Started by GEWALTMONOPOL, December 15, 2009, 09:30:59 PM

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Fistfuck Masonanie

Quote from: bitewerksMTB on October 31, 2019, 06:40:22 PM
Also listened to Electric Wizard "Time to Die" cd. Picked up a cheap copy recently. I didn't care for the material back when it came out but now, I like it a lot. I guess I'll have to give "Wizard, Bloody, Wizard" another chance.

Agreed, Time To Die is my favorite album since Dopethrone. It felt like a proper return to form and I was surprised to see all of the negative reviews/opinions when it first came out. I honestly find Witchcult Today and Black Masses kind of boring but I seem to be in the minority in that aspect.


Witchcult Today is a favorite but remember very little about Black Masses, which, I think, I  received as a Xmas gift a few years ago. I've been meaning to dig all of their records out for a listening session.

I tried to find more Misfits to d/l but all the blogs I came across were fucked up...

Zeno Marx

Quote from: bitewerksMTB on October 31, 2019, 08:28:27 PM
I tried to find more Misfits to d/l but all the blogs I came across were fucked up...
PM me with the ones you want.  I *might* be able to help.
"the overindulgent machines were their children"
I only buy vinyl, d00ds.


New Hymenal Opening album on F&V is just a perfect lesson in american brutality!

Euro Trash Bazooka

Quote from: cr on October 31, 2019, 05:40:09 PM
Searching for a nice Halloween soundtrack - right now it's Thergothon - Stream From The Heavens. Good start.

What's your favourite Samhain/Halloween...whatever you call it - music?

First two Mercyful Fate albums.


Bloated Slutbag

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Torba ‎– Musique Inconcrète
From becalming beginnings serving soothing drones for rabid harshdorks- and rabid harshdorkettes...Torba has come quite the ways. And I'm not just saying that because each and every piece of the now prodigious discog covers so much territory. Or, there again, maybe I am. Jump aboard any given Torba and you're in for a ride. Twists, tangles, knots, weaves. Densely collaged concerns, both concrete and less-than-concrete. Intricate elaborations of the brute and the genteel, juxtaposing scenic nature-scapes, grinding industrial-scrapes, bustling dockyard-crates, chaotic orchestral-clamor, disembodied crowd-murmur. And fat flatulent dollops of heavy duty analog crunch.

In truth, the heavy duty crunch has been in steady retreat for a good few years now. At this point, it may be safe to declare, the last vestiges of rabid harshdork- and rabid harshdorkette- would seem to be gone for good. And I'm not just talking crunch. With reference to the prodigious territories previously negotiated, Inconcrète inclines toward an almost pastoral elaboration of intricate circumspection. No deep dives into roiling industrial-strength cauldrons, rather a tippy-toeing along the cusp, occasional blasts of steam clouding the view but never to a point that may worry the undertaking. You're in safe hands here. Careful, sure, genteel. And then, here and there, because, y'know, leopards and spots and that, muffled snatches of casually cruel violence from sweaty, over-muscled, brute.

Lapjèdr Fòr establishes the essential dyed-in-the-brute tone for the thirty-some minute lp. Low fidelity field recordings meticulously manhandled through rough-n-tumble tape orchestrations of oh-so-ill-kempt rumples and ruptures, elaborating unsteadily in a vaguely narrative play of call and spelunk. Field recordings whose contours are shaped, as much by the recording devices doing the recording as by the fields being recorded. In this orchestra of intermittence, interruption, abbreviation, the fields are obscured, distorted, muffled, warped, leaving the listener with no clear, concrete, idear as to what exactly is being heard, mangled sounds of the recording instruments themselves painting partial pastorals, recognizable, ugly, beautiful, obscure.

Okay then, run the tapes-

Run-out vinyl grooves steadily clump to high-pitched whine, distant voices, repetitive buzz. Rough tape-ejection and then: plop into something resembling roiling industrial-strength cauldron. Masked spoken utterances in the left ear compete with buffeted wind rumblings over amplified crowd noise and, far down the mix, machine-like crank and crinkle. A second rough-cut and the field is almost emptied, snatches of bird-chirp edging around slow-strummed bass pluckings and intermittent flits of radio static. Then a second plop into the cauldron: field suddenly brimming with dragged-out metal scraping, rumble-sheets, whitened washes that resolve into lapping seashores as storm clouds gather overhead, thunder crashing to a steadily pouring deluge, disembodied voices growing anxious, directing hapless assistant to get a fucking tarp over the goods. Trapped by the storm, we make our way inward, deep into darkened tunnel, ghostly organ wavering to whispered voices and roughly warbled crumble-flutter. The light at the end beckons, edged with slowly ascendant strands of higher-end wheedle...inevitably to end on the unceremonious tape-deck ker-plunk.

Intermezzo delivers slow arpeggiated piano over unconcerned crowd noise with all the non-fidelity of tape-recorder left in the next room, scratchings of scrinched-tight tape spools mixed with assorted chokes, coughs and thumps.

Jòdk Ì Vèr divests itself of the some of the ill-fidelities previously posited. Almost immediately we are plonked, unceremoniously, into deep, darkened, layers of densely overlapping rumble walls, mechanical hoist hauling bulky length of protesting cable along pock marked cowpath, heavier boiler-room bulgings coming in slow-rolling undulations. Visibility is poor, but at the l-r edges the concrete snaps and crackles suggest mic getting dragged haphazard through wooded thicket. In the closing minutes we venture back to the surface, masked snatches of voice muttering over grainy factory hum.

On to the flip-side and a more familiarly Torba-like sense of fragmented development. Evjìg reprises the deeply funneling ghost waverings, but filters them through rusted metal whinges, occasional clunks and clanks rounding out proceedings. Hymn to a mine-shaft. Then the aperture widens to admit de-tuned strings plucked over scuffed heel-drag and the regulated plonk of spiky metal bits dropped into unlidded piss-bucket. At the third minute, a genuine attempt to noise things up, high-end wheeze complementing heavily leavened measures of rumbling excess. The noise proper is, of course, short-lived, making way for clipped, subtley panned cuts of close mic'd gasp, dull thunk and creak stretched tight over corroded tapeheads. Toward the end, badly-muffled suggestion of proper music bleeds, backmasked, through thick-walled corridor, as though in tribute to some kind of prehistoric industrial urge. Just when the urges are reaching their fulfillment, a lurching into dead-aired squeak, miniature dustbroom skittering at the corners.

Intermezzo 759 and the return of the arpeggiated chord, this time backed by self-asborbed whisperings whose indecipherable declarations get spliced, in rather gross fashion, into collage of wretched, unparsable, hack 'n gag.

Stòvr Njòedr poses melancholic for the briefest interval before repeated stop-pause interjection nets messy spectacle of dis-voiced, disembodied, disconsolance, seemingly emanating from deep within the radiator. As pressures increase, an encroachment of crumpling ruffle-sheets, saturated piping drip-dribbling the length, soon to acquire surges of whitened momentum that quickly burn out in an inelegantly grafted disturbance of tape-ribbon sausage floss. Enter now return of the stringed strum-motif, melancholic misshapen mico-belches contorting around the exterior, miniscule blurt-particles spinning and splooging in a sickening medley of snorting, slopping 'n snuffling. Symphonies of snot.

Digest spew:
Meticulously ordered disorder of concrete elements rendered unreadable, unparsable- or just plain in-concrete- by the principle instrumentation in play; namely, the electronic devices tasked with the recording of the many and varied fields (said to stretch from Germany to Italy). In these densely collaged symphonies, of intermittence, interruption, abbreviation, the origins are as recognizable as they are obscured, mangled, muffled, warped. There is a very calm, almost pastoral inclination in the intricate elaborations, but so too that recognizably Torba-esque deferral to casually cruel violence. Or to say, brute charm. You can take the rabid harshdork out of the noise...
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag


The Rita - Queen Sheets 2xLP (Urashima)

I had already forgotten what this one sounded like (I listened to it years ago when it came out) and I had a vague recollection it would have been more on the "crackle study" side of things that I am not a big fan of. Luckily I remembered it almost all wrong. It does have those crackling parts where you have a short bursts (fraction of a second) of noise with slightly longer quiet parts in between. A full album of only this I would find very boring but here instead they appear in between some extremely crunchy slabs of really ripping HNW. Very heavy and nasty. Even the crackles sound somehow organic (I hear sounds like someone sharply inhaling in the middle of all this) which is a definite plus. Varied and extreme = great!


Last few nights have been:

Teitenblood "The Baneful Choir" cd & Negative Plane " Et In Saecula Saeculorum" cd (Ajna) and I just finished Bizarre Uproar "Verikiima" LP

On the B.U., "Hang the Scum" is my fave piece with the second half of side 2 up next with the vocals, static, & low-end feedbacking. I like the way he split the disgusting photo in half on the insert, as well.

The TTB kills & NP has been a favorite of mine since day one. Need to get the 2nd release on cd so I can listen to everything back to back, straight through. Did anyone happen to witness NP perform at the fest in the Irish cathedral recently?


SKIN GRAFT - Demolition CDR (Liquid Death)
Skin Graft is one of those artists I know I would probably consider a top favorite, and therefore I barely have anything by him. I don't need another favorite artist because I can't afford it. So I'm both glad and frustrated someone stuck this in my hands at Summer Scum (Who? Could it have been Roman? Thanks anyway.) Wet, rusty, thick and trembling noise that takes its time. It's a cramped space, with little or no oxygen. I come to think of Mania, Eros+Massacre especially. Also Wince, in his more restrained temper, but this is SKin Graft and he does this particular thing very very well. Once in a while Mr Howland lets you breathe for a while, but then the bag's suddenly back over ones head again. The fifth and last track is also my favorite here, with it's slow buildup, and after 30+ minutes of teasing the payoff release finally comes. Lovely disc. I wouldn't mind getting more Skin Graft CDs getting thrown at me in weird old venues.


Mania - All Aftermath (tape, Freak Animal): Very good. When listening to it, I mostly hear metal junk and other field recording-like sounds. There clearly are electronics too, but they are more subdued. Atmospheric release, thinking of empty industrial halls, left behind electronics and rusted scrap metal, rain dripping through the roof. Perhaps not the most original associations I'm making here, nevertheless this means this is by far not a head-ripping release, this is more about creating an atmosphere. I like this.

Grunt - Kraniometria / Selected Killing - Secret Tombstone / Worth - Ruination Assessment / Jaakko Vanhala - Cuts of Grace (3" CDs, Freak Animal): I really like this series, classy presentations, short, but interesting releases. Which is why I got them all, even though I wasn't familiar with Worth yet and it's certainly not the best in the series, according to my tastes. Slight collector fetish perhaps to just get this whole series. Grunt is interesting to hear a different approach, though far from my favorite releases of his. Jaakko Vanhala and Selected Killing are very good. Don't know what to say about the Jaakko Vanhala one, but the Selected Killing is interesting in that all tracks are built from 1 layer of electronics, one acoustic sound element and vocals, that does give the tracks a bit of a minimalist feeling, but the outcome is varied, so aside from just being good, I feel this makes it interesting to observe what is going on here (which I'm mostly not doing, since I'm not really a musician myself).


Tape Dekay "Decadimento Del Nastro - Decadenza Di Tutto " cd (Old Captain/ Narcolepsia)

Listened to this cd twice in a row last night & I quite enjoy it. I'm guessing it's a lot of tape manipulation of field recordings as there are some voices and a lot of unidentifiable sounds, weird frequencies, & synth-type noise. The label descriptions says "The content of the current CD has been created with the Automatic Music Control System developed by ONKYO and the Elettrocardiograf by Officine Galileo. Informed by psychotronic distress, thought insertion, electronic harassment and the Frey effect. These 7 recordings reveal harsh and fragmented soundscapes tainted by disembodied voices, squelch and hyper charged feedback".. I don't know what "A.M.C.S." or ONKYO is but I highly recommend this
release for those into 'industrial soundscapes'.


ZSS - Racial Superiority
First album in a long time that has made me drop everything give it my full attention from start to finish, on a first impression. The religious samples are pulled off perfectly without seeming too much like a repeat Con-Dom, mostly because they are stuck in some of the most careful negative rumbling i've heard. Similar textures that deserve your full attention are found on Anti-personnel Explosive Devise but that release gets into a pretty familiar Streicher sound, not bad. I will have to purchase Iron Division after how much the composition of Racial Superiority has completely blown me away, it's seriously too good.


Quote from: Strangecross on November 09, 2019, 05:49:33 AM
ZSS - Racial Superiority
First album in a long time that has made me drop everything give it my full attention from start to finish, on a first impression. The religious samples are pulled off perfectly without seeming too much like a repeat Con-Dom, mostly because they are stuck in some of the most careful negative rumbling i've heard. Similar textures that deserve your full attention are found on Anti-personnel Explosive Devise but that release gets into a pretty familiar Streicher sound, not bad. I will have to purchase Iron Division after how much the composition of Racial Superiority has completely blown me away, it's seriously too good.

I have been listening to this album frequently, and think that it is awesome as well.  Everything about it is perfect - from the atmosphere of the tracks to the art on the cover.

Bloated Slutbag

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Ones/Hands ‎– 1997-2005
Jeph Jerman and friends kick back in a calmly collected concrete kerfuffle, warm ones soothing calloused hands in sedate, contemplative, repose. Jeph Jerman, aka he of the Rough Music, does seem to shed some of the rough exterior when tasked in the milieu of less rough-minded company. (Ignore here any Jeph Jerman seeing release on labels otherwise devoted to harsh noise.) On this occasion, it is the company of Daniel Mitha and Nick Phillips to whom the de-roughening duties are duly delegated, the Jermanic detritus of daily dink and doink gentrified over successive stages of softly glowing refinement.

The refinements tend to manifest as silky ambient strands, drugged out, chimeric, laying lucid dream beds upon which badly-kempt rustles and rattles lend a quaint sort of nostalgia. Call me a romantic, but it's frankly hard not to get swept up in the loosely-tethered...flotsam and jetsam....bobbing bumping and thumping merrily along the gently droning streams, a disordered percussion of non-sense made sense-able by virtue of the carefully moored delegation of disparate elements so elegantly drawn, quartered, spaced. Into empty-spaced quarters, attention is drawn, wide-eyed, moth-like, flitting along edges of radiant spectrum, rough splashes of clink and clunk rendered dainty, intransigent, swallowed up in the smooth caress of blushing ambient shimmer.

In the opening moments it is the drone which slowly serves to insulate the rougher passages, sustained horn-like undertow set off by feeding-back cycles of keening, glassy, sheen. Ritual suggestions of discrete echoing percussions and pings make way for closer-mic'd bonks, rattles, scraps, rustling cutleries clanking and scraping against a play of uneven stringed plucking. Quite an abundance of variegated debris, sprawled out as far as the ear can hear, unwilling to get busy or threaten with accumulations of mass. Rather a steadily meandering filling-out of the audible field, crystalline particulars twinkling in the balmy atmosphere.

At about ten minutes the drone fades out and we're plonked ass-deep in the Jerman zone, a clattering clutter of clinkily clonk ker-blonk- pots pans the works- backwashed seashells wheezing in chapped commiseration. Good opportunity to insinuate yer scrutinies among the cracked interstecies of dis-tethered disarray before a rustic finger picking folk-inflection ushers us into sussurant jumble-seas, full up kitchen sink inundation of climactic shake rattle n roll.

On to the second half and a significantly depleted range of scraps. Wide-panned clinks, clanks, string-plunks, mic thumps. Regular cycle of skittering metallic scuttle. Distant pooch yap duly rounding out proceedings. A whiny garage door drags open, trash-cans get hauled out to the curb. Teensy glints of irregular feedback-ish-squeal complement reedy wood-whistles half-heartedly affecting a distuned melodic inclination like some faux urban primitive primordial pre-musical piss-take.

Then the grand finale. Background hum rises up from the scraps, hollow, ghostly, almost completely smothering the all and sundry. By layers and by degrees, the all and sundry starts to elongate, stretching out in steadily cycling overlaps of bright, glittering, acoustic buzz. Sniff. And correct me if I'm wrong, but something seems to be burning. Here again in backwashed streams of tubular seashell sussurance, in the snap crackle pop of smoldering leaves, a growing sense of unease begins to ruffle, the sound field fairly full-up and seemingly expanding in perpetuity, and, end.

Digest spew
Rough n tumble Jermanic kerfuffle, the detritus of daily dink and doink, calmly collected in meandering streams of tranquil repose. The undertow, however, is strong. Dip a little deeper- well, a lot deeper- and perspective starts to fracture, the cracked interstecies of dis-tethered clinkily clonk ker-blonk merrily bobbing bumping and thumping among myriad percussive insistence, all warmly coated in loving droning embrace. Allow the attentions to wander, to sink, deep, into the variegated scraps of debris, the sedate becalming of rustle and rattle. Ah. Then something spiky pokes you in the butt.
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag

Major Carew


The best i've heard from him yet, but I haven't heard all his output. Brilliantly mixed. All sorts going on & each time I listen to it it's as if each recording updates itself when you're not listening to it.Displays great pace ,depth & imagination. Favourite track is 'Stand Alone'. For best results listen to with a decent pair of headphones / whilst using a rowing machine.