Late Spring 2024 (Part 1)

Beatnik Filmstars - Pink Noize [Slumberland] 

Okay, now this seems like I’m the target of some A.I. shenanigans. A band called “Beatnik Filmstars”?! The record is called “Pink Noize”. It was released in 1995. It’s a five track 7” 45 rpm EP. I definitely feel like my brain was plugged into a state-of-the-art supercomputer and it outputted something perfectly designed for me to be into. But, no, this record is not an A.I. simulation of “stuff AuxOut digs”, this was a real band that released a real record in 1995. And somehow I never heard of them! (Turns out they have a decent-sized wikipedia page, released a truckload of singles and a bunch of albums, including some on Merge. Did I just wake up from a coma? Ed.) The record is not earth shattering but when I say there is a Fall-meets-SY jammer called “National Pool Drama”, or a hooky sugar-noise number that feels like it lasts 45 seconds (“50/50 Split”), or that there’s a Swell Maps-y sheen slathered over their alterna-pop stylings (artwork included), or that a Gnat synthesizer is a credited instrument, you will know I’ve enjoyed the hell out of listening to this. Still available from Slumberland! 

Eyes and Flys & Personal Style - Labor Day [no label] 

While Eyes and Flys fled to the sunshine of Long Beach, Personal Style stayed true to those proverbial roots in Buffalo, NY. Thanks to the miracles of technology we take for granted, that geographical separation doesn’t mean these Buffalo boys can’t stay friends or even make records together. And you know what? This single really rips! Two head bashing pop tunes in the manner that Eyes and Flys is known for (Pat Shanahan’s bark is easily identifiable) but the addition of Personal Style (who is new to me) really opens up the E&F sound in a profound way—like going mono to stereo. Leaping out of a foggy guitar loop, the B-side “White Strawberries” is a b-side in a purely literal sense. The lead guitar totally shreds, providing killer melodies and a brilliant punk lead at the break while Shanahan snarls about not letting the cops in because they don’t like dogs. The A-side, “Labor Day”, similarly rules. Modern practitioners of the Flipper bassline renewal project like SF’s Life Stinks, they ride the riff for all its worth and drive the psych-kraut groove home not unlike that first 10” by another SF band Wooden Shjips. The track comes replete with some phenomenal spaced out breakdowns that build the tension for each successive chorus. A lot of replayability in this one. I’m a fan. I hope this isn’t a one-off! 

Saint Black - Saint November [Semi-Permanent] 

Hurtling through space and time all the way from New Jersey comes the latest release from lo-to-no-fi troubadour Saint Black, an EP called Saint November, following up a self-titled album from four years prior. The first sound you hear after popping in the disc is the Saint’s unaccompanied voice murmuring “castrate me gently”. The man knows his audience. Saint Black stripped away much of the sonic detritus that littered the last record (which I personally quite enjoyed) making for a more focused document of his vocation. 10 minutes and six tracks of broken down tunes centered around Saint Black’s Calvin Johnson-esque-by-way-of-Charlie-McAlister voice. “Saint New” is the one rocker. Thumping drum machine and an acoustic arpeggio with a fuzzy voice leaking all over it. A catchy promise lasting just a minute. Sometimes the songs emerge quite pretty (with some creasing around the eyes of course) such as “Saint Fun” or the seasick instrumental “Saint Hound”. Other times the songs are more direct and single-minded as on “Saint Guy” or the chunky guitar clank of “Saint Action”, riding the line between sonorous and alienating. Fans of early Smog, Graham Repulski or any other dumpster poets you may fancy, you know what to do! 

TV Dinner Education/Telephone Melts - split [Cudighi] 

Two Swedish acts paying tribute to important 20th century technological advancements (the telephone and the TV dinner, naturally) made for pretty easy work at Cudighi HQ when the label searched for a thematic pairing for its next split cassette. Cudighi introduced me to TV Dinner Education a few years back and I went gaga over their frenetic sounds. Can’t say that Telephone Melts rings a bell though. (A little old timey telephone joke there for those born in the previous century.) 

Kicking things off with TV Dinner Education, “Flip Heli Salto (discern visually using a backwards and forwards movement)” has a very long title for a very minimal track. Totally on brand based on the other TVDE tape I heard, the track is firmly rooted in the Liquid Liquid/ESG mutant disco realm. Drum thump. Cling clang jingle jang. Echoing staccato huffs and puffs. “Selfexplanatory” reminds me quite a bit of Angels in America. (A feat that excites me as that is still fertile soil for new bands to till. Hint, hint.) Skeletal, hypnotic, repulsive. Spiritual transmissions from a junkyard. Returning to 1981 NYC, “BOX-ing” sounds like DNA played at 33prm. Or maybe 19rpm. A deliberate tension developed more through focused restraint than a dearth of pitches traditionally welcomed by the human ear.  

Telephone Melts takes the flip. Pleasingly, the act (a one-guy-does-it-all project by Martin Hagrot) doesn’t sound like TV Dinner Education at all. Hagrot is on a different tip, one steeped in David Byrne and the same sickly sweet slime as 21st century lo-fi synth pop revisionaries like Man Made Hill and Zach Phillips. Dabbling in bedroom-rendered quasi-funk tunes (“Hotfix”) as well as moody early-digital keyboard-led instrumental laments (“Nitty Gritty”), it makes this cassette’s aural trek to the Land of the Midnight Sun well worth it. 

Unda Fluxit - Stone Ringing Sorrows [Ever/Never] 

I never got around to writing up this cassette when it came out but it’s stuck with me ever since so I’m finally getting a brief few words up now. Stone Ringing Sorrows is the magically solemn sophomore effort of Huma Aatifi who creates sinewy avant-folk songs on a 4-track. Jandek has been a common point of comparison, and fair enough, but to these ears Unda Fluxit’s music is warmer and more inviting than the stranger who hails from Texas. If you’ll permit me a bit of 90s indie rock fan fiction, Unda Fluxit evokes the image of The Dead C somehow slipping onto the MTV Unplugged stage and rattling strings and brains across the nation. Unda Fluxit’s music hovers in the liminal, perfect state between consonance and dissonance. Pitches from her voice, guitar, a drum and other instruments wander down their own paths, sometimes crossing, coalescing and saying “Hello”, other times diverging just enough to be unaware of each other’s presence. It is a riveting, soulful effect that lingers through each of the wonderful pieces on Stone Ringing Sorrows and is well worth a listen if you haven’t already found yourself unda Fluxit’s spell.

John Wiese - Magnetic Stencil 1 [Gilgongo]

John Wiese - Magnetic Stencil 2 [Gilgongo]

John Wiese - Magnetic Stencil 3 [Gilgongo] 

John Wiese is a highly respected sound artist and he does fancy sound installations in museums and galleries. He’s been in the game a long time and is certainly deserving of his rep, but sometimes I wonder if this gets a bit lost in the global brainspace (though I hope it doesn’t): Wiese makes cool music. He’s your stereo’s best friend. This record I have of Wiese live sampling saxophonist Evan Parker is so fucking cool. His record I have of cascading samples of glass breaking is cool. The Sissy Spacek/Smegma collab record he did (also on Gilgongo) is super fucking cool, and, subsequently, the aforementioned Gilgongo dropped a trio of cool Wiese records collectively called Magnetic Stencil. Three LPs is a lot to dig into but the immersive experience is certainly worth your while. 

Always on the cutting edge of clatterphonics (is this a term? If not, it is now), Wiese constructed Magnetic Stencil with source audio contributions from a seemingly endless list of collaborators: (deep breath) Aaron Dilloway, James Fella, C. Lavender, Aaron Hemphill (Liars), Lasse Marhaug, C. Spencer Yeh, Katie Vonderheide, Tim Kinsella (Joan of Arc/Cap’n Jazz), Dennis Tyfus (the Ultra Eczema label), Howard Stelzer, John Collins McCormick, Robert Turman… I’m out of breath but, believe me, I could go on. The jackets don’t provide much detail other than the contributor list and the date and location where the composition took place so embrace the mystery, folks. 

Wiese’s work is constantly in motion. People sometimes use the word “transporting” to describe feeling like you’re in a different realm while you experience art. Wiese’s music is “transporting” in a more functional sense. He creates the sensation that you are moving, in transit, that you will end up somewhere far from where you begin. His music is a vehicle, touring you through the territory he’s mapped. Magnetic Stencil 1 is heavily dynamic, everywhere you turn there is something to see. Of the three LPs, it is the most abrasive, the most “noise”, the most violent in its composition. Sounds never seem to accost you from the same direction twice. Shards of frequencies are cut up and reassembled incorrectly with great care. You are slapped in the face by searing feedback. Resonating vibraphone.  Synth burps. Gnawing gears. Unintelligible human voice—all the sounds in between words. Split-second blasts of static socking you in the stomach. Even the brief occasional silence. My favorite section comes near the end when plenty of space is made for what sounds like a human mouth forming and popping bubbles of spittle. A looping, loping bass grind overtakes it, a rare instance of repetition across the vast spread of Magnetic Stencil. The second side somehow ratchets up the intensity several notches, beginning in even bolder fashion. Acoustic percussion screeches and clangs. Gnashing. Scraping. An ark’s worth of unidentifiable piezo-amplified sounds form the gelatinous fodder that Wiese sculpts with. Peppering in incisive piano-like plinks and insistent electronic thuds. This side comprises the most propulsive piece of the bunch, and that's even before a couple drum samples parachute in and evaporate just as quickly. Unsettling and agitated. Truly excellent. 

In contrast to the other two LPs, Magnetic Stencil 2 is a dense, blurry maelstrom. Like watching a hurricane strip the Earth of its riches from a removed vantage point comfortably seated in the eye of the storm. The second record has comparatively few contributors (only four compared to the much longer lists of names on the first and third records). Belaboring this tropical storm metaphor, as the tempest begins to lull and loom elsewhere, the leftover wreckage rattles, twisting in the gale force winds, while synth squeaks buckle like barely standing structures. And then the storm gathers again… On the flip side, electricity crackles, remnants of a human voice strain to communicate and fall woefully short. The piece hobbles and lurches, intermittently pausing to catch its breath, as it wheezes its way to some destination it never reaches, descending into a tantrum of frustration. 

Magnetic Stencil 3 springs to life immediately, dunking your head right into a synthetic ecosystem. Micro-sounds nestle up against each other. Strong tape music/musique concrète odors here, and not many things smell lovelier to this palate. Wiese’s composition brims with activity. Darting from frequency to frequency, there is an extensive array of repurposed acoustic sounds intermingling in a chaotic dance. Some intersect, some tear right past, some sounds seem to worm around the others. The sound of a metal cup rattling around in someone’s luggage, the sounds of birds in the tree hanging over your house, the sound of a slurring drunken diplomat, a fucking door bell. All sounds have a home here and their glory will be cultivated and admired. Is that a trombone or a whoopee cushion? Inspiring work! I feel like I live a lifetime of experiences in 20 minutes. 

The second side is similarly wonderful but more relaxed, more spacious, more environmental. Like sitting on your roof and having every sound in the ether magnified into painterly strokes. Abstract aural elications evoking specific sound-images. The squirrels scurrying through the trees. The car rolling by, windows down, radio on. The distant din of the train ambling by. The choral hum of air conditioners. Neighbors murmuring inaudibly about the weather. Burgers sizzling on a grill. Children chanting numbers as they venture through the wilds of chalked hopscotch courses. The movers down the block dropping a lamp. The piece gets progressively “musical” as it drifts toward its conclusion, as sustained pitches make their presence felt from time to time. Of the three fantastic LPs, this is the one that really gets me giddy. Righteously gorgeous and highly recommended. 

Magnetic Stencil forms a monumental trio and you can’t go wrong with any or, especially, all of them.

FEBRUARY 2020

TV dinner Education - Nya Perspektiv [Cudighi]
I'd never heard of TV dinner Education before and the little bit I saw about them described the duo as a psychedelic band. I dig psychedelia but I was thrilled when I listened and realized this band is so much more. TV dinner Education is a duo of Loti Solovitsky contributing voice, drums, FX and tapes and Julesy Bejbi presiding over prepared toy guitar and tapes. Though it might not be readily apparent by that list of instruments, there are some strong strains of mutant disco and the more affable (yet avant-garde) areas of no wave and its latter day acolytes.

There's also a hearty dose of bizarre sonic emulsification, which they stick right up front ("Dyslectic Clam: A"). I love hearing a band kick off a record with their weirdest track; it's a heavy duty power move that gets you excited for what's to come. "Clam" is a five minute clatter and scrape fest that falls somewhere between sloooooooow-motion Brian Ruryk and the weirder parts of the Sightings discography. What a way to start! TV dinner Education then immediately juxtapose the power trip with the contagious simplicity of "Easy Busy". There's certainly a dub vibe to it, and an adventurous hip hop producer could sample the shit out of it and make a really hot beat.

"Easy Busy" conjures visions of a pared down Gang Gang Dance, stripping away the polyrhythmia down to the heart of the groove. This continues on "Excellent Choice" which immediately leaps out as a favorite (excellent choice!) after a tumultuous middle section freakout the duo lock into a strangely captivating guitar/drum pattern. Elsewhere on the tape, you hear the voice of an evil spirit luring you into a deep dark forest ("Little Birds") as well as a throwback bassline ("External Borders") that recalls the brief era in the 90s where you could find success being in a funk-metal band. What a time...

Nya Perspektiv is chock full of invigorating sounds and TV dinner Education achieve the rare feat of pumping out grooves without sacrificing a lick of their abrasive aberrance. Check this crew out!

Woollen Kits - Maths [R.I.P. Society]
I have a Kits LP which is solid, heavily channeling Beat Happening replete with the Australian version of Calvin Johnson on the mic. I liked it enough to grab this 7" platter at the local shop and I'm so glad I did.

Roaring like an amped up, totally punk Beat Happening, "Maths" is a straight up banger with the kind of ascending/descending riff you'll be replaying endlessly in your nog while you fall asleep and it will still be there when you wake up. A tad surf-y, with plenty of fuzz, it's rock & roll bliss plain and simple. The singer's voice is so deep it gets a little lost in the lo-fi slop and it would have been nice to have a voice that could cut through a bit but that's a minor gripe for a tune this bulletproof.

"Out of Town" is a better fit for his voice. It's a bit burlier and the playful, sing-songy quality of the melody of "Maths" is absent here. The monotone voice is met with a chunky two-chord riff and the perfect couple is all each other ever wanted in a mate. Now who can explain this extra "L" in Woollen? An Aussie thing or are they just trying to add some edge like Jaill?

Saint Black - Saint Black [Semi-Permanent]
This self-titled full-length from New Jersey's Saint Black arrived in my mailbox at the perfect time. Lots of early Dead C, early Smog (there's a track here called "Down to the Sky" which doesn't fall too far from "Sewn to the Sky" hmm...), Sentridoh, Stefan Christensen and Sacred Product have been on the turntable of late and the black Saint is surely trying to continue music history in that home-recorded trajectory.

Saint Black is lo-fi. Not lo-fi in the sense of conventional sounds on a meager budget, but lo-fi in the sense of packing his songs with all kinds of weird shit that you'd end up murdered for if you put it on a studio pop record. You can hear the hiss, so Saint Black rightly left the noise reduction switch in its off position on his four track. "Saint Body" is the weirdest moment with some strange out of place sounds littering the stereo spectrum. The song sounds like it was recorded standing next to a pneumatic paint shaker, and if that wasn't enough, someone starts banging on the door in the left channel out of nowhere at one point.

With a voice reminiscent of a Charlie McAlister-Calvin Johnson lovechild (this is an inordinate amount of Calvin Johnson mentions today) that kinda sets the scene for the style of these songs. Mid-tempo, drawn-out vowels, mundane yet quirky lyrics. You can certainly hear a Beat Happening vibe lurking in "What Passes for Gas?" and there's a self-ascribed "pacific northeast" tag on Bandcamp making me wonder if that's a knowing nod to the sounds of Olympia. Saint Black recalls another Pacific Northwest staple on "Full Cuck Press" which has a touch of the early A Frames sound when their finely honed cyborg rock was in its fuzzy embryonic stages

The record kicks off with a pair of highlights, the 25 second "I'm Tender" and the hit of the album "Touch No Evil" arrives afterward with an instantly hummable melody that's slowly papered over with all sorts of audio gunk. That's the one finds it way creeping into my mind unannounced. "Saint Vacation" shows that, when he wants to, he can play things straight and deliver a very nice low key pop number even if he can't help himself from abruptly sheering the track off at the stem with a harsh tape edit.

The Saint generally keeps things short (right move!) aside from the four and a half minute plaintive declaration of love, "Alex", which is nice but would gain potency in a slimmer frame. A couple of the tracks ("Laugh or Puke" and "Breed Concept") don't make much of an impression and unfortunately they arrive back to back, but Saint Black is onto something and, considering this is his first album, I'm really curious to hear where he goes from here and how he develops as a songwriter going forward. He's not afraid to wear his idiosyncrasies on his tape and that quality gets more refreshing by the year.

St. Dad - Do as I Say Not What I Do [no label]
Speaking of saints, I have the perfect segway to this month's baby/parent-themed review! It's the 10th anniversary of this parenting manual Do as I Say Not What I Do and by now St. Dad should be mentioned in the same breath as Dr. Spock right? Well... maybe not. These guys sound like they're 17 tops, but hey the world is probably full of 17 year old dads so who am I to judge? They hailed from somewhere in Florida but to my palette they have a bit of that Clevo nutwad flavor, like a truly dumb electric eels or, more recently, the brilliantly dumb Bad Noids.

They're probably not the best guys to be taking parenting advice from but they manage to get one or two things right on "Jobs and Junk" with observations like "Everybody's doing it/Jobs and junk" and "Pour another cup of coffee/Down my throat" because, man, dads get tired, especially at work.

The record sounds positively wretched which is right in my wheelhouse and, to be fair, the band is surprisingly tight and melodic but with a wild-eyed neighborhood tough like Gustavo on the mic, St. Dad takes on the same fly-off-the-handle character. His hyper-nasal, generally unintelligible sneer 'n whine is the EP's defining quality. Quite handily, the Dads offer up their lyrics scrawled slightly more intelligibly in a booklet. Without it, I probably wouldn't have realized the record ends with the immortal couplet "I've cut my own head off/Now I'm blind". These are some maladjusted lads, writing songs about selling their grandma on eBay and disturbingly, but fittingly, they save their catchiest riffs for their saddest track "The Unwanted Child".

The sleeve with a lovely multi-colored screenprint job is curiously professional looking, how'd that happen? Do these guys have a well-adjusted older sister or kindly aunt looking out for them? It's a  curious discrepancy that only adds to St. Dad's mystique.