It was a nice surprise to turn on the TV in search of something vaguely tolerable to provide five minutes of visual entertainment whilst I eat my dinner and hear “..and now on BBC 2, a psychological drama based on a story by JG Ballard..”.

And an even nicer surprise – Home was really good. Possibly the best piece of original television programming witnessed in god knows how long. A pretty heavy-going adaptation of one of Ballard’s prime-era assaults on reality, and on prime time Saturday night TV – not even midnight! 9pm! How about that?

“Challenging” and “unsettling” are of course the most obvious clichés in regard to stuff like this, and more often than not they’re just synonyms for “violent” and “weird”, but if we can escape cliché for a minute and return those words to their full original meaning, I think they’re the perfect adjectives for ‘Home’. While a lot of Ballard’s key writing is idiosyncratic to the point of being nearly incomprehensible, this drama managed to put across all of the ideas which make him such essential reading in a concise and powerful manner. Nice going.

Basically, there’s something uniquely uncompromising about Ballard’s vision… he’s one of only two modern writers I’ve read – the other being William Burroughs – whose works are actually DANGEROUS.

These days it’s par for the course for writers (and filmmakers and whathaveyou) to chuck around paradigm-fucking weird shit willy nilly, but usually it’s all in good fun and well anchored by logic and solid reality/fantasy divisions and tedious ‘what if..’ structures, reducing the impact of what should be world-destroying to the level of a momentary brain-itch. Not so Ballard & Burroughs – their shit’s for real. Burroughs is by far my favourite writer of the two, but I think Ballard is more extreme. You see, beyond all the nasty shit for which his work is most renowned, Burroughs was essentially a humanitarian, and through the purging of all the worst aspects of human nature, his writing is essentially a desperately naïve plea for a world of freedom, free from the machinations of the Ugly Spirit.

Ballard’s a different matter though – he couldn’t give a fuck for anybody. No woolly liberal sentiments underlie HIS attack on the world, and whilst restrictive bourgeois society may bare the brunt of his assault, he takes things WAY further. In Ballard’s view, the only way to break out of alienation and dissatisfaction is to tear apart not only social norms, but also all notions of morality, meaningful human contact and, eventually, reality itself. In this sense, Ballards’s ideas are frighteningly Nietzschian, and also somewhat Gnostic I suppose in his violent denial of the material world. There’s something totally vicious in the way that all human contact in Ballard’s books is completely cynical and meaningless, and the only way the supreme individual / isolated protagonist can transcend the illusory hell of ‘human nature’ is by killing and destroying without compunction in his quest for… whatever. The realisation of enlightenment in Ballard-world is never elaborated upon – the bleakness of his outlook seems to suggest that if nothing else, it simply represents an escape from the nullity of human experience.

With this in mind, it’s easy to understand why books like ‘The Atrocity Exhibition’ and ‘The Unlimited Dream Company’ are so often seen as ‘difficult’, and the understated extremity of the views they quietly (and sometimes noisily) put forward often goes unappreciated.

But, um, anyway, the fact that this BBC drama has inspired me to churn all that out should give you some idea of it’s level of quality. I’d imagine a repeat or video release is probably out of the question (I chuckle to think of the avalanche of complaints the BBC is probably receiving as I write – “..how dare you subject by impressionable 12 year old son to graphic depictions of home dentistry and an extremely disturbed man demonstrating how to build a machine for trapping and killing household pets…?!?!” etc.)

So, er, well done to the filmmakers for making it, cheers to the BBC for having the balls to show it amid their usual wall-to-wall mind-numbing banality, and here’s hoping that you, dear reader, got/get a chance to see it.

After watching it, I should have been running off to do something fucked up and antisocial in the name of the fight against reality, but instead I gave in and switched the channel, and am writing this as I watch ‘Resident Evil’. Hey, it promised cute girls and zombies – I’m only human! Christ alive, it’s bloody awful though! Not that I had high hopes or anything, but it’s fucking appalling, like if a particularly unimaginative 12 year old geek-boy made a film, only with all the sex and violence that 12 year old boys do so well mercilessly cut out. It makes me want to write a far more dramatic screenplay in which I rescue Milla Jovovich from this hopeless, wince-inducing travesty and cast her in something good instead.

No, seriously, I think that kind of post-modern caper has potential.

Instead of playing an off-the-peg “sassy heroine” partaking in an adolescent world of secret military installations, machine guns, bad computer effects and po-faced, super-tough marines going ‘hut hut hut’, she’d play an intelligent woman who wakes up to find herself trapped in that sort of world and, instinctively recognising it as unreal, she’d fight to escape it and find her way into a better film by systematically trashing the power-mad phallocentric male-fetish principles which underlie it… sounds like a hit, huh? No? Well alright then, fuck you.

So anyway, how did you spent YOUR Saturday night?

Happy New Year everybody. 2004 was such a dark and appalling year in terms of current affairs, world events and the like that it’s barely even worth contemplating. As always I retain some kind of wild, baseless hope that nice things might happen in 2005, but nevertheless reading all those ‘review of the year’ features makes me feel more like mourning and celebrating.
For all that’s gone FUBAR though, brilliant underground culture continues to thrive and multiply and generally make life worth living, and as such I present…

THE STEREO SANCTITY TOP 13 ALBUMS OF 2004!

It should be noted that, as always, this is emphatically NOT a list of ‘the best records of 2004’, it’s a list of ‘my favourite new things that I happen to have heard in 2004’. Unlike certain music publications, Stereo Sanctity makes no claims toward musical omnipotence. Quite the contrary in fact –financial and geographical circumstances have led to a situation where, even more so than last year, I just plain HAVEN’T HEARD the majority of exciting new music released this year – the total list of recordings from which the list below is chosen from probably doesn’t get above twenty five. For the most part I have instead been consuming vast quantities of old and weird music from second hand shops, the library, record fairs, friends collections and so on, to say nothing of the irritating ‘time-lag’ effect often suffered by poor music fans, wherein I’ve only just got around to obtaining a lot of the stuff I should have been digging back in 2002-2003, and obviously all of that falls down the cracks and doesn’t get to appear on my end-of-year lists.

In view of the above, it could well be claimed that I have no right whatsoever to go around making farcically undernourished End of Year music lists, but fuck it, I made one anyway, and, in no particularly solid order, it goes a bit like this;

Oneida – secret wars (Rough Trade)
In backing away from the realms of extremity/oblivion opened up by the monumental ‘Sheets of Easter’, Oneida have produced their most consistent and varied album to date – eight chunks of finely sculpted freak-rock covering a range of territory wide enough to dissolve anybody’s preconceptions about what they do. Things start off with ‘Treasure Plane’, cargo cult indie rock mutated at a genetic level, before ‘Caesar’s Column’ brings epic sci-fi and gamelan percussion to an NY disco party and ‘Captain Bo Dignifies the Allegations with a Response’s frantic politicised speedcore makes an unlikely bridge into the riffs-ahoy Crazy Horse-on-peyote rawk out of ‘Wild Horses’. Got all that? Good. Side two ups the craziness with ‘$50 Tea’, capturing a breathless psychedelic rush in a classic Oneida blowing-up-your-brain-song, followed by the baroque folk stylings of ‘The Last Act Every Time’ and jarring electro-Sabbath droneout ‘The Winter Shaker’. Bad trip jam epic ‘Changes in the City’ closes proceedings, mammoth and otherworldly in a way many practitioners of the new psychedelia only get to hear in their dreams. “We got a couple of ideas and a coupla ways of giving them to ya,” as Captain Bo modestly puts it.

The Thermals – Fuckin’ A (Sub-Pop)
It’s not quite as good as ‘More Parts Per Million’, but then how could it be? That was, like, the best album ever. This is the slightly more professionally recorded follow-up, and despite a (relatively) unexciting opening, it still thoroughly takes care of business. Just when you think it’s about time to abandon ‘punk rock’ (by which I mean the stuff that gets put in the punk section in record shops) as a dead genre, along come The Thermals, getting everything absolutely, totally, gloriously RIGHT. They hook up the wires and jumpstart the old essentials - thrashing barre chords, 90 second songs, blazing pop melodies, punch-to-the-gut honesty, screaming every word like it’s their last – and make it sound like the most vital, invigorating, electrifying, joyful idea anybody’s had in years. Every time a chorus hits it makes me take a deep breath and remember exactly why getting obsessed with all this indie rock nonsense seemed like a good idea in the first place. They have the Ramones on their side. And the Buzzcocks, and Husker Du to boot. They make me feel like jumping straight through a series of brick walls to save the world from evil and rescue my lost love.
All the time I’ve wasted over the years in the name of rock n’ roll: groups like The Thermals are the reason.

The Mountain Goats – we shall all be healed (4AD)
After a series of stunning ‘fictional’ albums dealing with such down to earth topics as alcoholism, divorce and frustrated love, John Darnielle here presents what he claims is his first ‘auto-biographical’ record… and surprises everybody with a lyrical patchwork of drug smuggling, espionage, murder, gangs of dsyfunctional punk kids, weird science, ghosts and cryptic references to Belgium and amateur wrestling. This grab bag of unlikely subject matter meshes itself perfectly with Darnielle’s genius punk-spirited songwriting - characterised by baroque lyrical imagery, emotionally charged metaphors that beat you over the head like hammers and a good ear for a tune. The result is possibly his best record to date. The Mountain Goats can always be relied upon to provide instantly captivating, hard hitting songs of a calibre comparable with yer Dylans and Cohens, and this outing comes with the added attraction of a plethora of weirdness and new mysteries to solve.

Sonic Youth – sonic nurse (Geffen)
It’s the new Sonic Youth album. It’s pretty good. What more do you need to know? Sprawling, stoned out ‘70s festival rock styled songs meet some of the most cooly twisted guitar textures they’ve done for a while. Gear.

Joanna Newsom – the milk-eyed mender (Drag City)
I may not yet be entirely convinced by the hype surrounding Devendra Banhart (say what you like re: misleading media linkage of the two, their respective styles of music are VERY similar), but I just got Joanna Newsom’s album for Christmas, and am instantly struck by the impression that it’s an absolute thing of beauty and a joy forever and a total instant classic that I shall endeavour to listen to every day, and recommend to everyone I know. Could it be because she’s a pretty girl who plays the harp? Would I be that shallow? Well I dunno, whatever, it’s mainly because her songcraft is absolutely stunning, capturing the much sought after spirit of childlike primalism whilst retaining an intelligence and a sense of purpose and relevance which steers things well clear of the twee time-wasting succumbed to by so many other new folkie types. And as for her singing and playing…. god, what can I say beyond lovely, just plain lovely. (Actually, I do think her voice gets a tad too shrill on some of the later tracks, but don’t mind me, that’s just because I’m a grumpy old sod who worships the low end of the sonic spectrum. Speaking of which…)

Sunn 0))) – white two (Southern Lord)
I have to confess that I haven’t actually managed to get hold of a copy of this yet, but…. it’s the new Sunn 0))) album for Wotan’s sake! Featuring additional contributions from Runhild Gammelsaetar and Attila Csihar!
If it’s even half as mighty as last year’s White One – and it will be - it’ll have me striding across the icy Northern plains gazing at the empty sky and contemplating the dark majesty of my heathen Gods for, ooh, months.

Hang on the Box – for every punk bitch and asshole (Arrivederci Baby)
A girl-punk band from China who play killer fuzz guitar, hate men and swear all the time were always gonna be guaranteed a place in my albums ofd the year list, and when they expand their range to include ramshackle DIY pop gems like ‘Kill Your Belly’ and ‘Heroin & Cocaine’ that recall everything from the Velvet Underground to the Raincoats… well they’re heading somewhere towards the top! Inspiring stuff.

Mastodon – Leviathan (Relapse)
A sticker on the front of the CD features some goon proclaiming them “the new Metallica”, which may sound about as inviting as “the new Hitler”, but don’t believe the hype – Mastodon are fucking superb! Striding above and beyond the braindead sub-genre conformity of most contemporary metal, they’ve get a cast iron grip on all the things that made it so cool in the first place – massed mountains of heavy-ass riffola, chest-beating Viking grandeur and bloodcurdling tales of prehistoric sea monsters and norse gods, all executed with an invigorating spirit of unashamed virtuoso noise-wizardry. And what’s that blast of fresh air I feel? Yes, Mastodon have discovered the metal holy grail – NEW RIFFS! – and are feeding us till we can take no more.
The most DUDETASTIC album of the year bar none, and I’ve forgotten to even mention that it (rather unconvincingly) claims to be a concept album based on Moby Dick! Dude! Lamo non-metal wiener bands are advised to flee like mortal fools as Thor’s hammer descends.

Liars – they were wrong so we drowned (Blast First)
Up and coming post-punk NY hipsters shun fame and fortune in order to take a terrifying Throbbing Gristle / Can inspired odyssey into the world of medieval witchcraft. And it’s really good! Score one for the weirdoes! I want to have their twisted little witch babies.

Weird War – if you can’t beat ‘em, bite ‘em (Drag City)
Ian Svenonious’ wildest and most politically charged album since Nation of Ulysses? Could well be. Molten p-funk wah-wah explosions dripping obscenely over bad-ass rock n’ roll dancing grooves and cryptic insurrectionist hipster rhetoric. The spectres of Funkadelic and the MC5 are invoked in the best possible way. Play loud and give your synapses a good scrub.

David-Ivar Herman Dune with Lisa Li-Lund – Nova Scotia CDR (self released)
The hairier one of the Herman Dune brothers brings us yet another set of heart-warming and joyous off-the-cuff anti-folk singalongs. Here he mixes zombies, morlocks, voodoo, Dr. Dre, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and bags full of grass into his surreal autobiographical tales of touring the world, feeling angsty and losing his gal.
You jaded folk out there probably don’t think that sounds terribly exciting, but trust me here – the guy’s a hero and a genius and he sings with a grin on his face and tears in his eyes.

Birchville Cat Motel – scream for me longbeach! 3” CD (self released)
The only artefact I’ve yet been able to get my hands on from the mysterious Birchville Cat Motel, and a real thing of beauty it is too. Fuck knows what year it was recorded/released in, but for the sake of argument, let’s assume it was this one. Starts out like a surprisingly traditional slice of hard-driving freakout rock, but the primitive orders of human rhythm and composition are quickly buried beneath the higher divine order provided by some of the most beautifully pure noise ever blasted through manmade electronic equipment – it sounds like a hoover built by God.

Help She Can’t Swim – Fashionista Super Dance Troupe (Fantastic Plastic)
A surprise late entry – I only got this yesterday, so a bit of a scratchy review I'm afraid, but Yes! This is fucking brill! They’re like… Huggy Bear’s boy-girl revolution rewired for the 21st century with the lo-fi ramshackleness kicked out in favour of ever so contemporary brillo-pad-to-the-face precision post-hardcore dance party twisty-guitar-line-and-screaming action? Something like that. Youthful energy is the order of the day, not forgetting killer tunes and great sound throughout. And relentless indie kid baiting lyrics of the highest order (song titles: “Sensitive Youth”, “What Would Morrissey Say?”). An absolute fucking blast! 11 songs in 25 minutes – yes please! Not since The Thermals first album has a record so quickly and comprehensively won my seal of approval. Pity they’re only one fifth girl, but hey, that’s life.



HONOURABLE MENTIONS;
Mclusky – the difference between you and me is that I’m not on fire (TooPure)
Comets on Fire – Blue Cathedral (sub-pop)
Iron & Wine – Our Endless Numbered Days (sub-pop)
Electrelane – The Power Out (Too Pure)
Lair of the Minotaur – Carnage (Southern Lord)
Todd – Purity Pledge (Southern)
Bearsuit – Cat Spectacular (Fortuna Pop) (No#1 in spirit, dudes!)
Double Leopards – Heavy Conversation Volume 14 (self-released)
PJ Harvey – Uh Huh Her (Island?)
Kinski – Don’t Climb On and Take the Holy Water (Strange Attractors)

Plus the dozens and dozens of albums I’d surely love but haven’t had a chance to hear, and the innumerable amount of other music released this year which I’d surely love but don’t even know of the existence of. If you see what I mean.

GIGS OF THE YEAR;

As with the records, circumstance has prevented me from getting out to my usual quota of gigs this year, but thankfully the ones I have managed to step out for have been pretty special. Take a bow everybody who played a role in the following;

All Tomorrows Parties Weekend Two, Camber Sands
Herman Dune & Kimya Dawson, above some pub in Cardiff
Ochre 10 Festival, Gloucester Guildhall
The Dirtbombs, Cardiff Barfly
Sonic Youth, Brixton Academy
The Buff Medways, Leicester Charlotte
The USAISAMONSTER & Mountain Men Anonymous, Newport Le Pub

So that’s what my ears and dancing feet honed in on during 2004.
What delights could 2005 hold? Why not send me some music and help me find out. Go on, you know you want to.