Babe the Blue Ox -- PEOPLE [RCA]

There sure is a lot happening on here for a band with only three members; they must all have four hands or something. Color this Babe crazed. Weird, spastic time signatures shift abruptly like bumper cars even while sporting a vaguely popped-out sound (is it artpop or just loud? Or is it live or is it Memorex? And what happened to Memorex, anyway?) on "Can't Stand Up," slinky rubber bass and tink-tink guitars compete with bizarre lyrics on "Rube Goldberg," feedback and heaviosity permeate the charmingly fucked "Fuck This Song," blah blah blah.... This band (two gals and one guy) are considerably heavier than the average sleaze-metal band when they want to be, far poppier than the poppiest o' pop fairies (check out the lovely "Breathe"), and just flat-out weirder than anybody this side of the Butthole Surfers. This is a scary band; nobody should be able to play this many different styles all at once and do it so well -- surely they have made a deal with the devil somewhere along the way....

Some people are making a stink about this album, incidentally, because it's considerably more "polished" than previous efforts (meaning that they actually have songs that appear to be constructed rather than just crazed ramblings stitched together in their previously more avant fashion, plus it sounds real nice too), but anyone ready to shout "sellout" (what the hell does that MEAN, anyway?) should give it up; this is still way too strange and left-of-center to be considered "normal" by a long shot. Good, weird stuff and highly recommended.

Bacillus -- EPIDEMIC [Clotted Meat Portioning]

Bacillus is the moniker of a man with a mission... to spread the virus of noise. Most of Bacillus' work centers around the theme of destruction through viral behavior, parasites, and the breakdown of all things in general (bodies, society, etc.), and this tape is only the latest in a series of documents propelled by this basic manifesto. The key to Bacillus' strength lies in keeping the noises truly strange and grotesque, and keeping the movements (i'm not sure they're really "songs" in the traditional sense) short -- this tape clocks in at ten songs in 20 minutes, so that should TELL you something. And the material is pretty chaotic -- grinding walls, frazzled bits o' feedback, found sound, drastic edits, all manner of crazed noises. While this is not as truly SAVAGE as, say, Merzbow or Macronympha -- it aims for a lower, scummier sound than that -- it's certainly MEATY enough; we're talking texture like brain matter drying on stucco walls. Some titles, to provide a glimmer of the "plan" at work: "The Swelling Continues," "Microbe Strain," "Hemorrhage Caused by Blow to Head," "Protoplasmic Resonance," "Neuron Misfire," "Cell Wall Collapse".... The message becomes clear: This is the sound of entropy in action. The sound on the tape backs up the message. A good batch o' sonic vileness from one of the better noise units around.

Bacillus -- BLACK PLAGUE [Clotted Meat Portioning]

More microscopic bites of festering unhappiness from this cheerful proponent of nihilism. A "concept" album of sorts that keeps things under control by restraining the entire cassette's length to twenty minutes, the noises come in short bursts. "Pathogenesis" alternates quiet hiss with frying electrodeath; "Tear in Protective Layer" emulates a hurricane swirling down the sink; others like "Macrophagic Refuse" and "Body Rejecting Donor Organ" simulate pure pandemonium with harsh, gritty sounds and cyclotron effects. Most impressive. "Cell Ruptures, and Spills Its Contents" is more of a grindfest, while "Viral Reservoir" centers more around cicilia-frying high end damage. Other tracks achieve similar levels of grief while managing a distinct variety. Eleven tracks in all encompass the passage from infection to complete destruction, and do so with unnerving gusto.

The included booklet has a lengthy passage describing the passage from infection with the Black Plague to its eventual destruction of the human host, which makes for some pretty cruel reading. A word on the packaging, incidentally -- although it is obvious that CMP exists on a low budget, the cassettes are nicely produced and enclosed in a cardboard folder with striking graphics, and the design is duplicated in the accompanying booklet. All in all, a nice outing in the slaughterhouse....

Bad Girls, a trio of Mike Khoury (violin), Wade Kergan (clarinet, sax, electronics), and Ben Bracken (guitar, electronics), get to thumpin' and bumpin' on this swell collection of devolved sounds and nifty titles ("Impressions of a Filthy Naked Hippy" is my favorite, on which they bump 'n thump and make extremely unclassifiable noises and a really good simulation of barnyard animals). The jazz-skronk background rears its gruesome head on "Willingness," but it's "Incidental Music (Mix # 2)" that really gets my mojo risin' -- amp drone, squiggly electronic sounds, mondo reverb, incidental clanking and wanking... the ghost of John Cage watches with approval. They get minimalist on "Calcutta Electric Rickshaw Ride," with lots of open space; "Patterns in Nature" returns to the skronk axis, but on the final track, "Wade in the Water," they make a pretty serious stab at getting devolved with hocus-pocus drums, telegraph electronics, earhurt mixing, and other sonic effluvia that'll make your eyes water. Such greatness must not go unheard. When the slave traders of Uranus descend from the skies in their screaming metallic warships, raining fire and death from the heavens, only those who have heard this fine disc will be spared their wrath. You know what to do.

Bad Idea -- TRAX.SYSTEM [demo]

Here we have four songs about "the information age" from Bruce Christenson (vocals, progamming, keyboards), Jacob Martell (guitars), and John Lu (DJ). Musically, the demo's caught somewhere between early Skinny Puppy (before they retreated into fractured screeching), "Revenge"-era Ministry, and OFFICIAL VERSION-era Front 242; the vocals are particularly Ogre-styled, the hissing menace thing. The vocoder lives.... DJ scratching shows up from time to time too, but most of the time, the songs are driven by the cold pulse of synthesizers, with samples added to reasonably effective use. The songs are fairly short, which means they don't wear out their welcome like a lot of the material from this genre.

This is good stuff, but the one thing that might work against the band is that the material still relies too heavily on its influences; while the work is good, the band hasn't yet developed a strong identity of its own. This is a problem common to nearly all new bands, though, and one that is usually resolved with subsequent experience -- and in the meantime, this is certainly listenable, especially for those who pine for the days before Skinny Puppy started getting "too weird" and Ministry embraced the joys of Black Sabbath on speed.

Bakamono - THE CRY OF THE TURKISH FIG PEDDLER (Basura!)

This is an SF three-piece band whose reputation seemed to preceed themselves for quite some time. What you get here is nothing terribly earth-shattering, but it's still pretty good. At the least, better than much of what the indie world has to offer up. I would venture to say, with a chuckle, that they sound like a cross between a pared-down Slug and Melt Banana. If you can imagine that. Basically, they try to kill you kindly with less intesity. Indie guitar rawk will never be the same? [yol]

Strange sounds in the name of guitar science.... All of the sounds on this disc were made with the guitar, although there are spots where you wouldn't necessarily guess that if you hadn't been told beforehand. If nothing else, Baker certainly understands the mechanics of creative signal processing. On "Element #1" (guitar played with drumsticks), the background is a deep, shimmering drone over which Baker makes almost random percussion sounds by tapping the guitar and/or the strings with the sticks. The effect is similar to some of Jim O'Rourke's early stuff, or perhaps a less hyperactive and more ambient answer to Bill Horist. The second track, "Elemental," is driven by guitar harmonics and includes machine-like rhythms (loops, perhaps?) and ambient guitar hum that slowly and gradually recede, at which point the guitar harmonics fade in and grow. I can see this appealing not only to hardcore experimental guitar junkies, but to fans of Final as well. On "Element #3" the guitar is played with scissors (ouchie!); the effect is much the same as before, but with more wailing and pinging sounds. "Element #2" is the sound of guitar being played with a violin bow, and as you might expect, it has a high drone quotient and more of a physical texture. The final track is "Elemental" again, this time played above the headstock, which results in a reverberating xylophone sound. Interesting stuff, and it's nice to hear an experimental guitarist who's also enamored of ambient sound as opposed to creating violent chaos....

Baker's from the Fripp/Eno school of making guitars sound like anything but guitars, and he's particularly inclined toward slow-motion drones that ring and shimmer in trancelike fashion. His sound -- the sound of bass, guitar, and occasionally cymbals all blown through immense amounts of reverb until it sounds like a room full of droning ghosts -- is augmented this time around by vocals, although they, too, are so floaty and dreamlike that no actual words can be discerned. The sound of "the letters of your name are still a scar on my ears" is one of dark ambience played out in endless cascading drones, all moving at the pace of a funeral march. In one of the later movements the bass is actually distinguishable, forming an recognizable progression, but it's buried in a forest of mysterious drones that rise and fall, rise and fall.... think of it as slow trance with better tones. The second (and only other) track, "I flay my skin upon which to write these letters to you" is another set of cryptic movements of sound, this time built around a singular ringing drone and with more noise-oriented sounds in the background. As the piece goes on, the concentration of noises in the mix begins to grow and the drones begin to take on a sinister rumble, like an alien fighter jet firing off test commands while warming up the engine before doing a bombing run. The interesting thing about Baker's sound is that it is so minimal in its construction, yet so ambiguous in the nature of the sounds, that it creates something akin to an audio Rorschach -- you can project your own meaning an interpretation onto these soundscapes without much difficulty. Imagine Troum gone black metal, perhaps (In fact, parts of it call to mind Burzum's "Totenhot"), and you have some indication of the intensity (and hypnotic quality) of this disc.

TMU: Aidan returns with more whole-grain goodness in the land of the eternal drone. Which reminds me that i still need to send him his cd, oops....

TTBMD: Very mellow waves. A sonic journey with beats of sound coming in and out.

TMU: Yah, on "lapse" he has that shimmering drone going where there's so many layers that diddling with one makes the whole tapestry drift in a different direction. Like dust in the wind, my son.

TTBMD: This reminds me of a Scorn a little bit.

TMU: Mid-period, then? Certainly not the early stuff.... (thrashes around wildly imitating "On Ice" from first Scorn album)

TTBMD: Nah, more like GYRAL or LOGGHI BARROGHI -- it's more mellow than that, though. The beats are more in the background.

TMU: I really like that curtain of sound thing. Now here at the end he's imitating my kitchen sink, sort of.... I like the way he starts building at the beginning of "lysis" with guitars that sound almost like flutes.

TTBMD: I can see a bird flying in a cloudless sky over cold, deep waters.

TMU: As dark shapes flit far beneath the surface, yet slowly... slowly... rising... to explode in the sun.

TTBMD: Very trance-like... feels like I haven't slept in days and my insides are slowly turning into maggots feasting upon the blood between my bones.

TMU: Nah, i don't think the vibe is that dark, brutah. It feels more like... like... (strains) dust-laden rays of sunlight cascading in shafts of vibrating light as Naomi Okabe babbles something esoteric. Something i can't hear. This was recorded on a four-track and sounds really good, which only proves that it's all in the hands, not in the boxes. Technology means nothing without the atomic ass-powered brain to command it to RISE!

TTBMD: Yes, I agree.

TMU: He's drifting now... lost in clouds of subdued melody....

TTBMD: I sure would like to make a record with this guy.

TMU: He is stylin', this is true. Hypnotic drone of the cathedral of lights... Baker is... yes... the night watchman.

TTBMD: This is almost as good as the Voltage Regulator disc, and that's the shit. Serious shit. I'm going to have to pick up more Aidan Baker material....

TMU: The beginning of "symbiosis" is so quiet it creeps up on you.

TTBMD: Laid-back rhythms, like island music. Very, very good. Impressive.

TMU: This is the exotica that robots listen to when they need to unwind after a hard day's work blasting through bedrock or something. Look, it even comes with a naked chick on the cover, how much more exotica-like can you get? (shows TTBMD the saucy cover)

TTBMD: He could get way more exotic than that....

TMU: You can see her nipples, dammit!

TTBMD: Wow. I've seen nipples before.

TMU: But these are solarized nipples. Like, you know, from the solar anus or something.

TTBMD: Wow. I've seen solarized nipples before.

TMU: He's building in density here. It goes by so slowly that you almost don't notice it.

TTBMD: Yeah, things are starting to happen. It's getting busy, there's some kind of story going on here. Someone did something wrong.

TMU: The maggot men are on the loose! Slowly they prowl, like dripping lobster men, toward some beautiful girl's unwitting doom. Sinister business is afoot in the House of Drone. Gangsters in the House of Exotica. Could... could it be? The Mothership is HERE TOO....

TTBMD: Man, you see the Mothership everywhere.

TMU: I see it in Jenna Bush's underwear.

TTBMD: Oh yeah. Suuuure.

TMU: No really, I have these X-Ray Spex that I got from sending in all the Post Toasties box tops. (puts them on and smiles like Stevie Wonder)

TTBMD: Don't look at me like that, dammit.

TMU: The drone is getting heavy now. Dark bass hell is descending. The floor's dropping out. Dead men are rising to begin the Dance of the Drone Disco at 1/800th-speed.

TTBMD: A poisonous gas has been dispersed amongst the crowd. It goes in through the mouth, down the esophagus, and into the stomach and enters into the bloodstream.

TMU: The writhing is fatal. Did the Japanese chick babble again at the end or was that my imagination?

TTBMD: The poison's taking hold of the brain.. I don't know anything anymore.

TMU: Do you have any idea what she's saying on this track "phage"?

TTBMD: No, the typing of your keyboard is too loud for me to hear her. (turns up boombox) Is that truly it in terms of volume?

TMU: Tragically, yes. He opens with peculiar electronics, loops perhaps, on "lethe" -- and then the big drone kicks in, waves of shimmering guitar wash over you, and the Sound rules over all.

TTBMD: This is great shit. I love it.

TMU: Yes, we can just sit here and smoke and float away on great big clouds of melodic drone.... yes, now we float away... floating.... iiiiiiiintttoooooooooooo the niiiiiiiiiiiiight....

TTBMD: My captor has set me free, and I am back where I belong.

This is amazingly hot shit. Recorded live from the board last October at the Ambient PIng Series in Toronto, Canada, three swell musicans steeped in minimalism and drone, an amazing sound that's simultaneously right up close (hear those graceful piano notes, woo!) and a million miles away (float on that cosmic drone, heewack!), and three insanely long songs that are like watching the sky explode while glaciers slowly melt. Three musicians, three songs ("pentametrical," "interlaced rhyme scheme," and "tertiary"), three otherworldly excursions into the great beyond, far beyond the wall of sleep, far past the frozen and empty castles of Kadath, far into the void where the music of the elder gods causes worlds to shatter when they're just tuning up. The sound of eternity, of elemental forces and epochs too vast and seemingly endless for the insects populating this planet to grasp. It's only on "tertiary" that they open with something more closely resembling traditional music and tempos, built mostly around an energetic piano... but eventually it, too, is overpowered by the dark rumbling of the Elder Gods and everything goes deep and endless, glacial and vast, with a sound like reverberations and terrifying rattles in the ice house. What the world needs is this combo on the same bill with Corrupted for an evening of truly synapse-frying slow-motion dark-ambient doom. Seek this out and gaze with awe and terror. Build your shrine on your own time.

Band of Susans -- WIRED FOR SOUND (1986-1993) [Blast First]

What a brilliant idea -- a Band of Susans two-disc compilation cleverly divided into "Songs with words" and "Songs without words." Spiffy! Of course, they technically cheat, since "Tilt" (on the wordless disc) actually has two lines in it, but it's still close enough... There are also a couple of rarities for the discriminating: "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" from the very first (and very obscure) EP, two remixes ("Trouble Follows" and "Ice Age"), and one unreleased track ("Out of the Question"). The remixes don't so much improve on the songs in question as they merely suggest different directions and shift the emphasis from one set of guitars to another, which provides for an interesting reinterpretation. As it happens, two other songs on here ("Now is Now" and "The Red and the Black") are actually remixes themselves, although they're uncredited as such here for some reason.

For the benefit of those "not in the know," the Band of Susans are a really loud quasi-artrock band from NYC who've been at it now for not quite ten years. Their basic mode of attack is simple: one drummer, one bassist, three guitars, and much, much volume. They have a fondness for stacking up guitars in different configurations -- on the early stuff they're just all waffling away in one big riff, while in later stuff the different guitars become a bit more distinct. Either way, it's an exercise in overkill, just like it SHOULD be! Regardless of their arty backgrounds (Robert and one of the earlier members played in Rhys Chatham's ensemble, a couple of them -- including Helmet's Page Hamilton, who was involved in an early incarnation of the band -- have played in Branca's ensemble, Susan Stenger has played with Cage and other minimalists, etc., etc.), they're really a rock band at heart... just a louder and more dissonant one than most, that's all. Ergo, most of the material on both discs really rocks like a pee dog, okay? This is a great introduction to the band; unfortunately, finding the set is not likely to be easy... but it's well worth the effort if you've never heard them yet.

Band of Susans -- HERE COMES SUCCESS [Restless]

Well, I'm not sure this is the absolutely perfect, definitive BOS album -- i think THE WORD AND THE FLESH still edges it out there -- but it's awfully damn close. Rumor has it that this may be the band's last album (or at least, the last in their present direction/configuration), and if it is, at least they're going out like an avalanche.... A couple of things set this disc apart from earlier releases. For one thing, their method of attack is different; in the past they tended to lock all the guitars straight down the middle, like a steamroller barrelling down the freeway, but here they've separated the guitars in the mix and placed them WAAAAAAAY apart. Result? Where they used to sound like several guitars becoming massive, droning guitar the sound of Jupiter, now they sound like one massive guitar with a habit of weaving from side to side like a three-headed hydra. Mondo! The other big difference is that they made absolutely no attempt to "trim" stuff down for potential radio airplay this time, and the shortest song (outside of the 52-second instrumental "As Luck Would Have It" and the CD-only "Sermon on Competition, Part 1 (Nothing is Recoupable") clocks in at just under seven minutes.

Very little on this album is actually "new," with the possible exceptions of the song construction on "Elizabeth Stride (1843-1888)" and the Bo Diddley tribal beat on "Stone Like A Heart" (suitable for slow-mo moshing!); instead, it sounds more like the band decided that if they were going to do one last album, they might as well revisit all the songs they liked in the past but didn't quite nail and redo them the right way. Which is not a bad thing, since for the most part, this is the best collection of songs they've ever laid down in one place, and at least four of them (the ones recommended above, actually) are among the best they've ever done, period. "Elizabeth Stride (1843-1888)" begins with a couple of fat chords and an ambient drone, and gradually builds one layer at a time into a whirling cyclone of cold fusion rage; "Dirge" slows everything down and is one of the creepiest-sounding things you'll ever hear; "Stone Like A Heart" jumps up and down and SWINGS like Bo Diddley's band suddenly possessed by the spirit of art rock (i defy you not to play air guitar or dance to this); and "In the Eye of the Beholder (for Rhys)" just flat out rocks likes a baby-skull-crushing motherfucker. The best part of all? Most of the songs have "introductions" that are longer than most songs... half the time they don't bother to even start singing for two or three minutes into the song ("oh, wait, i FORGOT, we're supposed to start singing sometime, aren't we? WHOOPS!"). Some other magazine said you could make an EP out of the introductions alone and they were right....

And are they still morbid? Oh my yes. They're from NYC, you think they're gonna be SUNNY? Nooooooo. So we get songs about life turning to death at the hands of Jack the Ripper ("Elizabeth Stride (1843-1888)"), lying in bed all day contemplating suicide ("Dirge"), coming apart at the seams ("Hell Bent"), coming apart while ranting at the TV and holding a large caliber weapon ("Pardon My French"), unbridled cynicism ("Two Jacks"), and unbridled cynicism about climbing the ladder of success ("Sermons on Competition, Part 1 (Nothing is Recoupable"). Makers of Prozac and antipsychotic medication will want to take careful note of this album and plan their stock sales accordingly with the album's sales...

Band of Susans -- "Mood Swing/Last Temptation of Susan" [Sing Fat]

How... how weird to hear this after years of being familiar with the version on the album. I guess this must be the "radio mix," because it sounds a LOT different than the album track -- the stingy guitar has been pushed WAY up in the mix and everything else has been pulled back, particularly the bass. It sounds okay, but I still like the album version better. "The Last Temptation of Susan" remains unchanged -- just one big fat-ass drum and a couple of loud guitars spewing out incredibly cool chimey riffs -- BUT it's TRUNCATED! Aaaiee! Oh well... fortunately BOS were never a singles band so it doesn't really, uh, "matter," I guess. If you've heard this and even halfway liked it, I strongly suggest you snag a copy of VEIL (from which they both came) and hear the REAL versions. And while you're at, pick up everything else by the Susans as well. You won't regret it....

Bark Psychosis -- INDEPENDENCY (Third Stone Limited)

This band is difficult to describe because they encompass so many styles and do it so seamlessly; at one moment they're piddling in folk territory, then jazz, then quasi-ambient, then hard rock, then all of the above at once and then some. When the term "alternative" still meant something (before marketing bozos in NY and LA misappropriated the term and started using it to mean "studiously unwashed college dropouts desperately going for the grunge or whatever else is popular at the moment in a bid for commercial sucess"), this is pretty much what it meant.

This CD is actually a compilation of 12" singles and EPs released prior to their full-length HEX album. None of it's terribly dissimilar to what they're doing on HEX, and most of it is fairly quiet and lush-sounding; occasionally they rev up their motor a bit (on the insistent "Manman" and toward the end of "All Different Things," for instance), but for the most part the sound is dominated by strings and keyboards rather than guitars. Dynamics are the main reason to appreciate this group; think of a jazzier and more versatile version of Slint, perhaps (especially on "Tooled Up," where the latter half sounds very reminiscent of Slint's new untitled EP). They also have a preference for stretching things out; of the eight tracks here, only one is under four minutes, while most of the others are at seven or eight, and the closing track "Scum" is over 21 minutes long.

"Scum" is one of the more interesting songs here, although it's essentially an exercise in patience -- the first four minutes are nothing but low bass droning, and the song doesn't really take on a beat or traditional structure until about eight minutes into it. Assuming you can last that long, this is actually one of the jazziest things on the album, with weirdly reverbed jazz chords and a lazy, lazy beat.

The band is almost totally unknown, which is a shame, because they're considerably more sophisticated (not to mention technically proficient) than 99% of the "alternative" bands out on the playing field. Their one full-length album, HEX, is every bit as interesting and exotic as this one. Hopefully with a couple more albums their sphere of awareness will grow. If you see one of their 12" singles, pick it up and see if it works for you...

These people sound most angry. I approve. Plus they tend to play real slow, which automatically makes everything ten times heavier, and while the rest of the band sounds largely weaned on early seventies metal (the good kind), the singer sounds more like he was weaned on death metal. They're also big believers in the concept that you can never have too much distortion or fuzz, so already they're pretty close to being the perfect metal band.... I don't know how "original" all of this is, but it certainly sounds a hell of a lot better than most of what passes for heavy music these days. I also like that even when they lighten up (as they do on the long intro of "antietum") they sound appropriately sinister and certainly not wimpy by any means. (The beefed-up and Southern-friend outro is absolutely brilliant as well.) Their overall sound is right on the borderline between grindcore and extreme metal, all the more reason to like them. And like them i do, especially since they manage to weave a distinctly southern guitar sound into their grindmetal. The six songs on this are a collection of relentlessly efficient pummelings that range from the pretty good to they synapse-shattering. I can't decide if they look as grim as they sound or sound as grim as they look, but there's not question they're grim and musically they mean business. Highly recommended....

I think New York City's Begotten may have created a new Doom/Stoner Rock subgenre -- Shoegazer Doom. Dig it. I would posit that all of the current wave of doom bands can be judged in relation to Electric Wizard (the Wiz being the pinnacle o' Doomness). The E. Wiz doom-tree would go something like this: Sloth = the talented younger brother trying to get out from under his brother's shadow; Warhorse = the angry Yankee cousin on downers trying to control his Tourette's; Goatsnake = the leather pants-wearing, coke-snorting, sunglasses at night-sporting rock star cousin who came THIS CLOSE to joining Grand Funk in the 70s; and Acid King = the trash ex-stripper/ex-girlfriend. In this family Begotten would be the quiet younger brother and sister who spend a lot of time locked in their rooms reading SANDMAN comics and whom everyone thinks spends entirely too much time together.

And that has absolutely nothing to do with why Begotten could be called Shoegazer Doom. You know those days when everything is just too much? The kind of day when you get up and say to yourself, "Fawwwk...." The kind of day when all you want to do is stay in bed. The kind of day when your entire body feels like lead, and just looking at people is a pain in the ass... but somehow you have to get to school/work/whatever. So you put your head down and force one foot to go in front of the other.... A day when you want music that is slow and heavy, yet strangely soothing.... Begotten provide the soundtrack for a day like that. (NOTE: This CD was one of the last releases on Man's Ruin before it went belly-up. Your best bet is to contact the band directly through their web site.) [n/a]

This is a classic release by a totally sick band. This shit is so raw and heavy it is no wonder so many black metal bands rip them off. Ten songs of fast, brutal, satanic fury. The riffs on this album are relentless and at times stand still among all the chaos. The vocals are distant and only add to the misanthropy. This record and DRAWING DOWN THE MOON are highly recommend. [ttbmd]

Kind of a wandering beat/folk poet weaned on equal amounts of Leonard Cohen, Kerouac, free jazz, and punk, the best things about Cindy Lee Berryhill's style are probably the same things that have resulted in her putting out three albums on two different labels-- her loopy and idiosyncrastic personality, a quasi-yodeling vocal style guaranteed to charm some and drive others to contemplate murder, and a simultaneous fascination with the utterly mundane and the exceptionally weird. Remember that girl you knew in high school who had the odd haircut, strange clothes, the coolest record collection, and hung out in coffeehouse parking lots talking to the homeless instead of playing Pac-Man at the mall? Well, that was Cindy Lee... she comes across like the proverbial girl next door, assuming your next-door neighbor ever had a fondness for Ginsberg and skipping school to drive across the county on a lark.

This is probably her most solid effort yet. The band behind her is in fine form as always, providing instrmentation from the standard (electric guitar, electric and standup bass, cello) to the unusual (typmani, autoharp, mandolin), to the downright bizarre (cricket??? palm frond??? trash can and board with loose screw???). It's a tribute to the band's finesse and skill that it all comes together seamlessly; you never really notice the weird stuff until you read the liner notes and start hunting for it. Unlike previous efforts, the songs here don't wander off track very often, staying sharp and focused, making every song a winner.

"Gary Handeman" starts out with her shoes being stolen and gets weirder from there, without ever bothering to explain just who Gary Handeman is, but it's catchy and funny nonethless. It comes across like the dizzy collision between an intensely personal folk tune, a bizarre in-joke, and a full- fledged Busby musical showpiece, with beautiful results. You'll never figure out what it means, but it sounds right nonetheless....

The weirdness continues with "UFO Suite," which rambles on about ufo sightings and abductions; before the song's over, it manages to drag in strings, flutes, a brief monologue from a potential abductee with his dog barking in the background, the chorus of "Buffalo Gals," and (don't ask me why) Janet Reno. (Maybe if you play this backwards, Janet gets abducted herself; I'd certainly get behind that.)

With a violin line borrowed from "Eleanor Rigby" and a plunk, plunk, plunk bass bouncing away in the background, "I Want Stuff" opens with the words "I want colors / I want at least a thousand dollars/ I want to listen to the church music play/ I want everything to be okay" and in less than four minutes manages to say everything you ever need to hear about wanting what really matters in life. Bonus points for the "ay-yay-yay" in the closing chorus!

For some inexplicable reason, this album makes me want to dance in the middle of the desert under the spotlight of UFOs passing overhead... check it out and you'll see why yourself.

Cindy Lee Berryhill -- STRAIGHT OUTTA MARYSVILLE [Cargo]

I still haven't decided what i think about this one. I don't think it's as brilliant as her first one, WHO'S GONNA SAVE THE WORLD?, or her last one, GARAGE ORCHESTRA, but i'll be damned if i can figure out what's "wrong" with it. Still, there's plenty of good stuff here -- the loopy story of joining the high school track team on "High Jump," punk-scene war stories in "Diane," and other equally flaky stuff in "Unknown Master Painter." It seems like every album Cindy Lee is utterly compelled to do at least one song in which she just starts rambling halfway through -- it was "Steve on H" for the first album, "Yippee" for the second, "UFO Suite" on the third; this time it's on the cover of Donovan's "Season of the Witch," which i actually like better than the original. (Of course, i hate Donovan, so this is not difficult.)

I think my biggest problem with this is that it's a bit TOO folky -- but that's my problem, not hers. Her earlier albums that i liked the most leaned more toward rock, which i liked; this one sticks a lot closer to the acoustic folk context, and... i dunno, i liked the earlier stuff better. So sue me, dammit. The big-ass kettle drums of "Caravan" are pretty cool, tho, and "Elvis of Maryville" is pretty damn brilliant in its own right. Hell, maybe i just need to listen to the CD some more until it sinks in....

What is it with Cindy Lee that results in her albums coming out in cycles of quality? It seems like she puts out one brilliant one followed by one lukewarm, half-baked one. It's bizarre. As it happens, this time around it's time for another brilliant one, and this one fits the bill. The story behind the album is an interesting one -- even unusual (although the unusual it Cindy Lee's forte). The album grew out of a tour sponsored (sort of) by fans on the internet, who at one point arranged for Cindy Lee to perform in someone's living room for a handful of fans, each of whom had paid ten dollars each to defray expenses and all that. As the first one was a success, another appearance inevitably followed, until it turned a full-fledged living room tour (hence the album title; this was the sixteenth stop on the tour).

By now it may be obvious that this is a live album (it was recorded January 17, 1998 in San Francisco). This would normally be the kiss o' death for me, but this is an interesting live album, partly because of the choice of material (she picks a pretty strong cross-section from earlier albums and includes several unreleased songs), but also because of the presentation -- while she normally performs on albums with a full band (most recently the Garage Orchestra), here it's just her and Renata Bratt on fretless bass (a fabulous player, by the way). Most of the songs benefit greatly from the reinvention necessary to play in such minimal fashion, particularly on "Diane" (the only track from STRAIGHT OUTTA MARYSVILLE), a song i didn't particularly like in its studio version, which sounds oodles better here. Another thing that adds a lot of charm to the recording is the inclusion of Cindy Lee's rambling asides between songs. Anybody who's followed her career for any length of time knows that she's capable of observations that sound wacky on the surface but generally hide some interesting points (this is a polite way of saying she's eccentric, okay?), and she indulges this trait to the hilt, mostly in funny and entertaining fashion. (Her after-the-song explanation of how the song was inspired by her experience of being constantly mistaken for the receptionist while running a recording studio is absolutely hilarious.) In fact, the entire album's main charm lies in its loose, down-home-in-the-living-room feel. If more live albums were like this, i might pay more attention to live albums in general.

I find it interesting that Cindy Lee's appraisal of her "best" material largely matches my own (we are as of one mind! and here i am about to be single again! perhaps i'll start firing off mash letters to her! i'm sure Cindy Lee would be so excited!) -- the vast bulk of previously-recorded material comes from her first album, WHO'S GONNA SAVE THE WORLD?, and her third album, GARAGE ORCHESTRA, her two best ones (in my opinion anyway). By contrast, only one song from ...MARYSVILLE makes the cut (the aforementioned "Diane") and absolutely nothing shows up from NAKED MOVIE STAR. The rest of the album -- about half of it, actually -- consists of entirely new songs, several of which are actually brilliant ("Family Tree" and "This Way Up" in particular), lending hope to the notion that her next album will break the strong/weak cycle of releases by being utterly phenomenal. (Of course, since Cargo, her last label, disintegrated in spectacular fashion late last year, leaving her "between labels" one more time, when that nebulous album-to-be might materialize is anyone's guess.) Since she has the good sense to include such immensely swank material as "She Had Everything" and "Damn, I Wish I Was a Man" (from the first album) and the beyond-weird "UFO Suite" and "Gary Handeman" (from GARAGE ORCHESTRA), i can hardly fault her on song choices (i do sort of wish she had included my personal fave, "Looking Through Portholes"). Couple the swell performances with the stellar sound quality and you have one of the few live albums worth actually owning. The fact that she sings about transsexual bass players, aliens from outer space, and shoe-stealing bums is just... you know... the icing on the cake.

The only catch to all this fabulousness is that the CD is, uh, only available from Cindy Lee's web site (she's between labels, remember?), and limited to 500 copies. I vaguely get the impression that if it sells out in a reasonable time she'll use that knowledge as leverage to negotiate a deal with a "real" label, although i frankly would be perfectly happy to see her continue to release CDs in this manner (which, given how poorly her labels have understood her in the past, might actually be a better idea -- hey, people laughed at Jimmy Buffett for putting stuff out on his own label, but now that he actually outsells a lot of well-known major-label artists, there aren't too many people laughing now). Nevertheless, the CD is reasonably priced ($15 postage paid, i think) and if you have any taste you should want to acquire it from her site.

Bethany Curve -- GOLD [Unit Circle]

These spaced-out jokers have a peculiar sense of humor: The name of the disc is GOLD, so what color do they use for the unadorned cover and tray sleeve? Uh, silver.... The name and the disc art are opaque enough that you can't tell what they do -- which, as it turns out, is guitar-heavy semi- space rock with an orchestral bent. Most of the time their sound falls somewhere between DISINTEGRATON-era Cure and LOVELESS-era My Bloody Valentine, only with a bigger fondness for weird sounds than the former and a more consistent sense of structure than the latter. Given their penchant for burying vocals in the background and the presence of three guitarists, i wouldn't be surprised to find them influenced by the Band of Susans. (In fact, after hearing the sawtooth guitar squee in the background of "Over and Out," i'm even more convinced they are hep to the godlike vibrations o' Robert Poss and his uberfuzzed guitars.)

The album is pretty evenly divided between tracks that are actual songs ("Drag," "Temporary," "Fold in the Floor," "Fourteen"), pure exercises in atmosphere and strange effects ("Carnyval Sweet," Pool and the Shine," "Strength," "Marasmus"), and others that fall somewhere in between. "Drag," the opener, pretty conclusively demonstrates why they can't be dismissed as a mere shoegazer band -- even though it's spilling over with thick, distorted dream-o-tron guitars and guazy vox, periodically the drums thunder in with such force that they almost drown out the guitars (but not quite). They have a nice sense of dynamics, obviously, evidenced in "Fold in the Floor," where a chiming guitar line is gradually joined by other, dreamier (and fuzzier) guitars, then ethereal vox, and finally the drums, all in their own due time. One particularly outstanding track is "Fourteen," whose thunderous start-and-stop drums and eternally spiraling guitars make it sound like the Cure covering the Cocteau Twins as produced by My Bloody Valentine.

The effects permeating the album are interesting in their own right, from the slo-mo rotating wind-tunnel feel of "Carnyval Sweet" to the crunchy noises of "Strength" that are eventually nearly drowned out by droning hoverbot guitars. Then there's "Cygnus X-1," whose spaced-out interstellar whirls and bleeps live up to the starbound title. "Movement," especially in the introduction, makes inventive use of decaying delay lines before the song's full weight kicks in. The album ends with the twisting drone and squeal of "Marasmus," one of the most abstract pieces on the album -- at least until the drums and avalanche of guitars roar in, at which point it is transformed into a big, gloriously messy blur of sound. Yowsa. In the Land of the Burning Steer Skulls, we call this swank.

Most of the reviews i've seen for this compare them to the Cure, which i find baffling -- if anything, they're a more guitar-heavy update on the ambient/shoegazer sound favored by Cocteau Twins, the early 4AD bands like This Mortal Coil, and GLIDER-era My Bloody Valentine. They favor creating spiraling cathedrals of melodic sound, as clearly demonstrated by the opening track "Long Beach," a sweeping stack of guitar drones that pulses with a steady beat as guitars swirl and drone around the rhythmic center. As with earlier albums, their overall sound is dense and majestic, a swirling veil of sound designed to envelop the listener in near-ambient sound while still retaining a recognizable sense of structure and melody. This new release took three years (and a new lineup) to assemble, and the time they spent on it has paid off -- this is easily the best in a series of excellent releases. The entire disc is uniformly excellent (and in some ways reminds me a great deal of the last Lockgroove album), so much so that i'm not sure i even have a favorite... all of it is strong stuff. (I do especially like the uberfuzz guitars on "The Guarantee" and the propulsive -- sorta -- drive of "The Lodge" and odd bits here and there, but overall the entire disc is of such consistency that it's hard to single out any one song.) I like that the vocals are subservient to the guitars, often unintelligible and drifting through the wall of sound -- that much, at least, could be compared to DISINTEGRATION-era Cure (although i'd liken it more to PURE-era Godflesh, but that's just the kind of guy i am). As usual, another fine release from Unit Circle, and one worthy of your time and attention....

Beautiful, beautiful sheets of drone that unfold in lush ambient fashion over minimal beats, billowing on clouds of reverb. On their fifth album, the band employs drums, bass, two guitars, and vocals to fashion immense and vast panoramas of rich ambient sound and tasteful drums. Some songs are dreamier than others (like the opening track, "The Automatic" -- which picks up the pace later with the addition of technoish beats halfway through), while songs like "Jettison" form swirling, droning layers of sound over which vocals float like sunlight streaming through the clouds. Even with commanding beats, "Sleep" layers on such thick sheets of drone that you'll find yourself starting to nod off even before the enormous vocals and keyboards begin to smother you into submission. One of the catchier songs is "The Means," anchored by a throbbing bassline, but all of the songs are exceptionally listenable. Their blurry wall-of-reverb sound is reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine, but the songs themselves are far less static (inventive shifts in dynamics and unexpected arrangements are a hallmark of their sound) and their intentions far less abrasive. Brooding, beautiful drone mantras waiting for your ears.

Bettie Seevert -- LAMPREY [Matador/Atlantic]

OK, let's see what we have here... three guys/one gal from Holland with an album that sports a truly hideous cover (designed by the band themselves, only proving that talent in one artistic endeavor does not necessarily translate to others) and sounds like they have every record ever made by Neil Young, most by Lou Reed, the first three by R.E.M., and probably half the Flying Nun back catalog. Talk about your serious jag-pop fixation.... Singer Carol van Dijk has a voice that falls somewhere between Juliana Hatfield and Rebecca Gates after eating a really big heap o' Quualudes (with occasional excursions into Cindy Lee Berryhill territory), and while I gather that's supposed to be the main attraction here, what gets my attention more often are the guitars. I don't know who's playing what (Carol and Peter Visser both play the magic box o' strings), but they have the early Neil Young squeak and squall thing down pretty cold, particularly on songs like "Keepsake" and "Re-feel-it." Others like "D. Feathers" are more laid back and wouldn't be out of place on one of the first few R.E.M. albums, assuming you were in another universe where the young Peter Buck believed in fuzz pedals.

Other stuff of note include "21 Days," with a sleepy, droning bass and a chiming guitar part flat-out stolen from the first Pearl Jam album; the lazy, look-how-much-echo-we-have! drizzle of "Tell Me, Sad"; and the quiet, we're-not-quite-stealing-from-"Can't Find My Way Home"-but-we're-awfully- damn-close-aren't-we? elegance of "Silent Spring." My one real complaint with the album, though, is that it's got a severely tinny high-end; I don't know if that's intentional or not, but it annoys the hell out of me. (And the crowd replies, "Say WHAT? You listen to SKULLFLOWER, what are you talking about?" as the cryptic slave to the sno-cone girl flees from the stage....)

Seems Mayor B. is giving the Japanese (labels, anyway) a break for the time being, and setting his sights on Germany. This 7" contains four tracks of Emil's usual four-armed turntable reworking of records released on the Tochnit Aleph label. The real surprise for me is the surprisingly restrained take on Con-Dom's "Sermon" 7", in which he pulls a funny ha-ha on us by only working with the very very early drone part of the records... no howling eulogies to personal freedom or thunderous climaxes to be found, just edgy foreshadowing. The track utliizing Dachise's "Sugar Path" 7" makes use of all of their faces -- drone, atmosphere, razor-sharp high-end blasts -- all at the same time, giving us a very compressed greatests hits package in just under two minutes. The final track on side one is from Column One's "thx-1138" 12", and finally contains some voice loops and more typical Beaulieu-lian concerns, including some sweet repeating grooves (no actual lock grooves on this side, though, just in the recording). On side two, Astro's "MSG of Electronics Wave" LP gets a facefull of raw hell, with the full overload blare that side one lacked taking up the entire program. And a real lock groove ending this side too boot! In typically beautiful and cocky parlance, the man with the Minutoli once agian says a non-tearfull farewell to noise music and the label he's just taken for a ride. Even if you haven't heard the originals, this is an excellent example of the Emil Beaulieu sound if you're looking for a choice introduction, and for those without the taste for Emil's often lengthy periods where he lets a locked groove just ride and ride, this is just the right size too. [cms]

Four guys from Chicago who wouldn't be out of place on a bill with Reverend Horton Heat or the Flametrick Subs doing old-school raunch rock and doing it well. The band has been floating around since 1999 in various lineups and this is their fourth recording, so they've had plenty of time to get their shit together and it shows. They rock out on songs like "Shit to Pimp" (where they get a bit carried away with the soloing, perhaps) and "Ball Deep, Mountain High," but the one I like best is "Kicking Birth," where they crib and speed up a boss AC/DC riff and use that to launch into the high-octane Turbonegro-style opening to the song proper. "Sexual Dry Gulch" is pretty hep and AC/DC-like in its own right -- their drummer has the beat down cold all over the album, but nowhere more so than right here. Lots of Thin Lizzy, Iron Maiden worship lurking in the likes of "Fuckin' A" and "Iron University" -- along with Melvins-like riffing and lots of solo bleating over a hard, bouncy beat on "Thou." Best title: "Born in Jail," which also employs a ridiculous amount of reverb on the guitars to great effect. This is actually a reissue of the band's self-released cd on Raw Deth, and besides rocking like a pee dog, it sounds excellent (in fact, it's really fucking loud). Worthy of your worship.

Big City Orchestra -- WE LIKE NOIZE TOO

This cassette release documents a live preformance where 50 different discs were spraypainted, etched with a Spirograph, and then "played" by each of the four members present. During the performance each disc was subjected to some kind of "torture" -- candle wax, razor blades, flames, anything that would continue the destruction began with the painting and etching. The process, as well as the output, are reminiscent of AMK performances/ recordings. Before the discs were further mutilated they would play some recognizable bits, but as the torture continued, the discs lost their wills, lost their voices, and just scratched and screamed in agony. Torture - a good way to make noise. And We Like Noize Too. [bc]

Big Hat: SELENA AT MY WINDOW (March Records)

The most amusing moment in Big Hat's bio is the reprinting of a review likening the band to "a simple nightmare where Elizabeth Fraser sleeps with all the members of Kraftwerk and gives birth in the waiting room at Ralph Records." This was apparently meant as an insult, but silly us at DEAD ANGEL, we think it's a pretty nifty idea... and about as good as any other description for a pretty much unclassifiable band. With a gorgeous (in every sense of the word) singer, Yvonne Bruner -- who comes from the Kate Bush/Tori Amos school of delivery, sort of -- and a small army of musicians employing eclectic percussion, violin, tin whistle, trumpet, etc., the music is derived from so many wildly different styles that they defy attempts at pigeonholing. Essentially, though, the band makes warm, entrancing mood music that would probably be welcome on the stereo of anyone with a 4AD album in their collection.

As for the songs themselves, to try describing them individually would practically require a dissertation -- there's a LOT going on in every track in terms of arrangment and instrumentation. Never fear, though -- the band is firmly in control every step of the way, and while the instruments are many and often exotic, they all work together surprisingly well. The result is a collection of amazingly diverse songs, each of which has something unique to recomend it. While Yvonne's captivating voice is the immediate feature all the way through, all the playing is equally sharp and charming as well. Everybody brings something compelling to the mix, without ever getting in the other's way, an astounding accomplishment for songs this ornate and intricately arranged.

And yes, they DO favor big hats. And big hair, big clothes, big sound, big EVERYTHING... and you have to love a good band that thinks big, eh?

This disc is kind of an anomaly among the other discs reviewed here in that it's actually a fairly straightforward rock and roll album -- you know, the kind of thing they don't make too often anymore, unfortunately. It's not terribly "out there" and even my sister (notorious for finding my general taste in music totally inexplicable) might like this. If the big-deal music industry weren't currently so obsessed with emaciated waif singers and downtuned angst-rock, it might even be the kind of thing you'd hear on the radio, backed by the big guns o' major label promotional mojo. As it is, the poor guy behind this (David Wimble -- vocalist, songwriter, guitarist, all-around joe in charge) has to put it out himself and hope it gets heard. I yi yi....

Which is a shame, because this is a pretty happening album. From the propulsive drive of "Wild River" to the neo-folk/Creedence-tinged "Poor Boy," the songs on here cover a surprising range of ground. Better yet, they are largely to the point and well-written, well-played, and generally a throwback to when people made plain old albums without lots of political/social angst and obtrusive posturing. Some of this (especially "Poor Boy," whose entire second half is dominated by a whistling solo, of all things) reminds me of the early material by Poi Dog Pondering. "To Whom I Must Confess" is a near-country lament with impeccable slide guitar, while "Tap On My Shoulder" betrays a serious Cohen influence, only with a considerably higher melodic content..And dig that Dylanesque harmonica on "You Can't Love Yet" -- i do believe that Mr. Wimble has (rightly) concluded that most of the mainstream music made beyond about 1970 is pure crap and has simply jettisoned all traces of the present in favor of a sound that unfortunately fell out of favor decades ago. The thought is only reinforced by more tunes like "Alive in Every Hour," which sounds very much like something Don MacLean and Elton John might have whipped up, had they ever bothered to collaborate. (The piano movements are beyond swank.)

Wimble's cause is aided considerably by inventive arrangements in songs like "Wall of Ice," where a funkified beat holds the pace while everything else doesn't so much build as sneaks in, one instrument at a time; at other points it helps that he shuffles the instruments and sounds at his disposal so there's a wide variety of tonal palettes happening all through the disc. It doesn't hurt that all of the songs hang fire (although there are some mild clunkers among the lyrics, Wimble's lone weak spot), either. This is not only far beyond the quality (both in terms of songwriting, playing, and recorded sound) one usually finds in self-released albums, it's actually of a quality one would expect to see on independent labels like Flying Fish or Rounder. Perhaps the esteemed Mr. Wimble should send copies of the disc to labels of that nature and broaden his reach; it's not impossible for me to imagine that he might actually get somewhere by doing so....

Big Void -- THE FLOOR OR THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM [J-Bird Records]

O mon, i... i'm having a FLASHBACK... to the days... of Pink Floyd and giant wooden bongs.... No kidding, there's a serious Floyd influence running through this disc. Except, of course, Big Void's drummer can actually play more than two tempos, which puts him waaaaaay ahead o' Nick "don't you wish you had as many cars as I do?" Mason. And the singers can actually sing, which has not always been the case in Floyd (Roger Waters is a pretty reasonably lyricist, but as a singer, he ain't gonna put Mel Torme out of business anytime soon).

The influence becomes apparent right out of the box on "It's Me," which sounds like an outtake from MEDDLE, maybe. But they start branching out almost immediately, as "George Reeves Jumped Out the Window (World Without Sound)" keeps up the slo-mo spaciness and the sampled sound nuggets (from old SUPERMAN episodes, appropriately enough), but also incorporates a sly Cars reference as well. Plus horns! By the time they reach "Mr. Magoo," they've moved into the realms of genuine psychedelia and the Floyd thang is apparent only in the vox... and "Dr. Strange" sports a severely swingin' guitar riff over hyperkinetic keyboards, about as un-Floydian as you can get (they were swell guys, but swing they did not).

It gets more convoluted. Is that a salsa beat i hear on "(You Got Me) Lying on the Floor"? Dunno, but it sure is funky, while "The Other Side of the Room" sounds like a wild party in progress after many, many shots of tequila on top of the mushrooms. "While You Were Dead" gets bonus points for the title alone; the percolating synth 'n snare attack amid all the odd spoken bits and sonic wooziness don't hurt either. And i never thought i'd live to hear a psychedelic version of Little Feat, but that's what turns up on "Living in a World Like This." Perhaps if Little Feat had sounded like this i might have liked them....

The key here is that while they are undoubtedly toiling in the shadow of Floyd and other early psych wizards, they are considerably better players (and songwriters) than most of those one might cite as influences. Plus they have a really huge inventory of odd hypnosounds, always a plus. Looks like they reissued this just in time for the psychedelic revival....

Which leaves me with only two questions: a) is the Page Hamilton listed as "guitar, occasional vocal" THE Page Hamilton of Band of Susans/Helmet fame, and b) how can i possibly contrive to spend some "quality time" with the naked girl inside the insert?

Now this is kind of intriguing... hardcore with elements of drone and funk, like a bizarrely spastic post-noise Public Image Limited or something. Or maybe Arab on Radar with a less cryptic and more hypnotic drummer. The guitarist (well, I think it's him, anyway) sure makes some supremely irritating squeals on "Up the Nest." Their rhythmic drive and complicated riffs owe as much to punk as anything else, but the singer's stream-of-consciousness spiel and warbling sound straight back to eccentric vocalists in the vein of Johnny Rotten and almost any No-Wave shouter you can think of. This is noisy, eccentric, even cryptic stuff, a steady series of vignettes of near-indecipherable monologues broken up by churning rhythms, abrasive guitars, and chanting / shouting. Parts of "Bastard Scaffolder" remind me of late Jawbox; parts of "Sling yr hook" make me think of Last Exit. It's all pretty chaotic and unpredictable, yet played with ridiculous dexterity and exacting precision, sort of like watching expert jugglers playing toss using sticks of dynamite.

Midway through the album (there are 17 songs; they stretch out, but they don't get carried away), it becomes evident that their modus operandi largely centers around getting a massive groove happening, then chipping away at the groove with the guitars and vocals. Abrasive, disorienting, and -- when they devolve into brazen displays of technical dexterity and all that -- frequently dazzling, they keep a high level of energy going even when they start flying off into avant-noise territory. If this band were in the U.S., it would probably be on Load. There's certainly a similar aesthetic at work, although these guys aren't quite as frantically spastic as some of the art-damaged freaks on Load. Strong stuff, but an acquired taste for many and possibly dangerous to the ears of the unbelievers. Approach with caution if you're not down with confrontational vocals, abrupt mood swings, loud everything, and proggy ideas about song structure. This should serve as a prime example of what can happen when you allow impressionable punk youngsters to own albums by Yes and Slint at the same time.

You know, every time i see a band or label name with initials, i always wonder what they mean -- like with N.G.W.T.T., for instance. What does it mean? Nice Girls With Tantalizing Titties? Not Gonna Whip That Transvestite? Nyquil Godz Worship Tiny Tim? Who knows? These things can be very distracting.... (Which brings up the question of just how you end up with a name like Bio-Bitch -- what the hell does it mean?!?! -- but my idea of a "good" name would be something like Dimebox Pussy Blast, so what do i know....)

Anyway, the band's stark packaging (lots o' black 'n red, children with hammers, etc.) does not mislead -- the contents are heavy and brutal to the point of sounding like starving cavemen with guitars and a drummer beating on skulls. I can't decide if they're a hardcore band like Unsane gone black metal or a black metal band with a fetish for Unsane-style damage, or if they're loud 'n ugly for the sheer hell of it. Wait, let me drag out the magnifying glass and check the insert (my eyes aren't what they used to be and the band didn't print the titles on the CD case)... "Dead Wrong (Study in atomic/noise-metal/thrash # 1" and other long-winded titles (all right!) lead me to suspect they might have a ghoulish sense of humor similar to Type O Negative's, even though they sound absolutely nothing like Peter Steele's current band (previous one, maybe). Some other titles as evidence: "What Was Funny Becomes Bloody As the Crowd Turns Violent," "Raga of Unparalled Terror" (which is not only the funniest song title i've seen in eons but makes me wonder if they're hep to the Mike Gunn), and "Another Good Song About Truckers, Car Crashes, Disease, Etc." They even helpfully print lyrics and random notes and stuff for you to read (but not me, 'cause the types waaaay too small for my eyes).

Unlike Unsane and the like, though, they have a twisted fascination for ragas and non-western music in general, even though they are basically a death metal band (i think), which results in some moments of pure blinding weirdness amid the grunting 'n grinding. It also helps that they have truly grotesque ideas about tone and a sense of humor (black as it may be). Be forewarned, though -- while they are truly heavy as elephant dung (especially on the aptly-titled "Heavy-Impact Steam-Hammer"), their singer is down with the death-croak that annoys some people (like our own esteemed n/a, for instance). He sounds fine to me though, so there. Ha!

They get lifetime bonus points for ending the album with "Dead Silence," which is exactly that... for about seven minutes, anyway, after which it turns into... um... something beyond my earthly powers of description, except i'm pretty sure it would go over well in a mental ward. The last chunk of the disc is worth the price of admission alone just because it's so deranged.

If Godspeed You Black Emperor were a spaghetti western honky-tonk band this is what they would sound like. They are mondo spooky and this is good. Aside from the ambience of found sound and room noises in the background, their sound largely revolves around the use of waterphone, wurlitzer piano and organ, and wailing slide (sometimes accomplished with guitar, sometimes not). Their sound, a weird mix of orchestral manuevers executed from the perspective of a backwoods country bar band, has much in common with Godspeed, and if you like one, i suspect you'll like the other. The songs all flow together within this framework, linked by odd noises, deep country ambience, and background conversation. I'm not sure there are any "best" songs -- you either like it all or you don't really, and the songs are consistent in their quasi-cinematic quality -- but my favorites (on this listening anyway) are "blue tears," "a light so dim," "your church is red," and "it's a crime i never told you about the diamonds in your eyes." In addition to the aforementioned Godspeed reference, i hear links to the Dream Syndicate (the California band, not Tony Conrad's thing), Howlin' Wolf, Marty Robbins, and a dozen other wildly disparate influences. It's beautiful how they add it all up, though. This is a fine album from a band deserving of serious attention.

Three new songs and every bit as creepy as the second album, which makes me really want to track down the first one on Headhunter. I'm not sure what the point is of releasing just an EP at this point, but what the hell, i'm not going to turn down new tracks from these melancholy dudes.... The first song, "a truth quietly told," is buoyed by a spiky piano featured prominently in the mix and a sinister Moog trembling in the background while Jenkins tries to sing around it. The sound is bright, much clearer than anything from the second album, although i suspect that's less a matter of recording quality than intent; certainly the second track, "destroying the city of hearts," sounds very much like an outtake from the second album. It opens up with traffic sounds and other off-kilter effluvia and turns into an actual song with a slow and inevitable beat (their speciality, i'm beginning to gather). Piano, trumpets, scary Moog swells, pretty much no vox, it goes on for quite a while and sounds fine doing it. The last song, "song about a....," is actually sort of upbeat, like an old-time honky-tonk roadhouse revival tune. I have no idea what the hell it's about, but it sounds most hep. So far the boys from San Diego with cowboy hats and Moogs are batting a thousand.

Location: Somewhere deep in the bowels of a nameless government building that houses the headquarters of Deep Zone, an "unofficial" organization whose name appears in no official government document, whose entire existence is underwritten by the peculiar "handling" of unspecified slush funds. Laser-activated alarms sweep through every hall; guards with the authority to kill all intruders and dispose of their bodies in the incinerator wander freely through the more accessible levels; fire-breathing robot drones, impervious to bullets or gas, trundle sullenly through the lower levels. An impenetrable fortress, its secrets remain safe, for no man has ever been able to navigate its security and descend to the 13th level far beneath the earth.

No one, of course, save for TASCAM-Girl.

T-G (running through a hallway on the 14th level with guards and robots right behind her): Goddamn! Good thing i picked today to wear flat boots instead of the spike heels... shit, they sound pissed. I guess they didn't like it when i turned their boss and all his lackeys into agent flambe....

She turns abruptly down a hallway, her long hair trailing wildly like a jet stream, and hoists her .252 Evapotron Decimator (muzzle flash optional) Special to waist length. She pulls the trigger and holds it down; true to its name, everything in the hallway evaporates in a blinding hail of plutonium bullets. Before the gunfire even fades she switches on the Wallgrip soles of her boots and climbs up the wall, hanging from the ceiling, gun ready.

A horde of blood-spattered agents in black suits with .45 Automatics spill into the hallway, flanked by heavily armed robots. Their leader is a tall, rawboned man with soulless eyes named Maurice, not that any of his flunkies have the balls to call him that; they call him Mr. Doom instead.

MD: Shit! Where is that bitch? I can't believe she's wasted 137 agents already and you maggots can't even find her! What is she made of, smoke?

ROBOT: Negatory. Sensors indicate she is 90% water, 5% bone and blood mass, 3% fetish wear, and 2% stolen military ordnance. And 120% attitude. This cannot be... the numbers fail to add up correctly....

MD: Shut the fuck up and tell me where she IS, dammit!

ROBOT: Sensors indicate she is in this room, Your Vileness.

MD (sweeping an arm wildly toward the pile of bleeding ruptured flesh along the hall): WHERE? Do you see her anywhere? Unless she's hiding under the bodies... yes! That's it! Activate phasers! Burn EVERYTHING!

The robots scour the walls and floor with their lasers, turning everything to toast.

MD: Hahahahahahahaha! THAT will teach the bitch! She'll never... uh.... um. do you ever get the feeling you're being... uh... watched?

T-G: Peekaboo!

Everyone looks up. TASCAM-Girl drops a Fast-Activating Napalm Grenade and hits her force field switch. The agent and robots don't even have time to react before the hallway is filled with what resembles a small sun.

T-G: Kick ass. (drops to the floor and begins to move) Now if I'm right, I should find that old windbag down on the next floor....

Moments later, in a subterranean laboratory, the door explodes in off the hinges and TASCAM-Girl bursts in screaming wildly, her eyes like amphetamine-driven pinwheels. The machine gun in her hand bucks like a malfunctioning vibrator and turns red-hot and smoking as she empties a 1,500-round clip into every single surface of the room, save for the table where CyberLieutenant 12-Tracks sits listening to a portable CD player. Laboratory assistants howl in pain and terror as their insides are blown out against the walls just as the walls are shattered by the impact of an endless storm of bullets.

As the racket dies away, while TASCAM-Girl is reloading her gun, she speaks to the CyberLieutenant.

T-G: Hey, what the hell are you doing, anyway?

CL: Why, listening to the latest offering from The Black Heart Procession, of course. By the way, can I ask you something? How can you consistently manage to blow up everything in the room with reckless abandon without ever hitting me? Not that it would matter since i'm encased in armor these days, but still....

T-G: Talent. (picks up the CD eco-wallet) These are the yahoos from California who sound like spooky ambient roadhouse music, right? Ambient country death songs by "alternative" dudes in cowboy hats?

CL: Exactly. This three-song EP is a teaser, i suppose, to hold people over until the imminent release of their third full-length album.

T-G: Yah, these guys are all right. So how's the EP?

CL (shrugs): It's reasonable enough. A bit scattershot, more like existential alt-ambient-country jams with peculiar sound efx than actual songs, but that's the core of their essence, and to be expected, i guess. Still, i believe i preferred the second album, where the spooky sounds actually resembled real songs as opposed to atmospheric "moments."

T-G: So you're saying they don't rock?

CL: Rocking is not really the point, dearheart. Take the opening song, "a boy with no tongue" -- the idea is to be immersed in these country-style sounds, the horns and the waltzing organ, to experience the vibe, so to speak, without necessarily having to deal with a traditional song structure. Their purpose is to occupy a peculiar zone of existence, somewhere between traditional country and experimental ambient sounds, to define a new paridigm of their own, a unique style --

T-G: I knew those classes at the community college were going to ruin you. Start making sense, dammit!

CL: Perhaps i should express my deep appreciation for the drones and desolate slide in "fish the holes," then? That song at least approaches being an actual song, and includes the subterranean percussion and spooky piano that made the second album such an exotic treat. It doesn't really go anywhere -- it just goes on and on, actually, getting denser in its sound and intensity -- and I'm not sure it means anything, but it's interesting nonetheless.

T-G: Okay, that's a little better....

CL: Of course, that song segues into "when i spoke backwards she finally understood," a moody and wildly distorted avalanche of sounds broken and twisted beyond endurance, like a hillbilly tune as misappropriated by Merzbow, perhaps. Most grotesque and somewhat painful, but thankfully short. I deeply appreciate the bird sounds buried in the rubble, however. They resonate with my inner naturist. The coda, incidentally, is a faraway assembling of horns and vocals buried behind amplifier hum and the crackling sounds of a record stuck at the end of its groove.

T-G: So in other words, they have damned strange ideas about what constitutes country music.

CL: Exactly.

T-G: All right, count me among the clued in. Now put that shit down and get with the program -- we've got people out there to kill, don't you know that?

CL: Oh, absolutely... just let me get my magic bag and we'll be off....

The sad cowboys with a pump organ (like a pump shotgun, only a tad more musical) return with what may be their strongest album yet. I have the feeling that if they ever get their shit 100% together that they may yet turn out one of the greatest albums ever made. I don't think this one is it, but they're definitely getting closer. It helps that this time around they have a higher ratio of songs to merely atmospheric noodlings. The BHP's biggest problem is that they've had a tendency to be kind of hit or miss -- they either turn out absolutely riveting, unclassifiable juggernauts of desolate creepiness like "release me" or "a light so dim" (from their first and second albums, respectively), or they turn out wispy and ethereal swamp dirges of questionable memorability. (Their EPs in particular are more like haunting but somewhat inconsequential soundtracks than actual albums, which can be annoying.) This time, though, they're doing a better job of integrating the swirly mood moments into actual songs without wandering too far off the beaten path.

This album doesn't have anything as staggeringly brilliant as "a light so dim" on it (although "we always knew" comes awfully fucking close), but the songs as a whole are a lot more consistent in quality and and listenability than the batches on previous releases. And who knows, i may eventually begin to see some of this material as more brilliant than it first appears -- already after a few spins it's becoming increasingly more compelling. It may be that the songs here are so much more subtle than the immediately galvanizing "best" tracks of previous albums that they take a few listens to appreciate properly. One thing is certain: this album is far more "mellow" than their other two long-players -- only three songs really "rock" in any sense at all, and the rest the album ranges from mid-tempo to dirge, moody but layered set pieces that may make you nod out if you're not careful. The two exceptions, interestingly enough, are the first and last songs, effectively bracketing the rest of the album. The opening track "we always knew" is flatly amazing -- beginning witha reverbed something (bass? beat? who knows), all the instruments come in one after another, adding a layer at a time, until the singer's ghostly pale voice croons, "you want to know / where the truth is found / we try to breathe but life was never found / in you...." It doesn't even sound like a song played by musicians; it sounds like the music is assembling itself into a song from thin air. The song is hypnotic, forbidding, mysterious, and beautiful all at the same time. It may join "a light so dim" as the two quintessential BHP songs. At the other extreme, "the war is over" (the pentultimate song) rocks roadhouse-style, complete with horns and barrel-roll piano, sounding like a throwback to the first album, maybe. The final track, "on ships of gold," doesn't so much rock as it completes the musical circuit begun with the first song -- it's a creepy, hypnotic death dirge underpinned by swirling noise-bass and slo-mo piano chords as a martial beat keeps time like the beating of drums by galley slaves. The vocal effects on this song are extremely strange, especially toward the end, and it's just an absolutely otherworldly sound.

The rest of the songs are not quite as brilliant but plenty sturdy enough, and swaddled in the kind of bent gothic moodiness that has become the band's hallmark. They're a hard band to describe -- i think of them as sad cowboys playing dirges while drinking themselves to death at the edge of the universe, which is probably about as accurate a description as you're ever going to get from anybody. But while they incorporate elements of country music (real country music, not this pop black-hat crap, but sounds made by hillbilly bands out in the shacks of Appalachia) and new wave pop, they don't really sound like either one. What they do consistently sound like is incredibly haunting and melancholy. If you've never heard them before and were going to investigate, i'd recommend starting with this one, working back to - 2 - , then picking up at least the first album as well....

When I saw the name Black Helicopter, I figured these guys for a metalcore band. You know the deal -- chugga-chugga guitars, a couple of "experimental" noise pieces, and some geek screaming about conspiracy theories. I was wrong. Musically, Black Helicopter play dark, brooding rock 'n roll, not unlike Shellac. I use Shellac as a point of comparison because while they don't sound like Shellac, they share Shellac's approach to dynamics. Where most bands, if they have any sense of dynamics at all, go for a real quiet / REAL FUCKING LOUD sort ofthing, Black Helicopter, like Shellac, are more subtle. Like a spring uncoiling slowly, they let the tension build, and build, and build, until the song is over and you're still waiting for the snap!

The lyrical content of THAT SPECIFIC FUNCTION revolves around the interaction between several of the musicians and a man known only as "Kerm." The simplified version: In the early 90's, a couple of guys from the band worked at a convenience store. Every once in a while an unemployed Teamster who went by the name of Kerm would get stinking drunk, come into the store, and lapse into fits of autobiography. The band recorded some of Kerm's stories and those stories form the basis of the lyrics.

In the wrong hands this sort of material would be an exploitative mess. Black Helicopter turn it into a compelling narrative. I don't want to give too much away, but they paint a picture of a fucked-up, miserable, borderline sociopath who is painfully aware of his shortcomings. That they're able to make the listener empathize, if not sympathize, with Kerm is no mean feat.

I should also make a quick note of the packaging. The Traktor7 packaging department did a damn fine job with this release. The case folds out into a pop-up illustration, done by The Unknown Artist (aka The Artist Formerly Known As King Velveeda), of the convenience store, complete with a finger-waving Kerm laying into the band. Swank. [N / A]

Well, well... what have we here? Lo-fi agitprop? Power electronics or bedroom pop? Two guys with beer and time on their hands? Only the Devil Kitty can say for sure. The five songs on this cd-ep are closer to homebrew electronic pop than anything -- Sebadoh with a Casio, if you like, or perhaps a moderately more sinister answer to Tris McCall, hell, maybe even a blue-collar and distinctly American answer to Belle & Sebastian -- but the five short bursts before and after the actual songs are more akin to cryptic (and short) experiments in sound or brooding power electronics in the vein of Final or the really great part at the beginning of "Love, Hate (Slugbaiting)" on Godflesh's PURE (well, sorta, if you squint real hard). The eternally droning keyboards on the actual songs frequently sounds like Muzak (deliberately, I suspect), while loping polyrhythms and pulsing bass keep the good groove going. They get a really swank guitar sound, especially on the folkish "heard" (whose lilting and pleasant vocal delivery hide some genuinely misanthropic lyrics). Two of the songs, "uncle scam" and burning effigies," are full-on political rants couched in surprisingly catchy music; one ("plum and froth") is about, um, a Catholic girl named Annette and her "succulent vulvic plum" (then comes the froth, luv child!); and then there's "ravi wankuh," a hilariously snide putdown of some fool who just won't shut up. (It also boasts the swellest tangle of boss riffs, spartan but tuneful minimalism, and pure-damn swank melodic genius since Nirvana's "Dumb.") The presentation is pretty basic, but minimalism is almost always better than overkill, and the neutral presentation leaves you completely unprepared for the gorgeous melodies lurking between the examples of oddness. In essence: Swank-o-la.

I have 'em pegged now: Like members of Cheer-Accident moonlighting with the guys from Ween in a warehouse full of cheap gear. It's more complicated than that, of course, but what isn't? And it's close enough for rock 'n roll (which I don't think this is, by the way, although it rocks from time to time -- no, this is pop, my friends, but pop in the hands of men who may well be diabolically insane, which is always more interesting), so let's roll with it. No time to get jiggy here, mon.... The misanthropic bent that served them well on their previous ep hasn't gone away, although it might be toned down a bit, and their perverse fondness for creating catchy beats and tunes, only to drive away the emo children with healthy servings of scratchy noise on top, remains intact. The sound of this album is much different than that of the ep, but it's hard to say exactly how -- most likely modifications in equipment and recording environments. Plenty of droning, tweeting keyboards and blatting trumpets from time to time to liven up the proceedings, too, which is fun. A lot of this really reminds me of the strategies and sound on Cheer-Accident's THE WHY ALBUM, although I have no idea if that has any bearing on the festivities at hand. There are more songs this time around (13 of them, to be exact -- my favorites are "Eisenhower's 1953 Inagural Quote," with is gorgeous guitar and squeaky tin-can vocals, the catchy and beat-heavy "Buddy Holly The Crickets," "Soul Hustler - Intermission," "Tell," the swell honky-tonk piano on "Impasse," and the trumpet-heavy "Humans, Ugh!"), and if you're not down with the sound of destroyed and deformed pop tunes, you may not make it through the whole disc... but that would be too bad, because it's pretty solid all the way through, although its bizarre mixing strategies and penchant for waaaaay-upfront vocals takes some getting used to. Swank, intriguing stuff, and the big pile of skulls on the album cover does not suck either.

TG points the gun; Neddal -- already bored now -- executes the minimalist review:

N/A: Extremely well-done mid-tempo stoner-type rock 'n roll. Fans of Orange Goblin, Hangnail, etc., will be all over this.

TG: You're getting good at this.

N/A: Yeah, and I'm so looking forward to being beaten by the hired thugs from these labels.... [n/a]

Okay, i know there's already three million Black Sabbath compilations and reissues out there, all different permutations of the same basic material (mainly from the first four albums), but this is the one you actually need. For one thing, this compilation was actually produced by the band itself for Warner Bros. and Rhino, and it was extensively remastered (with much improvement in sound over previous cd versions), plus it comes with a nifty, fat-ass book stuffed full o' swell pix, text, liner notes, and all that useful hoohah, all wrapped up in a pretty li'l double-digipack package in a slipcase. I think everything from WE SOLD OUR SOULS..., the previous official compilation, is on here, along with a booty-shakin' trunk full of other ace tunes -- basically all the really good stuff from the first four albums and a healthy sampling of the later four releases before Ozzy flew the coop. (The tracks here -- all 29 of them -- are strictly from the Ozzy days, for which i am most thankful.) This compilation right here is probably all the Black Sabbath that anyone really needs (further consumption is encouraged, of course), and ultimately it's the stuff that really matters. All the important ones are here -- "Black Sabbath," "War Pigs," "Paranoid," "Iron Man," "Into the Void," "Laguna Sunrise," "Symptom of the Universe," "Children of the Grave," "Sabbath Bloody Sabbath," "Supernaut" -- along with a good chunk of the second-tier material from the first four albums in particular and two to three tracks each from the last four Ozzy albums. The sound has never been better (the drums really benefit from the remastering), the two discs are sequenced chronologically for your ease o' use, the booklet is a work of art (and includes some priceless pix of the band at their most basic and their most fashion-impaired). They even have "Evil Woman," the track from the UK version of BLACK SABBATH that's not on the domestic version. What more do you want? You need this, you know you do....

I've just listened to this disc four times in a row; that should tell you all you need to know. If not, then: Blacktail are a four-piece out of Boston. The music is mean, like the aural equivalent of that scene in DIRTY HARRY where Clint Eastwood shoots the guy in the leg and stomps a confession out of him. There are flailing riffs, droning dirges, a bit of yelling, and even a ballad of sorts. If I haven't sold you yet, then here's the critic's way out: If you took 5ive's CRP (the disc was recorded at Ben Carr's Odd Halo Studios), Milligram, and Keelhaul and made them engage in a battle of the musical forces, you'd get something like this. Fuck yeah. [N/ A]

A Swedish stoner band? I thought they were strictly hep to black/death metal and the like.... Of course, this is heavy enough (and often fast enough) to be up in that territory. Maybe this is what passes for death metal in Sweden. I don't know. I do know that it's really, really loud and heavy, espcially on the opening (and aptly named) "Thundergroove." Come to think of it, "10,000 Reasons" is just as fast and heavy... it's not until you get to "Blend" that the stoner moves start becoming more apparent (meaning they drag out the wah pedal), and that eventually gives way to... yes... intense heaviness. Funky guitar turns up on "When I'm Finally Gone" and the opening acoustic guitar on "Feels Like My Mind" is almost folkish (!), and "Damned If I Should Care" is an actual stoner-psych ballad. The grinding bass and chiming guitars on the eleventh track (named with an obscure symbol rather than words) is a nice departure from the heavy moves, but they bring back the monster sound on the bonus track "Lose" (apparently an earlier recording that Meteor City talked them into putting on the CD), which impressive results. Weird but good. Consume without fear.

Bliss Blood/Like Wow -- "Drinking My Blues Away/Drunk" [Psycho Teddy]

So THIS is where Bliss shows up after calling it quits with Pain Teens... in NYC, singing old-time banjoule music?!? Eek! But it is most cool, mon. She sounds like an authentic flapper girl from a scratchy 20's 78, only with way better recording. She's credited with voice, ukelele, violin, singing saw, vibraphone, plus stomp and whistle; her partner in oddness, Thomas Truax, not only plays the bass and jug but recorded the thing. She sounds fine, too... must be all those nights of listening to Patsy Cline (which should be her next move, cutting a whole album of Cline standards on one side and old-time music on the other -- either that or death metal). Plus the cover is a swell cartoon of her looking like a Betty Boop goil while hanging in a paper moon with her ukelele, as drawn by Robbie Busch, whose style is sorta reminiscent of Larry Welz of CHERRY POPTART fame (minus all the porn). Cooler than a polar bear sitting in a tub o' ice cubes and something you should earnestly desire to own unless you're a weenie or something.

There's also a song by Like Wow called "Drunk" on the other side, but i have yet to actually listen to it so i have no idea how it sounds. Given that it appears to be another old-time standard and was also recorded by Truax, i'd guess it's about the same....

Pym, M-a, M-w, and the Antichrist are all sitting around with their feet on the coffee table in the Room With the Really Big Picture Window. A snowstorm outside has risen to the pitch of a flickering whiteout, rendering the room unnaturally bright even at three in the morning. Blood Duster's CUNT is playing way too loud when TASCAM-Girl strides into the room. Her boots are more buckle than actual boot and the Phantom-Powered TXR-18203 Class C Gas-Cooled Repeating Automatic Hyperanalytic Freem Gun dangling from her hand is quite huge. She points to the stereo with the gun; M-w hastily scoots over to turn the volume down.

Antichrist (setting aside his copy of BAREFOOT TEENAGE RUNAWAYS): And what can we do for you this fine evening in the heart of eternal darkness?

TG: Do you guys know that your fucking Blood Duster shit can be heard all the way on the other side of the Hellfortress? Like, you know, at three in the god damn motherfucking morning when SOME PEOPLE are trying to, you know, FUCKING SLEEP? What the fuck is WRONG with you people? ARE YOU DEAF?

M-w: Oooo, poor baby not understand about earplugs?

TG kicks the coffee table over so violently that he and M-a are thrown from their couch, spilling coffee on the Antichrist. As he screams about his ruined jacket imported from the Seventh Circle of Hell and custom made on top of that, TG jams the vent-cooled barrel of her incredibly huge atom-powered vaporizer against M-w's face.

TG (her bloodshot eyes totally crazed): I. Didn't. Quite. Fucking. Hear. You. (smiles, bearing an unnerving resemblance to a shark) Would you care to repeat that, please?

M-w: Excuse me, I said it is most terrible that we have disturbed your sleep. We can obviously never be forgiven. Can you be moving the gun, please? The subatomic vibration makes my fillings shake....

TG (retreating back a step): I have a brilliant idea. Since you complete shit-gobbling morons obviously have nothing better to do with your time, you can review this obnoxious thing. Then TURN IT THE FUCK OFF SO I CAN SLEEP! Okay? Do we think we can fucking handle that little bitty motherfucking concept?

M-a (looking around nervously): Ah, well, if... ah... (looks at the big gun) Why of it course it is our pleasure!

Antichrist: You know, you might want to cut back on those diet pills.

TG (sweeping the gun around the room): Did you see that? Out the window? Did you see it?

Pym: What, Voltron?

TG: No no no no no no no no, that motherfucking 900-foot Osama bin Laden! LOOK, THERE HE IS AGAIN! (Everybody looks out the window; the whiteout is nothing but a blank slate.)

M-a: Miss Girl, ah, do not be taking this the wrong way, but you have completely flipped.

Pym: I swear, you are the craziest bitch --

TG (getting in her face): FUCK YOU!

Pym: No, FUCK YOU, BITCH!

TG (firing rounds into the ceiling): YOU -- (pop!) FUCK YOU! (pop pop!) I'LL FUCKIN' (pop!) KILL YOU AND (pop! pop! pop!) YOUR WHORE MOTHER --

Pym slaps the gun aside and hits her upside the head. A catfight ensues, with them rolling around on the floor slapping and kicking and breaking things while shouting profanity-laden hate at each other.

Antichrist (already bored): While they're sorting out their differences, we might as well turn to this charming taste of grindcore. Personally, I fail to understand how their record label managed to get so squeamish about the art and lyrics when it was called CUNT to begin with, but that is of no consequence: this is a fine, fine record by a bunch of young Aussie lads who are undoubtedly going to hell.

Pym (peeking at the notes): "93 riffs and 2068 words." I like that. A band that knows these things is anal enough for my tastes.

M-w: We know all about your anal tastes --

Pym (throwing booklet at him): FUCK YOU! (starts kicking him, then beating on his back when he cringes)

Antichrist (rolling eyes): Father, Lord of the Flies, why must I suffer so? (shakes head) Where was I? Oh yes, the potty-mouthed young Aussie lads. They play a fine, beer-soaked strain of grindcore with less politics and more humor. Mind you, the level of humor we'