probably would have worked better had it been a bit shorter, but it's still impressive enough....

This, mon, be the recorded document of LCP's appearance at Terrastock (sort of the Lollapalooza for space-rock, apparently) on April 27, 1997 in Providence, Rhode Island (hence the title, one assumes). The CD contains exactly one (uno) track, which bears the impressive title "The Eric Zann Memorial Barbecue." (Geez, is Lovecraft required reading for everyone in the psychedelic/space-rock arena?) Oddly enough, it starts sounding an awful lot like Gravitar, which is really peculiar since their previous discs haven't even remotely resembled such a thing. In fact, when the drummer kicked in i had to resist the urge to check the CD player and be sure i wasn't playing a Gravitar disc by mistake. But this is not a bad thing, and they are a bit less frantic than Gravitar.

As they continue to get crazed, let me backtrack and fill in the uninitiated: LCP are (more or less) an offshoot of the legendary sax-and-electronics experimental group Borbetomagus. In fact, even though electronics guy Brian Doherty and guitarist Donald Miller are the only holdovers, you can make the case that LCP is essentially Borbetomagus with the saxes removed. Which brings us back to the Terrastock performance -- amazingly enough, their first-ever live appearance, not that you'd ever guess this. They certainly appear to have their shit together, even though the drummer appears to be working on a completely different plane half the time (channeling the ghost o' Sun Ra, perhaps?) -- you know it's free-form, mon, when the drummer appears to be making it up as he goes. Ha! But the results are good, the entire work flows... there are movements in which different instruments dominate (electronics at one point, droning feedback guitar at another, drums here and there), but it all mutates in a natural and organic fashion, like full-tilt freeform uberjazz. They never sound forced or lost (although there are times when they are pretty obviously all working on different tangents). Guitarist Donald Miller, as usual, demonstrates a fine sensibility for damaged guitar sounds, shifting textures often in unpredictable fashion to keep the tension level up there, while the cosmic drummer maintains a truly phenomenal amount of energy throughout the entire piece (where does he get the stamina?)... meanwhile, Doherty and bassist Philip Smith are, uh, doing something. I'm not sure exactly what at times, but they're doing something... adding texture... creating background motifs... definitely not doing anything even remotely resembling a structured song, though. The electronics become really prominent around the 30-minute mark, when the drummer hangs back a bit (conserving energy, perhaps?), but then the drummer comes back in with a vengeance and the last five or six minutes or so actually resemble a real song until it all abruptly fizzles out. Powerful stuff, mon.

Bonus points for: Aforementioned swank song title; impressive death art (an angel being molested by a skeleton, skulls, intestines eating themselves, ominous-looked shredded cell membranes, etc.).Extra bonus points for the quote from John Wilkes Booth. I can't get over how seriously this disc resembles classic Gravitar, though. Anyone who's heavily into the Grav should definitely look into this.

I don't know much about this band, a handful of mysterious mofos recording for an obscure label in Denton, but they're a psychedelic bunch, all right. Beautiful washes of noisy fuzz and emotional, mumbled vocals that lead into explosions of hazy sound mean that they fit in nicely with Denton's other psych purveyors like Mazinga Phaser. Lots of swirling vapor-like fuzz drones with piercing echoplexed leads bursting forth and gentle but hypnotic riffs trailing like smoke in the big fuzz's wake. Think of a sleepier My Bloody Valentine emulating the Velvet Underground with a lot of gadgets in between and you're nodding off in the right direction. They do pick up the pace a tad on the semi-rockin' "Arise and Shine," which opens with almost-harsh fuzzed treble chords and bursts into movements that a pure wall of sound. I'd be curious to know how many guitarists are in this band, because the songs aren't structured around chord progressions or normal notions of song arrangement, but instead they tend to move from various levels of sound thickness -- it sounds like one guitar, then three, then two, then a million, then one, and so on. At the peak of thickness in any of these songs the band sounds like they're drowning in a shower of sound. I wonder if these people are hep to the Band of Susans, who employed the same concept to considerably more rockish effect. I must find out more about this band; they're too good to only have one obscure ep out there....

The sound of giggling lunatics, big burly men whacked-out on go-pills, running around wildly sticking forks in electrical outlets and doing that crazed helpless jig... again and again and again and again and again. These jokers (there's two of them) combine death-volume bass amp hell with obnoxious drumming, with results that are equal parts amazing / mesmerizing / insanely irritating, often at the same time, generally at highly caffienated speeds. This is what happens when you let the "concept" of drum 'n bass fall into the hands of drunk nuke rod handlers from Providence, see? And you thought Arab on Radar were tough listening, hey, at least their songs ended eventually.... It takes real, serious genius to be this consistently obnoxious. Either that or really bad drugs, which i think might actually be applicable in this case. Either way it doesn't matter, because their whole aesthetic revolves around having a high annoyance potential. Their vibe is somewhere between Melvins being halfway serious (well, kinda) and Samus being shit-or-go-blind goofy, but with way more emphasis on the grinding, endless power of the eternal beat, the endless repetition of the most minimal of musical events, and just the sheer blind joy of doing what it is that they do and bugging the hell out of people while they do it. And they want to do it to you.

So anyway, there are eight songs on this album and they're all the kind of songs that sound about ten times longer than they really are due to the band fixating on some riff or motif and then beating it to death for a really long fucking time. It's a tone thing, man, very Japanese... try it, you'll like it.... The drums are simple but pounding, right up there in your FACE, yah -- and i don't know what the fuck that bass is doing but it's real weird and real loud. There's other shit happening too but it's the beat (endless... neverless) that whacks you over the head with the shovel and packs you into the cold, dark earth. Throw this on the stereo at the next party and see who's tough enough to stay out of the kitchen.

Live Under the Sky -- SKY (CD, F.M.N. Soundworks)

Live Under the Sky is a side-project of Yamamoto of Omoide Hatoba and Boredoms fame. The band features Yamamoto (guitar, bango, synth, piano), Fujiwara of Subvert Blaze and Slap Happy Humphrey (bass and violin) and Okano, also of Subvert Blaze (drums). The music is mostly a melding of jazz and improv playing with basement psyche music sensibilities. There are a few a few notable exceptions. The second track in particular is a good example of the latter, which is a slight twist on the Ruins-Hatoba recording method. Only three instruments are used: drums, piano and banjo. Whereas the drums are recorded in stereo, the bango comes in only on the left channel and the piano on the right. The bango played in a more standard method, or perhaps an expected method for bango, and the piano playing is all improvised noodlings. It makes for a listening experience that is turned completely on its head. [yol]

The Living Abortions -- s/t [Blacklist]

Okay, let me be really upfront here: This is, like, dude, a metal band or something. A metal band that apparently listens to a lot of Marilyn Manson, true, but a metal band nonetheless. And you thought there were none left! Just because SPIN and ROLLING STONE said so! Ha, ha, NOT SO!

But... you... you're not convinced, are you?

All right, then... Prosecution calls Butthead to the stand, come on, shake yer ass, roll out the evidence:

BUTTHEAD OFFERS COMPELLING REASONS WHY THEY ARE OBVIOUSLY A METAL BAND: "Well, like, they're called the Living Abortions. A wimpy alternative band would call themselves, like, The Farting Shrubs or something dumb like that. And they have titles, like, uh, "Serial Killer" and "Tragically Pretty" and "Suicidal Superstar" and "Love Machine" and, heh heh, huh huh, heh heh, "Piss on the Sun." Heh heh, they said 'piss.' And you look at them on the back of the CD, except they're like really hard to see because a sun is exploding around them, and they have like really long hair and they look real metal-like, you know? Plus they have this obnoxious singer who swears a lot. He says things like, uh, 'Reality has suddenly departed / Can't control your bitch.' Heh heh, huh huh, he said 'bitch,' how cool. And anyway, so they have this singer who is really unsubtle, the way a cool metal singer should be, you know, and they have these really big bad-ass guitars and stuff. Their lead guitarist is like the second coming of Jimi Hendrix on really bad drugs or something."

PROSECUTION: You haven't mentioned that the chorus of "Go Away" sounds a lot like "No Reign" by Of Cabbages and Kings, surely an unusual move for a metal band --

BUTTHEAD: "That's because I never heard of Lettuce Be Kings, you ugly fart-knocker! Don't interrupt me, dammit! Or I'll, like, I'll kick your ass! And then I'll kick your inner child's ass! And then I'll kick your inner child's lawyer's ass too!"

PROSECUTION: Okay, okay, continue....

BUTTHEAD: "So anyway, they like, really rock. Their drummer is one heavy dude and the guitars are really, really, really, like, BIG. They have a bass player too, oh yeah. This is like if Marilyn Manson and Alice Cooper and KISS and that grumpy-looking guy with the goatee from Alice in Chains all got together and turned their amps up really loud."

BEAVIS (leaps up from the crowd): "Hey, you can't forget to mention their sensitive portrayal of a soul in torment on 'Make A Wish' where they depict life on the edge and the quest for redemption! Or how about that universal urge to become one with the universe in 'Piss on the Sun'? And what about the epic romance of 'Love Machine,' dammit?"

PROSECUTION: Uh... say what?

BUTTHEAD: "Shut up, bunghole, you've been drinking too much Robitussin again, heh heh."

BEAVIS: "You can't deny their sensitive nature! Beneath their studs and power chords and sneering bad attitude, they just want to be understood!"

BUTTHEAD: "Heh, heh, what a dumbass. Look dude, they're too busy kicking ass and getting blowjobs from stoner chicks in NASCAR t-shirts to be understood, okay?"

PROSECUTION: All right, the prosecution rests its case. This band may think it's still the eighties and that Guns n' Roses are still relevant, but at least they rock. Case closed. Now bring on the Jack Daniels, you bunch of goddamn slack motherfuckers.

BUTTHEAD: "Don't you think 'Can't control your bitch' would look, like, really cool on a T-shirt or something?"

[Courtroom disperses to the thunderous bleat of "Love Machine"]

Loblolly -- YOU'VE TAKEN TOO MUCH ACID [demo]

Highlights: "Prowl," "Deal," "I'll Tell You A Story," "Burning Feet"

Eccentric, varied, highly listenable, and beyond any puny attempts to pigeonhole, this band from Milwaukee, WI is a pretty good example of what "alternative" was SUPPOSED to mean before it before it become a marketing term. Left of center and even occasionally outright loopy (like on "November Man," a flat-out punk rant about the inevitable results of eating too much acid), the three-piece band wanders all over the map stylistically -- they're just as happy cribbing from Steve Miller or the Butthole Surfers -- and manages to keep it all sounding like their own thing, no small feat. Good reference points here are Sylvia Juncosa and the Butthole Surfers, particularly in terms of singer/ guitarist Veronica's guitar skills, only considerably more focused than the former and less willfully-retarded/meandering than the latter. Veronica's got a pretty happening wail, too; given her snarling on "Prowl" and "Face," along with the flat-out shrieking on "November Man," comparisons to Kat Bjelland are kind of inevitable, but as she proves on other songs, she's perfectly capable of singing as opposed to just shouting.... The whole band hangs together well, and while everyone in the band writes (hence the variety), it all comes out sounding consistent, a huge point in their favor. I'll bet they're lots of fun live, too. High-energy songs, low bullshit factor, quirky and memorable all the way around -- this is DEAD ANGEL's favorite demo of the month. Go hunt this down so when they're legendary ten years from now you can wave this tape at the collector scum.

Loblolly -- HYMNS TO DYMPHNA [self-released CD]

Milwaukee's favorite export that isn't drinkable are BACK. It's taken them a while, but they have returned at last with a full-length CD full of new songs... new instrumentation on old songs... new personnel... hell, new everything, mon. The core of V'ronco (psychotronic guitar, vox, howling, administrative details) and Dan Mullen (bass, more vox) remains the same; Andy Pagel turns up as the latest in a long line o' people to hit things in search of the perfect beat. (He's gone now, of course. They have a new guy to beat on helpless objects now.) Some other things have not changed -- V'ronco still sounds like Grace Slick being possessed by the devil under the influence of Johnny Walker Red and way too many gallons of coffee, the band still crams every influence they can think of into each song all at once, and their whole outlook (musically and lyrically) is still somewhere between freaky and flaky. (In fact, all of the songs from the original demo YOU'VE TAKEN TOO MUCH ACID -- now tragically out o' print, so if you weren't smart enough to snag it when i told you to eons ago, you're out of luck now, buddy -- are on here, along with five new tunes.)

Some things HAVE changed, though. All of the holdovers from the demo have undergone extensive studio surgery, mostly in the form of expanded instrumentation (although "Deal," probably the best track from the demo, has shuffled the arrangement a bit and grown about a minute and a half longer), which is hardly surprising given that this is, after all, the "real" album and that was the demo, right? What's wild, however, is that apparently having the Prime Galactic Overlord Stringfuser from F/i for a hubby has rubbed off on V'ronco; the album is just totally drenched in psychotronic space-rock guitar. This... is a good thing. One can never have enough spaced-out guitar doodling.

The best of the new songs is by far and away "Tell Me About Your Perfect Smelling Dreams," which gets piles of bonus points for the bad-ass title alone. It starts out sounding like Devo crossed with the Beach Boys on brown acid, drops in honky-tonk piano and quasi-doowop vox about a third of the way through, then descends into a long interlude of devolved cyclotron space riffing, demented semi-jazz drum waffling, and UFO noises before returning to the actual song again. "White Flight Suburban Nightmare" is almost as demented: It starts out as spastic, turbocharged thunder -- then stops abruptly and turns into a halftime swirl of loping bass, droning ghost vox, and shaved paintpeeler guitars reminiscent of the Butthole Surfers in their prime for a while before abruptly revving back up again. Talk about cognitive dissonance.... The other new standout is "Andy's Stolen Lighters," a song so bizarre that words fail me. The music sounds like exquisitely deranged country funk with over-amped drums, the lyrics are sung/shouted/wailed, quite frequently by both singers at the same time (singing totally different things, mind you), and there's, uh, SOMETHING at the end that sounds like chicken picking on the bass guitar, which i didn't even think was possible.

"Burning Feet," the ominous "Is It So," and the serial-killer rant of "Prowl" remain pretty close to the originals from the demo, only beefier in sound this time around; "You're Really Getting Weird On Me," though, now opens with shimmering ping-ping guitar that eventually turns into full- blown squealy stuff, and the bassline takes some funny dips as well. The main riff of "Tell You A Story" has changed considerably and the song as a whole is heavier now, with the addition of thundering guitars and fat-ass drums. "She Just Wants to Sleep" has been fattened up with background guitars, keyboards, and God knows what else, and "Deal," as mentioned earlier, has been tinkered with to a pretty serious degree. It's still moored by the lurching feedback guitar, but it's a bit looser (i think) and definitely longer, and it's gained a lot of twisted string-scratching in between the verses. It's still deranged-sounding shit, mon. This song -- in fact, most of the album -- is what the Butthole Surfers would be doing now if the Butthole Surfers were still any good.

The Headless Sno-Cone Girl has proclaimed this her favorite new album of the year and suggests you find a copy and make it yours. You would be wise to follow her advice; after all, hell has no fury like that of a headless chick whose advice has been ignored....

Lockgroove Lullaby -- NEVER SATISFIED [demo]

HIGHLIGHTS: "Something to Give," "Thoughtless," "Never Satisfied," "So Small," "Breathing/Dreaming"

This... this is coolness INCARNATE. It sounds like these guys took a lot o' pills and dope while listening to Spacemen 3 and the Band of Susans then said "Right, we can do this" and they DID. All hail the Never-Ending Riff! Yah! Believe me, the "lockgroove" part of their name is no accident -- most of the songs on this cassette quickly sprout into a lock and lull groove, complete with nifty guitar overtones and wailing feedback, all bent on inducing a trance state. On "Thoughtless" they bring in the rotating leslie cabinet and get even trippier... and on "Never Satisfied," they develop some serious guitar snarl, which then fades into background swirling and grinding before a second bassline comes in. Coolness.

The cool thing about Lockgroove Lullaby is that while they definitely have a serious handle on the heavily repetitive trance coma thing, they ALSO apparently listen to pop songs instead of just Skullflower and Spacemen 3, because there's an element of catchiness to these tunes that one does not normally associate with trance rock. Lots o' MELODIC riffs being beaten to death here, which is a good thing -- particularly on "So Small," which sounds like something the Cure might have written when they were still good and had a better guitar tone, assuming Robert was really "on" that day. Levitation-worthy feedback and heavy riffing are put to good use in "Say It's Time," while the closing "Breathing/Dreaming" starts quiet and, after several minutes of one tranced-out riff, bursts into skull- frying harmonic feedback that ebbs and flows throughout the rest of the piece. Yow. Color me sold, buddy... DEAD ANGEL approves....

Lockgroove -- REWIRED [Krave]

Once upon a time there was a band from Beantown (actually Allston, if i remember correctly, but it's close enough) by the name of Lockgroove Lullaby; said band had a hep tape of trance-inducing guitar jams that DEAD ANGEL found favor with eons ago. Back then the band was just a duo of the Two-Headed Rex (twins Marty and Ryan), and it was good.

Now... things have changed.

The name's been truncated, the band has expanded (there's three more in addition to the Two-Headed Rex), and the sound, while still heavily on the trance-mantra tip, has radically moved into the ionosphere. The bio thingy makes snuffling noises about Spacemen 3 and Velvet Underground, but really, they sound to me more like the poppier east-coast answer to Gravitar (only minus the inhuman vocal screech -- Ryan Rex actually sounds human). The mutant space-jazz approach surfaces almost immediately on the opener "Take It Away," but so does the pop element (chanted faux-shoopshoop vox, like Brian Wilson falling down a flight of stairs in hell). Madly fuzzed-out guitars abound, the drums are sharp as knives and come and go, and the whole thing manages to rock without ever actually going anywhere. (Actually, appearing to move while standing still is kind of a Lockgroove trademark.)

"Sundown" reinforces this idea of the pop-band run amok, sounding like an actual pop song obscured by titanic walls of endlessly looped basslines and sheet metal guitars. But "Dragonfly" is more of a slo-mo trance deal, with building basslines and tinkly guitar parts, until the song revs into a higher gear with lots o' bowel-scraping guitar tonnage and more wild noises.

The catchiest thing here would have to be "So Small," a holdover from an earlier tape (since re-recorded with the full band) that sounds sort of like the Jesus and Mary Chain, oddly enough, assuming that the Chain were still capable of doing anything interesting and without perpetually sneering. Lots of snakelike riff-trading and another endless bassline, with additional guitar scree winding in and out at regular intervals like UFOs looking for a good place to land. "Come On" is another slo-mo drone that turns into something vastly heavier, while "Traced in Fire" -- complete with lonesome piano, acoustic guitar, and one-note wah-wah -- is simultaneously gentle and tremendously weird at the same time (is that a calliope or a mellotron happening in the middle section?). And don't be fooled by the short number of songs -- it still clocks in at nearly 35 minutes, on the longish side for an EP. So guess what? Now you have something swell to listen to while waiting for the next Gravitar album....

Look, forget about the review -- what you need to do is get up right now and go buy this album. Yes! RIGHT NOW! Don't bother to turn off your PC! STOP READING THIS AND GET YOUR WALLET AND KEYS AND GO! Dammit, don't make me beat you with this wire coat hanger... or with this leg of Christina Crawford.... just get up and do it... do it... DO IT....

[moon unit waits patiently]

Okay, now that you've sensibly bought the CD, let's listen to it together so you can quake with fear as you gradually realize why this may have been the most sensible purchase you've made at your local CD pagoda lately (unless you were smart enough to buy the Yellow Machine CD already too). Prepare yourself... make sure the headphones are tight... the volume is up... the headless sno-cone girl will be by shortly with your swag, should it be snortable or smokable?

Are those typewriter noises you hear? Maybe... maybe not... but look, it doesn't matter now, because here comes da beat... here comes the hypnoguitars... yes... the trance state is beginning... you are hypnotized... you are listening intently to all the extra goodies happening in the background, just on the periphery of your hearing... you... you are giving me your wallet... now listen to to the breathy singer and forget about the wallet (it's much flatter now, isn't it?)... why am i picking up the pillow? To put behind your head... yes... you needed it when the white noise burst kicked in and snapped yer poor head back, didn't you? Yes... keep drifting... drifting... doesn't it all sound like waves in the ocean? But wait, look how they're ending... those trippy guitars are all turning into a wall of white noise and you can't tell where the guitars end and the singer begins because it's spiraling down into the noise vortex, isn't it?

Now pay attention to "Chinese New Year" -- sounds almost like a techno track, doesn't it? But those keyboards are a tad ominous, aren't they? Do you get the feeling of drifting in a boat through vast open spaces as the singer's voice bounces around the domed cathedral walls? Good... you are ready for "Bullet With Your Name On it" now. Can you see why they garner comparisons to Abunai? Admit it, the last time you heard Americans do psych this well was on that band's latest album. Aren't you glad that Lockgroove can do it right too? Careful now, we're going through the tunnel... the lights are low here, and even if you can see the water reflecting on the ceiling high above, you can't tell how far away it is, can you? This is what the "Slow Motion Ocean" is all about, isn't it? The distance between sounds... the shape of space... it's engulfing you....

The waves are getting choppier now, aren't they? "Engine Drone" is upon us. They rock, do they not? This is one of my favorite tracks on the album, by the way... you can see why, can't you? Yes, I see your head nodding. Are you going with the beat or the endless trance loop riding the wave in the background? It doesn't matter, does it? Of course not. Okay... you can stop shaking... the waves are receding... "Siren James" is reverberating around us now. See how well they grok pop, too? Dreamy dreamy pop with trance moves and a nifty organ solo of sorts.... What's that slithering sound creeping behind "Blues and Reds," you ask? I know not, but you need the pillow again, mon... this one starts out quiet and droning but builds to moments of intensity. This would be a good time to point out to you their masterful sense of pacing... don't you agree? Isn't this album well-paced? Not enough for the songs to be well-crafted, no, they had to arrange the entire album as if it were an epic song, strategically placing the elements in a well-timed order to keep you alert throughout. These gentlemen have gone to great lengths to hold your attention... you should be pleased that they care so many about you....

[SPLASH]

Aaaaaiiieeee, man overboard! My fault... so sorry... i forgot to warn you about the grinding burst of deathfuzz at the beginning of "Keep Running" -- my bad... gawd, you're a wet fucker now aren't you? Don't drip on my shoes god damn it, i just had them shined... pay attention here, this is a good one... doesn't that relentless drum pattern make you think of something the Jesus and Mary Chain might have done circa AUTOMATIC, back when they were still worth listening to? Check out those hypnotic chime guitars... careful, here comes a burst of noise, guitars revved up to harmonic distorto-plane levels... you could dance to this, maybe -- no no NOT HERE, you'll capsize the boat! Wait until we get back on land, dammit! Sit down... SIT DOWN... the song's ending anyway.... You'll like this one, "Wait for the In Between." Careful, duck your head... we're entering another cathedral... are those fat-ass drones or what? You just wish your drone was this big, mon. And listen to those guitar and bass lines, like spiders dancing -- how do you suppose they got such a swell tone, as they have consistently across this entire disc? Whaddya mean you never thought about it? Dammit, these men are lifting heavy weights o' tone for your listening pleasure, the least you can do is appreciate it.... We're drifting again. I like it when they just settle into lock and lull mode for a while, don't you?

We're back to pop stylings again, my friend. "19 Years," what do you suppose it means? I'll never know, I can't pick out his voice from behind the baritone guitar strum. Perhaps you'll have better luck...? Fine listening, even if i have no idea what it's about. And now on "Secret Devices" the drones rise and fall, organs and guitars set on cascade... the wave motion is getting serious now... the lights from the water are dancing across the cathedral walls again... .

Here, take these. What do you mean, what are they? Pills... pills for stamina, which you'll need. Look at that giant fortress with the gaping mouth, the one with the pipes and turrets and unimaginable geometric shapes jutting from every direction, the one that looks like a wild patchwork labyrinth turned inside out. That's the island they call "Never Satisfied," and we're going to pass through the heart of it... to ride the river through this ever-changing landscape takes at least twenty minutes and you'll need your strength. We're entering now... look to your left at those warriors making mean with the noises... over to the right you'll see the drummers beating out their ominous rhythm... it's pretty forbidding, isn't it? Spacy, yes, but forbidding. See how the river snakes? Every time we come to a new bend we find a new set of natives wielding new instruments, new rhythms, new tones... i'll bet you never knew psychedelia could be this far-reaching and convoluted, did you? Ah, here the river straightens out for some length... what the hell are those strange noises coming from the underbrush? I don't know either... it's all floaty and disconnected along this stretch... wait... wait... up ahead... i see... yes... natives playing something recognizable... it's growing louder... what's around this bend? The interstellar space overdrive, you say? I won't argue with you there. We're nearing the end... the outriders are with us in their long black space coats... squiggly lead doodling weaving in and out of the cosmonaut riff 'n rhythm... legend has it that the ghost of Syd Barrett walks among the dead here... yes, i know he's still alive, but i'm talking about the real Syd Barrett, not the sad wreck that sits in front of the TV all day in his mum's home now... i'm talking about the laughing man with the mirror guitar.... we're passing the outriders now... it's fading... fading... the water grows black as the endless ocean nears... we're passing out of Lockgroove waters now and into the vast impotent unknowable... i... i... i think... the album... must be... over....

Listening again from the beginning? How sensible you are. Aren't you glad you had me along for the guided tour? Yes? Absolutely... anytime....

Seven dark and elegantly constructed musical psychodramas, courtesy of industrial / gothic stylist Lockwood. His promo thingy mentions the likes of Radiohead, Kate Bush, Peter Gabriel, Bjork, Neubaten, The The, and Pink Floyd; I'm dubious about the first and last, but the rest I can hang with. Pristine layers of sound woven around dance beats result in largely gothic songs with industrial dance leanings. On the gothic pop drama tip, he leans more toward the influence of Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush more than anything else. Industrial beats and noise keep it from all getting too introspective and fogbound, however. The album hovers in the ep territory with only seven songs, but that works in the album's favor, giving the songs plenty of room to develop without making the entire album overly long. Unlike a lot of artists in his favored genre, Lockwood appears pretty committed to touring live (he's played in both the U.S. and Europe), so it might well be possible for you to check out his mojo live, a move I'd recommend. Strong stuff here.

Goofy but irresistably catchy girlpunk from Japan -- teenage girls with guitars 'n drums jumping up and down in the best tradition of punk and oi bands from the late seventies and early eighties. This is largely old-school style here, which may be why i vastly prefer this over more "modern" bands, most of whom don't even play half as well as this one. Hard to say much about the songs themselves since this is truly a Japanese disc (i.e., there's almost no English anywhere, so i have no idea what the titles are or who's in the band or any of that hoo-ha), except that most of them are fast and punky (but catchy, remember), and some are slow 'n pretty ballads (Asian girl bands do them really, really well so this is always a good thing in my opinion). They have a fair number of cds out, i think, and they're expensive import items, so this is a good one to start with for anyone not already familiar with the band. The buttons (many of them homemade) on the cover are great too. So many swank bands from Asia, so little time and $$$ to hear them all. Don't miss this one.

The name is accurate: for the most part, this sounds like raunch-oriented rock a UK bar band (although i suspect that, on this tape at least, guitarist Jason Knight may be the only actually member) with a few more tricks up its sleeve. Certainly this is true on the opening "Show Me," a rocker complete with applause and crowd noises at the end, about ditching the pressures of work and getting on with life, more or less. But then "Just Another Day" is a ballad (!!!) of sorts, complete with morose piano and blue, melancholy vox. Eventually big drums kick in and almost psychedelic interlude (sort of) occupies the middle until the vox return; this is easily the best song on the tape. "Overload" follows a similar path, eventually leavened by fine feedback swells and keyboard flourishes; by contrast, "Insert Rowdy Pub Background Here" is a bit of a return to the barroom sound, a brief interlude before seguing into the lush instrumental "Rhythmic Wave," a piece that sounds oddly like cathedral music... or perhaps a funeral procession. An odd mix of styles, to say the least! The handling of such different styles holds a certain level of promise... but Longhair has got to find a better studio. Material such as this deserves better treatment than the lo-fi route. Find out more at the Longhair site.

The latest release from Loretta's Doll is a prime slice of exotic darkwave, with plenty of creeping industrial rhythms, brooding keyboards, and grandiose vocal stylings -- all the swell histronics you expect from a darkwave band, basically. These guys have some interesting tricks up their gaudy sleeves, though, mainly in the form of unusual guest appearances (try Orson Welles and Genesis P.Orridge on for size) and decidedly different vocal approaches from song to song. "Nature" is classic darkwave, with a lurching beat, quasi-operatic vocals, and burbling keyboards and synths, but "Song of Solomon" is another beast entirely -- scratchy noises turn into pinging keyboard notes and pedal drones, then the band goes into extended industrial-dance dirge mode as Orson Welles recites a monologue from Macbeth... most interesting. The slow, wheezing drone of "Albemuth" and "Covered in the Wild Roses" (where disembodied voices and groaning keyboards are finally overpowered by choppy rhythms) come from a more experimental, eccentric place than I normally associate with darkwave; in fact, nearly all of the songs employ strange sounds and processed machine-rhythms more in keeping with old-school industrial sounds. The rhythm of "The Disconnected" initially sounds like a vast heartbeat keeping time with simple, abrupt drum patterns, and its overall effect is more psychedelic than gothic. Not straight-up darkwave, then, but darkwave curdled at the edges by the judicious incorporation of several other genres. Even "Crawling Over the Face of the Moon," possibly the most "traditional" darkwave track on the album, opens with strange rhythmic noises, tinkly stuff, and droning, disembodied vocals before the keyboards and drums kick in and the gothic feel takes over. Definitely one of the more progressive darkwave outfits....

TG and Neddal are seated on the couch. He desperately awaits her to grow bored and leave him alone or to fall asleep. Given her destroyed mental condition, the result of far too many diet pills, neither of these things is likely to happen. Even worse, now she appears to be growing horny: To Neddal's horror, she is suddenly playing footsies with him. Disturbed, he buries his face in the copy of DOOM PATROL.

TG: You know, you're kind of cute... we could do other things besides reviews, you know....

N/A: No! NO! Don't even think about it!

TG (pouting): Why not?

N/A: Because I've heard the rumors! I know the score! Stay the hell away from me!

TG (looking innocent): I can't imagine what you're talking about.

N/A: I know you're a transvestite! Or a she-male! Or something! Stay away from me!

TG: Oh, you don't really believe that fairy story, do you? Look, I'll show you... (starts to wiggle out of her skirt)

N/A: No! NO! The skirt stays ON!

He is paralyzed with terror as she crawls up the couch and cuddles up in his lap, tucking her incredibly huge gun under his chin.

TG: Kiss me, pooky.

N/A: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

TG: If you're not going to kiss me, then... review me, big daddy.

N/A: THE DIRTY ONES is a bit of a departure for Lost Goat. The tight, groovy playing is still there, along with Erica Stoltz' amazing voice. They have, however, changed the focus of the music from THE RIFF to a more atmospheric, psychedelic sort of thing. This is most apparent on the instrumental "The Drifter" (featuring Amber Asylum's Kris Force and Jackie Gratz) and their cover of Buffy St. Marie's "Cod'ine." [n/a]

Low -- LONG DIVISION [Vernon Yard Productions]

HIGHLIGHTS: "Violence," "Below & Above," "Shame," "Swingin'," "Turn," "Take"

They call it SLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWCORE, boy-eeeeee... and this trio (two guys, one gal who stands up to play drums) definitely has the freeze-frame motion down COLD. If anything on this disc pins out at over 60 bpm, may i be held down and forced to watch Jesse Helms take a shower (eek! scary! scary!). Coedine's probably quaking with fear now that this bunch has set up shop on the slowcore block....

While i've never been a huge Coedine fan, i really connect with this band. The fact that they alternate male/female singing helps, and their mood shifts aren't quite as SEISMIC as Coedine's -- in fact, about all they really have in common is a fascination for playing at a speed one normally associates with sleepwalking. Few bands can play slow and still keep things interesting, especially with such minimal instrumentation; Low is one of them, though. And i'll admit it, i'm totally entranced by Mimi's singing (like this is going to be a big surprise). The songs are incredibly stark -- one reverberating guitar that often sounds more like a pipe organ, pulsing bass, and a snare drum -- and they all unfold at an exquisitely glacial pace. The singing swells and fades, quite often with one singer getting louder as the other one fades out, to eerie effect. It's the kind of sound that you makes you either prostrate with delirious awe or profoundly irritated and sleepy... no middle ground.... Given the minimal elements with which they work, it's startling to hear how well the songs stand apart, especially since only one song has any additional instrumentation (Kramer appears behind a Mellotron for "Swingin'," a staggering dronefest that boasts the brilliant lyrics "unforgiven / unimpressed by my first try / she's a sinker / i should have taught her to swim"). The guitarist takes advantage of the minimalist space to incorporate pick noises, etc. into the songs, to good effect. Beyond that, how much you might enjoy this depends heavily on your taste for minimalism... DEAD ANGEL gives it the enthusiastic stamp of approval....

Low manage the neat trick of being both incredibly light and incredibly heavy at the same time -- no small feat, especially with only three musicians and a drummer with the most minimal kit in rock. To see what makes them light, airy, and sometimes heavenly, you have to look at drummer/vocalist Mimi Parker. She plays a minimalist kit (a snare and cybmal and not much else) with the precision of a drum machine -- you could set your watch by her -- and her singing, when it appears, is positively angelic. To understand what makes Low so heavy, you have to look at guitarist/vocalist Alan Parker and bassist Zak Sally. Both of them are alumni of far heavier (in the accepted sense) bands, and while they've mostly set those leanings aside for this band, they haven't forgotten about them. Zak may not being playing much by conventional standards, but his bass sound wouldn't be out of place on a Black Sabbath record, and while Alan favors restraint in volume for his repetitive, elliptical riffs, he retains the same sense of dynamics you'd expect to find in heavier bands.

They also have a talent for sounding lovely while singing lyrics with a decidedly morbid, even vaguely sinister cast to them -- for instance, check out the opening song "Sunflower." Gentle strumming, a low-key bass that provides more ambience than beat, and a crisp snare form the backdrop for some lovely singing, and the result is pretty and nonthreatening... but you have to pay attention to realize what they're singing: "When they found your body / Giant x's on your eyes / And with your half of the ransom / You bought some sweet, sweet, sweet sunflowers / And gave them to the night." This may sound like pop music -- kinda -- but you know, somehow i just can't imagine Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera coming up with those lines, can you? "Whitetail" is even more ominious and ethereal, with no drums and a bass that doesn't so much as play lines as it creates an almost fractal rhythm from the delay lines as the long notes die away. The guitar swims in the background as Sparhawk draws out the sparse lyrics (more like fractured fragments of a narrative, really) like a man in a dream. There's absolutely nothing concretely dark about the lyrics, but the entire way the song is presented makes it seem like an incredibly terrifying memory of something so private you'd never understand its meaning even if you knew it. It's a song that's almost more air than actual song, yet manages to be every bit as forbidding in its way as some early Swans material.

"Dinosaur Act" sounds like a bridge between Joy Division and the Swans' cover of "Love Will Tear Us Apart," or maybe like Joy Division covering "Kashmir" at half-speed: a near-metallic riff and thunderous bass lurch like a brontosaurus trying to tiptoe, over a snare keeping exact time like a metronome. As the thunder dies away when the verses come in, the guitar drops out to leave room for lyrics like "you were their daughter / and your father flew airplanes / you and your sister / could tell by the backs of their hands," then they all crash back in for the verse "it was a /dinosaur act." The tricky part here to their carefully-built minimalist song construction is the inclusion of truncated measures and the use of the verse's introduction as a mico-bridge between the verse and chorus -- a subtle device that allows them to all drop out, in perfect time, long enough as Alan Sparhawk's "but it's a..." to allow a gap of silence to make the final verse crash in with what seems like even more force than before. A nifty trick that will undoubtedly go unnoticed to the casual observer, which sort of encapsulates Low's entire existence, in a way -- those unique, subtle moments are what you look for with this band. As for the song itself, this is what Joy Division would have sounded like with harmony singers.

When Alan Sparhawk talks about this being Low's "pop album" (see the interview), you can see what he's talking about in places like the melodic guitar that introduces "In Metal"  and the aching violin that comes in halfway through the song. There are other pop touches -- the inclusion of instruments as varied as piano, trumpet, cello, and violin -- all over the album, although most of the time they're submerged behind the band, adding to the background ambience more than to the actual song. Sometimes, as on "Medicine Magazines," the backing instrument (in this case, piano) is actually the melodic element, as the band provides heavily reverbed ambience rather than riffs or progressions -- the effect is that of a piano's sound occasionally escaping from between two glaciers crashing together slowly. Keyboards and loops appear to be at work in the background of "July," but the steady mallet beat of "Embrace" is only sporadically augmented by other sounds at all as Mimi sings. "Whore" is a flat-out pop song that's just performed at a fraction of the speed of most pop songs, with Mimi's falsetto up so high that it floats -- although the full band doesn't really appear until halfway through, and "Kind of Girl" is practically a folk song. That's a lot of variety for a band that's generally described as having a certain set sound.

There is an uncredited "bridge" between "Closer" and "Metal" that sounds like a heavily reverbed, attenuated sample of a particularly heavy moment from their trance-noise epic "Do You Know How to Waltz?" -- it lasts less than a minute, but is one of the most eerie spots of an album that already sounds like it was recorded in the shadow of a cold, cold mountain on the moon. Part of what makes this album so mesmerizing, in fact, is its immaculate recording -- this is by far the best recording i've ever heard come from Steve Albini's hands, even better than the sound of the new Shellac album, and he's no slouch in that department. (Having an immensely talented and disciplined band in front of the microphones probably made his job much easier.) There are places where you'll swear you can hear the dust motes blowing off the microphone as vocal notes decay away, and the entire album is enveloped in this warm, textured ambience sort of like a thick harmonic fog in the background. I'm betting there were plenty, plenty ambient mikes in the studio when they recorded this. The entire effect of the album is like watching a highly disciplined team performing vaguely spiritual funeral marches. While Low's habit of writing lyrics that are highly oblique and often intensely personal, but about subjects outside of the listener's frame of reference (sort of like Jawbox lyrics, in fact, only much shorter) often makes their intent hard to discern, this time the lyrics dovetail so beautifully with the music that it hardly matters.

What i really think is interesting is how much they have in common with Shellac at this point. Both bands are immensely precise and often cryptic to those who don't understand them, and both are anchored by an excellent rhythm section. Both are heavily indebted to Joy Division and the entire concept of minimalism. Both favor lyrics outsiders generally find opaque and puzzling. In some ways, Low is essentially a slow-motion, more ambient take on the same aesthetic umbrella Shellec operates under. All of which makes me wonder what Shellac would sound like if they wrote pop songs. As with the new Shellac album, i'm already pretty much convinced that this is one of the best albums to show up in ages. I have no doubt this one will show up on a lot of "best-of" lists at the end of the year. An absolutely indispensable addition to the Low canon. You need this, whether you know it or not.

This has been getting the most wildly mixed reviews of the band's entire career (Todd the Black Metal Drummer frankly hates it, except for the first song), so i'm going to throw the glove down early and tell you that it is, in fact, fucking brilliant. Maybe the best album they've ever done, actually -- at the very least tied for greatness with their last one (which i'll freely admit is a lot easier to listen to). Switching producers helps: they've traded the clean but airy sound of Albini's studio mojo for a grittier texture laden with all sorts of interesting noises, most noticeably in the opening cut "That's How You Sing Amazing Grace" (about a drowning, one of Alan's favorite subjects; in fact, pretty much the entire album is about death, how's that for sunny, eh?). One of the things i like best about this album (and apparently the very thing that drives a lot of listeners completely insane) is how repetitive and monolithic it sounds -- with every release they get even more impossibly minimalist, and some of these songs are nothing but stripped-down death marches that go on and on and on and on until suddenly something happens (like the hypnotic toms on "Candy Girl" -- when the simple but loud snare shots come in, it'll make you jump). Much ado has been made about "Canada," Low's apparent version of noisy metal (how metal it is remains debatable, but it's certainly heavier in a more traditional way than most of their material, and has plenty of noisefuzz in it), but for my $$$ the heaviest song on here is "The Lamb," another endlessly hypnotic creeper that eventually culminates in shattering drum thunder -- one of the things i like best about Low is how Mimi, armed with just a snare and a floor tom -- manages to be heavier and more forbidding than any heavy-metal drummer you can think of. (The pounding at the end of "The Last Snowstorm of the Year" comes a pretty close second in the heaviness sweepstakes here, though.)

Other interesting motifs abound: Alan's guitar and Zak's droning bass are even more interlocked than ever, but this time around the melodic content is provided mainly by Zak and the rhythm is almost entirely Alan's domain, mainly straight chording with brief but potent minimalist flourishes. And as always, the amazing harmony vox remain their primary strength, especially on the gentler songs like "In the Drugs" and the lovely "La La La Song." Mimi even takes a rare solo turn on "Point of Disgust" over a spooky, echoed-beyond-belief piano, one of the highlights of the album. And just for those who were entranced by the atypical space-jam freakout "Do You Know How To Waltz?" on THE CURTAIN HITS THE CAST, they end the album with "Shots and Ladders," all bass drone and swirling, washed out vox that turns into a long, fucked-up psych jam more akin to a cross between Flying Saucer Attack and a demonstration of efx pedals than anything else. Like, heavy, man. Just don't ask me what the hell the lyrics for "John Prine" actually have to do with the musician in question, though....

John Lowe -- s/t [self-released CD]

Pure pop now for the heartbreak generation, that's what this is. After passing through various Austin bands over the past five or six years, John Lowe has struck out on his own and this self-produced five-song CD ep is making the rounds. Produced mainly as a demo to send to labels -- i'm not even sure this is available in stores around Austin, much less anywhere else -- it's well worth hunting down. If the radio sounded like this, i might listen to the radio more often.

The five songs are pretty varied from a sonic perspective; "Love Monkey" is orchestrated guitar pop, "Lenny" (a black-humor fable about a steamroller-drivin' city employee who "likes girls best when he runs them over") is straight-ahead rock with a chorus full of doo-wop vox, and "Your Happy Ass" is sped-up country rock with catastrophic slide (yow!) at the tail end. "Broken" (which ends on the beautifully morose couplet "and I won't wait for an explanation this time / because it walks, talks, and tastes like isolation this time") is almost nothing but ambient drone with a minimalist beat, and "Big Deal" is uptempo jangle-pop with a fair quotient of reverb-drenched guitars. While each song sounds different enough to stand on its own, they all work well together and maintain a readily identifiable style, no mean feat.

The main thing linking all of these songs, though, are the caustic (sometimes even corrosive) lyrics about doomed love and bitter loathing, that sort of thing. Blackly funny and disturbingly bleak at the same time, the lyrics alone are worth the price of admission. I sure hope he gets the deal he's seeking so we can hear even more of this good stuff.

Lull -- MOMENTS [Release]

This is kind of an interesting concept: Mick Harris, he that once was Scorn but now is just a guy with a bass, recorded a huge pile of bits 'n pieces (99 of them, to be exact), and assembled them in no real order on this disc for the purpose of being played using the random/shuffle button on your CD player. So now there are several ways you can experience this album: you can play it all the way through without stopping (it works extremely well that way, incidentally), program the tracks in a predetermined order to make your own version of the song, put the player in shuffle mode and see what it spits out, or find a favorite segment and hit repeat to loop it until you get tired of hearing it. As with most concepts, the idea is a bit better than the execution -- putting it on shuffle, for instance, results in annoying gaps of silence between the tracks as the CD player searches for the next bit (but that could be the fault of my old, cranky disc changer). The sounds themselves are very bass-heavy, with lots of shuddering rumble and occasional sounds that might be derived from running water, along with lots of distorted crumbling... for ambient sounds, this is a pretty disturbing kind of ambient. In fact, the overall effect is what you might get if you recorded the sound of a building collapsing from a bunker beneath the destruction, then played it back at half-speed. It gets really airy toward the end, with shimmering heat-mirage sounds occasionally disrupted by cracked bass rumbling, but for the most part it's a pretty subterranean-sounding affair. Excellent material for your next zone-out, no matter how you decide to chop it up and play it.

Lull/Null -- split # 2 (Alleysweeper)

Null's "Iceberg" on one side, Lull's "The Passing" on the other, okay but not screamingly brilliant or anything. Null's contribution sounds like an outtake from the sessions for A NEW KIND OF WATER, only not quite so mesmerizing -- basically very spare, with what I guess are supposed to be the sounds of a glacier melting or something. Nowhere near as noisy as most of the stuff from the forementioned album, though; actually kind of placid (right up until the horrible noise at the very end). Lull's effort is more of the tidal-motion ambient thing with machine-line humming in the background from time to time. All in all, basically for the dedicated collector... for those new to either entity, there are better places to start.

It's too bad Lush decided to pack it in the wake of drummer Chris Acland's unfortunate suicide, because this -- their final album -- indicates that the growing slash 'n burn pop sensibility that find made itself obvious on SPLIT was not a fluke. This is a full-bore heavy guitar pop album far removed from their earlier, more ethereal albums, and it just plain rocks like a pee dog. Nearly every track is flat-out brilliant, especially the gorgeously catchy "500" (a love ode to a sports car buoyed by a watery reverb guitar and Miki and Emma's undeniably English vox) and the ominious, keyboard-and-drum-driven "Last Night" (which also gains serious propulsion through a mammoth bassline and spiky guitar lines weaving in and out of the whole piece). They have never been more melodic (in every sense of the word -- unlike a lot of pop bands, Lush were always brilliant at making every instrument melodic, but integrating them into one large sonic juggernaut rather than allowing them to fizzle into the equivalent of messy sonic omlettes), or more varied -- there's even a droll, sarcastic breakup/kissoff duet with Jarvis Cocker of Pulp on "Ciao!" that turns out to be one of the highlights of the album. In between there are turbocharged missiles of pure powerpop ("Ladykillers," "Single Girl") that show how much more bite they had than the average dreampop band. Really, the entire album is nearly flawless in its conception and execution, and one of the best sounding discs of their (too-short) career to boot. Note that most of the best songs were written by Emma Anderson; all the more reason to eagerly anticipate the new album from her new band, whose name unfortunately escapes me at the moment....