Isalo Waterfall [CS; Not Not Fun]

Vincent Caylet’s demise as Archers by the Sea (and as Pistil Cosmos, etc.) continues to confound, but not as much as Isalo Waterfall. The hyperactive Caribbean vibe of his Cankun persona has a strange attention span. Grabbing the ancient club vibes of Not Not Fun and ditching the ambient moodiness of his past projects, Isalo Waterfall becomes something not even past Cankun releases have hinted at. It’s a rabid mixtape of jittery guitar, 8-bit kitsch, and summertime nostalgia fed through an organ grinder. All that’s missing is the monkey in doll clothing soliciting change from astonished onlookers. This is a one-two punch of island breezes and cocained memories. It warbles and wobbles at an unpredictable pace, the bright lights of the boardwalk leading us to a carnival clouded by ganja and fueled by ecstasy. Midnight ravers and lunchtime stoners intermingling at a party with no time zone, just perpetual warmth under a bright eclipsing sun; something for everyone underneath the Isalo Waterfall.

Links: Cankun - Not Not Fun

Persistence In Mourning

Confessions of an American Cult

[CS; Land of Decay]

I was rifling through tapes like a madman, looking for something to give me a fright fix and BAM — I knew a Land of Decay release was what I needed. Persistence In Mourning grind it out à la Neurosis in an endurance test that couldn’t be more grueling if you fasted for 30 days and set yourself on fire. A. Lippoldt’s scream is transcendent; I was never a huge fan of Strife, but that dude sounds small compared to Lippy. A sunn 0))) guitar stack, piano figures, a revolving cast of voice-over talent — actually, these are likely news clips or old interviews — and a cloud of dust. Then comes the beyond-minimal synth interlude, then comes a slow build-up into more of the same. And in no way is that depressing. Later attempts at melody even work out circa Bloodlet’s “Seraphim,” alternating with the screaming in an audio game of cat and satan-mouse. I will admit the time has to be just right for Confessions of an American Cult to make sense. Technically, it should be 4 AM (or later; I’m writing this at 4:30), dark, dank, and you should be wasted on whatever floats your big flabby boat. Lippoldt’s here to fuck shit up. Let him.

Links: Land of Decay


Vital Organs

[CS; Field Hymns]

World 1-1: Hero begins his quest to rid the world of evil while sparing the lives of the innocent. World 3-4: Hero has shed his cuckold status to become a distant love interest for our imprisoned heroine. World 5-3: Where the hell did an army of flying fishes come from? And what do they have to do with this mission? World 7-2: It’s become a test of survival and willpower; how much shit can one person stand in his quest to save a race of fungi. World 8-4: All that work for this? At least Vital Organs gave me the chiptune soundtrack needed to face the godly task of riding the world of an oversized lizard….what, this is a franchise? I have to do this again at least a dozen more times!

Links: Field Hymns

Blanche Blanche Blanche / Bruce Hart

“2wice 2wins” b/w “Songs for Music”


I’m among the Blanche Blanche Blanche believers, but this Bruce Hart character is like a white-hot cypher to the synth-nutz. His compositions so squiggily, his swing so no-diggity, his work on the keys so dastardly — Zach Phillips delivers the combination of madness and dexterity this generation demands, both as the one-man song-squeezebox behind B. Hart and the backup for our lady Blanche³, who is a deadpan tart for all-time, by the way. If you’ve had sick, sick dreams of Ariel Pink felching that big Casio in the sky, you pretty much need to GET ON this one. No one loves a C60 JAM-ASS-PACKED with ideas more than Gumshoe, and “2wice 2wins” b/w “Songs for Music” is one of the more consistently exciting examples of artists taking full advantage of every minute of tape available. Just mash ‘Play’ and zone out for days. (I think the newspaper just came.) It’s all happening — that 7-inch on Feeding Tube led to a tape and LP on Night People, which is now leading to an LP on La Station Radar (a Cerb favorite, if you check the archives), and from there who fucking cares? People are listening.

Links: OSR

Billy Gomberg

Waiting in Poor Lighting

[CS; Avant Archive]

Michael Jantz’s (Black Eagle Child) Avant Archive boutique continues a hot streak of can’t-miss cassettes, which is where Billy Gomberg fits in. Waiting in Poor Lighting is a sinful blend of minor and major drone. Whether forcing anxiety (“Empty Fall”) through snake-tongued manipulations, embracing the fears of isolation (“Dust Taking Leave”) with successive aural mind fucks, or the calm after the breakdown (“Seams”), Gomberg’s versatile tape takes the place of feeling any real emotional attachment to the world. It’s a drug doctors should be pedaling in between Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy to those who are diseased with more symptoms than problems. Waiting in Poor Lighting will pounce on the hypochondriacs and cure them after intensive shock therapy. Consult with your Gomberg; if symptoms persist, visit the apothecary of Dr. Jantz’s Avant Archive for further evaluation.

Links: Billy Gomberg - Avant Archive

Workin’ Man Noise Unit

Drinkin’ Stella to Make Music to Drink Stella to

[CS; DoubleDotDash]

I swear to fucking christ, loose hi-hats and just the right amount of distortion is a million-dollar formula. Problem is, there’s technically often not a lot of money in it. And then you have bands that are being paid major-label cash-money to strangle the sound of their guitars more with every album, robbing them of all feeling (sort of like a dude cutting the circulation to his nutsack by wrapping a rubber band around it a few times). Flying in the face of that archetype are groups like Workin’ Man Noise Unit, who manage to conjure hardcore magic with $12, grit, and maybe a roll of duct tape. The guitar tone of oldie-but-goodie Gravity groups, the drums of old Level Plane partners, and rough-ridin’ vocals every bit as raw as Dennis Lyxzén’s earliest recordings with Refused — that’s a recipe for absolute gold, in and of itself, but there’s an additional wrinkle: It has been blasted to tape, and it actually sounds good (and by “good” I mean “what most would call ‘bad’”). Lo-fi goodness akin to Beauty Apes, ancient Song Of Zarathustra/Racebannon, and the early demos of a lot of groups that eventually cleaned themselves up. Staple this to your face and jump out your GODDamned window, kapish?

Links: DoubleDotDash

Loren Connors & Suzanne Langille

I Wish I Didn’t Dream

[7-inch; Northern Spy]

Despite midnight sessions in graveyards and ghost hunts in the darkest recesses, Loren Connors has created the scariest musical document of his lengthy career. Joined by life-mate and parallel thinker Suzanne Langille, the two songs of I Wish I Didn’t Dream will wring the physical desire to sleep out of you with the unearthly rattle of “Cease To Do Evil.” The morbid reciting of poetry by Langille’s macabre voice is barely trumped by Connor’s quiet wisps, innocuous beyond mood until thunderclaps of anger barrage the eerie calm with freight. “Shenandoah” offers no respite, with Connor’s guitar opening the rusty gates of hell and Langille’s calm mantra calling to the Lord of Darkness. Both have flirted with the dark side before, but I Wish I Didn’t Dream creeps up on the demons to scare them to attention. Whether its age, wisdom, or disease that has wizened Langille and Connors beyond fear is of no consequence; it is now us who must gain the courage to walk through the Inferno to come out cleansed by the fire, our only guiding light the fluorescent orange lacquer that spins slowly in front of us.

Links: Northern Spy


A Silent Stroll On Sombre St.

[CS; Constellation Tatsu]

I went through a ton of tapes looking for just the right sound, and A Silent Stroll On Sombre St. was my final destination. It’s one of the best tapes I’ve heard all year, haunting, lilting, droning, evolving, moaning, groaning, and sighing like the gods above or the rock people from The NeverEnding Story. Rarely do bands manage to instill their drifts with as much emotion as Gimu; A Silent Stroll is as vivid as any lyric sheet and as exploratory as a shuttle sent to record alien sounds. And when it comes time to shake the room with authority, Gimu step up to the task and arm their cloud-burst with lovely wave-crashes and drone-speak. It’s easy to scoff at the prospect of yet another must-have drone tape, but don’t take a pass on this one.

Links: Constellation Tatsu

Jefre Cantu-Ledesma

“Faceless Kiss” b/w “Blut Mond”

[7-inch; Emerald Cocoon]

“Wendy, haven’t I warned you? Stuffing the boys’ heads with a lot of silly stories…”

Jefre Cantu-Ledesma is our modern Peter Pan. Perhaps even a Pied Piper. Trails of devotees follow his every whim, this one occurring in the clear moonlight of Emerald Cocoon’s Alone Together series. It is the first flight of Peter and Wendy, the innocence of adolescence obscured by vivid flights of renegade imagination, a world where youth is always a sign of complete understanding and old age but a sign of sinister regret. There is no one in “Faceless Kiss” but you and the one you wish to hold hands with, as thousands of adoring fans watch in silent admiration. JCL’s soundtrack rushes past the ears with the hum of happiness. The sky is where we are truly alone together. “Blut Mond” extends the fantasy, allowing us a few moments more before it all comes crashing down. Reality will not let her sharp fangs out of our necks so easily, so as Wendy’s frumpy nightgown flows in the breeze beside Peter’s lady-boy physique, we can stand among the masses and admire JCL from afar one last time. His days as a carefree boy may be behind him, but his life as one unafraid to face down reality have only begun.

“I’m so glad you came back tonight. I might never have seen you.”

Links: Jefre Cantu-Ledesma - Emerald Cocoon

Samantha Glass

Midnight Arrival

[CS; Not Not Fun]

The spit smells like tobacco and peppermint, and gnarled teeth foam words foreign to you. “Y’ahll fwum owtta tahhn?” you muffle through a mouth stuffed with cloth. Because these fellas ain’t never seen no “Dakota Shadows” this sharp. Tossed into another room or cellar, your leg tears on a nail sticking out from the stairs. A “Human Voice” becomes distant with each step, and you lay there sweating and breathing hard, bleeding, but not too wet. Smiling you get up about two steps, clench your hands together, and come down hard onto the nail. Caught in the rope binding, you start “Carving” your hands free. Feet next. And thinking about leaving. Never seeing rope or nails or a basement again. Hoping you never saw eyes peering at you through a cracked window. There’s a moment. Breathing.

And from a single chant, other voices quickly form in unison and echo throughout your ears. You untie the bindings around your boots and smash out the window. Being chased now, the “Rain [is] in Our Eyes,” and it’s dark and becoming increasingly harder to keep ahead. You are wet, and your left pant’s leg is a thicker soaked than the right. The chaser has tripped and is grabbing at their stomach violently, and in the house you’re running from, there’s a light in the “Delicate Living Room,” where people stand and stare, you swear, directly at you. But you continue on, toward that high ground, where it’s dry, and the “Antique Horizon” will silhouette a city with street lights. Yet it’s cold, and energy is something less than a mile uphill. Footsteps are getting louder, you’re taking deep breaths, and notice a few blood droplets formed into a heart. “Snow Covered Love,” you think as it’s covered by flakes, and your eyes close. Resting is a good idea. For five minutes.

Links: Samantha Glass - Not Not Fun

Cerberus seeks to document the spate of home recorders and backyard labels pressing limited-run LPs, 7-inches, cassettes, and objet d'art with unique packaging and unknown sound. We love everything about the overlooked or unappreciated. If you feel you fit such a category, email us here.