Eggs, Eggs
Make Yourself [LP; Feeding Tube]

I don’t have any qualms with Eggs, Eggs, but that’s more a sign of my problems than an indication of any semblance of accessibility. Make Yourself is weird and involuntary, like sneezing and sharting at the same time then puking on your dog’s asshole. The singer, like Eric Paul before him, has no shame whatsoever, and unloads his every demon onto his microphone. The super-blurry drones behind him are the most impressive aspect of this particular Eggs, Eggs product (there were 13 or 14 in 2012 alone, ya dig?), a lone cello carving out a distinct presence, augmented by atmospheric drone-cake and several indistinct shadows, some of which sound like a garage-band boombox jam five houses down, barely audible even to your dog (which still has puke all over it; dude). Cave Bears and Dylan Natzinger, unite!

Links: Eggs, Eggs - Feeding Tube



[12-inch; Dark Entries]

Inhalt’s Vehicle is the first non-reissue I’ve heard from Dark Entries but you’d never know it. Aside from some additional production gloss this easily could have emanated from the early 1980s; German to the core and set to the time of a twitching clock. Synths, gloomy, dark nights, heartache, more synths, sin, regret, heartache, more synths… Even if you’ve heard other examples of it recently that don’t set as high a bar, don’t hold that against Inhalt, as they transcend the hype by whipping you into a trance and holding you, cross-eyed, until they let you down not-so-gently at the end of each side. They use the technology of modern times to jump-kick their compositions to life, rather than adorn them to death. Love the exploratory key strokes of “Walking on Glass,” though each track makes its case. If you know this label you know what to expect, and you will be rewarded here.

Links: Dark Entries

Birds of Passage/Je Suis Le Petit Chevalier/Motion Sickness of Time Travel/Aloonluna

Taxidermy of Unicorns

[2xCS; Watery Starve]

The dearth of women in experimental music is a gap worth bridging. In the sausage party of drone and minimalism (any any outsider form of musical art you care to reference), the list of women as creators grows, even if recognition remains stunted. Lynn Fister’s Watery Starve label (of which Cerberus has had a love affair with since its first beautiful cassette hit our mailbox) has said poppycock to such notions, Taxidermy of Unicorns a resounding testament to four notable women creating thoughtful and boundary erasing music. Though remarkably feminine in timbre, there’s a fair amount of bravado to each side. The breathy pop drone of Alicia Merz’s Birds of Passage is a confident reminder that melody and romance can be as provoking as the louder, aggressive males of the species. Je Suis Le Petit Chevalier stands as the meditative representation of Félicia Atkinson, “Sauna Fauna” wavering little from its pensive pose; stalwart in its resolve to exist in a world seemingly keen on ignoring it. Rachel Evans has emerged as one of the boys with Motion Sickness of Time Travel, but here she showcases the womanly wiles of synth and space; a piece as seductive as it is tough. Fister’s own Aloonaluna is most braggadocios, beginning as a buzzing taunt before bullying the noise world into synthetic submission. What’s most remarkable with the musical gender bending is not that Taxidermy of Unicorns serves as a reminder not only to James Brown’s shortsighted edict but to the supposed lack of women able to cut it in the all-encompassing hap-dash of experimental music. These four women, beyond biology, are exceptional musicians. Fister’s curatorial touch in managing this immaculate package may showcase a feminine touch but there’s only so many beards and slam dances a man can stand. This is a take notice moment and seemingly the man’s world is doing just that.

Links: Watery Starve



[CS; Haute Magie]

The sensual mysticism embodied by the cover art for OObe’s Delphi reaches deep into the Italian outfit’s tape. Rather than focus on its witch house and slow dub touchstones, Delphi brings with it a sense of body-at-motion. A mix of dance and mash-up that encompasses the lengthy dole of love. At times dripping with romantic schmaltz, at most times brimming with the sexual buzz of two close bodies; the build-up before the release. This talk might paint me as some old-time romantic but so what? Delphi doesn’t go so far as to be the soundtrack to a night of lit candles, fine dining, and love making but it would be fantastic sloppy late night make-outs and spontaneous sex. You lock eyes with someone at the [club/house party/back alley/crack house] and its electric. Take ‘em back to your one-room home, blast this bewitching tape hex and rip off each other’s clothes as if there’s no tomorrow. But there is and though the harsh light of the walk of shame may seem unbearable come morning, it’ll wither when you remember the primal force of OObe. It’s the Axe Body Spray of cassette tapes but I promise through all its warps and weirdness it will be the go-to aphrodisiac.

Links: OObe - Haute Magie

Sounding The Deep

Return to the Quiet

[LP/CS; Sonic Meditations]

Sounding The Deep, helmed by David Williams, combine the tact of certain post-rock constituents (Continental, Lanterna) with the soulful guitar work of the usual suspects (Fahey, etc.), creating a whole new reason to forget about lead singers and sink into the strings. Return to the Quiet couldn’t be more unassuming. Not too many twists, not too many turns, just an ongoing thrust of thoughtful riffs and delicate changes that gains surprising momentum. The instinct is to crave more atmosphere, more ____, and that’s just the thing – you don’t need it. And there are sections, chiefly “Bestow,” wherein the mellowness recedes and a fiery, finger-picking avalanche tumbles over. Then you’re fuckin’ hooked. Not all-the-time music, Return has its time and place. Pre-dawn is best, from my experience. Three-hundred copies, if you must know.

Links: Sounding The Deep - Sonic Meditations


Resurrection Wars

[2xCS; Los Discos Enfantasmes]

It’s good to be challenged, but it’s also nice to get what you want. Music such as that of Pengo used to challenge me, but now it’s just what I want. Fuckin’ A!! But seriously, it’s like entering the room with a hail of gunfire when you lead off your (double) tape like this, blistering the ear-holes with withering effects and HUGE chunks of arctic bass and laser-sharp synth metrics. The extra ingredient is care. Side B is more of a mellow-gold trot, led by dapper drums, watery blurts of strange noise, de-tuned guitar, and a prevailing rule: each instrument must drop in and out of the mix at random times then reappear like a stalker ex-girlfriend back from the dead. Soon we’re headed down a spiral staircase of the mind, escorted by lonely guitar figures and Doug Yule bass. This is where Resurrection Wars swallows your mind whole, never to let go. Seventy-five copies to hold and cherish; or just one, if you hurry.

Links: Los Discos Enfantasmes

Coyote Image Medicinals

Coyote Image Medicinals

[3-inch CDR; Kimberly Dawn]

Under the cloak and dagger of surprise, the wily duo of Grant and Rachel Evans deliver suspenseful spoonfuls of static drone and reverb as compositional outfit Coyote Image Medicinals. The 20-minute swelter is a good tonic for the shattered nerves, caused by keeping up with the duo’s many guises. But here, I surrender. I take the hemlock and swallow it triumphantly. But I do not die, I slip into a world both drowsy with weight and light with hope. That Grant and Rachel refuse to fall in line with their more considerable projects and nom de plumes is worth the calculated risk; that they continually succeed and supersede should warrant no more frayed and jittery prose. Let me awake from my poisoned slumber and echo this: Evans’ aren’t deceitful or tricky. They put it in our faces, pour it down our throats, and let us taste the sweet nectar disguised as suspicion. But no matter the name or title, we are all now a part of the ruse. No matter the elixir, it is pure and chaste. All hail the King and Queen, bah, The Alpha and Omega!

Links: Coyote Image Medicinals - Kimberly Dawn

Digital Natives


[CS; Avant Archive]

Jeff Astin (gentleman to some, homey to most) returns with brolific moniker Digital Natives, a strange blend of Doc Moreau pop and vaporwave machismo. Yeah, it’s a lot of Sanford and Son hogging Coppeecuffs but the kitchen sink melodies and off-kilter sing-song of appropriated samples and junkyard beats is righteous with indignation. This tape cares not for convention or tradition; it’s carving its own in the same vein as Found Footage, et. al. Tropicalia, weirdo freakouts and island pop all weave in and out of this third-world boogie of one man’s trash becoming our treasure. To hell with your bourgeois thoughts, cut loose and tear one on with Dude Extraordinaire Astin.

Links: Avant Archive

Plankton Wat

Mirror Lake EP

[One-sided 12-inch; Sound of Cobra]

If you’ve been paying attention to the onslaught of Sound of Cobra one-sided 12-inches, by the likes of Expo 70, Hell Shovel, and others, you already know how fast the damn things sell out. You also, surely, know that they’ll deliver the goods, and old hand Plankton Wat step on board with a searing platter of songs in the key of acoustic. Not quite Fahey, not quite Six Organs, not quite Mason Lindhal, not quite anything you’ve heard, really, but you get the idea. They pull back and let the strings breathe then hook you with the blow-back, slow-pickin’ their way to elite indie status only bolstered by their past output on holier-than-Yeh imprints Stunned, Digitalis, Sweat Lodge Guru, and Blackest Rainbow. A little soft-light bubble-drums go ‘pop’ and “Moonlight” suddenly seems lifted from a different album, if not dimension. “Lone Pines” then closes the bar with more of that soulful guitar. What can I say? Solid as a rock, strong as it can be.

Links: Plankton Wat - Sound of Cobra


Demokrati Eller Diktatur?

[7-inch; Beach Impediment]

As a late-1970s porn actress might have casually said, Oh fuck yeah: Desperat, on Demokrati Eller Diktatur?, play hardcore, bare-bones style, and manage to make that work in the here-and-nizzle. That’s rare as hell, and the Tom Araya vocals (in fact one might liken the Desperat sound to that of Slayer’s hardcore-saluting Undisputed Attitude) smear sonic blood all over the trebly guitars and light helpings of bass. As far as current acts go it reminds me of that one-sided White Shit record from a few years yore but without the surreal touch, along with Kyklooppien Sukupuutto 7”, a previous Cerberus treasure. It’s possible I’m merely isolated, but I don’t hear many records like this anymore, totally transcending the good-enough-to-be-a-local-staple-but-not-noteworthy-overall curse that so many hardcore/punk/etc. bands are under (for evidence search old used 7-inch bins dry-er than your grandma’s cooch; you’ll doubtlessly find several also-ran-ish, technically ‘heavy’ records with black jackets) despite the advanced age (we’re talking rock ‘n’ roll years here) of Desperat’s members. Glad this exists.

Links: Beach Impediment

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.