THE FORTY-TWO BEST RECORDS OF 2011:
Part # 7

So, that idea that I should start early so that I’d have time to wrap this up before the New Year…? That went well, right…?

15. Night Birds – The Other Side of Darkness (Grave Mistake)

One of those descriptors, rather like ‘erotic thriller’ or ‘acid jazz’, that inevitably fails to deliver on either of its promised components, dropping ‘surf punk’ in the opening sentence of a review is a good way to wave bye-bye to whatever tenuous engagement w/ a readership one has left. Nonetheless though, it proves unavoidable here, as New Jersey’s Night Birds are, unmistakably, a punk (PUNK) band, incorporating the conventions of the surf (SURF, or perhaps ‘INSTRO’) genre into their music, and doing so with a fearsome competence that sees the results lurking comfortably in the shadow of prime-era Dead Kennedys and (especially) Agent Orange.

At least some of the personnel here – sadly I know not how many or which ones – cross over with the phenomenal Psyched To Die (whose ‘Sterile Walls’ 7” I still like to find time to play at least once a week), and indeed, much here – the shrill, bug-eyed rage of the vocal delivery, the twitchy velocity and incongruously ‘hot licks’ of the music – has evidently come along with them. Whilst lyrical themes remain pleasantly bleak though (demonstrative song titles: ‘Failed Species’ , ‘Can’t Get Clean’), the surf element can’t help but foster a certain irascible goofiness within PTD’s straight-faced nihilism – a goofiness which some listeners may find trying, as cuts like ‘Day After Trinity’ veer about as close to Man..or Astroman? territory as you’re likely to get this side of a Man..or Astroman? tribute album, an effect bolstered by the inclusion of some choice sci-fi movie dialogue. Personally though, I’ve been listening to Man.. or Astroman? a lot this year, and sampling tons of bullshit from movies, so I think all this is just swell. (In particular, the guy toasting the end of the world with a can of beer on ‘Oblivious’ is just plain beautiful.)

As is necessary when monkeying around with surf stuff, the musicianship and recording on this record is frighteningly ‘professional’ for a punk band. Thankfully though, Night Birds (veterans of probably about a thousand other groups between them, I’m sure) are experienced enough to use such – ahem - ‘ability’ to enhance rather than diminish their overall attack, and those uneasy with the goof factor can still enjoy exemplary h/c rippers like ‘Sex Tape’ and ‘Neon Gray’ without having to crack a grin that’s anything less than evil.

Great punk music, great surf music, ‘Other Side of Darkness’ is simply a kick-ass record in every respect, the kind of welcome shock to the senses that has me flailing around for ill-judged metaphors involving whirlwinds and red hot pokers and stuff, so I should probably shut up now before I embarrass myself further.





14. Circuit Des Yeux – Portrait (De Stijl)

Third time out the gate for Haley Fohr under the Circuit Des Yeux name, and in a move that very few would be ballsy enough to attempt, she opens proceedings with a crackly recording of some old time bluesman (I think it might be Son House, but could be completely wrong), discussing ‘the meaning of the blues’ and so forth. A potentially preposterous statement of intent for a young indie-ish type artist, but with the weight she hits us with on ‘Portrait’, it makes good sense.

If her previous records were essentially anonymous – opaque documents of some kind of non-specific pain and unease – then ‘Portrait’ represents an astonishing opening up on Fohr’s part – a big reveal of the voice, emotions and back story behind the music that’s almost unprecedented amongst artists of an avant/noise-type persuasion.

Taking one’s music in a more personal, song-based direction is not necessarily something to be celebrated of course, and neither is striking out at new styles on each record just for the heck of it. But to move straight from abstract basement creep-outs to fully-formed Cat Power / Neil Young guitar balladry in the space of one album is, I think, a fairly astounding progression for anyone, all the more so given that Fohr not only maintains the dread atmospherics of her earlier recordings here, but actually intensifies them, her new-found yen for song-writing simply adding form and narrative to what was previously a big, dark unknown.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the centre-piece track ‘3311’ at first – I mean, christ… it’s not like it’s confessional or sensationalist or anything, but it’s.. pretty straight-up, y’know? The kind of song whose intent you can’t question, whose details you don’t need spelt out.

Troubled times are equally evident on ‘101 Ways to Kill a Man’, where plain-spoken reportage of drug abuse, poverty and parental abandonment can’t help but cast a new light on the cathartic terrors and suburban dread of Fohr’s previous records. Some of the lyrical phrases and musical decisions in these songs might seem a bit rough, a bit overwrought, but as stated above, there is an honesty of feeling to them that bypasses criticism – the bluesman’s opening remarks taken to heart and acted upon.

There are also some holdovers from the old stuff of course – cuts like ‘Crying Chair’ and ‘Falling Out’ ooze a familiarly murky, experimental menace. But, sonically speaking at least, nothing as perverse and terrifying as the strange vistas of ‘Sirenium’ is in evidence here, and it’s clear where Fohr’s new focus lies. Suffocating depression odes like ‘Weighted Down’ and the heavily goth-damaged ‘Twenty and Dry’ could be taken straight from some long lost Nico recording, and ‘Portrait’ closes with a live deconstruction of Springsteen’s ‘I’m On Fire’, causing me yet again to wonder what it is that draws female singers to this most macho of love songs (seriously, I have, like, four covers of it in my music collection, all sung by women). For all of ‘Portrait’s unexpected embrace of the tools of classic rock though, the intent this time round is characteristically unsettling, the ritual demolition of The Boss’s mojo in a hail of formless distortion marking a fitting conclusion to a very dark and brave record.





13. Motion Sickness of Time Travel – Seeping Through the Veil of the Unconscious / Luminaries & Synastry (Digitalis)

I’ve really been dreading trying to find something pertinent to say about Rachel Evans’ (not the one from Comet Gain, obvs) recordings under the Motion Sickness of Time Travel name. Prolific to a fault, there have been at least a few splits, tapes etc this year in addition to these two mammoth LPs (‘Seeping Through..’ is from late 2010 I think, but I got it in 2011 so I’ll count it). Hours and hours of deep haunty-glazey synth-bliss that I have listened to for many, many more hours and hours. Always late at night, after watching some movies or getting back from a gig or just pissing about on a quiet week night, Motion Sickness of Time Travel is almost always on, everyday cares forgotten. The world fades out into sepia. Sleepytime!

On the surface, I suppose there’s nothing much I can quite grab on to (other than a cool name) to help distinguish Motion Sickness.. (straw poll: should I call them MSoTT? No, thought not) from any number of solo analogue-ambient cosmic drifters clogging up my iTunes (I’m always happy to have them). But we tired kosmonauts care not for the surface, right? And there’s something about Evans’ approach to this form really strikes a chord with me, rendering her an immediate big-hitter in the ever-expanding legion of twenty-first century avant-psyche ladies, slotting in nicely somewhere between Grouper and the LA Vampires/Maria Minerva Not Not Fun axis.

And beyond that… well there’s little I can say to really justify the extent to which I like this music, beyond the fact that I think it uses its palette of analogue-generated drones, spectral synth-lines and heavily-effected worldless vocalisations very well indeed, and that it allows me easy access to a wide range of thoughts, feelings and internal spaces that I very much like spending time in.

I suppose that of the two records, ‘Seeping..’ is by far the most nocturnal and potentially sinister, actually even touching on the lofty domain of Leyland Kirby/The Caretaker at some points as Evans builds a thick blanket of decaying textures, the kosmische dream slowly collapsing back into a murky past – tones wavering as the batteries run low, drifts of static as phantom blackbirds peck at the cables, cooing space-voices lurking forever on the edge of hearing, a mulch of dead leaves across the studio floor… or something like that. ‘Luminaries’ by contrast sheds a more optimistic light on the signifiers of nostalgia, the blanked out couple embracing against blinding Pacific glare on the cover providing a perfect illustration of the wistful, memory-tripping games within – faded seaside photos, kaleidoscopic patterns of light on the water, sunstroke visions… same fingers on the same machines, but I think now there’s sand on the floor of the studio. Sometimes the motion sickness is worth it, I’m thinking.





12. The Spits – The Spits V (In The Red)


Hey, a new album by the Spits! Fuck yeah, I love The Spits! They’re the greatest! This is a new album by them, and it kinda sounds like they always sound, more or less.

Well, I mean, it’s not got as many instantly catchy hits on it as IV (the one w/ the kids school photos on the front), but it still rules. It’s got a heavier guitar sound and louder drums, and more of that kinda malfunctioning retro-futurist punk-sci-fi kinda thing they like so much going on, like the sound of some perpetually drunken KBD punk band rampaging around the wastelands in some second hand Damnation Alley wagon held together with duct tape. Pretty damn cool, huh..?!? Yeah!

People say The Spits records pale in comparison to seeing them live. I dunno, I’ve never had the pleasure, but in the meantime I like their records just fine.

Song-wise, we got ‘All I want’, which is a rule-ass pop song, and ‘My Mess’ and ‘Fed Up’ which are about making a mess and being fed up. They’re great! Quite a few of the songs – ‘Tomorrow’s Children’, ‘Electric Brain’, ‘Fallout Beach’, ‘Acid Rain’ are all creeped out sci fi / post-apocalyptic doom kinda things. Alright! ‘Last Man On Earth’ might be inspired by the Vincent Price movie, or it might not, but it definitely steals the melody from some classic rock song I can’t quite put my finger on. Awesome!

And, uh, yeah, that’s it. This rules!

Whatcha looking at? Expecting me to write more or something? Show’s over! Go listen to The Spits.





11. Peter Stampfel & Jeffrey Lewis – Come On In (self-released)

When I went to see Peter Stampfel and Jeffrey Lewis play a concert in Brixton just under a year ago, I suppose I was expecting a fairly laidback affair – a folky, acoustic instruments only sorta show, Jeff maybe breaking out some of his mellower numbers in between paying homage to the septuagenarian Holy Modal rounders founder, a few hippy laff-fests, a gentle stroll through the Alan Lomax songbook and off we go. Y’know the sorta thing.

Boy, how wrong can you get! Turns out it was actually one of the most raucous shows I attended all year, both performers having the time of their lives, bashing out riotous, rough-as-a-bear’s-arse folk-punk as Stampfel pulled hit after hit out of his murky solo back catalogue – a seemingly endless barrage of hilarious, weirdo rock n’ roll songs undreamt of in the halls of man. ‘Black Leather Swamp Nazi’! ‘Duke of the Beatniks’! ‘Stick Your Ass in The Air’! That great song they did about going to bars and causing trouble! This is some mad, bad, wonderful shit going on right here; my kinda music, my kinda people.

The dynamic between these two guys was really beautiful, each seemingly realising that they’re a different generation’s version of the same person, goofing around on stage swapping endless anecdotes of comic-book shopping orgies, Victorian drug-taking practices and forgotten New York boho antics, infusing each other’s songs with new sparks of inspired oddness.

Somewhat more mannered in presentation, this self-released tour CD perhaps doesn’t quite reflect the leery enthusiasm of that live show, but it’s nonetheless a fine collection of the fruits of this particular meeting of minds. The first half showcases a handful of great new Lewis numbers, the wonderfully self-explanatory ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea’ and ‘I Spent The Night In The Wax Museum’, whilst Stampfel toasts his collection of vintage bottlecaps on ‘Bottlecaps Are Cool’ (“..if you don’t believe me you’re a fool”), and summons the aforementioned spirit of raucous abandon perfectly on his frenzied drunk-driving anthem ‘Busted’. Things mellow considerably on the second half, Stampfel’s age and experience showing through as his voice cracks on a beautifully spare rendition of ‘God, What Am I Doing Here’, a strange, simple and deeply moving song written by his long-lost wife and writing partner Antonia. The incredible early work of Stampfel’s old comrade Michael Hurley also gets a look in on a renamed version of his signature ‘No I Won’t Come Down’ and the unvanquished hippy ghosts take on full substance on the gentle stoner testimonials of ‘Little Sister in the Sky’ and the psyche-folk epic ‘On We Went’.

If Lewis and Stampfel’s respective careers prove anything though, it’s that hippy and punk when properly expressed are one and the same notion, and through listening to their collaboration and hearing their rambling dialogues, I’ve come to realise just what a goshdarned inspiration Stampfel in particular is – living proof of how far following your weird dreams and obsessions can get you, still overflowing with enthusiasm for comic books and cultural detritus, still presumably penniless, still making new friends and cranking witty, weird-ass punk songs, still a thousand miles off anyone’s radar, yelling off-key like a foghorn and whacking his violin like he just picked it up for the first time yesterday, still laughing in the face of any notion of respectability. What a hero. Here’s hoping he keeps at it for a good while longer.

This song isn’t even on the CD, but it’ll kinda set the tone nicely I think:

Labels: best of 2011, Circuit Des Yeux, Jeffrey Lewis, Motion Sickness of Time Travel, Night Birds, Peter Stampfel, The Spits

THE FIFTY BEST RECORDS OF 2009: Part #3

(I'm gonna try to get this whole deal done before January 4th by the way, so stay tuned!)

40. Slasher Risk - スラシア リスク (Obsolete Units)

I only just got hold of this CD, so probably haven’t given it sufficient listening time to wax lyrical, except to confirm that it is a pleasingly varied affair, signalling many potentially rewarding recording directions from this duo, whose freeform skronk-terror I initially had down as potentially un-recordable. Good work everybody! So, a quick table of contents: #1: five minutes of gloriously knuckleheaded heavy metal thunder, #2: eight minutes of a chiming, wintry dual guitar cosmic ambience, reminiscent of something off Charalambides ‘Our Bed Is Green’, #3: six minutes of industrial cacophony, like the sound of something going very wrong in a very dangerous factory, #4: a twenty seven minute live set of brooding no wave skyscraping and exhilarating stalk-n’-slash sonic violence, and #5: two minutes of Japanese street sounds and subway announcements. Depending on his or her aesthetic preferences, any open-eared listener is guaranteed to find at least three of these five disparate selections to be TOTALLY KILLER. So, let’s have a contest -- which of the above do you reckon I’ve selected to post as an mp3 below? Why not write down your choice on a piece of paper, then hit the download button and find out if your right? C’mon, it’ll be fun!

Mp3> Brooklyn



39. Grass Widow – 12” EP (Captured Tracks)

Like many of the new generation of American bands, Grass Widow throw together a bag of long naturalised elements from surf, punk, psychedelia, ‘80s guitar-pop etc, and invest the results with a sorta indefinable strung out, haunted quality. Unlike many of their contemporaries though, Grass Widow go about all this with a great deal of care and self-confidence, making sure that the four tracks they’ve here submitted to Captured Tracks are invested at all times with tightly wound instrumental interplay, captivating, folk-chant harmonies, killer less-is-more guitarwork, a definite sense of emotional coherence and… well, y’know, all the stuff that makes young people playing songs on guitar, bass & drums good, essentially. ‘Lulu’s Lips’ in particular is a winner, evoking some blissed out 5am nightclub loneliness moment perfectly, drifting vocal refrains hovering over an ESG-worthy rhythm workout and an endless practice amp echo of that guitar slide from ‘Rockaway Beach’. And the other songs are great too – ‘Tattoo’ sounds like a female Wipers falling through a Proustian time tunnel, ‘Thirsty Again’ is like a rainswept 6am journey to the beach to go surfing, just after they’ve left that club from the other song. No fooling - this EP is a solid and beautiful thing in a way that even some sensible old curmudgeon who’d never give in and shell out for yet another oversized, overpriced and poorly pressed 12” EP by some overhyped teenagers on Captured Tracks will be able to nod sagely and appreciate. So bite yr tongue and wait ‘til it’s reissued on an early singles CD comp after their debut album proper wipes us all out next year.

Mp3 > Lulu’s Lips



38. Psyched To Die – Sterile Walls EP (Grave Mistake)

I may not have quite realised it back when I reviewed this 7” earlier this year, but after downloading the mp3s on a whim and sticking them on my player for a quick walk to the shops, the truth became clear: THIS BAND RULES! Psyched To Die do pretty much everything you could ask for from a punk-as-genre band in 2009 (or 1982 for that matter), kicking off like a dynamo for eight songs that have the decency to knock you on your ass, get their point across and end. In terms of pure velocity and rage, you could file ‘em under hardcore, only they’re not regimented or boring enough to stay enveloped for more than a few seconds at a time, given their penchant for relatively clean-toned, fast-moving riffing, strangulated Greg Ginn leads, wiry pre-h/c energy and – joy of joys – comprehensible vocals, all topped off with a palpable sense of all-consuming frustration and misanthropy that spills over into not-half-as-dumbass-as-you’d-expect odes to atomic war, mental health-based incarceration, media brainwashing and the like. I wouldn’t have believed anyone could take these hackneyed ol’ elements and make them sound so fresh again, but… here we all are. Punk rock satori, pretty much.

Mp3> Five Year Plan




37. Jacuzzi Boys – No Season (Florida’s Dying)

It’s hard to write about Jacuzzi Boys without invoking their Florida heritage. As I’ve gone off about when I’ve written about them previously, their music seems to play straight into the same “weird Florida” vibe as their state’s rich heritage of exploitation moviemakers. They seem to rise from a world of swamp ghosts and mutant gators, of turquoise swimsuits, surfboards strapped to the top of broken down Cadillacs and radioactive technicolor blood, a world where twilight and blinding sunshine are indistinguishable, and the beach party goes on forever as the casualties pile up. Putting such flipperies aside for the moment though, any garage-trash aficionado would be forced to agree that Jacuzzi Boys are a good example of that odd sub-set of the music that people in the cold parts of the United States simply don’t make. I loved their singles, and this album delivers big-time, with thirteen bursts of pretty much definitive psychedelic punk, executed in the spirit of the 13th Floor Elevators or the ‘80s Flaming Lips, taking simple four-chord rock n’ roll and somehow rendering it impossibly, pupil-dilatingly weird. The dumbest Spring Break frat boy around could probably get his head around Jacuzzi Boys’ killer rhythm section, sweet, almost classic rock, lead guitar moves and seemingly endless faith in the ‘Louie Louie’/’You’re Gonna Miss Me’ turnaround. But what would he make of the manic tape echo that seems to crash in and out of their songs at random intervals? Or the foggy fuzz burbling somewhere deep in the mix? And what of their lyricist’s somewhat… unorthodox.. approach to getting his tales of haunted cabins, ruined birthday parties and bad acid across to the dance floor? These are just some of the things that help make “No Season” the perfect soundtrack to dancing with a mutant jellyfish girl on a flimsy wooden jetty – and it’s a soundtrack I think we could all benefit from keeping within easy reach.

Mp3> Island Ave.



36. Circuit Des Yeux – Sirenium (DeStijl)

Over the past few years, the figure of the “delay pedal lady” has become a prominent fixture in weirdo music, to the extent of becoming an accepted categorisation in its own right, rather than an occasional anomaly. From early adopters like Fursaxa and Christina Carter through to Grouper, U.S. Girls and Pocahaunted, there’s probably some fiend somewhere penning a retrospective history of the ‘movement’ for a broadsheet paper as we speak. It should go without saying that the above practitioners all represent a way of doing things that I greatly enjoy, but it is nonetheless interesting to note that 2009’s most exciting addition to this shaky pantheon seems determined to fuck with whatever reductionist conventions the aforementioned broadsheet fiend is ready to lay at her door, by way of one of the most challenging, puzzling and unsettling LPs of the year. If I start trying to disassemble the music of Indiana-based Circuit Des Yeux, picking out elements of her haunting goth-girl baritone and internal mic level string/piano/snare mutant blues bleedage from the implacable fog that constitutes ‘Sirenium’ … well, that wouldn’t really be doing things justice. To drag up some creaky old reasoning, ‘Sirenium’ isn’t atmosphere-over-content so much as the atmosphere IS the content, with sheets of drifting, mystifying sound laid thick over whatever core song was once present, like layers of lace gauze over a burn victim’s face. As such, it’s hard to really discuss the album as anything other than abstract impressions – impressions that can’t help but form a Twin Peaks-like netherworld of suburban confinement, strange, atavistic beauty and stark, violent terror. Whatever subjective impressions it’s all meant to convey, it’s hard to deny that the result is completely captivating, and it’s more than a little inspiring to think on what it represents in the continuum of DIY/homemade music – one girl and her laptop, in a house, making astonishing, otherworldly sounds pretty much just from herself and a few bits of junk left lying around in the living room.

Mp3> Paranoid

Labels: best of 2009, Circuit Des Yeux, Grass Widow, Jacuzzi Boys, Psyched To Die, Slasher Risk