Sujo

Repent / Ondan

[CS; Auris Apothecary]

Digesting release after release from Sujo, my main concern over the last few has been: I hope these guys don’t, in the process of progressing, start to sound like the other bands they’ve been ruling like a dictator (which is why I paid attention in the first place). While Repent (truth be told this is a double cassette but I’ve already reviewed Ondan elsewhere and refuse to repeat myself. Plus, Repent is worth it on its own.) dabbles in more drum beats than usual, and skirts dangerously close to an odd form of blackened shoegaze, which I will call deathgaze, ‘Jo, by Jove, have still bloody got it. None of the ominousness is withheld, nor any of the broad strokes of noise-doom that remind me of that old 20 Buck Spin band, Pussygutt. If you’re looking for a concise summary of what Sujo represent in the here-and-lately, the title track wraps it all up neatly, from hyper-speed black-metal beats to more of those MBV ride-cymbal glides to punishing Locrian aural cavities that continue to rot whether the drums exist or not. I feel like I should be fine-polishing a human skull while I listen to portions of Repent, so if you have one handy, make with that store-bought shine!

Links: Auris Apothecary

Red Boiling Springs

Alaxsxaq

[CS; Nailbat Tapes]

I don’t really have nightmares anymore. Not the kind of where you are chased by a boogie-man or something nasty creeps out from under you bed in the middle of the night. To be honest, I kind of miss it. There is innocence in those night-sweat inducing visions; avatars of a time when our young minds were so worry-free that we had the luxury of being terrified by the fictitious.

I think that is part of why Alaxsxaq appeals to me so much; on this cassette Red Boiling Springs have brought the sound of that unconscious, monster-filled, bump-in-the-night realm to the surface. Here are the whispers and pops of dead voices over a walkie-talkie, the possibly imagined distant scream of something lumbering through a fog filled forest, the deep groaning that seems to come from inside the earth itself at precisely 3:15 AM every night. All of those childhood terrors, obscured with a thick film of memory and time, are here captured on tape to be replayed whenever an escape from the world of everyday horrors is needed, whenever we want to go back to the dreams of dark shadows at the end of the hall and fingers scraping against windowpanes while we pull the covers over our heads.

Links: Nailbat Tapes

Los Condenados

Yeppers

[LP; Feeding Tube]

Yeppers is experimental in the old-school improv style, so messy you know that shit it legitimately unpracticed, so endearing you figure the three in charge (Andrea Pensado, Jules Vasylenko, Walter Wright) have survived many-a knife fight. Los Condenados fuse Esplendor Geometrico synths with traditional noise slaughter that gets messy but never (d)evolves into a Smegma-style, go-for-broke circle jerk. OK, it totally, totally does just that, but, as my daughter might say, “Not all of the times.” A lot of small, soft pauses, punctuated by vicious reprisals that slap the hand of silence till it bleeds. You’re not going to want to go near this platter if you’re working at a construction site but if you sit around listening to hollow laughter all day like so many of us Yeppers could be the catharsis you need.

Links: Feeding Tube

Universal Son

Universal Son

[CS; Drone Warfare]

As a child weened on late 80s and early 90s alterna-rock, I find myself often gravitating toward sounds that replicate those melodies and build upon them. It seems what was brewing at the time was cut short by the resurgence of bubblegum and boy band teen beats. Of course, maybe it had run its course naturally and I just ignored it. No matter, as Universal Son dust off those treasured moments and plug them into the now. Familiar strains of melodious guitar and simple drum beats. Yes, it seems all too easy and clean. Which is where Universal Son changes it up a bit, adding distortion and odd interruptions in the most peculiar places. Seemingly on the track of 1994, Universal Son’s self-titled cassette is curious reinvention not unlike David Bowie; a chameleon able to change color and mood mid-song. Is it a joke on a genre or a forward tear down and repair – one never knows with the Thin White Duke. Though let’s not put Universal Son in such thin air, the lack of oxygen experience at one point in their life cycle has ruined traditional alternative machinations. In their place, this cassette of mismatched ideas that speak to the sum of parts. Much like the rhetoric of this review, so goes Universal Son all to our benefit. Go in expecting the unexpected and still come away surprised in spite of its familiarity.

Links: Universal Son - Drone Warfare

Social Junk

Renewal

[12-inch; sPLeeNCoFFin]

I’m always amazed when some of these cassette-only labels manage to move themselves into the terrifying world of vinyl. But then, of course, these labels never fail to pull through with absolutely worthwhile efforts. At least… worthwhile to them. And to me, the reviewer of said efforts. And maybe you? Well, if you’re a fan of the veteran weirdo-troupe Social Junk, this one should be a no-brainer, since it’s a beautiful wax reproduction of a cassette tape previously issued by the label Human Conduct. But for the rest of you (and by “the rest of you” I mean, “us,” since I had not heard of Social Junk before Tim Wisniewski popped this one into cardboard and shipped ‘er right to my doorstep), prepare yourself for… some weirdness. In all seriousness, Social Junk isn’t for everyone. It’s the kind of music Dracula might put on when trying to get to sleep maybe, but more macabre than even that. Super spare and sparse arranging of generally synth and percussion elements, softly positioned into expansive formless masses of composition, everything in a decidedly minor and morose mode with crawling melodies and electronic swoops whizzing by. Two-note chromatic melodies pervade a lá Jaws to give the album a suffocating blanket of tension, but this is one animal that never strikes: Social Junk creeps ever-toward you while keeping it tight, close. And it’s all the creepier for it, slithering as a snake through a dank, torch-lit sewer of sound. While a title like “Renewal” beckons for something upbeat and uplifting, you certainly won’t find any of that crap here. Instead you’ll descend into the menacing, malevolent presence that is Social Junk.

Links: sPLeeNCoFFin

Papillon

Papillon

[LP; Discrepant]

I have what you might call warm and/or fuzzy relations with a lot of labels out there because I’m not only a Cerberus club employee; I’m also a client! But here’s the thing: Finding an imprint like Discrepant is such a thrill not because you know what to expect aesthetically or artistically, though I’d argue there’s a thread or two, but because quality is considered a right, not a privilege. Considering how keen I’ve been to absorb his label’s oeuvre, that Gonçalo F Cardoso’s debut as Papillon moves me is no surprise, as he is aided by old hands like Cédric Stevens (who digitally treats modular synths on this one). That it genuinely surpasses my lofty expectations is a flat-out shock. What I truly treasure is his lack of reverence for the time-honored customs of outsider electronic music. We’re talking drum solos, long ones, hives of bees devolving into piles of chunked-up corpses, and found-sound town squares invaded by static rumbles; we’re talking the complete breakdown of the post-Warp world, on vinyl. You can feel its columns begin to crumble on “La Cavale Des Chinois.” Then, “Petite Viande” the earth starts quaking; you’re in the storeroom looking for supplies but your special-made shelves are shaking and decades-old cans of tomato sauce are making indents on your skull. JUST GET OUT, MAN! “Le Chemin De La Pourriturre” helps you do just that, but you can hear the distant shooting still. You tune in to the local radio broadcasts and are greeted by descriptions of carnage you can’t imagine to be true. You walk up to your window, unfog the glass, look through, and ______…

Links: Discrepant

Bill Baird

Diamond Eyepatch

[CS; Moon Glyph]

I’d like to teach the world to sing or some form of positivity that will be viewed cynically in our fast-paced megalomaniacal society where one’s social media triumph is also their disaster. But this is not the world of Bill Baird, who blissfully ignorant of trend and tradition, stands still in that perfect flower child moment of advertising genius – without the popular soft drink and in its place genuine awe at the world of sun, trees, hippies and sentimentality. I don’t know if “Trapped in Paradise” is some psychedelic pastiche of this idealism or just me projecting all of this on the asymmetrical pop of Diamond Eyepatch but allow me this mistake if only to live in a fantasy where we’re all holding hands in a circle in an effort to stop the asteroid of division from striking us where we stand. I do know the 9-minute triptych that anchors the geodesic wander of this cassette will ward off the galactic Armageddon for awhile longer as we stand inside our Don Draper dream, oblivious to the bucolic nightmare that awaits once it hits in 1994. And in a flash, Baird will disappear and this future joy we’re having circa the past will go with it. But at least he taught the world to sing in imperfect harmony before saying goodbye to our broken planet. Now brought to you by Coke and consumerism.

Links: Bill Baird - Moon Glyph

Pick-up

Departure

[CS; Ultramarine]

One of the best tapes of 2013, by a mile, just plopped itself into my lap and I’ll be damned if I’m going to skip it because it came out a few measly months ago. Ultramarine is a label many of you know and trust, and while the metal-scraping extremity of many of its releases could be considered an acquired taste, Pick-up’s Departure never settles down and rarely ventures into pain-as-pleasure territory. I remember hearing some of these sounds when I used to mess around with Audacity a lot; plenty of filtering and haphazard looping afoot. There’s a mystical element at work on Side B that slides into the deepest substance of your soul, and as it snakes through the grass it’s easy to get lost. In a good way. That’s some damn-fine choppin’, son! Then the damn breaks, the salvia kicks in and we’re gliding down a waterslide in a flourescent tube, drifting in and out of consciousness. When you awake, a lone stringsman is serenading you. Then it’s over. Flip that shizz, my man.

Links: Ultramarine

CoJA

Circus Bukkake

[CS; Unit Structure Sound Recordings]

All right, so you have a serious question to ask yourself, and that is this: “Am I really reading about and considering listening to an album called Circus Bukkake?” If the answer is yes, then read on: This is one crazy, crazy, crazy cassette tape. A trio of Canadian dudes that feel like they are collectively sprinting – while at the same time spinning themselves around in circles – in a high-speed blender – to nowhere in particular. Guitars? Drums? Keyboards? Saxophones? *scratches noggin. Every sentence I write from here on out might have to end with a question mark? Grasping. I am grasping for straws to figure out how and why, but lo: It is there, it does exist, and actually, for the utter catastrophe that it is, it’s also pretty fun. If you don’t mind a tape belching and screaming obscenities at you on a regular basis and can get past the fact that absolutely nothing about this band makes any kind of sense… then and only then will something like Circus Bukkake be worth your time. I can tell you with a degree of certainty that it was worth my time, if only to open the J-Card and read some of the song titles. I’ll leave you with a couple to give you an idea:

“Lick My Toad”
“Touch My Sludge”
“In the Wrong Hole”
“Ejaculation Snuggle”

If you’re still here reading this… thanks, I guess. Have fun!

Links: Unit Structure Sound Recordings

Sam Shalabi

Mindlessness

[2xCS; Los Discos Enfantasmes]

If you’ve been loving those Discrepant found-sounders (Gonzo/Lowdjo/Kink Gong) and Daniel Padden over the last few years Sam Shalabi’s Mindlessness double-tape is going to boil your bunny. But don’t take my word for it; read up on Shalabi a bit. He’s crusaded with Silver Mt. Zion and moonlighted as Shalabi Effect, but here we have him all to ourselves. This is one of the functions of the tape community, offering light to work that needs room to stretch and unfurl its complex intentions fully. I wish I could just sit down with you (yes, reader; you) over tea and explain this, but since there’s not enough time for that I’ll have to deliver it to you in shorthand. Based mostly on vocal and instrumental samples, Mindlessness seeks to draw the listener in while encircling the ranks; before you know it you’re surrounded by string squeals and pick-chipping, and there’s that voice, that eternal voice, reporting to us on lord knows what. It’s like Haves & Thirds if you replaced their beats with stand-up bass and a ghost orchestra. Oh, did I mention that’s only Side A of the first tape? Yeah, that’s probably the tamest audio you’ll find wherein; a simple flip of the cassette and you’ll wonder if you’re stumbling into a game of peppermint percussion, mid-conversation mind-porno. Then a voice sample starts talkin’ ‘bout September 11 and Jerusalem and Muslims and… Don’t ask, just find a way to listen, OK?

Links: Sam Shalabi - Los Discos Enfantasmes
  

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In this ever-expanding musical world, there's a wealth of 7-inches, cassettes, CD-Rs, and objet d'art being released that, due to their limited quantities and adventurous sonics, go unnoticed by the public at large. Cerberus seeks to document the aesthetic of these home recorders and backyard labels. Email us here.