Neil Campbell and Noel Meek
(The Eyes Don’t Have Earlids) [CS; End of the Alphabet]

The idea once went that when music took too long to go to New Zealand, the island nation — full of artists, geniuses and DIYers — created their own scene. It now feels like, in spite of our burgeoning technocratic revolution, we’re still painfully behind what New Zealand’s various bands, scenes, and artists birthed 30 years ago. And that doesn’t even begin to cover Noel Meek, whose self-produced ethnomusicology has blown eardrums and minds alike with sounds and knowledge from regions well hidden from much of the Western world. Yet Meek’s own music is very specific to a place and time where noise was adventurous and untethered from only the harshest of vibes. The same is true for Neil Campbell, whose work — slightly contrary to Meek’s — has revisited time rather than space. Yet the two travelers combine their histrionics on (The Eyes Don’t Have Earlids) and I find myself wondering if society will ever inhabit the same plan of Campbell, Meek, New Zealand, and rationality. Though these very noise-heavy drones are not as psychedelic as those of Campbell’s Vibracathedral Orchestra, they are certainly tie-dyed, Meek’s tones bend those sounds into the very rainbow curve that splatters many a Deadhead’s t-shirt. So it seems to go forward — to “catch up” — we must go backwards. It’s all very Superman-flying-around-the-Earth physics and mystics and I don’t want to get into the scientific muck of it. Right now, it’s the end of the weekend and I want to just soak up all this Campbell and Meek goodness while I can before the news cycle, work week, chores, and school obligations come crashing down and ruin the vibe.


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.

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