Unconscious Collective
Pleistocene Moon [2xLP; Tofu Carnage]

I have a working theory that everyone exists as some formalized version of an archetype. In high school, we used our friend Blair to work this point. He was the baseline by which this theory was tested. In the same high school, he had a muckier, less attractive doppelganger we lovingly titled Dirty Blair. Then we saw Mesut Özil on television for the first time, which led us to dub him Athletic Blair. As you can see, it was a shoddy and yet wholly realized identification of shared characteristics that had everything and nothing in common.

Which is where I stand as I continuously dissect Pleistocene Moon from Dallas carnies, Unconscious Collective. While I hesitate to stick to an outdated mode of thinking, I can’t help but think of them as Jamming Gwar. The photos of each member in their makeup that accompanies the album sets the mood for the jazz-rock three-ring that unfolds over the course of long-winded jams that have enough of a punk edge to keep them interesting and enough soulful, skillful playing that requires a rethink about books and covers and other shit. Ritualistic idealism in the vein of King Tears Bat Trip and spastic like Wally Shoup or Paul Flaherty, it’s an unexpected trip of the senses just by touching the heavy duty record. My turntable was not prepared for its heft nor is the world truly ready for a misleading trope about mis-identity. So let’s make this simple: if you long for the days of explorer spirit with a clear destination (none of that hippy meandering shit), you have your record. It’s loud, chaotic, but never lost. Maybe there’s a bit of Gwar showmanship (without appearances in Empire Records and gobs of inferred violence) but it’s all just emperor’s clothing. I never took the time to see what made Dirty Blair or Athletic Blair different from the person I knew, but Unconscious Collective will force an open perspective.

Kotsoteka // UNCONSCIOUS COLLECTIVE [live] from Fabián Aguirre on Vimeo.

Links: Tofu Carnage


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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