Seriously plunderphonic, this baby plays Surrealist ping-pong with ’50s advertising, sped-up exotica, Brat Pack crooners and virtually anything else that fevered mind of Steven Stapleton could chuck in there (it’s little wonder this was three years in the making).
I can imagine Stapleton dressed in his crow-black finery rooting through the charity bins, this perverted twinkle in his eye as his mischievous mind affixes to new trajectories. Trajectories that fit into the loonier end of the Nurse spectrum, cross-pollinated in disruptive sonics and edit room discards, until everything is writhing round for dominance in a heap of malevolent Slinkys. If you’re driving back down the motorway at some ungodly hour, dog-tired, these dislocations will
Continue reading Nurse With Wound – The Sylvie and Babs High Thigh Companion […]
Blast First Petite
Stuck in traffic for hours, long after I desperately had to get somewhere. I’m still intent, which is past reason.
What she’s doing on the guitar reminds me of the mid-’90s experimental electro scene. Ooh, nice bit of panning. Does that come off live?
I bet it would be good live. They played in London, just recently, and a bunch of other places, including Bristol I think, before.
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Continue reading Nisennenmondai – N […]
Downstairs, Grandpa’s listless hand lowered the needle. He reclined. His chair was as starchy soft as the scratched record’s hiss. Sister Rosetta flowed above that sound as the Decca spun.
The hiss faded as the music warmly flooded the hallway, and only she got to the top of the stairs. The bathroom light, faulty, pinged and zapped above Rosetta’s mellifluous tones, making Freddy’s ear occasionally twitch.
Freddy’s puffy bitten right hand was closed around a dirty cup of water. In his other he grasped an unscrewed rizla, pills in its centre. His television, black and white, reflected across the hall in the bathroom mirror, seemed to depict a still image — until a hand moved, and a
Continue reading Venetian Snares – My Love Is A Bulldozer […]