it’s bound to happen with the weather comin’ down in yee ol’ fist city. dudes quit ridin’ and start clammerin’ up in the house. instead of embellishing my roommates by watchin’ gossip girl, i’ve done holed myself up in my hovel of a room and strapped on some heaviness. this time around, we’ve got cadaver in drag. they’ve been knocking around tuneage/noise for the past couple years out of Kentucky. mr. cope just threw this up on his album of the month club, so the vinyl is probably way gone. previous releases from these guys have been borederline knobs and berries. BUT JESUS DID THEY COME OUT OF THAT SLUMBER. whats we have here is some seriously heavy pysch. can’t really get too far deep into hyberbole about it cause this is just the type of downer album that needs to coat the bones personally. i’ll tip my cap and say that they’ve freaked me out with some amazing blend of extraneous noise/thuddin/ drummin/great riffage. praise be to allah and various milquetoasts!
it was a pretty typical saturday. mez and i were considering the possiblities of gettin a righteous load of boo from our boy pete. about seven heads roll over to my place and the deal goes down. we light, exhale, and throw on some neil young. next thing i know i find josh face down in the tub with about two inches of water surrounding him. it took the breath out of me. i could barely muster the strength to grab his hair and pull him out of the drain. his face was stuck. jim came in and helped me pry him out of the drain. his face had become elongated and comepletely fucked. he was a bloody mess. all i could bring myself to do was kiss his bloody snout.
next thing i know im at a zoo in kuwait. don’t know how i got there and i really didn’t care.
it was kind of smack dab in the middle of some war zone.
i get this odd feeling in the right side of my inner cheek. it was either fluid or another type of mass building up at a rapid pace.
what the shit is it? I start to dig at it with my fingers. i am able to pry out a good hung of inner cheek.
i keep pulling and i start to dislodge part of my gum. i run to the bathroom to see what it looks like.
my TEETH are coming out of the jaw line that apparently was being held together by those ”T” pins you stick into maps.
i finally yank out the whole piece. it looks like a piece of chicken that’s been cooked for thirty seconds.
i bite down to push my teeth back into my jaw.
i ate nothing the night before i swear.
but jesus, i’m gonna eat pho tonight and all i can think about is you!
Scott Soriano has been crankin out some of the best writing efforts in the blogosphere to date. His z-gun/crud crud/static party/terminalboredom contributions have been nothin short of solid gold for a wonderin’ eye such as mine. The first print edition of Z-gun came out a few months ago. Its 100 percent recommended. It contains so many rad reviews that it would be hard to mention them all. Here is the preface to the zine. Seek it out. Seriously.
“This zine’s purpose? Well, it all goes back to science fiction. Ya see, some of the very first zines to come out back in the 1960s were dedicated to leding some ”amatuer legitamacy” to that rather critically battered gener of fiction which seemed to appeal in the main to the spottier and prottier segments of the populace.These early sci-or zines simply took it for granted that a lot of what was held in contempt or simply ignored by the discriminating editorial forces o’ the day was in their humble opine some of the most compelling, original and enjoyable stuff that could be stuck between printed covers and consumed with the brain. This basic amateur zine concept was picked up by a lot of primordial rocker-types too infamous to name drop now (thanks in large part to their own efforts) and run with into with the hills or the swamps, depending on how quickly their tastes degenerated. For decades after that the zine remained as a basement level reality-check on both the mainstream and the underground music scene; No need to run that history down here, but there was always a passel of great reads you could expect to come out every so often that carried a certain gravitas lent by the cranky hyper-opinionated enthusiasm that’s part-n-parcel with that type of gulcher. They also functioned as a sort of short-term nausea-inducing time capsule, for both writers (what was I thinking on that one?) and readers (shit, why did I dump that record?). Well, then the Internet came around and kind of blew that whole dynamic out of the water didn’t it, which for some of us was counted a damn sham. I can’t tell you how much great writing I’ve glanced through online that disappears forever when the site/blog/comments box/whateverhaveyou gets deleted or doesn’t pay the damn monthly bill. Gone. Nutso. This zine desires to come back full circle to that early sci-fi/music nexus, kindled by that sincere desire to expose music that’s got more than a little gristle on the bone. It makes total sense to this reporter that if people are gonna be damn fool enough to insist on putting records out there in the permanent physical world that there should be other idiots willing to complement them with the requisite nagging paper-based rag.”
I’m not tryin’ to be some meta-critic here, but when a publication time in and time out craps out hyperbole that makes a bro cringe, I gots to speak! Sightings was one of the first noisy groups I got turned onto in college. Three piece rock band that dismantled rock with a no wave postulate. They just put out a new album called “Through the Panama.” Gave it it’s first spin yesterday, and it sounds pretty damn tight! Like structured rock song tight! Cover of Walker Brothers “The Electrician?” GOTS IT. But this asshat starts out a review with “In the dictionary of noise music, accessibility means betrayal.” Pull back the veil sir! Buying into the mystic is dead dude! Have fun with this music. Quit bein’ a fuckin’ academic! That is all.
Clockcleaner - Vomiting Mirrors.
Count that shit as LEGIT.
10. Baseball bat
09. Pump-action shot gun
08. Hired goons
07. A deep hole
06. SUV
05. Long spear brought back from recent trip to Africa
04. “A cold .45 on the back of a squeeler’s neck”
03. “Testicle Ripping” Pliers from Home Depot
02. Mace with gold chain
01. Yelling, “drown him in oil, boys!” while chomping on a cigar.