Well, it sure as shit has been a minute hasn’t it? Jesus. I suppose that’s what happens when your Kaptain goes acourtin’ some new-fangled space race dreamscape (Godspeed, brother man) and the jefe’s all wrapped up in Mr. Sam’s shimmy and patient zero is off mumbling something savage about dog piss and tar. Also, SXSW. Always with the fucking SXSW. Still and all there’s really no room for excuses in this Poe and pony world and so we’re steeling our girdles again. Ratcheting down the sense of self-righteous reflection and recommitting to listening long and hard to every single goddamn thing trying to eke its way into the tenor of our vainglorious anyday. And doing our damnedest to say something reasonably intelligent about some of it. Praise Goethe. Rockit.
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Psylhouette
“Images” from In on the Outside
It’s easy for me to forget that at the onset of the post punk death march there was a considerable amount of funk to be had. Not big bad booty shaking love pump shit but certainly a tight slap on the ass with the nervous white bass begging modern man to go fuck himself while the rest of the tenement rejects go buzz and mumble shout harrow heartache or bold-faced political rhetoric. I was thoroughly devastated when I purchased my first Killing Joke LP. Older and – supposedly – wiser, I understand the merit of the tin thwack now and when you couple that shit with some love of lost Can then you’ve got a little something worth believing in until you finally get in on that hot and questionable action.
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Loone
“Moon Under Water” from Moon Under Water, Hole in the Ice
A tender man with a steady hand and a yen for magical faculties (and whose name I fear to pronounce) holes away with a banjo for a cabin, circa Maine for twenty-two days and, in the end, there is nothing at all like madness. There appears to be peace, in fact. Love and wonder and a light twang over a fecundity of sounds found from such a humble (if goddamn challenging) instrument. I don’t know Loone too well but you should know our unrequited lovers in Enemies List sure as shit do and though I’m sure they’re as tempted as I am by the bent wonder of straight dark folk cum bluegrass blues that makes the majority of Moon so immediate and soothing, it’s the wall of black ambience the witch produces as accentuated stupor that really gets the bedroom goat horns shaking.
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Koffins
“Love Wounds” from Koffins
I don’t often dance but when I’m inclined to I’m usually stupid drunk and prattling on about the one time with Big Freedia or I’m all alone and the dogs are trying to get me in bed at a reasonable hour and there’s some broken analog synth straight cream charging the cold out in a caterwaul of punk prospects and scar heel aesthetics. This jam’d be the latter and it’s so close to blowing my brass fillings out it’s a wonder I can call my still muster my name. Good, good shit here. Half Iowa for some reason and pretty much exactly why I don’t get invited to those Void Wang glitter glum parties…among other things.
