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. TMT Cerberus seeks to document the aesthetic of these home recorders and backyard labels. Access the archive here and email us here.
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Whip and the Body
Self Titled [7-inch]
[Dais; 2008]
www.daisrecords.com
By Mangoon
While the Dais roster is usually reserved for musicians meandering in the sonic tapestries of post-industrial apocalyptic folk, Whip and the Body provide a harsh exception, undulating forth waves of pure noise, exploding bass, and crackling distortion, which converge to make for a self-flagellating good time. The gut-wrenching sounds heard on this record undoubtedly draw impetus from old Broken Flag output stemming from acts such as Ramleh and Kleistwar as well as civilization-wrecking Brits like Grey Wolves, New Blockaders, and Con-Dom, but they also echo the free-rock/free-improvisation histrionics of groups like Harry Pussy and other Load Records maniacs. Members also liaison in Drunkdriver; viva Brooklyn noise!
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Driphouse
Sewer Mist [CS]
[Gel; 2009]
N/A
By Jspicer
The split of Raccoo-oo-oon may have hit a few fans hard, but those in the know were well aware that the boys in the Iowa City collective were already knee deep in new musical projects and label ventures. So is the case for Daren Ho, a.k.a. Driphouse. Ho's latest cassette release under his unassuming pseudonym finds him continuing to expand upon Axe (released through Ho's own Gel label) and his previous numerical Night People releases. Sewer Mist exists somewhere between space and time, the sort of anatomically incorrect sequence that would raise the ire of the Starship Enterprise. Ho's blend of black hole ambience and hypnotic synth drone pulsates in the distance like a dying star. The formula rarely changes, yet the ability to continuously rethink the approach is what separates Driphouse from his many like-minded peers. While many shun the synth's Sci-Fi past, Ho embraces it only to pervert it into a marriage of horror movie soundtracks and warm home movies — it just goes to figure that Michael Myers was once a loved, cherished being and that someone adored watching him grow in front of the camera.
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Paper Leg
Grizzly Peak Part One/Grizzly Peak Part Two [CS]
[Deep Fried Tapes; 2008]
http://deepfriedtapes.bigcartel.com/
By Gabriel Keehn
A solid, no-nonsense tape of straightforward and lucid racket on one of the freakiest labels around; improvised tape looping and feedback courtesy of Trevor Healy, who is technically only one half of the East/West duo Paper Leg (the other half being percussionist Brian Osborne). This is a live set that sounds like it was recorded in a big, empty warehouse alone at night, with the wailing guitar echoing off the far walls and oscillating, harsh loops burrowing themselves through the cement floors and into nests of underground metal insects. Strange and heavy tones occasionally threaten from high in the rafters, but never really descend into the fray. It's not a revelation or a radical rethinking of the avant garde, but there is a type of unassuming genuineness here that is invigorating. It's loud, it's free, it's subversive; what else is noise supposed to be?
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Super Minerals
Clusters [CS]
[Stunned; 2009]
http://stunnedrecords.blogspot.com
By Jspicer
The beauty Super Minerals captures through two lengthy piano pieces leaves me at a loss for words — something I'm sure leaves a lot of friends and readers laughing. Clusters provides two anthems for those of you looking to bridge the gap between the precision of classical works and the boundless freedom of modern avant composition. “Oxygen Bombs” occupies the width of Side A. For much of its runtime, the track takes on a “Chariots of Fire” attitude: prideful, bombastic piano fills as much space as allowed by the low-end production, while fingers transform into the pitter-patter of feet racing to an uncertain goal. The track's final three minutes transition the thrill of the race into the heated pants of tired runners clumsily looking to catch their breath, as syncopated bells and twisted strings replace the twinkle of ivory. The B-side is filled by the cassette's namesake, which dazzles with raindrops of piano keys that often blend to mimic the tone of a harp. Around the 14-minute mark, the track begins to strip away the layers, first unveiling a whirling dervish of buzzes and bends. It never finishes its second thought before leaping into a lo-fi music box, melding together the first half with the middle interruption.
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Real Estate
Suburban Beverage [7-inch]
[Underwater Peoples; 2009]
www.underwaterpeoples.com
By Mangoon
There is something both cruel and kind about releasing as patently a sun-baked record as Suburban Beverage in the dead of a gripping winter; while the three slabs of sunny beach bliss will surely cause some frigid souls to only pine more for the warmth of a sunny day, they also have the power to thaw the hearts and minds of any frozen body caught in their bursts of golden rays. Real Estate is a super group of sorts, featuring Etienne Dugay of Predator Vision and Matt Mondanile of Ducktails, and if the vaguely tropical guitar sounds of those acts have sent you packing for the shores, then perhaps you might want to think of investing in some beach-side Real Estate. Hailing from New Jersey, the duo have been friends going back to their high school days -- and it shows: there is an X chemistry in their music that could only come from true friends having fun playing together. Where Ducktails and PV dabble in more stretched-out instrumental head-expanse, Real Estate opt for sweet punchy songs, all of which are penned courtesy of lead bard Martin Courtney. While the syrupy Santo and Johnny-inspired guitar work of “Black Lake” will conjure up the scent of cotton candy wafting up from the boardwalk on the Jersey Shore, “Old Folks” could pass for a never-heard session of Creedence providing some southern-fried rhythmic bedrock for Wilson Brothers harmonization. Jersey pop-rock that comes from a proud lineage of joyous Garden State song birds from Springsteen to The Feelies to Lifetime. Sure to make you want to jump in the car, open the sunroof, and blaze on down the turnpike (but watch those speed traps). Pressed on pure white vinyl and containing a CD-R burn of the 7-inch so you can listen to it in your dune buggy.
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Lithium Dreams
Omega Prism [CS]
[Monorail Trespassing; 2008]
http://monorailtrespassing.com/
By Gabriel Keehn
A three-pronged synth assault of cool euphoria highlights this mysterious group. The trio of synths wind in and out of each other forming beautifully complex root structures, creeping increasingly deeper into your subconscious. Clouds of higher-pitched wailing and deadened tones blow by above, leaving behind a glossy residue on everything. Occasional convergences of these elements result in elevated volumes and intensity, even making nostalgic nods to the bombastic heyday of the synthesizer, but on balance, it's utterly coma-inducing. Some bizarre touches really set this apart. A mutilated duck quack (that's right), which serves as one of the most bizarre experimental launching pads I've ever heard (which is saying something) is a good example. One of the liner notes claims that this tape was recorded “under the guidance” of some strange celestial being known as the “omega egg,” and after a few listens, it's hard not to take that claim seriously.
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Spirit Photography
Time Is Racing [7-inch]
[Sacred Bones; 2009]
http://www.sacredbonesrecords.com
By Mangoon
What exactly lies beyond the material world that's not immediately perceptible by the senses, lurking beyond the shadows and influencing our psyches without us ever consciously realizing it? Perhaps light beings in our midsts, guiding our actions from beyond the grave and across the cosmos? San Diego's Spirit Photography probe the multi-verse in search of these lost specters, capturing hidden dimensions and engraving them back onto wax, pulling aural poltergeists from the ether of both the late-'60s and late-'70s for the living dead to consume like fresh flesh once again. “Time is Racing” starts off with a steady pulse from a drum machine before swinging out into a lucidly psychedelic take on post punk's Factory Records scene, giving you a sense of what it might sound like to have A Certain Ratio interpreting Chocolate Watchband's Inner Mind Mystique. “Into the Heart Of” sparkles like an Arabian sunset, its Persian-flavored string sound beckons the fiery djinn to come forth after nightfall from their smokeless flame, in turn coaxing you into following them back into the folds of their own shadows. My favorite in the new batch of Sacred Bones releases.
