Monday 30 April 2012

Techno Rust Dystopio with Hypnotischer Existenzialismus by Gerechtigkeits Liga -



Yesterday I spent a lot of time listening to the clang 'n' clatter of industrial Germany - which is not to say I paid a visit to a factory in Berlin, although at times it sounded like it - a factory where albums were pressed onto sheet metal with a lathe - East German heavy machinery filtered through old synths and much metal-bashing by muscular men in oil-stained, sweat soaked dungarees with rolled up sleeves - what a glorious racket: Hypnotischer Existenzialismus - & I'm tempted to say that anyone who calls an album 'Hypnotic Existentialism' is alright by me, except that's not true, obviously, and what the goggled-eyed Left Bank philosophy guru JPS has to do with this noise I don't know - all I know is that it's a brilliant record, and has caused me to reconsider so-called Industrial Music to the point of actually investigating further, although I fear I'll find more that I don't like rather than do, but that's a prejudiced starting point, I know, because I ignored it all when it was fresh in the early-80s, being too busy listening to it's polar opposite, namely the Modern Jazz Quartet, although Milt Jackson's instrument, the vibraphone, did begin with bars made of steel, but to say that by striking them he made 'industrial music' would be absurd - as I 'speak', 'Volkermord Part 2' is ending with simply the bashing of something and a distant babbling/wailing voice; ending quite perfectly, I might say, after 7mins of mechano-tribalism - yes - much like 23 Skidoo, with whom  Gerechtigkeits Liga shared the territory, even to the point of moving to London where they hooked up with Graeme Revell of SPK, apparently - but I've never heard anything by them - told you I was ignorant - but I am keen to be fashionable & IM circa 198 - is incredibly hip today, or was it yesterday? & if I made that up, I'm telling you it will be tomorrow & more importantly, only the good stuff, ie, not men shouting through megaphones or lame post-Electro Pop that gets passed off as 'hip', especially when it's made by Italians, or Ukrainians, but proper rusty proto-Techno like this, which Carl Craig and the crew were probably listening to whilst Detroit crumbled all around them - just a guess - & as drum machines rattle, samples babble, & synths groan to create voodoo ritualistic noise, I think: yes, this is what the future must have sounded like in the mid-80s, the messed up future of Terminators & tortured humans being ripped apart by grungy machines...



Sunday 29 April 2012

I Was A Teenage Dude


Sucked into the vortex of 70s TV nostalgia we scream "Enough!" - then - "Hold on, I Love 1972 is on in half an hour". There's no escaping my past at the moment thanks to the BBC. Yes, the past is a foreign country, as LP Hartley said. We've all lived there and, like every time tourist, we each comment from the present with our own unique opinions of the place. Here's an improvised ramble through my 70s in a manner that befits someone old enough to have been there, ie, half-recalled, probably incoherent -

Skin'ead...from flowery matching tie 'n' shirt to brutalist boots 'n' braces, the mock machismo of the crop -
'Double Barrel' in the disco -
Mum sews the Chelsea FC patch onto the pocket of my crombie -
Fairground antagonism amid the sickly stench of candy floss mixed with diesel from the generators & aggro in the shadows behind the caravans -
Secondary School's in, what a drag...they say boys get their heads jammed down the toilets so watch out -
Carrying a copy of Slade's Play It Loud 'round the playground -
So begins the decline from Junior School Pupil of the Year to rebel without a cause -
Up to London, Stamford Bridge - watch the hooligans having their fun, I fantasise about being part of The Shed fraternity -
Big brother takes me to Highbury where we stand on the North Bank unless West Ham or the like are visiting, in which case he takes me to safety in the seated area where I watch the inevitable epic brawl -
Go see A Clockwork Orange at the local flea pit 'cause they don't care about your age if you've got the money for a ticket & emerge as if having witness the Second Coming with Alex in the role of Jesus or summat -
Bowlers hats, white shirts, Levis 'n' braces -
Bowie's Ziggy Stardust...learn every word & sing along drunk on cider -
'Virginia Plain' playing on the portable mono box in the kitchen -
Coal fire comfort in the council house -
Cold mornings waiting for the school bus to hell where one bully grabs victim's ties, smacking them on the chin with the fist that clenches them but luckily he's mates with one of ours -
Grow out the crop for suedehead then get it streaked by my sister using a swimming cap punched with holes ...agony! -
Baggies and crepe-soled shoes like those worn by Andy Mackay inside For Your Pleasure, but not as Glam  -
Go down the road to the phone box with a pocketful of coins to call a girl, praying there won't be a queue -
Drunk on snakebite -
Disco peril of female rejection & always the potential violence -
Get chased by a gang after a disco, then get in my mate's brother's Beetle and chase them, knocking one down by holding the door open as we drive by -
Alan Freeman's Saturday afternoon radio show through the cans whilst dad watches the racing -
"What do you want to do when you leave school?" "Dunno" -
Go into the factory -
Funk club release living for the week-end -
Plastic sandals & mohair jumpers pre-Punk -
P-Funk -
The loneliness of longing to do a runner from all that surrounds me but there is nowhere to run to -
Big brother drops Never Mind The Bollocks into my lap one night, as requested since he works at the CBS pressing plant -
Stand-out straight-legged trousers in the land of flares...mocked again for sartorial rebellion -
The Clash, The Ramones, The Jam etc at Friars Club Aylesbury...watch out for the Soul Boy lynch mob afterwards -
Making fanzines -
We all knew who stuck the safety pin through the queen's nose on her portrait in the pub but no-one's grassin' -
Prince Far I on the jukebox -
Trips to the King's Road...Teds chasing Punks...buy some gear at Johnsons -
Pork pie hats -
'Even though I keep on running, I'll never get to Orange Street'...

Thursday 26 April 2012

Science & Industry Trademarks (1940s & 50s)

New Rochelle Manufacturing Co 1956

Hycon Electronics Inc 1956

The Standard Oil Co 1954

Reddy Kilowatt Inc 1956

Robotron Corporation 1953 

Growler Alarm Corporation 1956

Atomic Development Mutual Fund Inc 1957


Dan Cu Chemical Company 1955

North American Phillips Company 1946

Wednesday 25 April 2012

Drokk - Music Inspired By Mega-City One - Geoff Barrow & Ben Salisbury (Invada)





I loved the sound of this album before I first heard it - then dismissed it due to the virtually sole usage of the Oberheim 2 Voice Synthesizer, which the law states that all music will sound like John Carpenter's best soundtracks when it's played - and after listen again, and again, decided I did love it after all, because it consists of so much Oberheim 2 Voice Synthesizer, apart from the use of a band (huh, cop-out!), who cannot match the Oberheim 2 Voice Synthesizer - and it's a better album than Carpenter made in many ways, not least because there are no awful blues-rock tracks, and unlike the soundtrack to Assault On Precinct 13, no repetitive themes, which is not to deny that Carpenter's title music for that film is one of the greatest film themes ever written - and tracks such as 'Exhale', 'Titan Bound', and 'The Men Who Never Learned' offer a contrast in mood (more restraint/almost orchestral/ambient) - so I do love this album, the way you love Pop - not for depth or complexity, but instant gratification, due to the use of the Oberheim 2 Voice Synthesizer.



The album can be heard on DROKK’s Bandcamp page


Tuesday 24 April 2012

All Comments (Poem)




I like boobs very much yummmy
his face 2:43, it's creepy
nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo¬oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo¬oooooooooooooo
Im sad. Cus we meaning me and my bro used to listen to this with my mum before she died
I STILL CAN'T RELEASE THE FUCKING PRESSURE!
Boring?! We are very close to the End of Time, where the global wave function will collapse in collective consciousness....prepare to travel in the Multiverse...!!!
675 things actually committed suicide !!
ERECT PENIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
the highway symbolizes the path of life some times life is hard and you take a detour.jeebus carries some of you realmen walk themselves
Your shitty spelling makes me want to kill myself
wait..... what???? bahahahahbahhah!!!
I used to feel bad about feeling like a wierdo but now it seems that that's how it is and I'll have to live with it. But the bad craziness of being an outcast fills my mind with scary ideas and I fear that I'm going to end up doing something really evil.
 i'm 14. i feel your pain. i'm scared for this coming generation.
Ask and ye shall receive! I asked Jesus to show me my pride and dishonesty, and He did. Then I asked Him to remove it. Then when I was able to be for real with myself and Him, I asked Him to show me my sin. Then I asked to wash my sin away with His blood. Then I asked Jesus to show me the fears, doubts and scars I had in my heart. Then I asked Jesus to take it away. I could not do any of this myself, I had to ASK HIM to do it. He did. And then HE ASKED ME to tell others what He did for me.
not really interested anymore. I wont be returning to these comments again. I've said my piece, trrraa


Sunday 22 April 2012

Of Streets And Stars - Alan Marcus (Neville Spearman Ltd 1963)

Find of the Week, cover-wise - in all it's early-60s glory, the cool tone, pose and shades suggest a hip underground scene rather than Hollywood's brash Technicolor façade. There's a review from the time of publication here.


Saturday 21 April 2012

Son Of A Bitches Brew - Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O. (Important Records)


Acid muthas make a new brain-blitzing psychedelic brew out of Miles Davis's 32-yr-old original bastard fusion for freeks by reheating the spirit of the August '69 session, creating a cacophonous-yet-funky, mind-melting homage for modern psychonauts wishing to either levitate to a plateau somewhere Out There, or explore the depths of Inner Space, wherein after listening to 'Water Babies Kill Kill Kill' cosmic nirvana will be reached as stereo panning reaches a pinnacle of hallucinatory audio ecstasy in the form of densely interwoven guitar, drum, saxophone and synthesizer collectively creating both sonic assault and blissful ascension in the name of molecular restructuring resulting from this off-world transmission through time and space.

Friday 20 April 2012

R.I.P - Actress (Honest Jon's Records)


Who's dead? What's dead? Well, my reservations regarding Actress, for starters. Although I've liked some of his past material this album has rocketed him up to number 231 (approx) in my Top 300 Contemporary Artists list. Imagine having such a thing? Who does? No-one. Except possibly a music magazine/site, which might publish their list every year, like The Times' Top 100 Greedy Bastards, or something. I couldn't conjure up 300, not even 30, but right now, Actress is riding high in another list I've just made up: Top Contemporary Albums of the Week. He's number 1, actually, and I'm sure if he read this (what are the chances?) he'd be thrilled.

Actress pushes all the right buttons - literally - Rhythm, Tone, er...how are buttons labelled on whatever he uses? Remember when kids used to stare into the windows of shops selling guitars and dream of being in a rock 'n' roll band, like David Essex in That'll Be The Day ? Of course you don't, you're not that old. Actress didn't particular want to produce music until he saw footage of Shy FX talking about his mad different methods of mixing. That set him off. Modern producers have mechanical dreams the way young 'uns of old worshipped the stringed machine - but they drool over a different kind of kit, a purely push-button & twist dial one, which is hard to play dexterously the way Jimi did the guitar, but Lee Perry gave it a good go.

Actress doesn't go in for fussy, complicated noodling, being far more interested in texture, tone and loops, with handmade imprints smeared everywhere, which is no mean feat in the man vs machine situation.  There's nothing startlingly original, but you know by now that that concept is dead, don't you? So R.I.P. 'originality'. 'Jardin' is pleasing the way The Caretaker is, or Satie, even - simplicity, restraint, and a loop that hooks. 'Serpent' is reminiscent of classic UR, fusion-style. 'Tree Of Knowledge' is glitchy, woozy, and wonderfully disorientating. If, as on 'N.E.W.', he veers dangerously close to imitating Eno, that's OK by me. The feel of this album, not the nut and bolts, is everything, and as diverse (within limits) as it is, it has an overall flavour which tastes good to these ears.


Thursday 19 April 2012

Homosexuality - Clifford Allen M.D., M.R.C.P., D.P.M (Staples 1958)


Found this today. Yes, we know these attitudes existed, but to find a book like this is still a bit of a shock.

 


Highly recommended related viewing.

Wednesday 18 April 2012

Jealousy & The Girl Who Read Alain Robbe-Grillet



She became a lesbian after being my girlfriend for over three years. Serves her right for thinking she could find a more perfect specimen of manhood than me, which she couldn't, obviously, and decided to try looking closer to home. I hope she found happiness. It was her copy of Jealousy  that I read a few pages of in the early-80s. She loved French authors - Gide, Maupassant, de Beauvoir etc, to the point of quoting them in letters she wrote to me before the flame of love flickered out. I was so heartbroken I burned all those letters.

Yes, she loved her French authors, more than she loved me, ultimately, but I can understand devotion to strangers whose prose gives us such pleasure. We get their finest thoughts, and none of their nasty habits. They don't argue back, and if we disagree with them we can simply close the book. Robbe-Grillet's always been about bananas since I read part of Jealousy. The forensic voyeurism of the narrator means that banana trees are decribed in great detail towards the beginning.

'In the second row, starting from the far left, there would be twenty-two tress (because of the alternate arrangement) in the case of a rectangular patch....But the third row too has only twenty-two trees, instead of twenty-three...The bulge of the bank also begins to take effect starting from the fifth row; this row, as a matter of fact, also possesses only twenty-one trees, whereas it should have twenty-two for a true trapezoid and twenty-three for a rectangle (uneven row).' And so on.

I'm amazed that I didn't finish the novel. But guess what I bought second-hand the other week? Yes, Jealousy, because it's a nice, clean Oneworld Classics edition. More than that, I was determined to see if the Changed Reader theory would apply to me and this book. After all, thirty years ago I was a different reader, and possibly a different person. Could it really be as boring as I remembered it? Did Robbe-Grillet really spend as much time on banana trees as I remembered? Could I not appreciate the master of the Nouveau Roman now that I was older, if not wiser? Perhaps. I have yet to start it.

I once watched the girl who read Robbe-Grillet through the window of a third-floor flat. She was saying goodbye to a boy she worked with. They kissed before parting. I recognised that kind of kiss. Still, I could not be justifiably jealous. By that time I too was seeing someone else. So it goes, and so I went bananas when she said we were over.

Tuesday 17 April 2012

Book Covers by Daniel Gil


Daniel Gil Pila (February 17, 1930 – November 14, 2004), was one of the leading Spanish graphic designers of the 20th century.
Born in Santander, Daniel Gil studied in the Academy of Fine Arts of Madrid. In the early 50's he attended the Ulm School of Design, where he was a disciple of Otl Aicher.
Back in Spain, Gil entered as graphic designer in the Hispavox recording house, becoming shortly its Art director. He then worked for two other record labels, namely the Spanish branches of Ariola and RCA.
In 1966 Gil moved to Alianza Editorial publishing house, where along almost thirty years he produced more than 4,000 book covers that made him the best known and recognized Spanish graphical designer. (Wikipedia)


 

 


 

Monday 16 April 2012

Disco Fever (New English Library 1978)

I've had this book since it was published. As a 'disco devotee' I rarely felt great the next day, contrary to the claim made here, unless a girl accepted my offer of a slow dance, in which case, should it have lead to me also being able to whisper in her mouth, I would have felt great. Not being beaten up by a rival gang (known or unknown) was also a bonus, but most of all, the joy of dancing to certain tunes was rewarding enough. I sometimes wonder what happened to those girls, and my compatriots on the dance floor...but I know that if we met again we'd have little in common today.









Sunday 15 April 2012

That's Entertainment

It's like a poison coursing through the veins of the land...The Voice, Britain's Got Talent...the TV atrocity exhibition fix that's guaranteed to render the intelligent stupid, and the stupid satisfied like junkies high on pure shit called Entertainment...

'Oh, what an a-ma-zing voice!' - sofa-bound viewers swoon, comatose, bloated from a feast of the embarrassingly inept along with highly polished turds, all floating across their screens in the toilet bowl of prime time Saturday entertainment...

'I've dreamt of this moment my whole life,' says one successful contestant, aged 16 - cut to Mum backstage dabbing the corner of her eye with a knuckle - 'Oh my god!' - perhaps her little angel will be able to buy them an escape from suburban hell one day - judges draw on stock expressions of amazement - 'It's a yes from me' - yes to another finely-tuned performance of totally mediocre art - people in the audience are out of their seats, as well as their minds - roar of applause - cue emotive music...

Meanwhile, on another channel, a Voice is chosen by producer-appointed music authorities ranging from an ageing 'legend' to the acceptable face of black America (one-time friend of Michael Jackson) - 'Your tone is extraordinary' - but the hopes of others drain away even before the last note is sung - no expert has turned their chair - they are unwanted, but still they manage to smile, as the producer insisted, and they listen to how good they are along with lame excuses for not choosing them...

The collective voice of mainstream entertainment floods living-rooms throughout the land - next! - a transsexual in a silk evening dress wrenches the mic from it's stand, proceeding to shriek, scream, holler, croon and roar operatically accompanied by thunderous electronic drones and a distorted beat - the sound explodes through TV screens - viewers clamp their hands over their ears but cannot prevent the noise from getting through - feel something wet and warm oozing between their fingers - 'I'm bleeding!' - nausea -  processed food gushes out, splatters onto the carpet - clutching their stomachs they roll around on the floor in agony - cut to the studio; the producer screams 'Who the fuck let this one through?!' - staff shrug, tremble, chews nails, except one, who laughs and walks out to a stream of abuse - mission accomplished...

Friday 13 April 2012

Still Herbie (Hancock) After All These Years


The old saying 'I wasn't born yesterday' is not something Herbie Hancock can use today because he was, 72 years ago - phew - but I wonder if he's even aware of the saying...and if he is, he's one person who would be justified in using it because he strikes me as one of the smartest folk in music. He performed Mozart's Piano Concerto No.5 at a concert, aged 11, but wasn't schooled in Jazz until later, making his first solo album, Takin' Off, in '62. The rest is history.

Everything's history, in a sense, except the future, even the start of this post, although I'm not sure many would agree, preferring to think in terms of years, except when wishing to dismiss a recent calamity in a fit of positive forward-thinking and declare it to be 'history', even though it only happened last week.

What does Herbie see as he examines his story since '62? Nothing but success, I imagine, although he may not be one to gloat, having been a Buddhist since the 70s - I presume Buddhists never gloat; they're too humble for that. What musical revolutions he's seen, and not just seen but been part of - from joining Miles in '63 for the great modal adventure, on to the evolution of Fusion and the forming of his own great contribution to the genre, the Mwandishi band, then the Headhunters - boom! In retrospect, whilst criticised by purists at the time, those albums now sound like some of the very best marriages between Funk and Jazz ever made. But Herbie always had an ear for what would cross over, as in 'Watermelon Man' ('62), or 'Cantaloupe Island' ('64).

The first Herbie Hancock tune I heard was the 1975 single, 'Hang Up Your Hang Ups' - and it came through the radio - WHAM! - I had to buy it. But I remained oblivious to the hidden depths and complexities carried on a Funk riff that called out to this skinny white boy who liked to go wiggle at the local disco. I always say it planted the seed of Jazz in me that would grow and blossom several years later. In truth, that was more down to post-Punk disillusionment with Rock than anything else.

'In order for something to have value it has to in some way work towards serving humanity, otherwise it's self-serving and shallow and disruptive,' he once said. Ah, Herbie, you have served humanity well...the part of it that listens, anyway.

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