Wednesday, 15 August 2012

Quelle Heure Est-Il?



















It's easy to forget after the great Nu-Metal disaster of the millenium that Goth was initially pretty psychedelic. An orchid growing out of the cracks in the post New Wave paving. Guitars so chorus-heavy they sounded like weird porcelain organs, patchouli and floral draped anthems from everyone from The Cult to Siouxie were 80s off cuts of a Californian 60s Utopianism catapulted admist the wasteland of Thatcherite/Reaganite values.

LA based Cold Showers make liquidy oceanic 80s enthused dream rock, a bit like putting on the Cure's Disintegration, it builds slowly, adding layers of warm analogue synth and reverby tube effects. This is a  purple tainted Lennon glasses of a tune as worn by Ione Skye in  '89, hanging round on the back of a Harley by some sort of fairground.




























Like the Dirg Gerner track I posted the other week, Feeling Pretty Faded is reminiscent of Shuggie Otis, twilight gloom soul that plays like a Lynchian flipside to its simultaneous 10CC tendencies of layering everything up to sound simply bloody beautiful.





















Occasionally, after pulling an all nighter I might come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is to find a MacDonalds and buy one of those bizarre breakfasts. You know the one. The one in the yellow polystyrene.  The one with a square block of scrambled egg. The one where they give you a burger shaped sausage and a dry, empty muffin. All separately. And then they give you a hash brown. But they don't put the hash brown in the polystyrene yellow box with the rest, they give it to you separately in a bit of paper. This must of been how the plans for space food must of looked when it could have been a distinct possibility that by the year 2009 we might all be vacationing on the Moon. Listening to odd Moog reinterpretations of Perry Como.





Beats? Where we're going we don't need beats. Released on experimental label NNA Tapes, Matt Carlson's A Lock Against Oblivion is an instrumental mantra that, in my least forgiving moods might act as the soundtrack to one of those scenes in The Mighty Boosh where a bunch of garish shamen come together under a twin moon and dance to the rhythms of the spheers. However, there is a window for this, and if you find yourself gaping in you may too warm to its analogue intentions







































































xxyyxx is beyond precocious. He's 16 years old! 16! When I was 16 I was probably still waking up every saturday early just so I could play the same VHS of Raiders of the Lost Ark, hoping I'd make it all the way through, past even the really disgusting bit where all the Nazi's faces melt before I'd get summoned to do some chores. Yet somehow this 16 year old is making some of the most consistently exciting, personal and forward thinking electronica around. Salut.






































Finally some late summer loveliness that might have something to do with Mafia Lights



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