THE STENCH BAND-NOT HUMAN, (RECORDED: 1971-1977, USA (UNRELEASED)

Documenting the next phase in the development of this seminal American underground outfit, the dazzling Beefheart-ian freak rock frazzle of their archivally issued Pray For The Fred LP that showcased their recordings circa 1971-73 (and which was previously posted by moi and has now been re-upped Here ) is still very much in evidence here. Burning every bit as bright with strange energies and stranger sounds and with the tunes on this unreleased second LP (kindly gifted to us by Charles St. Lucas from this fine ensemble) buttressing the strafed remnants of said Beefheartian-isms with a newfound and and equally deformed attack that brings to mind NWW listers Bomis Prendin, this is supremely damaged sounding and essential work that just begs for a proper reissue!

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TIRATH SINGH NIRMALA-TATTV-GUNA-MALA, VOL. 1 & TATTV-GUNA-MALA, VOL. 2, CDR, 2005, UK

Synapse frying probings of the transcendental beyond from a one time member of Hood turned practicing sikh and hirsute magi of the ecstatically attuned. Both volumes waste no time in pulling out every stop necessary to fling you right into the numinous clearlight of mystical awakening, with massed and striated moire patterns emerging ghost-like from the flickering weave of harmonium drone, ethnic instrument string scrape, La Monte Young bliss babble, and something that sounds like a Hebrew ham radio only to cede to glazed expanses of overlapping cloud cover that flicker and waver for 20 odd minutes at a stretch, while elsewhere, you're treated to cilia tickling expanses of electronically gurgling brooks and glinting stones descended from the Iasos/Don Robertson/Gunner Moller Pedersen school of acid fried proto-new-agey-ness, but whether you're enduring a hailstorm of lysergic maximalism or left hovering on a teased out tendril of the merest smoke, you're never for a moment unaware that your in the hands of a master.

Note: I don't have the original covers for these, but if any of you do, I'd be happy to add 'em to this post.

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DESTROY ALL MONSTERS-SWAMP GAS, CD, 2001, USA

One of the latter-day manifestations from this legendary freak fringe unit led by visual art enfant terrible Mike Kelley, Swamp Gas continues to cement this crew's iconic status, a process initiated some years back via Thurston Moore's epic 4 CD boxset release of 70's era work from their archive and which continues to grow via their highly engaging and still-ongoing revived activities that ensued in the wake of that release, which this decade old album highlights in vivid detail. With Swamp Gas, we get a witches cauldron of debased wheedle, narcoleptic slurry and consumer culture regurgitation that achieves an L.A. Free Music Society-like atmosphere of corrupted whimsy by stirring this pop cultural upchuck with the biggest Smegma tipped dick in the room.


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Note: link removed at the request of DAM's Cary Loren as this CD is in fact still officially available from him. Go Here for that

TASADAY-L'ANIMALE PROFONDO, LP, 1986, ITALY

Highly accomplished Italian ritualistic post-industrial sturm und drang mongering that alternates between Neubauten/Test Dept. skull/chest poundings, hermetic processional conjurings akin to the Current 93 of Lashtal or Richard Rupenus' more occultic explorations under the Metgumnerbone and Masstishaddhu mantles and unnerving synthetic dismalism out of the SPK Leichenschrei playbook.

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TIME'S UP-OBSOLETE, 3" CD, 1999, USA

Emerging from the American underbelly and wallowing in the cheap and nasty cast offs of the digital age's infancy, the plunderphonic wags behind this moniker offer up a 20 minute tinsel and christmas light bedecked 8-bit headache of deconstructed pac man detritus and smarmy kitsch collage tactics in the spirit of Stock, Hausen & Walkman, Oleg Kostrow and People Like Us.

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JIM FRENCH WITH DIAMANDA GALAS AND HENRY KAISER-IF LOOKS COULD KILL, LP, 1979, USA

No, your eyes are not playing tricks on you and this really is that impossible to find first Diamanda Galas improv recording that's been tucked away on the B side of this obscure debut LP by Jim French and that you've always heard about but never thought you'd actually get to listen to. The powerhouse avant vocal terror that is Ms. Galas would probably prefer that you continued not to though, as she's on record savaging this recording and bitterly mocking Henry Kaiser for cajoling her into joining into this improv freakout when she was sick with a serious cold. I do believe she even referred to the results as a piss-take. Well, if that's the case you might want to develop a taste for Ms. Galas' golden showers, as this is every bit the twisted bloodletting and lesson into the most extreme ranges of advanced vocal technique you'd been hoping for and all the more fascinating for being able to hear the mistress of the dark unencumbered by the nocturnal shrouding of her own music and in wild dialogues with Jim French's brittle wheedlings and left field wind instrument frivolity and Kaiser's spidery post-Derek Bailey scrabble.That melee is hardly the only reason to afford this album a space in your life though. French's solo A side of the disc is a whole other kettle 'o fish entirely and worth analyzing on its own terms, as he works his way through interpretations of "the classics". French's handling of his array of small wind instruments (Sopranino and soprano saxophones, recorders, pibcorns and panpipes) is nothing if not unique, with an approach that's at once satirical, salacious and cut with a lemony tart wit; his work here as both builder of medieval and renaissance instruments and outwardly bound improvisor with a evident sense of humor placing him on a roughly parallel path to that of German improvisor/luthier Hans Reichel.

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R.M. TOCAK-S/T, LP, 1976, YUGOSLAVIA

this first solo outing from the former string slinger for hard charging Yugoslavian proggers Smak (his next would arrive 17 years later), R.M. Točak (aka Radomir Mihailović) comes raging right out of the gate in some furious and elevated mid-zone between Italian jazzy proggers Area and Ivo Papazov's Wedding Band, though the vibe here ultimately settles into a balance between a sorta funky fusion mode and a plangently hard rock-ish and guitar heroic bluesy prog style thats very much in keeping with the sound of his primary unit. I can feel sonics links here to the likes of both France's NYL and Hungary's Omega around the time of Time Robber as well as to the more jammy end of Italian fusion like Etna and the most good time-y and straightforwardly rocked out passages of prime era Yes and Gentle Giant. Damn impressive stuff!

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FAMLENDE FORSOK-ONE NIGHT I HAD A FRIGHTFUL DREAM, LP, 2002, NORWAY

Carrying on from both my own share of their first vinyl outing Ars Transmutatoria and Jim's subsequent offering of their first two tapes, this H.P. Lovecraft themed release utilizes the creaking and shrouded post-industrial/post-progressive/post-Residents/quasi medieval mystery school sonics of this longstanding Norwegian outsider ensemble's arsenal to anchor select passages from Lovecraft's work that are standing in here for their own texts, though their thickly intoned and lugubriously portentous delivery is trademark Famlende Forsok all the way, its slightly ungainly manner being part and parcel of what gives their work its lopsided charm and peculiar gravity.
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TOX MODELL-PARKHOF 11.04.81, TAPE, 1981, NETHERLANDS

This Dutch duo, the precursor to Det Wiehl, whose remarkable CD I shared back in the summer of '07, offer a bitingly austere attack in the mode of the most severe Nuue Deutsche Welle, browbeating you with verbal brickbats and shearing junkyard sonics in that telltale Einsturzende Neubauten-like mode that was the virtual default setting for so many of those occupying these blasted and scorched vectors of post punk and post industrial practice at the time. And Tox Modell do in fine sour faced style.

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THE CHRIS HINZE COMBINATION-BAMBOO MAGIC, LP, 1975, NETHERLANDS

Moving right along from the last Chris Hinze album that I shared with 1974's Sister Slick and veering ever more into the righteously funky and soul-y dimension he seemed on his way to with that one, this is some sweetly juiced up soul food for the right moment, though it's admittedly of a slightly lesser order of magnitude than his prior two outings to this, with much of what's here being comparable to both Michal Urbaniak and Urszula Dudziak's work under the Funk Factory mantle and Norman Connors' mid 70's work circa Saturday Night Special.

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