Yo No Soy Como Tú EP
So, I came home late last night and my sig-nif was way-way sick. I’m not sure what was wrong. It was either kidneys or gas. It was, “It always feels like I’m sick and you’re never.” It was in a weird way that, but not that. Maybe it’s how they say the sicker you are earlier in life, the less you are when you’re older because you build up a tolerance. But if you DON’T get sick often when you’re younger, your resiliency over time wears off, and you realize you’ve been sick all this time. Or like the movie the 12th Knight and Antonio learns a new language in a couple hours. NAHH! No way he could no something like, like how Barcelonians have lisps because one time they had a king with a lisp, and then everyone spoke with one to not embarrass the king. Well, okay – point is we all have some weird characters within us: day/night, red-moon/eclipse, tides/flow, etc./etc.
No Babies is tite ‘cause they (five-piece fuck-punk group from Oakland, Calif.) keep it on the real raw with their newest EP Yo No Soy Como Tú on Upset The Rhythm in 7-inch format (PRE-ORDER). To be released May 5, Yo No Soy Como Tú packs a sorta joyful punch in the face that I’m much more comfortable listening to at work that probably anywhere else. If I had it rollin’ straight digital with me on the LIE, I’d probably run someone off the road, find a crossbow somewhere, and hunt ‘em down. LEGIT. Not really. But No Babies ain’t no joke. Grip Yo No Soy Como Tú EP on 7-inch NOW, and keep it on the tease steaming below:
“Suck Out The Reason”
There’s “minimal” and then there’s “techno” and then there’s “minimal techno” and then there’s Prostitutes. Cleveland resident Jim Donadio’s mind-rending electronic explorations under his nightwalking moniker have spooked and/or hypnotized droopy-eyed heads in basement DIY spaces, probably “clubs” somewhere, and your living room for going on four years now. I imagine Donadio with the words “STARK” and “BLEAK” tatted across his knuckles, with the “K” crammed onto the final finger of each hand with another letter, pummeling our eardrums with these words over and over. STARK BLEAK STARK BLEAK STARK BLEAK “alright we get it” STARK BLEAK “yeah yeah” STARK BLEAK (this is where you cross the threshold) “ohhhhh don’t ever let it stop.” As each new element arrives in his mixes, complicating the muffled thud with an extra offbeat, cymbal crash, or synth bubble, expectations crumble and new layers of savagery compile over the ruins. You wonder, “Will it be safe for me to walk home later?” It will probably not be safe. With Prostitutes as your bad omen, you start considering other options.
After releases on Digitalis, Opal Tapes, and his own label Stabudown, Donadio preps a full-length LP called Petit Cochon (French for “please someone help me”) for the Midwest’s finest zone emporium, Spectrum Spools. Check out the three minutes of “Suck Out the Reason,” below, and watch detachedly as your limbs start to move. Cool, yeah, that’s cool. First the arms, now the legs. You’re up on your feet. You’re spinning. You’re cowering in the corner. The track ends suddenly, like right when it seemed to be seriously heating up. Sorry pal. This is the way of Prostitutes. Buy the album, due May 12, and get to know him better.
“R O M A N C E”
With the addition of Nekophiliac to their digital zombie milieu, Pittsburgh’s Postlife collective furthers their inclination for that which moves beyond the realm of the waking.
Enter “R O M A N C E,” an insidious, respawning-within-you-and-elsewhere-at-once kind of love: fricative breakbeats lurch into being, out of an entombed era into this one with reanimated fatalism, graced with pentatonic steel drums evoking the onomatopoeic zen of a Chief Keef banger. Subterranean death rattles underpin the analog friction and digitally-precise hi-hats roll over the surface with the sheen of that which is Designed To Be And To Die. An eerie architecture, woven to unravel itself and slice you up into a Real Life Doll in its undoing.
Grab your copy of Nobody over at Hoko Sounds today – get it while you can; only 25 of these pink-shelled undead beauties walk the earth.
Walking at night, either home from work/train, or just taking the dog for a stroll/toke, you catch a shadow that’s not yours. A part of you sinks a bit, sure. You’re dog doesn’t notice, too busy finding a bone in the middle of the road, so you snap your fingers and tug her back onto the sidewalk; the separate shadow mingles with others.
Now, down in the field by the swings, that shadow is back, and black. Not even a wisp of grey. Pure linger drifting along the other side of the park, nearest the only exit. It perches there for awhile on the fence, the field is empty and suddenly filled with a screeching as a cat or opossum or pig comes running out of the forest, and not toward you, but just away.
The exit is clear. The dog is howling blood. The animal is in terror form, darting back into the dry-dead forest. The escape is flawlessly shadowed by a looming light flickering off, just down to the tickle of your nose. The sound somewhere still rattling and the immediately shut off. Growling.
TAPERS is coming out with a split album on So I Buried Records with Grimm Grimm May 25. Only limited to 100 copies, TAPERS track off cleverly orchestrated songs combined into the madness of night and/or ritual. The Grimm Grimm is equally fantastic. SCOPE!!!
“Live @Oval Space” [London, 14/04/14]
Call in sick tomorrow. It won’t be a lie: after 47 minutes of Merzbow, Mats Gustafsson, and Balázs Pándi, you will no longer be operating at full capacity. I watched the video of the trio’s performance at Oval Space in London on April 14, 2014, and I’m barely here writing this. I’m more ghost than man.
Gustafsson leans over his table of electronics. Sometimes he takes out his saxophone, or another saxophone. Merzbow mangles his freaky oscillator box and commands his own rig of pedals, rack-mounted weaponry, and mixing board. Pandi flits from blastbeats to d-beats to free-jazz cymbal fuckery. They are free, and we are free. Though we aren’t healthy, we have been released.
After the ecstatic assault of last year’s Cuts (which the trio has now adopted as their project name), the gang got back together for another recording. This time, it seems that they brought along one Thurston Moore. For now, all we can do is scrawl one red X on the wall every day until those recordings surface. That, and watch this set again.