Warmer Milks
“Margaret is Blind” b/w “Filthy Actor” [7-inch; Animal Disguise]

With once prolific experimental imprint Animal Disguise Records on the slow burn for the past few years, your remission regarding its recent reemergence might be excused. But with label head Gary Beauvais (a.k.a. throb-core master Mammal) relocating to Seattle, the ADR presses have been kicked back into action and first through the ringer is this new Warmer Milks 7-inch. The two songs here have been in deep incubation since 2009, recorded shortly after the group’s syrupy 2008 triumph Soft Walks. While undoubtedly sharing a kindred spirit with its preceding song-cycle, this collection also showcase a clear step sideways from the cleanly produced Grateful Dead and Neil Young inspired singer/songwriter style of Soft Walks towards a more lo-fi, free wheelin’ power-pop that invokes contemporary groups à la Eat Skull and ADR alum Sic Alps. From the art-rock destruction of 2006’s Radish on Light to the sunny shoe-gazing folk-punk of Margaret is Blind, the Milks have been an ever-evolving group, a band who in the true American spirit were constantly forging its own new frontiers, a trait no doubt attributable to mercurial band leader Michael Turner. The record (limited to 200 copies) comes with an eye-popping line drawing by Beauvais, a guest appearance from Hair Police’s Trevor Tremaine, and might possibly be the final recordings ever released from Turner and company under the Warmer Milks moniker.

Links: Animal Disguise


Prisoners of Memory

[CS; Animal Image Search]

Innercity, hot stuff on the Belgian block, burns his wick at both ends on AIS minimal synth mantra Prisoners of Memory. Much like the jacket hints, the tape is a Spartan affair with the synthetic twinkles of keys guiding the listener on their own complicated journey. Whether the outcome breeds discovery or confusion is not in the hands of Hans Dens, but in the mind’s eye. The beauty of Prisoners of Memory (aside from the fair maiden that graces its cover) is that it allows for one to supplant Innercity’s dictation with their own. Plenty of synth jams lend themselves to tales of the cosmos, of summer reflection, or dystopian futures — PoM exists on all planes in all realities. Moments of suspense, sensuality, and intrigue dot Innercity’s composition, but it plays as a soundtrack to the images in your own mind. Fantasize about the lovely woman on the cover, dream of a Mediterranean vacation, or splash your own color upon PoM’s deceptive drab artwork — it’s the nature of Innercity’s work: to arm you with the tools necessary to enliven and enlighten your imagination.

Links: Animal Image Search



[10-inch; Minority]

Ukelele straight out of McCartney’s “Ram On”? Sure, sounds good. What’s that you say — more acoustic instruments? Well, I guess that’s alright, but where is this go-… oh, my filthy-loving god, there it is: It’s like Fahey is missing two fingers for awhile, then twinkle-twinkle fuzz-dust and vavooom, you’re watching the snow fall and cursing the curfews of the calendar and getting all introspective. Very clean, a new sensation that can fit in your pocket (as long as you don’t mind a little glitter). Side B is a more traditional, more satisfying (in this case) composition. The sample-sense of The Books is there, albeit in a much more majestic fashion. There’s something grand about these glistening echoes and sweeping, grandiose swoops from style to style. When it all comes together, you wonder why it can’t always be this way. But that’s half the fun. Order out, import fans: The Czech Republic has a record for you.

Links: Minority

Adderall Canyonly

The Ascension of Saint Diamond and the Battle of Oxtest

[CS; Field Hymns]

The last we heard from the mysterious Adderall Canyonly, he was mixed up in some heady pop. And though It was a Dark and Stoney Night was an apropos title for the menagerie of sound at play, the lack of attention span throughout the cassette lent itself more to Adderall’s namesake rather than the hazy incantations of dark and stoney. That title may have fared slightly better with Adderall’s newest collection. The latest cassette is a trip into the wormhole, down the rabbit hole, and outside the glory hole. Mixing branches of warped psychedelia, spacey drone, and rash electronic, The Ascension of Saint Diamond and the Battle of Oxtest is the realization that all your fantasies can coexist and can come true. This is finding out Narnia exists — Aslan now some amalgamation of Max Headroom dial-up technology, glitching out at the right intervals to turn lag into cool. It’s the same Blade Runner awe that injects The Ascension, as Adderall has thrown all fantasy into a blender and come out with a viscous concoction only the most thirsty of blazers could scarf down. Gone are the pop tendencies, replaced with the multi-dimensional sound of living in fantasy world. Space and time colliding and pulling apart at once — this is the genius of Adderall Canyonly. He is everywhere and nowhere; he is stoner and teetotaler; he is pop and noise. It’s all funneled through the same wardrobe, and we are all kings and queens of Fillory.

Links: Field Hymns

Popol Gluant

Solo Piano

[one-sided 12-inch; Hundebiss]

If you plug-and-play a lot of synthonies, you may have found the ultimate post-Tangerine Dream/Popol Vuh/Cluster pleasure center to plug into with “Solo Piano.” These instrumental songs replace words and voices with sheer current, then devolve into stretches of samples-followed-by-applause madness (which is hilarious enough not to repeat too often all the way through), recovering just in time to send us off with a deeply rousing cycle that kicks off with almost vindictive pitch-shifting, flattens out into a steady, glitch-filled sample pattern, hits the road with a dead-ringer-for-Pole Position drone, and never looks back. Would’ve loved to have heard two full sides from these guys, but the one was lovely, thanks. Three-hundred copies, natch.

Links: Hundebiss

Vacation Club / The Kemps

Vacation Club / The Kemps

[7-inch split; Glory Hole]

Lafayette, Indiana has its fair share of mythical record shops, aimed at bringing in the misunderstood and music hungry. It must be from these bastions of taste-making that foursome Vacation Club forged themselves — within stacks of old surf, garage, and beach rock from the bins of JL Records or the hodgepodge of Von’s. Thanks to the efforts of new 7-inch label Glory Hole, the anti-Annette & Frankie orgies of Vacation Club are now available for a new set of kids stuck in modern times with whims of living out their lives in the past. VC’s cut continues the band’s beached vibes even as they begin to strike out across the Atlantic with a few splashes of mod culture. The Kemps, another stranded foursome — both by geography and ancestry — channel the dark biker culture of the 60s and 70s with the stripped-down “Graveyard Kitten.” Tatted up with rat finks, black leather, and a kink sex appeal, “Graveyard Kitten” evokes the imagery its title implies, thanks to old-fashioned distortion mixing with cat women couture. That such steady, impressive sounds continue to find themselves at odds with the growing culture malaise at work in much of the Midwest is just what Kilgore Trout would’ve wanted.

Links: Glory Hole

Kyklooppien Sukupuutto

“Kusisessions Vol. 1”

[7-inch; Kissankusi]

It’s flat-out staggering how dry-mouthed and wanting I’ve been for a nice stretch of bolt-tightened hardcore (kind of like when you realize you’ve been hungry for hours); Kyklooppien Sukupuutto go a long way toward slaking my thirst on their own. They’ve got this treble-worshiping lo-fi character and they rarely deviate from it, but they also know how to keep things in frenzied, full-gear mode, so Minor Threat/Bad Brains devouts and even some of the power violence crowd (Spazz-oids in particular) will jive all over this bile-stuffed turkey. I also remember Bum Kon and some of the other bands of their ilk rocking a bit like this. JAM it, brothers — if you can produce rock this contagious on a consistent basis, you deserve better than to wait FIVE YEARS to release your studio nuggets (much of this was recorded in 2006). Then again, if I had to choose between waiting the wait or missing out on Kyklooppien Sukupuutto, well, we both know what I’d have to do: wait. Import-style, 320 copies, knowing punk grins…

Links: Kissankusi

Dusted Lux

Attic Visions

[3-inch CD-R; Kimberly Dawn]

Like a babe from the woods (iconically stenciled upon Attic Visions’ cover), Dusted Lux gingerly walks onto the Kimberly Dawn with an equally gentile and careful two-song debut. “Through Old Growth” is a docile creature, though it does raise its fur and give a threatening hiss as it unfurls its tired body for a new audience. The song is built upon a searing-in-its-passivity drone as piano and guitar meditations sooth the once-frightened faun. “The One You Love” works in much the same manner, heaving its weighty and layered melody out in waves, never quite ready to make a confident, strident run across the forest highway for fear of being slammed by a Mack truck. The tune is much darker than its predecessor, forgoing organic instrumentation for a more sinister appearance. The innocent dear is not going to be victimized by its predators, just as Dusted Lux will not bear the brunt of vicious critics laying into his flesh.

Links: Kimberly Dawn



[12-inch; All Hands Electric]

I don’t remember wishing for a refresh on the Supersystem (please don’t mention El Guapo; it’s too painful) sound, but I’m not going to complain now that it’s here. Psychobuildings are everything you want in a Friday night if you’re young and sleek these days — which I am not — and they don’t suffer for their influences (unapologetic new wave, post-post punk, dance-rock). If anything, they breathe new life into them like an audio version of what happened in that fuckin’ Mannequinn movie (I think there was a sequel, right? Starring, like, that small dude from Two and a Half Meatballs, right? Agree to disagree). Back to the discotecha: If you’re going to thump this 12-inch lady-pleaser in public, be ready to drop your inhibitions like drawers and dance until the cristal POPs like a love-cork. King God notwithstanding, I never could have anticipated how much the 80s would invade the indie sensibilities of the all-too-present. Just go with it, we must.

Links: All Hands Electric

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.