Friday, July 18, 2014
Form A Log
For The Record LP
US: $15 postage paid (paypal firstname.lastname@example.org)
WORLD: contact me first for actual shipping cost
"We reside on a planet, in a time, where it feels as though nearly every avenue, artistically, has been explored. But every now and again, and artist or group of artists comes along and shakes things up, breaks in new ground, and allows a different view of the art at hand.
Form A Log‘s members’ (Ren Schofield, Noah Anthony, and Rick Weaver) projects, such as God Willing, Container, Profligate, The New Flesh, and Dinner Music have been highly revered over the years for their ability to stand out from the crowd. Form A Log is no exception, and takes the member’s abilities to carve their own niche to the next level.
Form A Log doesn’t come across like they’re developing a certain brand, instead they make moves more akin to forefathers Captain Beefheart, Butthole Surfers, or even Kraftwerk; fearlessly making imaginative music that soars above classification. Form A Log‘s debut album for Bathetic isn’t something that can be casually explained, it’s more for the listener to delve into and explore in their own headspace.
What you have here is an exceptional record that plays by its own rules. Bending weirdo folk jangle into electronic aplomb, gritty dirt-scapes drift below the surface while the incantations of outworld-dwellers bounce in and out of the shadows. While it’s a truly strange record, it is not impenetrable or too obscure to get behind. At times there’s visions of basement dance parties, everyone lives, everyone loves, everyone loses their minds. Other times we’re taken to backseat car rides, exploring zones we might not be our safest in.
It’s an adventure of an album, and based on cred alone, one that everyone should at least be tempted to touch, however, once you’ve dug in and it grips your noggin, you’ll be surprised where you may end up." -Bathetic
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Feast of the Epiphany
Reissue b/w unreleased material.
Indivinity II is an early full-length extract from Nick Podgurski’s (New Firmament, Feast of the Epiphany) flawless solo output. It backtracks and builds upon 80s’ production habits when gated reverb was newborn. Cultivating and fogging his sources with inorganic effects, Podgurski creates a live pumping heart. Expressive nerve-foliage of polyrhythm-units and percussion are mixed with vertiginous balance. Buried ambiance, melodies, and vocals are perfectly situated in the trance. Focus shifts from facet to facet in the emulsion of mixes, dense with overdubs and cross-pollinating rhythms. The tracks are akin to sculpture, complete stereophonic pictures fully arrive, their lush topography moving from lucidity to blur, ears scanning and darting like eyes from sound to sound. The sum is complex, comely, and expressive.
c54 - professionally duplicated - limited to 100 copies.
US: $8 postage paid (paypal “gift” to email@example.com)
WORLD: contact for actual shipping
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Reincarnating lost limbs of (D)(B)(H) in the sextet shuffle where improvised mobility and collaborative crossroads wag, wink, and squint a come-hither. The air in Russian Recording Studio, July 20tth, 2012, is occupied by the deliberate exhalations of cymbals, saxophones, box fan, trumpet, prepared cassette, harmonica, piano, percussion, plastic balls, and other objects, electric and acoustic. They are made useful in the hands, at the feet, and between the lips of Justin Rhody, Marty Belcher, Daniel Wick, John McCormick, Joe Stone, and Chris Rall. No instrument is matched with a fellow, leading one to speculate the phantom unit winding through the jungle gym without personal property rights, stitching the stream of subconscious, in the studio forest, not without manners or sense of historical timing, picking opportune moments to swap 88 keys for a ping-pong ball, an eruption of rhythm and tone for call and response tempo modulation, an alluring melody for a scuff. The greatest moments of impact are filled with dead air, where my self is drawn into a soft painting of a fatigued horizon where the Sun rises too soon for recovery, nearly clean cobblestone moss, a pinch of unearthliness…only to be startled by minor scuffles between brass and cassette. A real "dreamer" of a session.
Cover photograph by Vinnie Smith. Professionally duplicated 58 minute cassette. Limited to 100 copies.
US: $8 postage paid (paypal "gift" to firstname.lastname@example.org)
WORLD: email me for actual shipping
Monday, March 18, 2013
ltd. 100 copies. professionally duplicated. second press / reissue of Forced into Femininity's (Jail Flanagan) exquisitely charged and frantic masterpiece "Messiah of Evil". Perfect in every aspect. Jail maximizes the BPM and violently zooms thru some extreme arpeggiated progressions, mystery modifications, and choreographed mania. Her lyrics lash the horrors of reality ('my friends, I've stuck lightning in my head and my dreams are full of sorrow / yes my dreams could end tomorrow / I hold my hand over the candle until the flesh starts to bubble / my friends, I'm sick and I'm wretched / can't shake this rage that's twisting my bones, distorting my skull' -from the title track). Messiah of Evil is a document of the highest of extreme energy and singular expression.
US: $8 postage paid to email@example.com (paypal "gift") or purchase thru the artist: facebook.com/pages/Forced-into-Femininity/140281266012764
WORLD: $5 plus actual shipping.
"Rarely I heard such maniac music. Messiah of Evil, also a psychedelic horror film from 1973, is also the musical outlet of Jail Flanagan from the United States. Nine songs fill a tape with ultra-fast synthesizer melodies, tossed beats and a screaming voice that attempts opera classics to give a new look. The maniacal in music grabs me straight to the throat and makes me flip the tape over and over again. The music is shaky, has influences from old hard-core punk, opera, experimental music and is just... complete madness."
-Vital Weekly (JKH)
"A pagan pig-murder parasitic party in your ears!"
"One transgendered woman in a crude dress of silver wrapping paper dances, writhes, poses, and sings in falsetto with a computer emitting abstract and abrasive digital sounds. The beauty of irrational urges has rarely been delivered so honestly." -Russian Tsarlag