PLAYLIST with COMMENTS/REVIEWS

[Bloated Slutbag]

Barstool Mountain - II (Memory Eraser)
With I (Closing Time), had in these holes presumed enough to cop due clues as to lines upon which the project was set to, indelicately, fracture. Now am back to square fucked and maybe that was already in the cards. Fractured, right, but snifted through hazy fur-burnt somnolence, belched n felched cluster ruptures so eminently blowing fat hairy chunks round the flurz-bur-shlurzzled MG AoF obit. Orbit. Whatever the frzzzzzzzzzzz. Er…fuck was e on about? Something about distinguishing the lines between one monicker and another. Like it matters. Like I matters.

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Okay boys and girls, think I’m about properly soused, time for round two. Come on Barstool Mountain II, I’m not afraid. In we go with…old shitfaced man of the mountain rendition of boom boom roppongi, dragged limp, neither kicking nor screaming, through mounds of rusted sludger bludger, filth-mounds, feeding deep into title track whose ragged acoustic sources thunk and ka-chunk, speeded-down down DOWN cantankerous bludgeon-thud hammering from on looow. In the final minute and all heftiness piles on for a turn before strategically exiting and to the crown jewel'd confessional. Frustrated fireside, elliptical ghost edges ripped ragged and smudged to brutalized oblivia, peaks and pokes through gira-esque soul rend-ition, could swear there were tears in the eye the brutal perv-vection, should this? Now, it should not be seen, should not be, should be, is, is brute, brutal. Fuck. Scuse me, another glass beckons, or perhaps another round of ye olde textured curdle dragging drugged n stupor’d through frazzled frizzle-blurt.

But hold on, let’s just say one thing here, because it has to be said. Sense of humor. Grim. Brutal. Bestial. Human. Warm. If that’s your thing… But, there’s a pained smiled bristling thing through the endless self-brutalism. Brutalisme. Okay, wait. You, like, think this is, like, fucking funny? By the way?! That ring on her finger don´t belong to me, okay? Like, fuck.

Just buy that motherfucker another drink.

Honestly folks. Can’t think when I’ve just so pervectly wibed with a piece of auricular filth. Round three comin up. See you next weekend!

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Presumably would work just as well in muted capacities

^ That was the starting point and let’s go with it. Muted capacitants. And apologies if you’ve encountered this before, but there may be no better test of HN mettle than filtering said mettle through pathetically slack juris-floppence. Juris-futzence. Juris…

At the corner of the earhole the burnt-raw cravings of indelicate rumble-sludge snort ‘n blurt through over-taxed esophagi. Primitive irate angry ineffectual pathetically limp buttering from on low. Festering snorkel-core snorting up a phlegm-sputted motherlode, horked hard. Buttermilked fussy-splooge piddling out the choked-raw porker. Belch.

One of my favorite moments, if you will call it a moment, is when the hand just starts wailing into a steady metal-on-metal hammering dirge. Distorted to all proverbial fugg. And just doesn’t let up. In the above-prescribed muted capacities this manifests as dirge proper, but with weirdly deceptive depths swallowing up ill-guarded attentions, implications, incursions, intricate frazzle-knobs chafing in a distance-cum-full-frontal blow-out.

See, here’s the thing, at least with ‘Stool of this caliber. Like, you never really knew how close up and personal the next sound event was due to be registering. Like a warped fever dream slowed down to shit-ground curdle, constantly warping smearing smudging in and out of focus, like if I were to just, like, force the snifting shnozz down one more layer, see, or maybe two or three more layers, it would, like, start to make some hideous sense, a hideously disgusting dis-sense sorta sense, only to be avalanched with unscrupulous blurts of half-dismembered cranials smooshed toofless. Like.

Man fuck this shit, where’s my goddamn dri

[Bloated Slutbag]

Barstool Mountain – Birth Canal (New Forces)
Blessed with an opportunity to preview the singular III, the first thing to transpire was the necessary: whip out all the other ‘Stool on hand. Ain’t much. Only the two tapes, I & II. So a need then to pad it out with a good dose of recent AoF, the heavy shit. The WCN 3lp for starters. Fecal matter of exceedingly weighty persuasion. Then on to ‘ol discogs, cause it’s easier to suss them boring liner note minutiae on screen then to fiddle around with special packaging stowed in assorted nooks and crannies. And then… what in the bleeping fuck? There was a new one? On New Fucking Forces? You dirty fucking bastards. How could you, how could I, where’s my fucking brain, how did I, fucking?

So, okay, calm down blumphole. Copies still available. Plenty Stool to go around. Think I’ll just put in an order, right, and. Hold on a sec. Just you hold on. Just let’s have a looksee over here, right. Right in here. And, yes, of course, stuck between the Ochu and the Zalhietzli, Birth Canal.

The amazing thing is, given the current state of the few remaining brain cells, this doesn’t happen more often. (Full disclosure: it does. All the fucking time.)

So, am I going to, like, actually say anything about this wonderful little beaut? Yes I am, of that you can be absolutely positively sure.

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Wait. Who you calling little? Well how about anything clocking in at twenty-one minutes and fifty-two seconds- little enough for ya? The size of course belies the true heft of this true blessing to sound kind. I was almost ready, accepting that BC would precede III by a good half year…I was almost ready to go out on a limb and declare the ‘holes as reporting receipt of their heftiest, heaviest, motherlodingest, serving of Stool yet.

Down to the crunch, the twenty-one minute fifty-two second crunch, and all them nice little thematic interludes are dispensed with; no shit-faced singalongs, no midnight confessionals, no hydroxizinal drone-frieze. Thus to free the focus on, well, the crunch. Thick, deeply-textured murk-be-sputtered crunch, settling on the palate with nice chunky notes of primitivo a la earlier Zone Nord and Dead Body Love, to pull a couple references out the ass, served raw and unvarnished, settling in for solid state bludgeoning-to-death under the full frontal force of brute, strangulated, crrrrrrrrrrrrrunch.

But not just crunch. With Stool, as with all things AoF adjacent, you are in fact assured quite the variegated package of, more and less smooshed-to-shizzle, goodies. First and most apparent are the by-now-signature assemblages of arid acoustic metal thunking wood thunking metal, real physical-like, real slooow-like. A whole lotta thunk, gripped with a firm and unflinching determination to inflict a maximum of hurt, rusted-through patches of muffled rust and shriek ultimately destined for unceremonious dunking into congealed pools of acerbic bilge-waste, to be fished out, in ragged heaps, as though badly bedraggled lengths of tape, stretched to their limits and fraying, were feeding through dank watery cave-holes, musty clenching sphinct-chambers laboring to wring the barest wheezing gasps of choked air from the sorry, sputtering, lot. No one said it was going to be easy.

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settling on the palate with nice chunky notes of primitivo a la earlier Zone Nord and Dead Body Love, to pull a couple references out the ass

But let’s just cover that ass for the moment, to affirm that with said notes not for the moment to be implying particularly, or peculiarly, shared airs. Per se. I mean, they are there. In the primitivo, for starters, there might be sussed a wide and abundant species of crunch to which one might ascribe certain snuff-bodied strangulations, certain nordic zones of textured asphyxia.
 
But the thing is, the thing is. Feel the plain and unfettered acoustic sources playing against said strangulation, said asphyxia. Bear with me for a moment.  Cause, I know, you may well have heard something of that, in the more muscular strains of Hum Of The Druid. The Abisko self-titled. The comp appearances on Sam McKinlay’s Militant Walls (#07) and Lake Shark Harsh Noise (#01). The latter representing the centerpiece of an under-remarked vision entitled Texture.

HOtD could on some surface level be declared AoF-adjacent, but not really. Not really, says me. The Druid’s style is far more cinematic, an invitation to examine necrosis from a range of perspectives, both here, there, and every which where. But Stool, see. Stool don’t do that. Stool, and let’s just earmark this with an acknowledgement that I am talking, wholly and completely, out of my ass, is more about the essence (at least, to these much fucked ‘holes). About the brute. About the essential unvarnished unfettered brutality of the raw sound, in glorious unglorified raw.
 
Elsewhere I declare, “substance over style”, but not just as a rallying cry. I mean it. AoF, and its adjacencies, is a challenge, to force the attention back, and back. And back again. Back to the roots. To the core. To the raw and unflinching moment. Where life begins.

[Bloated Slutbag]

Ochu – Tvärsnitt lp
Roughly grabbed together grab bag of roughly scrapped scraping, roughly banged bonging and roughly rusted rustling. Thoroughly abrasive, elemental, organic. One reference might be TNB, but with considerably more compositional flair, the attentiveness to detail recollecting the Lithuanian project naj (who have also been compared to TNB). True NOISE meets concrete sound, in the immortal words of Hum Of The Druid’s Eric Stonefelt. An undeniably well put together cross section of well-seasoned roughage, grits ‘n granules, that, quite sadly, took me quite the while to get around to getting with.
 
Yes, I’ll freely admit, this taking of the while would likely be due in part to the percussion credited in the liner notes. Yessir, a bit of a chauvinist pig, me, when it comes to percussion, even with people like Sam McKinlay vouching for it, even with people like Jeph Jerman quite persuasively suing, in disc-long capacity, for preservation of the Drum. And speaking of which, and to digress a bit from the current digression, if Jerman hasn’t etched the tome on Rough Music, he has certainly chiseled several key slabs. Jerman will be the fourth and final reference to be sectioned in this ill-worded commentary, but perhaps the one to whose elemental roughness Tvärsnitt most closely cleaves.

So yes, there is percussion per se, but more in the restless overamped snap crackle pop of reverse-engineered avalanche, grinding uphill in slowmo, like you’d already heard it coming, and going, so many times before, or so it seems, but still get, like, a neat thrill in admiring the crooked, gnarled, beauty. No less legit are legit elements of legit music coming in for the briefest moments. At one weird interval a simple repeated line of stately organ slots, just so, straight into full flavored feast of caustic rust and bustle, giving way to a lumpily huffed series of weirdly amped bells. Ding-ding-ding! Yes, laddies and gentlewomen, it seems we have a winner. But uh…don’t get too settled cause all too soon the incoming, sharply defined, glinting, in cold pale light.

Bring it. Bring, the Pain. Full-on sledgehammer-on-stubborn-metal-spike, descending fast, rusted crescendo of pungent hammering ka-chank, to kick-start something like a grim and severely broken postmortem free jazz- without the jazz, and not particularly free, where saxophones are apt to be found shoved half deep in crevices that the sun is understandably uninclined to shine- as interpreted via the acoustic stylings of Kellogg’s decidedly grim-faced Noise Krispies- Scrape, Rustle, Plonk.

Scooped up now, sudden-like, the mirthless trio finds itself plonked into a giant porcelain wastebin, still milking the rusted acoustic-scraps for all they’re worth, cause frankly, it’s all they’re worth. Clank goes the grate, enter gargantuan gnarled mitt, grabbing hold and aggressively shaking, the unmerry band still at it, hard, inside. Not so much a wild percussion as unsteady lines of lopsided slide, skitter, scrape and bong, scraping the bong of music, because it is music, rough music, as perhaps all true NOISE must in the beholder be, scraping the bong of the most rugged, ragged and raw of musics, to find a painfully sweet buzz in its resin.

[MT]

A.B.O. – Documentation '89 - '93 CD

Got really into broken electronics type of stuff with Capers, and ABO continues that path for me. This is really interesting CD, at times I keep turning my head towards soundsystem cause I instinctively think there's a malfunction. But it's the sounds, they are so mangled up, and I love it! One track has this really torturous high pitch squeal which was really a challenge. Sometimes you can barely hear anything going on, almost like a drum machine that has sound off but the sequencer is still going on and creating this really low sound, there's times when it sounds like things are just unplugged in the middle of a 'song' and it drifts into weird tones and static. I really really recommend this one, excellent CD that navigates it's way with malfunctioning chaos.

[MT]

Kent Tankred - ”There is Nothing to Attain” CD

More minimal broken electronics! Kent Tankred is not a familiar name to me beforehand. First CD has harsh textures, drilling sounds, buzzing and swirling electronics, as if a control center has lost it’s mind. Second track sounds like a cat is walking on an organ. Third one starts with an odd funky drum machine pattern and mutates into tape manipulated garbled mess. Like the machine ate the damn tape but still keeps playing it, all tangled up. Song finally collapses into humming low drone and crackles, very good! Fourth song has eerie bell sounds echoing in a void, droning buzzes. Reminds me a lot of 60/70s minimal experimental music. Last track sounds like someone is drilling through your wall! Great for neighbour wars!


Second CD consist of five different pieces. There’s lots of humming synth, broken textures crackling, swirling and popping around them. Low frequencies looming in the background, some goes to nice subtonal levels. One song a highly irritating tone that keeps blasting your ears for 10 minutes, real endurance test!

Strongly recommend this one, fascinating album. Or maybe I am just down in the hole of more abstract noise but this is very enjoyable to listen to, 2hr duration of the double CD goes fast, besides that ear ripper. Also have to give props to mastering, there’s a wide spectrum of many kinda of sounds but they all are crystal clear, or deep ocean low, all blend in a impressive mix.

[Bloated Slutbag]

More subliterate reposts from the land of the alcohol addled...

Incapacitants - Sarin Will Kill Every Bad Aum!!!
There isn't much what can get everyone's favorite mild-mannered banker worked up, but when it does, and I'm not a religious person but, JESUS. There's harsh and there's harsh. And then there's, harsh. Definitely qualifying in the latter capacity. Of harsh. Think supremely vicious, think densely layered. Exquisitely torturous. Severely pitched. Excetera excetera sayeth ye of the incapacifold. Like, some pretty harsh shizzle, no doubt no doubt. But also, and despite the prime-era date-stamp (1995), suggestive of that pre-Kosakai rough, that pre-Kosakai brute, that pre-Kosakai raw. The shit is just so blissfully harsh, on so many levels, and makes me want to, well aside from punch my fists into random pockets of stale air whilst screaming uncontrollably like the spastic I will always be, suggest there to be a release in the making. Let's called it The 7 Inches. The long hard version. Bring forth your Alcoholic Speculations (1995!) your Selling Mutual Funds By The Pound, all them shits and you, my boy my girl my friend, are fucking. there. Like, explicative! Can I be any more clear? Of course I can, but this is the best I can manage at this point. (Sad, i'nit?) Explicative you motherexplicitaving explicativeholes!

Where was I? Oh yes. Well. Make no mistake. Sarin will most undoubtedly kill every less than proper aum-like personage. Not like they ain't had it coming and all but like, uh, yeah.

BTW please don't gas me. Harmless noisetwat, me.

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Bring forth your Alcoholic Speculations

But bring you not too many lest you black out for good in pools of your own soy sauce 'n beer chunder.

But just running with this 7inch thing. Not because there are so many as that so many so decisively KILL. And do so (KILL) running against that run-time proper that some have sometimes argued as necessary. And as perhaps The Mikawa has less directly argued (as necessary) in namechecking The Riley. The Riley, the fuck you say. Well look, in such capacity, the temporally abridged capacity, does there emerge not a whole 'nother species of Incapacitant?

Case, meet point:

Incapacitants - Zashikiwarashi Effect
In its ultimate manifestation a sort of tribute to the never-to-be-realized genius of persons with the balls to at least seriously undertake consideration of a double 7inch*.

Rescued from obscurity come: four furious frenzied ferocities, all killer no filler. The opener in particular, "Zashikiwarashi Effect Part 1". Scorched bliss, end to end, emphasis on the ends as- much unlike a good chunk of the brevities, including the other three here repped- this one would seem to have been decisively chopped out of a much longer session to which one may only ask why and only answer that sometimes sacrifices need be made in the name of an awesomeness that would never be a double 7inch. Part 1 so good it's almost ho-hum, like, of course it gone tickle all the boxes, such an unstoppable, yet uncontroversial, instantly boingable, holy fuck it the shittable, why even questionable, are thy ears not entirely like scorched-to-the-fuck-and-yo. Funny that, that that real shit, that real real shit, that shit of the instantly killer varietal would come as, say it, conservative. That guaranteed harshbliss for which questions were never necessary. And which then would more than justify Parts 2-4, where the letters double-u, tee, and eff start to enter the equation, but in such lovably fucked-be-me sorta ways, and in fact is that not the MO, as a certain three letter acronym'd chap, above, asserts? It is the MO. Has always been the MO. When it comes to fucking around, these fuckers don't fuck around. If you catch my jizz. Alcoholic speculation uber al-

I've got one thing to say
Before I am drunk again
Goddamn, The Mikawa
Goddamn, The Mikawa
Goddamn anyone for saying a word to the contrary

Incidentally, I'm told there are worse ideas than public castration.

* for reference: the four studio tracks were originally destined for double 7inch release on SPITE. recording date(s) could range through anywhere in the 90s, really, though the original release date was probably set for 97 or 98**.

** disc itself coming out in 2012

[Stipsi]

Encephalophonic - X

I'm not the greatest fan of cut up noise, but he's objectively on another planet.
Probably the best harsh noise artist in Italy and not only.

[Zeno Marx]

I've been going back and forth between the Pariah Tapes and Pornoise 1 KG sets, and most of that back and forth is because it's been a real slog.  I was listening to the 1990-1996 unreleased tracks and CDs from the Merzbox, so I thought I'd hit up some early Incapacitants to break up the focus, but hit...a...wall (pun intended).  Pornoise turned into a tad of a burden as well. On many days, tracks like "New Karma" would encourage distraction with something else until the next 30-minute punisher exercise, but not on this day.  Just when I thought it was time to put both sets away, this track sucked me into its space, perfectly melding with where my head was at and how the day was feeling.  It might never happen again, though precedent can be a powerful thing with listening, but wowzer, was this ever the soundtrack for my world for nearly thirty-one minutes.

[Theodore]

Lee Counts - S.A.N.S. Sessions cassette on Austerity Measure (No Rent side-label) : Welcome to my basement ! I have a lot of junk here, tools, chains, saw wheel, black+deckers, sandpapers, everything we need for a metallurg party. - All live, you can hear them talking sometimes. Very acoustic sounds, for the most part. - Had drunk some beers yesterday and this tape was great fun. Was listening with a smile on my face. - On Discogs i saw there isnt any other release by the guy. I thought there definetely should be more, and asked myself do i want them like this -acoustic, improvised- or more 'composed' / processed ? A search today helped me answer. There is a new tape out : https://leecounts.bandcamp.com/album/lee-counts . I listened it on Bandcamp. It's fine but i go with S.A.N.S Sessions, anytime, no question. Still i found an artist that i will follow his work, for sure.

[[MBD]]

BØLTORN – Dødsverk

So this is a new project from Nordvargr along side a few others, with this release being their most current. Tesco gave it the LP treatment earlier this month.

If you like heavy and nasty European Industrial/Power Electronics with plenty of composition and a slight hint of the malice acts like Slogun do best, I highly recommend checking this out.

https://tescogermany.bandcamp.com/album/d-dsverk

[Bloated Slutbag]

I've been going back and forth between the Pariah Tapes and Pornoise 1 KG sets, and most of that back and forth is because it's been a real slog.  I was listening to the 1990-1996 unreleased tracks and CDs from the Merzbox, so I thought I'd hit up some early Incapacitants to break up the focus, but hit...a...wall (pun intended).  Pornoise turned into a tad of a burden as well. On many days, tracks like "New Karma" would encourage distraction with something else until the next 30-minute punisher exercise, but not on this day.  Just when I thought it was time to put both sets away, this track sucked me into its space, perfectly melding with where my head was at and how the day was feeling.  It might never happen again, though precedent can be a powerful thing with listening, but wowzer, was this ever the soundtrack for my world for nearly thirty-one minutes.

I think I had something approaching a very much same experience, years ago, actually not too too long after I'd first picked it (Pornoise) up. And I really want to say it was with New Karma.

That burden thing. It happens, with the boxset thingies in particular. (Damn you current era!) Punishment I read as the lag-time, emphasis on time, in seeking out the appropriate space, read: bliss. The New Karma moments didn't come so much then, but they do now, invariably late at night, sussed, half dead to the world, blissfully un-focused, emphasis on the un, more than willing and able to enter other worlds for multiples of hours straight.

[morbid_dyspepsia]

MEDITASI SAPI - demo (Flapping Abouts)

I received this tape in the mail along with the artists other project's tape EAT FLESH - which is more in the vein of traditional Australian grind/ noisecore; a lot like Warsore/ Disgorge, with a Warsore cover added. Anyway, it is not uncommon for anyone, globally, to give a shit about Australian noise for the most part (never have, never will) but this stuff is really great! Totally psyched-out loops, with hidden textures and hypnotic voices interfering and reoccurring. Being a fellow Novocastrian (from Newcastle) it is a similar style to that of COCK SAFARI who runs GROG PAPPY, but also reminds me a bit of YCLEPT DINMAKERS or the RADIO LOOP ORCHESTRA, and in my honest opinion it really gives tape loop masters like DILLOWAY a run for their money! Literally. And that coming from someone who's a big fan and listened to a lot of Aaron's music. It's just Un-marketed, unwanted, and therefore unheard, maybe that's part of the reason why it's been manufactured on recycled tapes, anyway, a quick google search and I'm sure you'll find it, or something decent that is related.

[Zeno Marx]

I've been going back and forth between the Pariah Tapes and Pornoise 1 KG sets, and most of that back and forth is because it's been a real slog.  I was listening to the 1990-1996 unreleased tracks and CDs from the Merzbox, so I thought I'd hit up some early Incapacitants to break up the focus, but hit...a...wall (pun intended).  Pornoise turned into a tad of a burden as well. On many days, tracks like "New Karma" would encourage distraction with something else until the next 30-minute punisher exercise, but not on this day.  Just when I thought it was time to put both sets away, this track sucked me into its space, perfectly melding with where my head was at and how the day was feeling.  It might never happen again, though precedent can be a powerful thing with listening, but wowzer, was this ever the soundtrack for my world for nearly thirty-one minutes.

I think I had something approaching a very much same experience, years ago, actually not too too long after I'd first picked it (Pornoise) up. And I really want to say it was with New Karma.

That burden thing. It happens, with the boxset thingies in particular. (Damn you current era!) Punishment I read as the lag-time, emphasis on time, in seeking out the appropriate space, read: bliss. The New Karma moments didn't come so much then, but they do now, invariably late at night, sussed, half dead to the world, blissfully un-focused, emphasis on the un, more than willing and able to enter other worlds for multiples of hours straight.

Agreed.  It's the dark side of the wonderful period of box sets.

[Phenol]

BØLTORN – Dødsverk

So this is a new project from Nordvargr along side a few others, with this release being their most current. Tesco gave it the LP treatment earlier this month.

If you like heavy and nasty European Industrial/Power Electronics with plenty of composition and a slight hint of the malice acts like Slogun do best, I highly recommend checking this out.

https://tescogermany.bandcamp.com/album/d-dsverk

Only listened on Spotify so far and enjoyed it a lot. It kind of reminds me of Memorandum, which is definitely not a bad thing! I would imagine that the vinyl format suits it quite well. I wish Nordvargr would focus more, though. He has so many projects and such a high output of varying quality (often good, never really bad, but a lot of nonessential stuff nontheless). Fewer releases but of consistently high calibre would be much preferred.

[NerveGas]

Smell & Quim - Spermathlon CS

Recent reissue on promising new label, ODMOWA. A-side is clunky, clanging, awkward tape abuse with some pervert samples. Certainly the “weird noise” to be expected. By no means bad, but the B-side really shines for me. Phaser, moans, and buried melodies. Wet, slithering, and droning quicksand darkness.

Hermit - Logic Bomb CS

I’m most familiar with Hermit on the 7” format, and so far I feel like that works best… but I’m digging through a stack of tapes currently with a few of his in it. Totally fried out, buzzing malfunctioning modem harshness, pained high end, and bass-y spurting delay. Quite varied and active at times, and settling into repetition at others. Even some strange mellow moments. While I’m far from having his entire discography, I do find myself returning to this project quite a bit regardless of some slightly tedious, forgettable, or goofy moments on releases like this (ie: slowed down hip-hop samples, synth lines, and obnoxious beeping loops).

B-Side is a live recording including feedback, deranged vocals, and guitar noise. Not without its primitive charm.

“No copyrights, no profit. Money is garbage. Burn the banks, churches, and schools. Human society must be destroyed.”