This is probably one of the worst songs ever recorded. If those vocals were ever in the general vicinity of in key, it might not be awful. But this here again shows that talented bands don't always need to flex their talents. Happy New Year...blech.
Either way, Fille Qui Mousse has garnered a good deal of praise since the reissue of its Trixie Stapleton album, which was initially released during the early seventies. Some have gone as far as to figure the band ranks up there with experimental stalwarts like Faust or Can. That, however, is simple hyperbole. And considering Ame Son – another French group from around the same time which issued work through the BYG imprint - is endlessly more engaging, the hype might just be hype and not too much more.
These guys sound like the antithesis of the holiday spirit. Good. There's nothing quite like a ten minute song about getting high - well, apart from a forty minute song about getting high. But that was already posted a while ago.
Fronted by a surprisingly sprite-like women named Jinx, the band trucked in spacey rock music, not totally removed from the San Francisco thing, but decided to lyrically focus on things of a Satanic nature. Going back to that Cheetah Chrome book, he recounts the final track on this debut. But really the track’s a bummer – as is most of the disc.
That being said, these two discs mark the final few efforts from Brian Wilson before he receded into the background during the seventies allowing for Dennis Wilson to stretch out some lyrical and musical ideas that worked pretty well despite never receiving a tremendous amount of commercial success.
There’s nothing completely embarrassing about Egg’s second album, entitled The Polite Force. But at the same time, your stoner uncle might be found sitting around after Christmas dinner listening to the album. Again, that doesn’t make it instantly bad. And in fact, if we were to examine the disc in relation to its ability to be sampled, it’d be a classic. Unfortunately, the most impressive thing about the band as a whole is the fact that Steve Hillage passed through its ranks prior to the band becoming solidified.
Of course, having Daevid Allen involved in a project – in any capacity – is bound to rack up some interest. So, it’s surprising that the group’s initial release was ignored upon its release and slunk off into anonymity. As with any other space aged re-release, a digitally based collectorly interest has spurred on not just the dissemination of Can Am Des Puig’s The Book of AM, but also discussion of its multi-cultural import.
The thing is, in a few decade’s time, people are going to look back at whatever ranks as popular rap tracks at this point and wonder what the difference between those works and stuff from a few years earlier actually is.
At some point there really ceases to be any sort of actual innovation and change – a time when a form is accepted and people work it to a breaking point. Not to diminish the recordings the Moonrakers raved up, but that seems to be the group’s legacy – fortunately or not.
Issued in 1969, Moonrakers seem to have spent as much time soldering together their shiny outfits and doing their hair as they did making original music for inclusion on Togheter with Him. Now, don’t figure this for a later day psych version of the Monkees. It’s not. “Not Hidin’ Anymore” and its bridge should be more than ample proof of that. The vaguely tripped out section hints at the band spending time getting high while fixing their hair at least.
For being so bloody young, hearing the harmonies on “Tuffy” gets to be a bit surprising. Of course, the fact that these girls wrote a batch of songs and had the gumption to record ‘em all is just as shocking. Like other efforts here, Williams and Christner actually work up what amounts to a few disparate portions of the song. Moreover, each is kinda memorable. It seems the song’s about Tres asking her dog about going to Kitsy’s house and having a party. I don’t know where her parents are or why she’s asking a dog, but it’s pretty amusing.
Granted, it’s pretty difficult to get any sort of real idea about how the band was perceived by its peers seeing as pretty much all that exists are laudatory pages recalling the good ole days and blogs posting this pair of works. But it’d be kinda safe to guess that there was a modicum of success, just not like KISS or the Stones or whatever other dinosaur rock band was kicking around during the early seventies.
There've been a great many Zam-Rock reissues. Witch, though, might have the most range and consistency. The band's able to assimilate native rhythms and Western rock stuffs pretty well. It's boss.
These ladies had one of the most productive 2010s on the books. Who knows if they're set to make the rounds on various top ten lists. They should and "Tattoo" is one of the reasons why.
Melcher was a producer and engineer, running a label extolling the virtues of some trippy garage stuff. And frankly, Manson’s folksy rock stuffs would have fit in pretty well with some of the other fair. After discovering the true nature of this cultish leader, though, Melcher and his buddy Dennis Wilson kinda avoided the guy. And it was that – in addition to obvious mental instability – that resulted in the Manson Family Murders.
What that did, apart from announce the end of the touchy, feely sixties was to ostensibly disrupt Melcher from working with groups and producing new music. Too bad for Public Nuisance. ‘Cause if that hadn’t happened, all involved might now be talking about these Sacramento natives as much as the Seeds or whoever else when attempting to suss out a garage rock properly predating the punk phenomenon.
Yeah, Clockcleaner, when it began back in 2003, recorded a spate of tunes barely discernable one from the next. In part that was just the band’s aural aesthetic. The fact that each of these early efforts was recorded on the (relative) cheap, though, needs to be figured into an understand of the band even as it’s generally just lumped into whatever counts as noise rock.
Songs like “New Slow” from the group’s 2006 Nevermind album are like the title suggests, painfully paced. And purposefully so. Compositions of this nature are as much about the musicians experience and playing as they are about the listener. If one can wade through the plodding bass and drums, making it to a guitar solo with as much in common with cut rate Sabbath styles, then you’ve been initiated. If the production – reducing everything to a simple shade of shit brown with bits of grey despair tossed in for good measure – can’t get in the way of enjoying music like this, you’ve hit a goldmine.
Today, we can all just Google a band name and find out pretty much anything we want. And with the advent of the Free Music Archive, it seems that long forgotten groups not even resurrected by bloggers are finding a new audience. Enter Bomis Prendin.
Posting a few full length albums over there has allowed a buncha bearded freeqs to get an earful of the noise passing for Bomis Prendin. For some reason, the band’s referenced in relation to folk music in an odd way. And while this Washington D.C. based act takes in and spits out pretty much anything it sees fit, there’s not a whole buncha of chorded acoustic guitars.
Eaton, though, pretty frequently gets lumped into a new agey thing – it’s understandable. He doesn’t play a guitar – but a harp-guitar he’s developed over the last four decades. His chosen ax gives off the vibe of a traditional six stringed instrument, but moment to moment, tones change and listeners should wonder how it works.