Posts Tagged ‘Boogie’

Wet Tuna – “Goin'”

Couldn’t be more excited to have a new Wet Tuna up for grabs this morning. The last one hit hard, or it least it should have if you had the right kinda ears last year. This time the pairing of Matt (MV) Valentine and Pat (P.G. Six) Gubler is back to track your midnight ride into the subconscious, sub-dermal subject matter. The vibes are heady already as “Goin’” wafts into the room — the kind of molasses-milked twilight track that can hit just right when the brain’s in balance and the air is still. This is the core of Tuna — a humid seep of sound, a breath on the air that realigns the vibrations in the ether. “Goin” gets into the pores and never leaves.

Matt gives a little insight into how the track rose to the surface, “WET TUNA is wild & fun place for me. Pat & I have a language that seems to be unique to us…we don’t really talk about it and i reckon in many ways that’s what makes it cool. Anyway, that’s how it went down, via the jam, and how most of our music flows, we turn on the tubes and the tapes roll. I distinctly remember doing 3 “takes” of “goin’” — all with John Moloney on drums — he and i have been preserving it for a long time and the couch is flambeau comfy. He brought a pretty skeletal kit to the session, which was at my “Green Extension Studio B” in Vermont, and we left a lotta space. It’s a tight room. We tracked guitars live with drums and kept everything. Pat used a synth wah effect, I plugged in a Vox repeat percussion and Mutron. we used Gibson & Fender amps, did the vocals together in one or two takes. The lyrics came to me in a semina vision. Pat dubbed mellotron. it was around 4:20 in the afternoon, seriously, but it coulda been round midnight. Sunshine winter warmer…we had some Guinness in cans outside the window in a hanging pot from the night before, code name “water the plant” to grab a round. Pretty sure there were two left and we poured ‘em slow.”

New LP, Water Weird hits the shelves October 11th from the incontrovertible crew at Three Lobed.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE

Continue Reading
0 Comments

75 Dollar Bill

On their previous album, Wood/Metal/Plastic/Pattern/Rhythm/Rock 75 Dollar Bill scratched out a new high water mark, taking their austere setup (guitar and wooden crate) to new heights via repetition dropout zones of buzzing bliss. It’s four tracks packed more experimental rhythm riot than pretty much any other LP that year. It seemed a hard bar to hurdle, but the band’s not only bested that slab, they’ve soared far over its ambitions to create one of 2019’s most vital shakers. At double the length, and spanning four sides, the LP isn’t holding anything back. Rick Brown and Che Chen lead their troupe further down the wormhole of rhytmic wrangle than ever before with tracks stretching in excess of sixteen minutes, beset by locklimbed tangles of strings, stomps, skronk, and saw. It’s hypnotic in its execution and brilliant in its scope.

As with the previous album, whittling this just down to Brown and Chen is only half the equation. I Was Real owes just as much to its gathered ensemble as its predecessor, with a cadre of collaborators adding sax, viola, synth, contrabass, and additional guitars to the mix. The players summon a primeval boogie that resonates deep from the earth’s core and smelt it into audible heat. The band has made it adamant that they don’t consider this blues, but it’s a close cousin. When not doused in drones, the record is bursting with boogie – a kind of shaggy, euphoric, sweat sequined strain of boogie that’s more akin to the brokedown soulshake of someone like the name-checked Tetuzi Akiyama (see: track #3).

Like Akiyama’s Don’t Forget To Boogie the band deconstructs the heartbeat hum of ionic vibrations broadcasting from every environ and contorts them into shards of guitar that slice at the listener with a satisfying scratch. The band hammers on phrases, digging through Middle Eastern fuzztone and African Tuareg desert blues with equal hunger. The record is a sun ritual for a new age, dancing out the technological marvels of our time and crushing them into clatter matter, shaking their shambles along to the insistent beat and loosing all tethers in the process. As the title asserts, this is real – a tactile, turbulent, throttle that shakes up the last reluctant bones in one’s system and frees the listener from a life of stagnation. Get this on the turntable as soon as humanly possible.



Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Gong Gong Gong – “Siren b/w Something’s Happening”

Beijing’s Gong Gong Gong tap into the tradition of bomb-bare psych blues. There’s not a drum in sight but the band is pounding that pulse as hard as Lightnin’ and John Lee. The pair herald the swell of a storm on lead single “Siren,” culminating in a feedback squall that’s not unhinged, but at the very least, unsettling. On the flip they let the floodwaters rip from the getgo, boiling their strings in a bath of fuzz and foam that’s thick as molten honey. Still the rhythm pulses and there’s a sense that Gong Gong Gong are either running from something sinister or running with it, bringing a deluge of doom to all who crowd their path.


Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Josh Doss

Flying way under the radar, this tape from Lexington songwriter Josh Doss snuck out on Was Ist Das last month and its packed with hazed late-night gems tipping on a fulcrum of damped down boogie blues and sore-throated Americana. Doss’ delivery has a way of sounding like your old Tom Petty tapes got left in the dust and sun too long, crackling and warbling with a slow draw delight. Aesthetics aside though, Doss knows his way around country-twanged chooglers that swagger with a strange menace, shouldering their way through fellow patrons to dance woozily in the open floor of last call calm. Doss breathes worn leather epithets over a simple setup that favors plodding bass and copper strums. The fidelity’s got all the charms of room mic house show capture, but that humble draping seems to suit Doss just fine. Sheen would only make these songs squint.

Though he draws from a wealth of ‘70s outlaws for inspiration, on a contemporary level the album feels like a kindred spirit to the great and elusive Golden Gunn LP that saw Steve Gunn and Hiss Golden Messenger team up a few years back. Like that treasure, Don’t Let Your Time Pass You By is bound by a debt to the night, to the bar and to the dirt. It reeks of loose tobacco, wooden bar tops that can’t let go of last night’s beer and the dank, humid cold of mid-October at 3AM. Already feeling like a private press holy grail in its own time, Doss’ cassette is worth digging up while it lasts.




Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Dommengang

Sophomore outing from blooze-psych unit Dommengang knuckles down into the parched settings of their new move West. With the aid The Fucking Champs’ Tim Greene, they’ve worked through a record that’s punching the same bruised flesh as Endless Boogie or Quest for Fire but shot through with a reverence for motorik chug and psych fray that begs some relevance to newer space rock fronters like Föllakzoid or indie heavies Black Mountain. Drummer Adam Bulgasem locks down the beat like an iron anchor, pulling the band’s whirlwind fray a bit closer to Earth, but he’s hard pressed to keep things from feeling a bit hairy. Dommengang pummels through a greasy set of bottom feeder bombast that stops only to wipe the sweat with a tender tone-down on the album’s title track.

Over the rest of the record the L.A. transplants shudder the ground with a steel-toed amp rumble that feels comfortable soundracking top-down, red line rips through the canyon in the creeping darkness of sundown. There’s a predatory quality, slinking and preening through the songs on Love Jail. They howl in the shadows and flicker like firelight in the distance. Their heat mostly burns barren and sinister though, not a welcoming refuge but a dangerous encampment to be skirted by those looking for purchase. Though, they flash a bit of underbelly on the aforementioned title track and creeping closer, “Stay Together.” This is a nice step forward from the band’s debut, not cracking the compass on new directions but keeping the line taut within their current tack.




Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Endless Boogie

Regardless of what else is going on in your life, your country, your brain or your heart it’s a good year when Endless Boogie descends from the fanged fog to bestow an album on the poor disenfranchised souls laid down at music’s hearth. From the first second that Vibe Killer sweats through your needle, the album owns you. Vocalist and beating heart of the Boogie, Top Dollar, is a beast that leers at the listener and oozes every bit of the twisted soul of 3AM predatory rock n’ roll.

And like the album’s mouthpiece, there’s a sickness to the grooves that inhabit the record, expunged every so often by the raised hackle burn of guitar scream. The outbursts are rare exorcisms, but when the band want’s to twist the knife, they know how hard and fast to turn. For the most part though Endless Boogie are the essence of unshaken cool, reflecting your own insufficiency back in their steady mirrored gaze. Hell, this is a band that’s taken a story about seeing Kiss at a kite festival in ’74 and made it seem like boogie chillun gospel, a tale as old as time riding the rope burned ruts of a molasses groove. That’s musical alchemy. That’s the cold hard delivery of no-nonsense masters at work.

If you’ve come this far in life and had Endless Boogie soundtracking a even a small piece of it, then the album should fit like a worn leather companion. They’re not gonna shake the foundations that built ’em at this point, but the damn sure know how to sell the formula. My advice is to buy the ticket, take the ride and let it seep into your own soul. Take the ninety degree burn of confidence that Vibe Killer employs and refract it back out to your own world. The world won’t see it coming.




Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Power – “Slimy’s Chains”

Aussie punks Power get down to the nut of it on “Slimy’s Chains,” a hard-knuckled pumper that begs comparisons to the proto punk knock of ’76-’77, harnessing hard rock’s slip towards leaner territory. The band built up a reputation in their homeland as ferocoius live bashers and they’d harnessed at least a portion of that sweat and energy here. The set snuck out at the tail of ’16 in Australia but finds its way Stateside via In The Red next month. Plenty of pockets still pushing out quality rockers from Oz and Power feel like they’ve got a tap into the divine boogie beast.



Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Savoy Motel – “Sorry People”

Good news for all the moonbabies out there, the psych/soul/glam/funk barrage of Savoy Motel has found a home at What’s Your Rupture?, spinning their once obscure single into an upcoming album’s worth of sparkle sodden mutant handclap boogie that feels lived in and crinkly as a Twinkeyz single run through the woodchipper and neck-stomped by Slade. This new taste of the LP is a heavy hitter that sneers and holds our Angel of No Mercy, Jay Reatard as its inspiration. There’s less melted sun splatter than on that breakout “Hot One” but still plenty to love about the platform heel stomp, disco click ‘n shuffle and paint peeler of a solo that adorn “Sorry People.” Definitely psyched on Jeffery Novak and co. fleshing this project out into a true weirdo run backwards through the television tube memory of our childhoods.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

75 Dollar Bill

NY duo 75 Dollar Bill meld an obvious love of Tuareg guitar twines, desert electro-blues and the kind of Japanese broken boogie noise that’s getting fewer and further between these days. Wood/Metal/Plastic/Pattern/Rhythm/Rock builds four pieces into towering walls of drone and snakes of guitar winding through desolate alleyways of percussion. They’ve been studying up their Ethiopiques, feasting on Arabic modality and pinning both to a dirty boogie beat that gores the heart of dance out of a ragged and frantic trance. The big step here is that Che Chen and Rick Brown are no longer alone in their excavation of the psychic heartbeat at the center of the Earth. For this record they’ve brought on a wealth of collaborators, Cheryl Kingan on baritone and alto saxes, Andrew Lafkas on contrabass, Karen Waltuch on viola, Rolyn Hu on trumpet and Carey Balch on floor tom.

The menagerie of sound adds to the chaos and clatter of their ragged stomp and its definitely the puzzle piece they’ve been looking for. Wood/Metal/Plastic/Pattern/Rhythm/Rock is euphoric in its search for the knife edge between noise and nuance. Chen’s guitars are brittle and bruised, sounding like metal twisting over on itself time and time again. Brown, for his part, finds rhythm wherever it lies, using a wooden crate to create a cavernous thud that’s omnipresent on the album and working his way through an arsenal of shakers and beaded rhythm sticks for a sound that’s organic in its street band aesthetic. In the end, the band has hammered all of their moving pieces into the shape of a record that can’t help but feel soulful, ferocious and raw.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments

Dan Melchior

Melchior is hard man to pin down, he’s moved from garage to noise and back again so often its hard to know what the newest release holds in store. Plays ‘The Greys’ falls pretty squarly into the noise camp and despite the kind of worn notion of “I don’t play the blues, I play the greys,” its a nice deconstruction of the blues and boogie forms in the same vein as Tetuzi Akiyama’s Don’t Forget To Boogie, albeit without the malfunctioning amp aspect. Instead, Melchior takes the repetitive notion of boogie and lets it fall into the blender blades of fuzz, feedback and blatant jump cut juxtaposition. His guitar ties tracks together but it fades in and out of view like a a radio station pushing past the broadcast limits.

And at its heart this record seems to be about pushing past limits, past pain, past life and past pop. Melchior himself has had a bad run of it in the last few years, personally and the some of that understandable frustration and sadness seems to be coming through in these bleak exorcisms. Melchior knows how to wield his noise and here he’s found a good balance between the drop out zone of boogie and the moments when the surrounding hum takes us over.



Support the artist. Buy it HERE.

0 Comments