Random Penguin XL

1977
Cover design by John Gorham / Bob Smithers

Underground Railroad Sticks And Stones

On the right track...
Sticks And Stones
Underground Railroad
One Little Indian

With so many indentikit-indie bands doing the rounds these days it’s good to come across a combo that manage to refresh, recharge and reinvigorate the palate. Although they’ve only been around for five years, Underground Railway have covered a lot of ground in that time. Formed in France, the trio of guitarist Marion Andrau, drummer Raphael Mura and bassist JB Ganivet relocated to live it up in London’s bedsit land, released their debut album, Twisted Trees, last year and after touring Europe opening for Dinosaur Jr., ended up in Seattle earlier this year to record with producer John Goodmanson.

It’s a partnership that has paid off, with Goodmanson, best known for his work with Death Cab For Cutie, seeding the material with an atmospheric gloss and raising the band’s game somewhat. There’s a broader musicality that comes without compromising their Spartan brand of shock and awe dynamics.

Whilst several tunes hop aboard the verse-chorus merry-go-round many do not, moving off from one place and ending up somewhere very different. Poems For Freaks sits brooding and largely static for most of its three and a half minute life-span before erupting into an idiot-glee resolution that wouldn’t sound out of place on an early Blur album.

Whilst there’s a necessary equality in the way the work is shared out in a rock trio, inevitably perhaps it’s always the guitar that grabs the limelight and in this respect, Underground Railroad are no different. Andrau’s daubs and rushes at the strings of her guitar like some crazed fauvist; stroboscopic chord-slashing, haunting ripples of nightmarish notes and clusters of jagged hooks all provide the record with an embarrassing surplus of bright, sometimes garish colours.

Cooking up a cocktail of guitar noise is always going to invoke Jesus Mary Chain or Velvet Undergound and whilst such echoes can be found in tracks such as Stuff In Your Pocket, there’s also the terrifying pop-clarity of the Beatles/REM style mash-up of Kill – surely one of the best singles of the year! Irresistible thumping avant-pop.

This review originally appeared here.

Words And Music IX: Underground Railroad

The new album by Underground Railroad has been on heavy rotation here. The break-out at around 3.20 in this video gives me the shivers!

Old And New

This morning I was up and about before the crack of dawn and feeling gloomy. Sometimes it’s hard to identify the factors which make one feel blue or exert influence in our lives. What presents to us on the surface is rarely the root cause of the trouble. If we want to get to the heart of the problem we have to dig deeper.

The answers, if we can bear to look for them, are nearly always found in ourselves, in our attitudes and actions

There’s something profoundly uncomfortable about accepting that we are often the authors of our own misfortune, we are little automatons of habitual behaviour, who blithely trundle about our daily business ticking boxes and by and large driving on automatic pilot.

Every day the sun comes up and with it an opportunity to do something different, to alter the direction in which our daily routines take us. It’s the rub between the old and the new, between auto-pilot and consciously taking control.

In recent weeks I’ve been starkly reminded that time is both abundant and in short supply. It’s not how long you’ve got that counts. It’s what you do with it, how you chose to live, the quality and degree of your engagement, that is what counts.

Later in the day Debra and I took the Metro from Whitley Bay into Newcastle...


specifically to the booking office at Newcastle's Central Station. No matter which way I played it the online booking came up with train tickets that were way too expensive. Debra's long held belief is that you will always get a better deal from the same company if you bowl up in person and talk to a human being directly.

She was not wrong.

A price difference of nearly £50 was revealed between what the nice woman behind the counter was offering and the best the, ahem, "Great Deals Online" were urging me to take up in the convenience of my own living room.

Tickets for future travel successfully purchased, we headed out into Newcastle where old and new rub along together and a grudging, almost resentful way...



The other reason for coming into Newcastle was a visit to the Tyneside Cinema. We were going to see Jar City.
I'd read somewhere that a third of Iceland's population had seen this police procedural movie - the everyday story of rape, murder and genetic disease coming back through the generations to wreak havoc and cause all kinds of recriminations and repercussions. Old and new coming into close proximity of one another. Bleak doesn't quite cover it.

Street Life CXXXIX

Obama On The BackFoot

It was a little after 5.30 a.m. when I sat down at my desk and tuned into to MSNBC to watch Countdown with Keith Olbermann (which I’ve become addicted to in recent weeks) and from there, the McCain/Obama debate. My scorecard showed McCain was the better performer of the two.

Whilst the old bruiser never landed anything like a knockout blow he appeared to be the more forceful of the two, consistently moving the topic onto his preferred ground and firmly parking his tank on Obama’s lawn in the process.

This doesn’t mean Obama didn’t make some good points or inflict a few jabs here and there, but at a time when the Bush regime is in chaos, it should’ve been a walkover but wasn't.

There’s no doubt that Obama is the better speaker of the two, but since when did candidates get elected because the swing vote constituency decided to throw in their lot with the more eloquent of the pair on offer?

Watching the interview with Joe Biden on Keith Olbermann’s show I got a sense that the VP hopeful thinks it’s going to be easy against Sarah Palin. If he’s not careful he’ll come across as too condescending, too much the elder statesman, which will let her do her hockey mom “Washington outsider” thing.

He needs to go in hard on the gap between the reality of what she says and what she’s done. Joe Biden needs to be like Joe Friday "just the facts, ma'am."

Nominations For God LX

John Cassavetes

Curved Air Second Album

More than one string to their bow
Second Album Curved Air
Rhino
Whilst their live reputation was built upon electric-violinist Daryl Way’s lengthy extemporisations on "Vivaldi", their 1970 debut, Air Conditioning, was a curiously mute affair. Happily their 1971 follow-up offers an altogether more satisfying integration of Way’s fluency and Francis Monkman’s keyboard/guitar assaults, with Sonja Kristina’s brittle waif-like vocals providing an appealing contrast to the instrumental testosterone.

Never quite in the first division of bands on the progressive scene, there’s nevertheless some first rate stuff presented here. With the surprise hit of "Back Street Luv" propelling the band toward a wider audience via Top of the Pops, it was always slightly atypical of their overall style.

The band are better represented by the eerie "Puppets" - laced with icy mellotron - or the 12 minute "Piece Of Mind," Monkman’s scholarly, often ambitious setting for what rock, classical and electronic music might achieve and produce if housed and harnessed in one place.

Gordon Brown Swims With The Fishes

Watching the Leader’s speech is something of a throwback to a time when I was more politically engaged than I am now. Out of some misplaced sense of duty I haul myself to the television in case an epiphany is in the offing or at the very least, a good laugh. These set pieces never really tell you anything you don’t already know. They’re a bit of theatre, a bit of knock-about and have-a-go at the opposition.

So with all the usual "speech of his life" ballyhoo, Gordon Brown takes to the stage and posits himself behind a lectern instead of indulging in the current fad for wandering around the podium. He's every inch the serious man for serious times the party keeps telling us we need.

The trouble is he only looks comfortable when pouring over bottom-line figures or graphs outlining production figures or even, God help him, opinion polls which have him as the most unpopular Prime Minister since Neville Chamberlin. Gordon does “serious” very well indeed. If only it were enough.

His real problems start when he smiles - a chilling conflagration of teeth, muscles, and menace that makes you think Luca Brassi would probably be a much nicer and more trustworthy kind of bloke.

It’s a grin of someone who has been told to smile more by his handlers but has only had time to read the user instructions once and can’t quite remember how the thing works.

At his best politically when kept out of the limelight, he now stands underneath the unforgiving spotlight of attention looking like someone who has pissed his pants but is determinately putting a brave smile on the situation.

Random Penguin XXXIX

1978

Lost And Found II: Sheet Music II

Alnwick and Alnmouth

A phone call from Lesley and Debbie and I are off like a dirty shirt to Alnwick and a trip to Barter Books.




From here we wandered over to Alnmouth and its discreet charms and rewards...

Out of the blue

Say hello to suprise guests Adrian and Andrea who called in on their way from Scotland last night. Eagle-eyed visitors will notice that I spent nearly three weeks in their company whilst on tour with King Crimson. I'd been out during the day so hadn't got their email or phone message saying they were going to be passing through on their way back home. So there I was preparing the evening meal when the phone goes and it's Ade asking me if there's anywhere in Whitley Bay where he could get some fish and chips!

A nice and completely unexpected visitation.

Nominations For God LIX

Francis Bacon

Street Life CXXXVIII

Three In A Row VIII: The Kinks

Something Else
1967

Village Green Preservation Society
1968

Arthur or The Decline And Fall Of The British Empire
1969

Woven Hand Ten Stones

A righteous noise...
Ten Stones
Woven Hand

Since 2002, guitarist and vocalist David Eugene Edwards (late of alt-country outfit 16 Horsepower) has been operating as Woven hand. Rattling with command and vigour right from the off, perhaps more than ever the alt-country linkage is something of a misnomer as the dominant force throughout their fourth album proper is a skewed assemblage of experimental austerity, electric folk ambience and an almost old-fashioned brooding rock, brimming with strength and passion.

Throbbing at the centre of this remarkable music sits Edwards' booming voice, like some kind of dynamo from which all manner of raw and unpredictable energies spin off to electrify and entrance.

Often shouting out his words like a demented snake-oil preacher, the lyrics are suffused with enigmatic imagery, religious symbolism and a grim deadpan focus that the likes of Jim Morrison, Nick Cave and Ian McCulloch have all channelled.

The brute force of "The Beautiful Axe", whose stirring chorus ''Joy has come, is risen with the sun… beautiful the axe that flies at me'', radiates a defiant grandeur that exceeds the low-leaning, grit-filled production.

Serious stuff, for sure, although the inclusion of Jobim's "Quiet Night Of Quiet Stars" suggested they don't take themselves too seriously. This bossa-nova staple is laced with woozy mellotron and given an ambiguous tonality that wrenches the song from its usual reverie into the darker, malice-filled David Lynch-like twilight of unease.

"Kingdom Of Ice" throbs with hurdy-gurdy drones and Pascal Humbert's charged arco-acoustic bass stokes the machine with grease and gravel in equal measure. The disparate sources that are drawn upon in the making of this record is another key factor in its runaway success. "Kicking Bird" pounds away with like the kind of Bo-Diddley-on-speed vibe that oddly evokes U2 but which our flag-waving, slogan-toting pals could only dream about pulling off.

Ten Stones is not so much a bunch of songs as a series of reckonings with past ghosts and inner demons; a death-match confrontation framed inside a corral of crashing guitars and mountainous drums that slam against each other with titanic intent. Raw, uncompromising and visionary, this is magnificent rock music striking out from the sea of mediocrity that is much of the indie rock scene these days. An essential must-hear/must-have record, Woven Hand creates powerful, potent and thrilling waves.

Random Penguin XXXVIII

1969

Street Life CXXXVII

Trees The Garden Of Jane Delawney

Living in the past
The Garden Of Jane Delawney
Trees
Universal
Following the interest in Trees generated by the handsome reissue of their second album, On The Shore, it’s the turn of their 1970 debut to be spruced up and presented to a world that is now more receptive to their tune-making than it ever was.

Lacking the cultish ardour that its successor inspired (and how much of that was due to its hallucinatory cover?), the album is a more uneven affair with the group still finding its feet. When they do though, the effects are mesmerising. According to its writer, Bias Boshell, the title track appeared from nowhere in 1965, fully-formed. Brought stunningly to life by Celia Humphris’ gossamer-thin voice, its delicate lilt sounds both ancient yet utterly fresh.

"The Great Silkie" moves convincingly enough from its delicate beginning into a multi-tracked heavy rock work out, and the sordid goings-on of "Lady Margaret" have a noodly hypnotic effect that Trees manage so well, although some of lead guitarist Barry Clarke’s passing notes occasional stray into places he probably should have passed by a lot quicker than he did.

As with On The Shore, the packaging is top-notch stuff with a booklet filled with guitarist David Costa’s account of those heady days. Bonus tracks include some demo tracks from the 60s and perhaps more riskily, two new renditions of material recorded by surviving members in 2008, suggesting they may be considering a return to the stage. Whether Trees can make the transition from being a revered artefact of another time into something viable in the present day remains to be seen.

Lost And Found I: Sheet Music I

Candlelit Dinner II

Nominations For God LVIII

Mark Rothko

Emmylou Harris All I Intended To Be

Three chords and the truth...
All I Intended To Be
Emmylou Harris
Warner
Her first solo album in the five years since Stumble Into Grace gathers up a bundle of care-worn tales of disappointment, resignation and the all too-human instinct of wilfully ignoring the warning signs placed in front of your nose when it comes to affairs of the heart.

Always an exquisite collector and interpreter of songs, her sure-nosed instinct for bringing together apparently unlikely fellow travellers pays off handsomely. Whether it’s the bleak optimism of Tracy Chapman’s “All That You Have Is Your Soul”, the lacy set-dressing of Dolly Parton’s backing vocals on “Gold”, or the stately poise-under-pressure of “Hold On”, they are unified by a voice that within the space of a breath can tail off into the chocked-back ache of yearning, or wheel away to a spine-tingling vanishing point of bliss.

Sound-wise, it’s a return to traditional acoustic country-tinged chimes rather than the luminous ambience that infiltrated Wrecking Ball and Red Dirt Girl but in common with those records, all of the songs presented sit within a vast, magnificently desolate landscape dotted here and there with heartfelt loss and the promise of a shimmering hope, somewhere down the road.

Street Life CXXXVI

Dr. Manhattan, Andrew Marr, & The End Of The World (TM)

One of the most amusing things I think I’ve heard in a long time was the live coverage on the Today programme of the Large Hadron Collider experiment being turned on. A medal needs to be awarded to Andrew Marr for his backfooted shuffling between informed commentary and wide-eyed exasperation as various scientist-types came within range of the Radio 4 microphone, simultaneously distilling and obfuscating scientific knowledge. Particles of understanding and bafflement collided with each other at an alarming rate in this tense little package as they passed back and forth through the airwaves as we waited for the LHC turn-on.

However the best bit was Andrew’s tension building statement that they were about to throw the switch that would introduce the first beam only to have someone else announce that there were going to delay the event by 48 seconds.

48 seconds.

Never mind recreating the moment just after the beginning of time as we know it. 48 seconds is an eternity when you’ve already said all you can possibly say about the experiment, the importance of it all, the implication for science, what this whole project says about Mankind’s insatiable quest for knowledge and so on.

48 seconds.

Never mind particles of light being rent asunder you could hear Andrew Marr’s broadcasting psyche being turned inside out as he manfully (not to say desperately) filled in for…

48 seconds.

In an exchange with e-Pal Wendy she reminded me that my stirrings of unease about the experiment stem from having read a sci-fi novel some years back. “Robert J Sawyer wrote an excellent book of fiction concerning the Cern Particle Accelerator and the effects of one of its experiments; and another author, whose name currently escapes me, wrote a killer book about a scientist who created his own tiny black hole, and how it travelled throughout the earth devouring it all......!” wrote Wendy.

It was this last book that I read some years ago although I’m buggered if I can recall the name of the author never mind the title such is the cavernous black hole that is my memory these days.

Going back to Radio 4's coverage of the event, the very best bit came when the LHC was turned on and...nothing happened. Truly great radio! Perhaps the scariest bit of it all was that if it had of been the end of the world when they flicked the switch, Andrew Marr's increasingly shrill cliché-laden pronouncements would've been the last thing to have filled my ears. Blimey.

The other thought that trundled across my facile and feeble grey matter was wondering about Andrew Marr getting caught in the middle of the beam and all sorts of indescribable sci-fi things with a blue glow happened to him - just like Dr. Manhattan out of Watchmen. I knew Andrew reminded me of someone!

Seperated at birth?

Spirit Of Joy Tales From The Polydor Underground 1967 - 1974

Feeling, Reeling & Squealing In The Underground
Spirit Of Joy
Various Artists
UMC

Given enough time the roster of any record label becomes one large family. For every high achiever and popular personality, there’s a bricked-up attic full of eccentrics, loveable rogues, and outright black sheep kept away public gaze. Often such isolation is unfair though in some cases you quickly understand why.

Though Van Der Graaf Generator may now be lauded and loved as a hardcore combo of the progressive era their first efforts at conquering the world via the unintentionally hilarious “Firebrand” are given centre stage. Rubbish production, bad song writing and a truly cringe-inducing, ill-judged attempt at theatricality offers a cautionary tale to other bands who might be seeking to mix their love of Norse mythology with a spot of rock n’ roll.

As with the other box sets you get a sense of the artistic distances covered by a single label. However, there’s a sense that the cupboard at Polydor was slightly bare in comparison to Vertigo, Island, Decca or Harvest by the inclusion of more well known artists and their hits. As good and as undoubtedly worthy as they all are, Julie Driscoll’s “This Wheels On Fire”, Thunderclap Newman’s “Something In The Air” and “Fire” by Arthur Brown are hardly off the beaten track. Ditto Cream, Jack Bruce, The Who, and Dutch prog rockers Focus with their perennial toe-tapper, “Hocus Pocus.”

Commercial appeal aside, there’s still enough obscurity and wilful meandering in the service of the muse to get your teeth into with appearances from early Faust, Tangerine Dream, Supersister and the faux-hippie shenanigans of Eric Burdon & The Animals as they go all worryingly psychedelic on us.

And never underestimate the element of surprise on these box sets. The inclusion of the Tony Williams’ Lifetime track “One Word” gives us a glimpse of the blueprints to several themes which John McLaughlin would later revisit with his Mahavishnu Orchestra, and long lost Psychedelic group Second Hand is given something of a second wind with a premier spot showcasing all 8 minutes and 41 seconds of their ‘Tron soaked phantasmagorical track “Reality”.

All told, another welcome trawl through the archives of the major labels by the team that brought you the Strangely Strange But Oddly Normal, A Breath of Fresh Air etc.

Random Penguin XXXVII

2004

Apropos Of Nothing II

My word is in fragments, smashed in pieces so fine I doubt I will ever reassemble them. So I scrabble in the rubbish, an archaeologist who stumbles across a buried film. An archaeologist who projects his private world along a beam of light into the arena, till all goes dark at the end of the performance, and we go home. Home is where one should be...Now, I'm not going to duck it, ART is the key...it needs no money, this archaeology of the soul, tho' the powers grab it and run it through the projectors to blind you. An artist is engaged in a dig. Deep down, depth, 'the way up is the way down', so it's not about bettering yourself or greening suburbia, you're more likely to meet it in the Police Constable's Cesspit. *

I find those who have not visited the cesspit have the stink of virtue. Now you project your private world into the public arena, and produce the flashpoint;the attrition between the private and public world is the tradition you discover. All you can do is point the direction that everyone in the audience who wishes to 'travel' has to take.

Derek Jarman,
1987
The Last Of England

* A former Chief Constable of Manchester referred to homosexuals with AIDS as 'swirling in a cesspit of their own making'.

David Cross Band Alive In The Underworld

Best of both worlds…
Alive In The Underworld
David Cross Band
Noisy

Often underrated by fans and even some of his fellow band members during his tenure in Crimson, Cross has since carved himself a rewarding niche in both improvised and rock music that is both powerful and distinctive, arguably finding the highpoint of excitement and expression with the latter on his 2005 release, Closer Than Skin.

Documenting a series live dates in the UK during 2006, this release finds his band in fine fiery form here, storming their way through his back catalogue of solo releases and arrangements of popular King Crimson toe-tappers such as “Exiles”, “21st Century Schizoid Man” and “Starless.” Of these only that last track falters in the ballad section, where it borders on becoming unctuous.

The obvious abilities of the various musicians are well showcased in tracks such as “Nurse Insane” and “Learning Curve” going through some sophisticated Mahavishnu-like machinations with racy outbursts and a decisive metallic edge from guitarist Paul Clark.

Strong and smart in equal measure, the live dimension of the band is complimented by a studio track “Floodlights”, adapted an improvisation and fashioned into song format just as Cross did with his old band mates circa ‘72 –’74, and combining the best of both worlds in the process. If you thought the electric violin wasn’t up to the job of keeping pace with the blood and thunder of the rock backline then even a cursory listen to Cross and his full-blooded playing on “Tonk” and “I Buy Silence” should quickly put you right on that score.

Strawbs The Broken Hearted Bride

In fine fighting form...
The Broken Hearted Bride
Strawbs
Witchwood Media

Dave Cousins’ weathered eying of the political storms around him has always been telling and led to some marvellously caustic material. Back in 1972 he was exploring the murderous sectarian carnage emanating from Northern Ireland in “New World” to devastating effect. Little wonder then that the increasingly perilous state of the world’s political and religious divides has spurred Strawbs on to deliver an album brimming with the kind of power and vehemence that’s been previously lacking in their recent output.

Although the “The Call To Action” first appeared on his 2005 collaboration with Conny Conrad (High Seas) it enjoys a much weightier rendition by Strawbs, fleshed out with Rod Coombes’ thunderous percussion and sinuous, evocative lines from guest violinist Ian Cutler.

Reverberating themes and caustic prophecies are spat out with the kind of booming bravado not heard or equalled since their 70s heyday, when classic albums such as Hero & Heroine and Ghosts made the hairs stand to attention. If Cousins is exercised by the slide into chaos, the target of guitarist Lambert on the plaintive “Shadowland” is our dumbed-down mass media and the tolerance of mediocrity – “Cant you feel we’re drowning?”

Alongside such pessimistic clamour however the album also retains Strawbs’ long-term bond with intimate balladry and bitter-sweet lyricism on tracks such as “Deep In The Darkest Night” and “Too Many Angels.” Bassist Chas Cronk’s provides Cousins with a swaying, stadium-friendly lighter-aloft rock on “Everybody Knows”, to which Chris Tsangarides’ lively production adds depth and range.

Rounded off with a superior revisiting of “We’ll Meet Again Sometime”, with Cousins paying tribute to his own solo album Two Weeks Last Summer, somehow tying both past and present neatly into one bow. Despite being around for nearly 40 years Strawbs show no sign of going gently into that good night.

Under Scrutiny

Rick Gillyon came to the rescue yesterday and after a couple of hours managed to sort out the PC problems. It was caused by a corruption in the HP software which in turn was running all sorts of things which was then draining the CPU usage. After extensive Trojan horse/malware/zombie checking the PC got a clean bill of health, the HP problem was sorted out with a download patch. The CD was coaxed back into action and now plays perfectly. So, a result all round and everyone's happy. Here's Rick in action. Looks easy doesn't it?

I'm doing a spot of Porcupine Tree research for a potential project at the moment and so whilst Rick worked I introduced him to Fear of a Blank Planet. He was impressed.

On the desk today...

Where have all the satirists gone? Who in the UK is subjecting our politicians to this kind of incisive scrutiny?

Street Life CXXXV

Nominations For God LVII

David Lean

Err On The Side Of Caution

I was talking to the boys earlier today about the impending Hadron Collider experiment that's taking place this week. The chances of it creating a black hole that will destroy the planet are "miniscule" according to one boffin-type bloke on the radio this morning. Despite all kinds of appeals to my rational side, I confess that there's a corner of my brain that's saying "even if the chance is miniscule why take the risk!"

Technology of an all together different scale also continues to worry me as once again the PC is on the blink. The CD drive is playing albums a quarter tone lower than it should be, the pops and clicks which accompany the slurred performance make it sound like clapped out vinyl, I can't access the scanner and all the HP software associate with the photozone application is kaput.

Oh and the CPU usage is permanently maxed out which means you could grow the kind of beard that WG Grace himself would be proud of as you wait to change from one program to another. I've put out an APB on Rick Gillyon who will hopefully restore calm and order to the Yellow Room universe. Let's the folks at the Hadron Collider experiment in Cern don't need to call Rick next week.

Elsewhere, I'm prepping for an interview with Dave Cousins tomorrow - if only all prep was as enjoyable as this.

Man Back Into The Future

A must-have expanded reissue
Back Into The Future
Man
Esoteric
Lavish doesn’t really begin to cover this reissue of Man’s 1973 breakthrough record. Not only do we have the original half studio/half live double presented on one CD but a further two CDs presenting the Roundhouse concert in full – complete with Welsh Male Voice choir – and a single from the time. The deluxe packaging contains sleevenotes by guitarist Deke Leonard (not actually a member at the time) who offers hilarious insights into the Spinal Tap –like band politics. It’s a shame Man have been overlooked somewhat. As this set reliably proves, their West Coast, Floyd-tinged jam-rock is both passionate and articulate enough to justify renewed interest. This superb package should help with such long overdue rehabilitation.

Street Life CXXXIV

Random Penguin XXXVI

2004

Apropos Of Nothing I

If pop culture is threatened, and I believe it may be, it's not really because of opposition from without;most movements are confirmed or strengthened under attack; but because of a flaw in its own structure, and its this I must try and define.

The defects of pop as I see it are as follows. Primarily it is the fact that is essentially exclusive, tied only to the young and therefore incapable of development beyond a certain point. The revolt of each generation may differ in style and detail but is based on the same need: the escape from the family. Once this is achieved, and pop is a very successful way of making the break, it loses its impetus. Furthermore it success at imposing its demands on society as a whole, in changing society, means that the next pop explosion has to go further and in consequence eventually a point must be reached where only the psychopathic or disturbed can accept its more extreme propositions.

George Melly,
January 1970
Revolt Into Style

TUNER Muut

Everything Counts…
Muut
Tuner
Unsung Records

Recorded in Estonia whilst on tour supporting The Humans (the unlikely alliance between Toyah Willcox and REM’s Bill Reiflin) in 2007, the notion of how “live,” a live Tuner album can be is an interesting one. The amount of dialled-up sampled sounds that range from ethereal soundscapes, church bells, sundry percussives and snippets from other recordings, means you’re never quite sure what’s happening in real time.

At one point during “On Bass,” Ms.Willcox is heard performing sonically altered band introductions - “And we have Robert Fripp on bass too.” He isn’t of course but it makes the point that anything is regarded as fair game to be tossed into Tuner’s capacious melting pot. Even when the audience erupts into applause it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the audience that they were playing in front of.

As on their previous studio outings, (Totem, 2005 and Pole, 2007), Tuner push and probe their electronic psyche to the limit, inducing a certain amount of primal screaming, raw outpourings of fearsome brutality and obsessive, staccato outbursts – all of which can be found in the title track alone. Operating primarily as textural manipulators rather than individual soloists, Mastelotto and Reuter are capable of producing unholy dance-groove rackets one minute and sublime moments of transcendence the next.