Author Archives: angrybonbon
The Mortlake Bookclub are a shadowy collective whose first release on the brilliant Reverb Worship label is “inspired and directed by the surrealist parlour game Exquisite Corpse” wherein each collaborator adds to the previous person’s output. One of these members is Melmoth the Wanderer. Add to the mix a reading group centred around Dr. Dee’s library and surrealism, and you won’t be surprised to hear I was hooked immediately.
Opener, ‘The Sexton’s Dream’ sets the phantasmagoric tone beautifully: hazed and throbbed electrics, distanciated plucking and a spoken sample that is as threatening as it is cautionary. And it’s this sample that places the Exquisite Corpse squarely in a spectral rurality, where half-glimpsed simulacrums spook and uncanny survivals pervade.
‘Live Deliciously’ has ritual purpose. And I say this in a the same way an archaeologist digs into the land, finds something that can only be surmised as significant, and deems it a ritual object. Here this translates into a vague sense and aural awareness of a ceremonial performance whose importance and meaning is both enlivened and obscured by a resonant dissonance and distant chants. Only a tolling bell gives some clarity that a ritual is happening or has happened here. And no amount of polishing your obsidian stone will allow a clearer view.
With its swirling strings and baritone spoken word, ‘Exquisite Corpse’ could not be more haunting. The reversed voices, the shards of whispered narration, the funereal atmosphere – it’s definitively one of the heart-rending and poignant pieces of music I’ve heard in years. In short, it’s incredible.
Exquisite Corpse is available here in a limited and desirable edition. It’s on its second run so be quick
Here’s a sampler:
Here we are again, that time of encroaching darkness. So happy All Hallow’s Eve, Samhain, Hop-tu-naa, Nos Galan Gaeaf, Blodmonath or Goth Xmas, to you all. Here’s some music to soundtrack the revenants, that scream in the forest and to honour the Great Divide.
Probably our best yet…
(photo by angrybonbon)
Katharine Norman’s stunning sound sculpture:
Night of the Living Dead re-scored:
Creeping haunted wyrd folk from The Hare And The Moon:
EMA on scoring duties for #HORROR:
Mater Suspiria Vision in all out giallo shocker:
House in the Woods. Our Head Technician again?
Creeping haunted wyrd folk The Hare And The Moon:
Tuonela on spooked drone duty:
Terrifying noise Brilliance from The Dead End Street Band:
And of course, to finish, the customary dodgy Goff. Here we have the Sisters covering Hot Chocolate. Yes, you read that right.
Swedish metal is not something we cover here at BBO terraces. However, when one of said fraternity – in this case David Johansson, front-man of KONGH – delivers a beautifully menacing six tracks of synthscapes, you take note.
The wonder of this album, as with most horror-synth workouts, lies in its affective simplicity: many tracks are constructed through uncomplicated leads dancing with grace across foreboding swirls of sound. The stunning ‘Pioneers’ illustrates this perfectly with eddying and airy melodies giving way to eldritchian peril with real bravura. Three note leads evolve with ominous resonance, as siren-call chords warn of some hideous transformation of matter on ‘Mutation’. And the delightful choral eeriness and zombie pacings of ‘Terminal’ and ‘Cataclysm’ can only spell creeping fear.
Four years on from the also brilliant first album Eclipse, Oscillotron’s return seems to be immensely well-timed: John Carpenter playing ATP in Iceland in July and touring later in the year; Goblin performing their soundtracks live; and the likes of Ubre Blanca, Umberto and Zombi in our midst – this is a very good time to be a fan of the horror-synth nexus.
Buy Cataclysm here (from May 27th or pre-order now). Do it now before some killer virus lays us all to waste.
You’ve been warned.
Happy May Day, readers!
From Darren Hayman’s excellent album of last year, based on William Morris’s Chants for Socialists…
So you go to a pub in another city and drink. Complete strangers (a couple) join you at the table. You somehow get chatting (band T-shirts = the ultimate ice-breaker). The conversation turns (inevitably in my world) to music. “What sort of stuff you into?” the gentleman asks. “Oh, sort of electronic, noisy, rocky stuff”, I respond. “Such as?” [Thinks of best way in]. ”Umm, Teeth of the Sea?” “Oh, I’ve supported them.” “GNOD?” “Yep. Supported them as well.”
Enter Colossloth. A bloke I met in the pub in Birmingham. Who gave me a CD of his latest offerings. Was this chance meeting meant to be? Such musings are beyond our remit.
Outstretch Your Hand for the Impress of Truth has blown me away.
Opener ‘The Flavour of the Weak’ has it all: menaced drones, shards of sharpened static, treated guitar, face-disfiguring crunching oscillators. ‘Your Flag Stands for Nothing’ is a sonic pummelling that sees a jack hammer bass obliterating idiotic nationalism, both overt and banal, whilst knives sharpen and cut away at apparent ‘stirring’ patriotic orchestrals.
What engorges the soul here is the plethora of questions that arise as you experience the assembled noises: where did that sound came from? What was its original form? What variety of torture has been performed upon it? What Hammond Organ was cruelly, yet brilliantly, maimed to make the inserts on the album’s title track? Is this the recollection of a significantly bad day in Blackpool?
The disturbing undertow to ‘The World Keeps Turning (On Me)’ could well be a voice detuned and stretched to intimidating proportions. The riff on ‘Of Talons and Teeth’ is incredible in its visceral abrasions. The circular feedback on ‘Paint Her Face to Simulate the Bloom’ is pure pleasure and the most sublime pain. ‘The Nameless Saint’ stands out with its devastatingly heart-wrenched piano and high frequency whines. It’s the closest thing to soundtracking death’s inevitability that I have heard for a long while. Both terror and redemption are here.
This is superb uneasy listening in the vein of Haxan Cloak, a more considered Merzbow perhaps, with echoes of Fennesz.
It’s essential. PURCHASE
The announcement of a new Teeth of the Sea release is always a seismic event round these parts. I think it’s fair to say they’re a band that unites all four of us in effervescent delight having fan-gushed over their previous albums (here, here and here). With the news of Highly Deadly Black Tarantula a collective ‘Ye Gods! YES!’ could be heard in Manchester, London and Abu Dhabi.
If ‘classic TOTS’ is now a permissible phrase, opener ‘All My Venom’ is such. It feels like a nod to classics (yes, I can use that) such as ‘Swear Blind The Alsatian’s Melting’ as trumpet, guitars, drones, and beats build and weave. What amounts to the single from the album, ‘Animal Manservant’, is even more venomous than its predecessor, with vocals akin to a catatonic fit, macerating beats and the lightest of stargazing melodies. If Perc were to collab (as the kids call it) with Keith Emerson I think this would be the mutated, but nonetheless lovable, offspring.
‘Field Punishment’ is the standout on this release. A chest thumping robotic funk, it’s EBM for an ageing rave generation and conjures images of TOTs bedecked in crisp white vests with legs spread in heroic übermensch stances (and a whole host of other Front 242 or Frontline Assembly imaginings). That’s probably not what they’re going for, but there’s no accounting for interpretation is there?
‘Have You Ever Held A Bird of Prey’ reveals the confidence of the band: four of its seven and half minutes are composed of a bare throb before it erupts into another dirty pulsating rhythm interspersed with keyhole surgery guitars. Please note: I give you those timings deliberately as the exploding of the upbeat section has caught me unawares on numerous occasions (twice involving hot coffee). It’s that moment in Jaws when the heads rolls out – you know it’s coming, but it doesn’t mean you won’t jump.
‘Phonogene’ continues the TOTs tradition of experimental tracks with human voices; this time it sounds like an answering machine having a bastard of a day. Final track ‘Love Theme for 1984’ finds the band in more melancholic and poignant mood: a beautiful evolving slab of kosmic Berlin School, with hints of Klaus Schulze and Edgar Froese, brought together by tremolo guitar and distant brass melodies. As a final track ‘Responder’ it ain’t, but expecting something similar is a tad unfair.
Indeed, whilst Highly Deadly Black Tarantula is no Master in its overriding impact, it’s still undoubtedly and by far and away one of the best things you’ll hear all year. And that’s something we can all agree on. BUY
Time for our annual celebration of the thinning of the veil and all that is, basically, a bit Goff. So happy All Hallow’s Eve, Samhain, Hop-tu-naa, Nos Galan Gaeaf, Blodmonath or Goth Xmas, to you all. Here’s some music to soundtrack the night, the phantasmagorical, and the darker arts.
First up, the magickal Wizards Tell Lies with nigh on forty minutes of darkly ethereal sonic mesmerism:
Second, we have eighty minutes of necronomiconal drone dedicated to, nay attempting to invoke, the Great Old One. (Eighty minutes, really? Yes, R’lyeh. I thank you. Here all week. Don’t eat the squid):
Next, with its refrain of ‘Through the trees, witches wander there’, ex-Stereolab member Morgane Lhote as Hologram Teen, evokes all sorts of pastoral horror and straight-to-VHS nasties on this top tune:
Celluloid horror flicks are referenced more directly in this mix by Ryan M Todd; one of six mixes he has done made up of soundtracks from the familiar and to the downright obscure. Brilliant stuff and ends on a real, umm, high! (And listen to the rest while your at it):
And here it comes…watch out…the traditional slab of dodgy Goff for your displeasure:
Have an evil one.
In the lead up to Hallowe’en, it seems apt to finally get round to reviewing this stunning EP/album by Ubre Blanca (out on the ever reliable Giallo Disco Records). If you don’t want to read any more of this review, then your take-home message is that this is a stonking slab of Goblin Carpentry with all the bravura dramatics and creeping atmospherics you could want, and then some. Go buy it.
‘The Sadist’ will be many people’s flagship tune from this release: sinister surveillance pervades the first half, replete with synth sweeps, power chord crashes and anxious drone builds, until it gives way to an upping of the tempo, as something intent on doing its hideous worst closes in on its prey. It’s ace. ‘The Quarry’ accentuates the VHS aesthetic with woozy pulses that succeed in scoring a sense of urgency across the skin and synapses, whilst Mellotrons tell of something supernatural in the air.
Some may baulk at the ominous glockenspiel-esque opening to ‘Fear of God’, but the sheer dramatism of the song as it erupts into life engenders a knowing smile and a desire for theatrical posturing. It’s a tune that reveals that Ubre Blanca know exactly what they are doing with The Sadist and are doing it with a knowing sense of origins and genre. ‘Saeta’ places Flamenco theatre and passion firmly in the horror soundscape and acts as brilliant prelude to the exquisite closing credits of ‘Invocation’ – all shards of ghostly choirs, tensed drums and grieving synths.
When The Sadist finishes it is difficult not to stand up, clap furiously and scream ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ in some cod posh accent befitting the realms of High Culture. Given that Ubre Blanca obviously found their inspiration in B-movie slashers and bucket-bin horror, you realise how far this release can take you. Problem is, you may never come back.
‘Fear of God’:
Parts & Labor were, and remain, the greatest noise-rock band of this century thus far. Don’t agree? Well you’re wrong.
For his second solo outing on Thrill Jockey, Dan Friel, front man of now defunct said band, has coordinated his machines to reflect, ruminate on and represent his experiences of the birth of his son. Arguably then, this is his answer to Raymond Scott’s Soothing Sounds for Baby, but Life is often anything but comforting – it’s an album akin to a sweet tasting pacifier wrapped in sandpaper.
Off-axis opener ‘Lullaby (For Wolf) is the perfect woozy disjunctive for the mayhem ahead. ‘Cirrus’ at first listen is anything but little fluffy clouds with its sharpened bullet beats. Yet floating through it is the sugary, most airy, of melodies. And this is where Mr Friel has always excelled – simple lead lines that are equal parts uplifting and melancholic. One wonders what he’d achieve if he went all-out Pop. I’m convinced Chart domination would be guaranteed. Of course it ain’t gonna happen, but it’s an intriguing proposition.
‘Lungs’ wheezes and pants its way into your chest cavity, before upping the rattling noise and breaths per minute. ‘Sleep Deprivation’ is wonky synthesised mosquito whines. ‘Life (Pt. 1)’ sees our maestro place melody at centre stage once again and results in an overwhelming sadness for the demise of Parts & Labor. On ‘Bender’ that curious Celtic lilt to Friel’s work returns.
Friel’s makes his machines perform the most brilliant arcade crunchstep; this is 8-bit stomping beyond any hipstered discovery of SID chip aesthetics. And once again he’s triumphed.
Life is out on Friday 16th of October. Buy it here