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CIRCUIT DES YEUX
SYMPHONE
LP 066
available now:
the arrival of circuit des yeux' symphone, from the small, fresh sigh
of haley fohr's wings, has been one of the most unexpected,
pleasurable gifts bestowed upon on us in recent memory (and we're
already blessed). blurred and bold with husk and chutz, there is an
obscured narrative route to her work, and the songs of symphone emerge
with an emphasis on chronology rather than thru decisive lines of
development. it's like journaling (but no blog). whatever teh intent,
the thing is a subtly kinetic creature honoring the most basic,
earthy, and archetypal cycle we have. it doesnt' sound like this, and
it doesn't sound like that. her very individual expressions are marked
by confident force and a gentle subversiveness, and their effect
unfolds slowly. like snakes dangling round a medusa head, wrapped in
blood, wool, and other things. yum. herein lies the dreams. (it's no)
trash ! (go pick it up) ..
its' limited and you can only get it here.available next week:
ORANGE
IN THE MIDST OF CHAOS
CD 064
Recorded in 1978, In The Midst Of Chaos is this western CT free-jazz
group's only release. It would become improv jazz sax player Paul
Flaherty's 1st record, who, as a youth, was smitten by the world, it's
creator and Pharoah Sanders. Chaos is also the only release of
legendary guitarist Barry Greika, who, along with bassist Bob Laramie
and drummer Glen "Hobbit" Peterson, remain the most under - recorded
trio in history. A screamin', howlin', blisterin', slap of a record
that defies categorizations as it pushes the 70's into uncharted
confusion.
Pressed in a quantity of only 200 copies, it received the notice of
almost no one. Two heard it tho; one sailed it out the kitchen window,
the wife of the other said to get the fuckin' thing out of the house.
So here it comes again. Hardcore freeform shit, rejuvenated without shame.
~ Charles F. Destruction
also, this:
KING DARVES
THE SUN SPLITS FOR ... THE BLIND SWIMMER
LP / CD 064
julian cope had this to say:
Speaking of lifestyles, while the so-called Acid Campfire of my
SKELLINGTON period did more for my songwriting than any horde of high
power producers could have, I still gots to say I?m jealous as hell
that the Underground has come so far that there?s a long-term career
awaiting such groaners as New Jersey?s 25-year-old astral beardo King
Darves. Released on De Stijl Records, I was convinced for at least the
first coupla spins of his stuporific album THE SUN SPLITS FOR THE
BLIND SUMMER (sic) that he had to at least be Danish or Swedish,
recorded in the flat farmland of Zealand or Sk?ne, and be as old as
Povl Dissing himself. Not so, however. This young punk?s clearly been
smoking Woodbines since age 7 and necking huge quantities of fine malt
from even earlier. And so, armed only with a Spanish guitar and two or
three mates with barely an autoharp to their names (though sucking in
some sweet sweet lungfulls of backing vocal to be sure), His Madge has
yawn'ed forth a veritable micro-Cinemascope epic and all of barely a
half-an-hour?s duration. Say it and fuck off, or watt? Crooning
wantonly, oft-atonally and always as craggily as Kan Mikami without
the self-conscious need to be only himself (much like Iggy wished he
could have on AMERICAN CAESAR, but failed Los Miserably), King Darves?
debut is a must for all of those who need to feel life is truly being
lived to the full, but don?t have the time to do it themselves.
Shockingly, Darves? earlier stuff was apparently a bit free electronic
(what the?), which is something of a surprise to me, as he here sounds
pre-Eddisonian to say the least. Lahve it.
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