Monthly Archives: January 2015

I’ll never forget the first time I heard 2004’s Altamont Diary by Melbourne, Australia’s Black Cab. I was stunned, stunned to the point of total stupefaction. At long last, a concept album about one of my all-time favorite fiascos! And it was great, grand, a total triumph! My heart went pitter-patter. My brain throbbed, thrilled. And I developed a rare case of instantaneous tumescence, of the sort best described by the legendarily libidinous Henry Miller as “a piece of lead with wings on it.”

Okay, so I made up the part about the hard-on. But it really was a spectacular case of smitten upon first listen. And I’ve been smitten ever since. The band’s sound is a seemingly impossible fusion of electronica, Far Eastern instrumentation, and Krautrock, but Black Cab possesses the uncanny ability to strike precisely the right balance between those influences, producing electronica-flavored songs that evoke both midnight candles bobbing on little platforms in the river Ganges and the droning propulsion of those prophets of the Autobahn, Neu!

That’s the great news. The not-so-great news is that their latest release, 2014’s The Games of the XXI Olympiad, is largely a venture into pure electronica. Don’t get me wrong. The album is a pleasure to the ears and was good enough to garner them a gig as openers for Tangerine Dream. But I miss, oh how I miss, the Eastern influences and Krautrock trappings that made Altamont Diary so brilliant. Which is why I’m ignoring their latest to review 2006’s Jesus East. It’s Krautrock-heavy and has been shown scientifically to provoke dancing in laboratory mice, who are notoriously picky when it comes to their tastes in music.

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Sometimes I like to imagine how concertgoers, newbies unfamiliar with San Francisco’s Flipper, responded to their first exposure to the band’s murky and monolithic songs. I mean, like, fast and hard like RULED, man, and how could you mosh to this shit? I can almost see the band’s throbbing toothache of a sound pressing all those poor punkers into a corner of the club, where they could whinge and boo hoo about the band’s failure to provide the soundtrack for them to kick somebody in the head, before finally collecting their Mohawks at the door and heading home. Meanwhile Flipper was having a grand old time, giving what in effect was a great big fuck you to the very people who had paid good money to see them.

It’s hardly possible to say too many good things about Flipper. Their grinding din grated on the ears of the hardcore crowd; their lyrics were an intelligent spew of black humor and utter nihilism; and their singing was deliberately abominable. They were the bleakest, funniest, and most annoying band out there, and hence the greatest band out there, because like their spiritual brethren in D.C.’s No Trend they spit in the faces of hardcore conformists: you know, the ones who thought slam dancing and wearing the same badges and patches made them unique, which it did if by unique you meant exactly the same as everybody else.

Most people remember the grimly hilarious distortion rockers (who included Will Shatter on bass and lead and backup vocals, Bruce Loose on bass and lead and backup vocals, Ted Falconi on guitar, and Steve DePace on drums and percussion) for “Sex Bomb,” perhaps the catchiest dance single to never be played on a dance floor. (Or may be it was. The thought of it makes me happy.) But “Sex Bomb” is just one of the wonderful songs on Generic Flipper, one of the best—and most out of step—LPs of the hardcore era. While everybody else was out to set land speed records, Flipper was slowing it down to a Thorazine shuffle; theirs was no rocket to Russia, it was music for mental patients looking for music slow, sludgy, and unrelenting enough to drown out those evil voices in their heads. Henry Rollins said of them: “They were just heavy. Heavier than you. Heavier than anything…” By definition, a monster is a singularity, something that is sui generis. Hence Flipper was monstrous, and happy to be so.

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Yet another exponent of Baltimore’s fertile experimental scene, Jonathan Badger is a guitarist and composer blending elements of electronic music, gestures from the post-rock genre, and the subtle influence of Robert Fripp into a surprisingly fresh sound. His latest album Verse has been available on LP/CD/digital via Cuneiform Records since last September, and this Saturday January 24th he appears at the Velvet Lounge in Washington, DC on a bill with Anthony Pirog and Luke Stewart.

Like many of his peers in the experimental field, Jonathan Badger’s profile is small, though his list of achievements borders on overload. For starters, he was commissioned to write a ballet and an opera while a student at the University of South Carolina. He received his BS and subsequently earned a PhD in political philosophy from Fordham, studied music at Duke and then obtained a multidisciplinary master’s degree from North Carolina State, where he composed a suite for piano quintet with soprano and computer setting texts from Kant, Nietzsche, and the Book of Job to music.

Please add teaching music and philosophy at Annapolis, MD’s St. John’s College, having his book Sophocles and the Politics of Tragedy: Cities and Transcendence published by Routledge Press in 2012, and releasing a series of albums, two studio: ‘06’s Metasonic, ‘10’s Unsung Stories from Lilly’s Days as a Solar Astronaut, and two live: ‘07’s Taps and ‘10’s Summer Electra.

Oh, and there was seven years of study in Robert Fripp’s Guitar Craft school. Seriously, the guy’s been busy, and Verse is but the newest notch on his belt. It’s his first for the Silver Spring, MD-based Cuneiform label, and the LP solidly documents Badger’s continued development; all of the prior releases were truly solo affairs, but for this one he’s enlisted a bunch of help.

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If there’s one thing that is always on the mind of record collectors—besides what records they already have or may need—it’s what other record collectors have. Facebook, Meetup, and various other online outlets offer a haven for vinyl enthusiasts to share their treasures with like-minded individuals.

Filmmaker Jason Blackmore took this a step further, posing the question, “What do the people making the music have on their shelves?” In his new documentary film, Records Collecting Dust, he engages a wide array of musicians to find out, and we were on hand at the Black Cat in Washington, D.C. on Thursday (1/15) for a first look at the film.

The doc begins at a blistering pace, cutting from one musician to the next in rapid succession. Punk luminaries like Jello Biafra, Keith Morris, Mike Watt, and Chuck Dukowski sound off, joined by artists like Matt Pike (High on Fire, Sleep), Nick Oliveri (Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Mondo Generator), Matt Caughthran (The Bronx), and more.

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Terrifically groovy and chalk full of neo-psychedelic possibilities, garage rock trio Sun Voyager has arrived with devastating riffs and morbid lyrics that echo a sentiment once voiced by Friedrich Nietzsche.

“God is Dead” is a fool-proof expedition into Sun Voyager’s hot, break neck blues. Its wiry noise-rock elements are offset by sweet drum breaks and mountains of wild tape delay that give the song a basement club feel that is half Black Keys and half The Jesus and Mary Chain. It’s an eerie dose of sardonic garage culture that cuts through the speakers in an unapologetic haze of fuzz and reverb.

The NY rockers latest EP, “Grease Voyage,” is a collaboration with label mates Greasy Heart and is available through via King Pizza Records.

Tomás Pagán Motta has a voice that effortlessly cuts through the legions of guitar slinging songwriters with its weary tone, sweetly soaked in emotion and wrapped in inquisitive lyricism.

Previously known under the pseudonym the Petticoat Tearoom, Tomás now seems to forego any kind of inclination to masquerade as anything other than his genuine self and this is made apparent by his most straightforward album to date—the warm and honest, self-titled Tomás Pagán Motta (on Eight Gang Switch).

We are proud to exclusively present the album’s final track, “I Have Been Lost (Reprise)” which echoes Big Pink-era Dylan in its subtle balladry and folk traditionalism. It is also a wonderful key for Motta to play in as it allows him to push his vocal to the top of its register, accentuating the power of the freedom-craving lyric.

Tomás Pagán Motta’s self titled debut release lands in stores March 3. On vinyl.

Tomás Pagán Motta Official | Facebook | Twitter

“In 1969, in Montreal, my father purchased a Lenco L75 turntable and a Sony Amp (STR 6050). Sound quality has always been of the upmost importance to my Dad, whether he was at one of my shows critiquing the sound-man, or choosing the best speakers or headphones for listening to music. The turntable was set up in the living room of my childhood home in Calgary and my Dad more than likely told me not to touch it. Both of us vaguely remember a time when I was around four that he showed me how to play a record but it turned into a scratchy noisy experience and that was the end of that!”

“While my Dad was the sound quality expert, my mom had the music collection. Nancy Sinatra records, The Jackson Five’s ABC, a favourite was Elton John’s 2 record set of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. On my mom’s particular copy, the song “Bennie And The Jets” had a certain point where it would skip because the record was scratched—I still think of when I listen to the song.

One of my favourite memories is of a show I played where a fan brought a gift for me and it was a gorgeous vinyl record of Judy Garland’s Collectors Items. I don’t have a record player so I still have yet to listen to it, but it’s one of my most treasured gifts!

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Guitarist and filmmaker Sarah Lipstate has been recording under the name Noveller since 2005, first in Austin then in Brooklyn where her talents made a considerable splash. A forward-thinking instrumentalist of distinction, her wordless avant-tinged soundscapes have resulted in a series of esteemed releases and interactions with a noteworthy list of collaborators. Her latest Fantastic Planet finds her back in Texas and in strong form; it hits racks on January 26th via Fire Records.

The credentials chalked up by Sarah Lipstate are striking to say the least. She’s played in Rhys Chatham’s Guitar Army, Ben Frost’s “Music For Six Guitars” group, and Glenn Branca’s 100 guitar ensemble (quite the trifecta), teamed up live and on record with JG “Foetus” Thirwell, Carla Bozulich of the Geraldine Fibbers/ Evangelista, Québécois drone/ambient project thisquietarmy, Lee Ranaldo of Sonic Youth, and David Wm. Sims of the Jesus Lizard. She’s also a former member of One Umbrella, Parts & Labor, and for two months, Wesley Eisold’s neo-darkwave experience Cold Cave.

Additionally, Lipstate’s contributed to soundtracks (including last year’s The Skeleton Twins) and performed live cinematic scores, presented her own frequently hand-painted 8mm and 16mm films, created art installations, composed commissioned work, started her own Saffron Records, and even travelled with the Radiolab podcast tour in a trio with percussionist Glenn Kotche and upright bassist Darin Gray.

But in a happy turn of events, amidst all of this activity she’s managed to avoid neglecting her solo output, Noveller beginning life way back in 2005 as documented on Vasovagal, a limited edition 3-inch CDR issued by the Austin label Green-Ox Sound. Since around the turn of the decade her yield has been fruitful, offering splits (‘09’s Colorful Disturbances with Aiden Baker, ‘10’s Bleached Valentine with David Wm. Sims’ unFact), collabs (Live at Roulette with Ranaldo, Reveries with thisquietarmy, both from ’14, though Roulette dates to ‘11), and of course her own stuff.

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