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

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AKTI Records

Enhet För Fri Musik - Det Finns Ett Hjärta som för dig LP (Omlott)

Listening to one of my favorite record from past few years. Stunning album that covers really wide ground in music and pulls it off nicely. A lot of amateurish folky songs that chance to atmospheric noise and eerie instrumentals that are sometimes spiced up with swedish spoken word passages. Feelings of isolation and utter beauty are ever present through the whole trip.


Sunken Cheek - Familiar CS

Had this on the "new" purchases stack for a long time now. Slow building metal bashing and eerie resonant tones. Great atmosphere with junk sounds. Onslaught of more gain drenched scraping, creaking, and feedback. Some use of loops and droning synth as well. Many layers of activity, but never too busy. Great quick listen.




The Day of The Antler "Jordrök" CD

Day of Antler provides you very otherworldly soundscapes. From thick bassy synth wall to Strom.EC type intense rhythmic parts. And since I have previous experiences of this band, it makes it hard to pin point what they are. Neverthless, the CD is a great piece of work, whole 37 minutes are used well and I can't see anyone getting bored with this. One time there's spacy synths and second moment there's some harsh noiseish sounds grinding through your speakers. Few songs have lyrics, which are in Finnish. Very much reminds me of Nuori Veri. Limited to 100, get it while you can.


Stroker - Perverted Justice CS

Relentless, reckless, disgusting wall of bass overload noise. Occasional warped laser sounds shining through, but for the most part this sticks to low end punishment and filthy vibe.

B side starts with damaged low end buzzing and warped maniacal, sobbing vocals broken up by more low end rumble. This time with a bit more variation in terms of frequency range and occasional returns to the sounds of sobbing/hyperventilating. Not a feel good release.

Also have the tape on Monorail Trespassing, but would love to hear even more from this project.



DRESSING - From The Body To The Door CD (Oxen, 2022)
Busy yet slow paced, Dressing constructs some bizarre sonic sites on this album. The sources and sounds might not be new in themselves - one could place Dressing in the same fold as any tape noiser out there - but the whole thing has this peculiar trembling and rippling quality to it. The sounds bent, shook and let ring out uncannily, ever growing in scale and weight as the album progresses. An underwater city unravelling itself. And there's so much more to uncover with each listen. Now, this is what, the third release? I'm quite amazed. Excited to see where this is going. One of the definite highlights so far this year!

HEALTH & HAPPINESS IN THE 21st CENTURY - C80 (Robert Fuchs, 2021)
A favorite from last year. Like some restless supercharged  Andy Bolus, he sets off one hell of a cacophony. Layers of small mechanical sounds grind, squeal and drill away at high speed. Small is a keyword here as the sounds are kept at a moderate volume, lending space to one another. It's a rare move in harsher noise, not to crank things. I'm not an enemy of knobs at max, but the modest levels really serves this tape well. A seriously messy room full of movement, where you can easily make out and study any sound in the mix, or just sit back and let shit fly around your head. Excellent tape which I'm sure could please more people than its 21 current owners.

THE RITA & MANIA - Split C40 (Harsh Head Rituals, 2007)
One of the very first noise releases I bought. I remember not being able to "get" The Rita, while being floored by Mania from the start. I really enjoy The Rita's side now, 15 years later. The short remix of a Conqueror track, which opens his side, is what it is I guess. Short effective harsh blast. The untitled piece that follows is stronger though, with its rich and rather airy spacious build. And then comes Mania. Jesus. Intense, initially restrained, the reins held looser and looser as it goes, some almost early Ramleh reminiscent part in tve middle, ending up completely unhinged. He covers so much ground in this single track without losing focus. Not sure if there will ever be any more Mania reissues, but this 20 minute epic is one of Brewer's finest moments and needs to be heard.


Quote from: Baglady on August 05, 2022, 12:53:10 AM

THE RITA & MANIA - Split C40 (Harsh Head Rituals, 2007)
One of the very first noise releases I bought. I remember not being able to "get" The Rita, while being floored by Mania from the start. I really enjoy The Rita's side now, 15 years later. The short remix of a Conqueror track, which opens his side, is what it is I guess. Short effective harsh blast. The untitled piece that follows is stronger though, with its rich and rather airy spacious build. And then comes Mania. Jesus. Intense, initially restrained, the reins held looser and looser as it goes, some almost early Ramleh reminiscent part in tve middle, ending up completely unhinged. He covers so much ground in this single track without losing focus. Not sure if there will ever be any more Mania reissues, but this 20 minute epic is one of Brewer's finest moments and needs to be heard.

This was recently uploaded to youtube so I was able to give it a listen. Definitely agreed that it should be reissued at some point! I'd like to know what else might be reissued as well.


It was so recently that tape came, that I was keeping CD version on piles "to listen" for a while. This is by far the most original of TNB recordings, mostly due 3rd person joining with sax noise. "a-side" was more full blasting noise, while the "b-side" is very unique way of blending metal junk scratching and almost musical sax playing with success. Very much recommended CD!

Input Error
Tape was called Tumours (1996, MSNP) but perhaps as reissue comes on UK label, reissue is spelled Tumors! Listened this already few times, and I would say these days I appreciate DBL even more than I did back in the 90's! I used to be, and am, such a passionate lover of "amplified noise", with feedback, loudness etc, and DBL is all about the "line-in" texture, crunch, details of all sorts of brute overdrive, grain, dust and whatever you'd call it. No loud smashing & things happening in room space. These days, I absolute appreciate the possibility to approach details and color of sound partikels that could get lost under violent feedback or amp rumbling.

TIM CATLING "radio ghosts" CD
Brilliant drone album. There is some ultra minimal drone, remindining of for example cd of Diesel Guitar. Then there is also electric guitar "drone", which is more like fast tremolo picking on string, but not playing music. Just creating tone in ways I rarely hear in "guitar drone". Packaging top notch like on this label tends to be. I should probably try to get missing 23five titles too. Back in the day, when I distributed these, I didn't grab everything, but only selected titled. Based on what I have, it seems as one could safely continue getting also titles you known nothing of, and expect them to be good.

Two 25 minute tracks. Originally tape, reissued on CD 2013. One track Dilloway works Drumm, and other track other way round. Excellent works all the way, and makes me wonder what other Dilloway (or Drumm) stuff I should be getting now that there is feeling that I don't have enough stuff from these guys. This was vastly better than Boggs Vol. Two CD I listened before this.
E-mail: fanimal +a+ cfprod,com


Dead Body Love - Audiocide '95
Urashima reissue of the Slaughter Productions tape. First track is is the stand out, deep rumbling texture accented with jagged static and feedback alternating in the background between channels. Flipside sees the loop button getting a good workout, some sections much stronger than others but still good.

Necropsy Odor - Tales From The Tepid Cavity EP
New goregrind band playing in the old style of Carcass, Necrony etc. Short and sweet and fast paced, which is how I prefer to listen to this style.

Bloated Slutbag

Gonna post a few things that ended up elsewhere a little while back, with couple snips here and there to better ensure a modicum of continuity.


Was cleaning out the ol' attic when I found the below-transcribed. Distinctly remember doing some scribbling on a particularly slow day at work. Then getting home and too embarrassed to post the unreadable shit. (Though it's possible a cleaned up rendition made it to one of the AWOL boards.) Luckily, the last vestiges of shame have long since departed this sorry carcass, so just the straight shit no edits. No apologies in advance.

The Rita - Lake Depths Lurker
The Rita - Bodies Bear Traces Of Carnal Violence

The Rita. You gotta love em. What other noise project would have the balls to churn out release after release which is, to the underprivileged ear, essentially indistinguishable? Two from Troniks and Harshnoise are a case in point. On first exposure, be like, What in almighty fuck? I swear I've just listened to the same five seconds spread over two fucking discs. Even after a good several exposures, nagging doubt may well persist. Is this dude taking the piss or what? That The Rita cite Dead Body Love as not a but THE principal influence could be telling. DBL were one I'd always admired for : unapologetic commitment to the pure stuff, and an obsessive preoccupation with all things, well, dead. Okay, so The Rita's no DBL – too much "talent" for that, and no, not quite dead – but the SHIT does the job.

Now, there exist turdbrains who will argue that SHIT of such profundity offers nothing new. (Oh yeah? Here's how you do new: don't make noise!) Fortunately, the noisehead is naturally protected from turdbrain philosophy by a protective layer commonly known as turdear. Turdear will keep your noisehead blissfully unencumbered with abilities of the tastemaking – nevermind tastekeeping – persuasion, filtering everything that ever was is and will through sludge-bludgered hellholes of everlasting FILTH.

Okay Sod, you've had your chance to blabber on about your private personal peeves, what of the FUCKING NOISE? Funny you should ask, I was just getting to that. The noise. Well, that it is. It is noise. Need I embellish? Aw...

Lake Depths submerge the earhole twenty thousand leagues below the proverbial surface saturations, deep down into bottomless spirals of the listener's own perverted brain. There! Just there: symphonic oratory, prancing and playing at the core. But if no one heard it, did it really make ahh...fuckit. Bits of shriek-scathe do bubble to the surface, here and there, but never really so much as a ripple.

Things loosen up a shred with earlier-rendered Bodies, also delivering a pronounced spike in the frazzled aggressions, particularly at the maniacal urgings of a certain collaboperv. Or maybe some of the bass couldn't squeeze through the gate. Or maybe some of the bass simply couldn't be arsed. This is the (perhaps ironic) genius of the genius of the truly noiseheaded. The more apparent effort one puts into presentation, the more one is essentially diluting the noise- using it as a vehicle for showing off other kinds of rad skillz dood! Total capitulation to noise is simple. Tune in. Turn on. Give up. The Rita remain the ultimate non-living reminder that, at the end of it, the whole of the recorded world, the whole world of sound, music, and everything else...IT'S ALL NOISE. The End.
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag

Bloated Slutbag

Barstool Mountain - I (Closing Time)
It all coheres. Thematically, sonic-sensually. Which goes as well for I as the subsequent II, even if the latter seems less keen to establish where it's been or where it's going. Call it ptsd in slow motion or call it living the dream, paddling that bruised and buttered carcass through dimlit haze of interminably ruptured gloomcalm, fat flatulent burls rearing up sudden-like, malformed testicle hazards curdled into buzz-quelled Zed withdrawals, basted jollies nixed to a nadir'd stop-motion lurch n stumble, spiraling ungentlemanly down gristle-choked pizz-streams. Dream nightmare, same dif.

Liked this one, liked the rattling in the cage, in the bones, the floors, windows, shit falling off shelves, grit-textured de-bonking of duly soused cranials, ouch ferfuggsakes, at least at the appropriate levels for which I would assume this sort of documentation is demanded.  Presumably would work just as well in muted capacities, perhaps that much the better, would certainly in such sense cohere with the almost didactic intensity informing the interminably tunneled vision. But, like, it's just that the Vee knob calls to me it does.

Epilogue. See that's the thing. Had a real firm handle on it all, or really enjoyed the presumption of so having. Then along comes II, which is a whole 'nother impenetrable story.


Didn't want to say anything till back in the proper uh state of mind.

When that 1st 'Stool dropped, so did the obvious one-liner, re- "For those who think AoF is too hi-fi..." Definitely some funky choices in the opening ditty and a clear course "correction" once the lengthy principle starts to unspool.

My reverse-chronological take might be an attempt to square the circle with the more through-composed II- which on reflection is clearly its own self-contained thing- against a backdrop of the more storied projects, which in my brain started to morph (again) around Frusen Musik. Such a rich body of work, going up Rabbit Hole till the stools dis-lodge.

So saying, literally minutes ago a mini soddy handed me the 3lp, stool thee not, no doubt a whole 'nother set of elegantly churned up pig-cycles to triangulate. Bar, up.
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag

Bloated Slutbag

Barstool Mountain - II (Memory Eraser)
With I (Closing Time), had in these holes presumed enough to cop due clues as to lines upon which the project was set to, indelicately, fracture. Now am back to square fucked and maybe that was already in the cards. Fractured, right, but snifted through hazy fur-burnt somnolence, belched n felched cluster ruptures so eminently blowing fat hairy chunks round the flurz-bur-shlurzzled MG AoF obit. Orbit. Whatever the frzzzzzzzzzzz. Er...fuck was e on about? Something about distinguishing the lines between one monicker and another. Like it matters. Like I matters.


Okay boys and girls, think I'm about properly soused, time for round two. Come on Barstool Mountain II, I'm not afraid. In we go with...old shitfaced man of the mountain rendition of boom boom roppongi, dragged limp, neither kicking nor screaming, through mounds of rusted sludger bludger, filth-mounds, feeding deep into title track whose ragged acoustic sources thunk and ka-chunk, speeded-down down DOWN cantankerous bludgeon-thud hammering from on looow. In the final minute and all heftiness piles on for a turn before strategically exiting and to the crown jewel'd confessional. Frustrated fireside, elliptical ghost edges ripped ragged and smudged to brutalized oblivia, peaks and pokes through gira-esque soul rend-ition, could swear there were tears in the eye the brutal perv-vection, should this? Now, it should not be seen, should not be, should be, is, is brute, brutal. Fuck. Scuse me, another glass beckons, or perhaps another round of ye olde textured curdle dragging drugged n stupor'd through frazzled frizzle-blurt.

But hold on, let's just say one thing here, because it has to be said. Sense of humor. Grim. Brutal. Bestial. Human. Warm. If that's your thing... But, there's a pained smiled bristling thing through the endless self-brutalism. Brutalisme. Okay, wait. You, like, think this is, like, fucking funny? By the way?! That ring on her finger don´t belong to me, okay? Like, fuck.

Just buy that motherfucker another drink.

Honestly folks. Can't think when I've just so pervectly wibed with a piece of auricular filth. Round three comin up. See you next weekend!


QuotePresumably would work just as well in muted capacities

^ That was the starting point and let's go with it. Muted capacitants. And apologies if you've encountered this before, but there may be no better test of HN mettle than filtering said mettle through pathetically slack juris-floppence. Juris-futzence. Juris...

At the corner of the earhole the burnt-raw cravings of indelicate rumble-sludge snort 'n blurt through over-taxed esophagi. Primitive irate angry ineffectual pathetically limp buttering from on low. Festering snorkel-core snorting up a phlegm-sputted motherlode, horked hard. Buttermilked fussy-splooge piddling out the choked-raw porker. Belch.

One of my favorite moments, if you will call it a moment, is when the hand just starts wailing into a steady metal-on-metal hammering dirge. Distorted to all proverbial fugg. And just doesn't let up. In the above-prescribed muted capacities this manifests as dirge proper, but with weirdly deceptive depths swallowing up ill-guarded attentions, implications, incursions, intricate frazzle-knobs chafing in a distance-cum-full-frontal blow-out.

See, here's the thing, at least with 'Stool of this caliber. Like, you never really knew how close up and personal the next sound event was due to be registering. Like a warped fever dream slowed down to shit-ground curdle, constantly warping smearing smudging in and out of focus, like if I were to just, like, force the snifting shnozz down one more layer, see, or maybe two or three more layers, it would, like, start to make some hideous sense, a hideously disgusting dis-sense sorta sense, only to be avalanched with unscrupulous blurts of half-dismembered cranials smooshed toofless. Like.

Man fuck this shit, where's my goddamn dri
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag

Bloated Slutbag

Barstool Mountain – Birth Canal (New Forces)
Blessed with an opportunity to preview the singular III, the first thing to transpire was the necessary: whip out all the other 'Stool on hand. Ain't much. Only the two tapes, I & II. So a need then to pad it out with a good dose of recent AoF, the heavy shit. The WCN 3lp for starters. Fecal matter of exceedingly weighty persuasion. Then on to 'ol discogs, cause it's easier to suss them boring liner note minutiae on screen then to fiddle around with special packaging stowed in assorted nooks and crannies. And then... what in the bleeping fuck? There was a new one? On New Fucking Forces? You dirty fucking bastards. How could you, how could I, where's my fucking brain, how did I, fucking?

So, okay, calm down blumphole. Copies still available. Plenty Stool to go around. Think I'll just put in an order, right, and. Hold on a sec. Just you hold on. Just let's have a looksee over here, right. Right in here. And, yes, of course, stuck between the Ochu and the Zalhietzli, Birth Canal.

The amazing thing is, given the current state of the few remaining brain cells, this doesn't happen more often. (Full disclosure: it does. All the fucking time.)

So, am I going to, like, actually say anything about this wonderful little beaut? Yes I am, of that you can be absolutely positively sure.


Wait. Who you calling little? Well how about anything clocking in at twenty-one minutes and fifty-two seconds- little enough for ya? The size of course belies the true heft of this true blessing to sound kind. I was almost ready, accepting that BC would precede III by a good half year...I was almost ready to go out on a limb and declare the 'holes as reporting receipt of their heftiest, heaviest, motherlodingest, serving of Stool yet.

Down to the crunch, the twenty-one minute fifty-two second crunch, and all them nice little thematic interludes are dispensed with; no shit-faced singalongs, no midnight confessionals, no hydroxizinal drone-frieze. Thus to free the focus on, well, the crunch. Thick, deeply-textured murk-be-sputtered crunch, settling on the palate with nice chunky notes of primitivo a la earlier Zone Nord and Dead Body Love, to pull a couple references out the ass, served raw and unvarnished, settling in for solid state bludgeoning-to-death under the full frontal force of brute, strangulated, crrrrrrrrrrrrrunch.

But not just crunch. With Stool, as with all things AoF adjacent, you are in fact assured quite the variegated package of, more and less smooshed-to-shizzle, goodies. First and most apparent are the by-now-signature assemblages of arid acoustic metal thunking wood thunking metal, real physical-like, real slooow-like. A whole lotta thunk, gripped with a firm and unflinching determination to inflict a maximum of hurt, rusted-through patches of muffled rust and shriek ultimately destined for unceremonious dunking into congealed pools of acerbic bilge-waste, to be fished out, in ragged heaps, as though badly bedraggled lengths of tape, stretched to their limits and fraying, were feeding through dank watery cave-holes, musty clenching sphinct-chambers laboring to wring the barest wheezing gasps of choked air from the sorry, sputtering, lot. No one said it was going to be easy.


Quotesettling on the palate with nice chunky notes of primitivo a la earlier Zone Nord and Dead Body Love, to pull a couple references out the ass

But let's just cover that ass for the moment, to affirm that with said notes not for the moment to be implying particularly, or peculiarly, shared airs. Per se. I mean, they are there. In the primitivo, for starters, there might be sussed a wide and abundant species of crunch to which one might ascribe certain snuff-bodied strangulations, certain nordic zones of textured asphyxia.

But the thing is, the thing is. Feel the plain and unfettered acoustic sources playing against said strangulation, said asphyxia. Bear with me for a moment.  Cause, I know, you may well have heard something of that, in the more muscular strains of Hum Of The Druid. The Abisko self-titled. The comp appearances on Sam McKinlay's Militant Walls (#07) and Lake Shark Harsh Noise (#01). The latter representing the centerpiece of an under-remarked vision entitled Texture.

HOtD could on some surface level be declared AoF-adjacent, but not really. Not really, says me. The Druid's style is far more cinematic, an invitation to examine necrosis from a range of perspectives, both here, there, and every which where. But Stool, see. Stool don't do that. Stool, and let's just earmark this with an acknowledgement that I am talking, wholly and completely, out of my ass, is more about the essence (at least, to these much fucked 'holes). About the brute. About the essential unvarnished unfettered brutality of the raw sound, in glorious unglorified raw.

Elsewhere I declare, "substance over style", but not just as a rallying cry. I mean it. AoF, and its adjacencies, is a challenge, to force the attention back, and back. And back again. Back to the roots. To the core. To the raw and unflinching moment. Where life begins.
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag

Bloated Slutbag

Ochu – Tvärsnitt lp
Roughly grabbed together grab bag of roughly scrapped scraping, roughly banged bonging and roughly rusted rustling. Thoroughly abrasive, elemental, organic. One reference might be TNB, but with considerably more compositional flair, the attentiveness to detail recollecting the Lithuanian project naj (who have also been compared to TNB). True NOISE meets concrete sound, in the immortal words of Hum Of The Druid's Eric Stonefelt. An undeniably well put together cross section of well-seasoned roughage, grits 'n granules, that, quite sadly, took me quite the while to get around to getting with.

Yes, I'll freely admit, this taking of the while would likely be due in part to the percussion credited in the liner notes. Yessir, a bit of a chauvinist pig, me, when it comes to percussion, even with people like Sam McKinlay vouching for it, even with people like Jeph Jerman quite persuasively suing, in disc-long capacity, for preservation of the Drum. And speaking of which, and to digress a bit from the current digression, if Jerman hasn't etched the tome on Rough Music, he has certainly chiseled several key slabs. Jerman will be the fourth and final reference to be sectioned in this ill-worded commentary, but perhaps the one to whose elemental roughness Tvärsnitt most closely cleaves.

So yes, there is percussion per se, but more in the restless overamped snap crackle pop of reverse-engineered avalanche, grinding uphill in slowmo, like you'd already heard it coming, and going, so many times before, or so it seems, but still get, like, a neat thrill in admiring the crooked, gnarled, beauty. No less legit are legit elements of legit music coming in for the briefest moments. At one weird interval a simple repeated line of stately organ slots, just so, straight into full flavored feast of caustic rust and bustle, giving way to a lumpily huffed series of weirdly amped bells. Ding-ding-ding! Yes, laddies and gentlewomen, it seems we have a winner. But uh...don't get too settled cause all too soon the incoming, sharply defined, glinting, in cold pale light.

Bring it. Bring, the Pain. Full-on sledgehammer-on-stubborn-metal-spike, descending fast, rusted crescendo of pungent hammering ka-chank, to kick-start something like a grim and severely broken postmortem free jazz- without the jazz, and not particularly free, where saxophones are apt to be found shoved half deep in crevices that the sun is understandably uninclined to shine- as interpreted via the acoustic stylings of Kellogg's decidedly grim-faced Noise Krispies- Scrape, Rustle, Plonk.

Scooped up now, sudden-like, the mirthless trio finds itself plonked into a giant porcelain wastebin, still milking the rusted acoustic-scraps for all they're worth, cause frankly, it's all they're worth. Clank goes the grate, enter gargantuan gnarled mitt, grabbing hold and aggressively shaking, the unmerry band still at it, hard, inside. Not so much a wild percussion as unsteady lines of lopsided slide, skitter, scrape and bong, scraping the bong of music, because it is music, rough music, as perhaps all true NOISE must in the beholder be, scraping the bong of the most rugged, ragged and raw of musics, to find a painfully sweet buzz in its resin.
Someone weaker than you should beat you and brag
And take you for a drag


A.B.O. – Documentation '89 - '93 CD

Got really into broken electronics type of stuff with Capers, and ABO continues that path for me. This is really interesting CD, at times I keep turning my head towards soundsystem cause I instinctively think there's a malfunction. But it's the sounds, they are so mangled up, and I love it! One track has this really torturous high pitch squeal which was really a challenge. Sometimes you can barely hear anything going on, almost like a drum machine that has sound off but the sequencer is still going on and creating this really low sound, there's times when it sounds like things are just unplugged in the middle of a 'song' and it drifts into weird tones and static. I really really recommend this one, excellent CD that navigates it's way with malfunctioning chaos.


Kent Tankred - "There is Nothing to Attain" CD

More minimal broken electronics! Kent Tankred is not a familiar name to me beforehand. First CD has harsh textures, drilling sounds, buzzing and swirling electronics, as if a control center has lost it's mind. Second track sounds like a cat is walking on an organ. Third one starts with an odd funky drum machine pattern and mutates into tape manipulated garbled mess. Like the machine ate the damn tape but still keeps playing it, all tangled up. Song finally collapses into humming low drone and crackles, very good! Fourth song has eerie bell sounds echoing in a void, droning buzzes. Reminds me a lot of 60/70s minimal experimental music. Last track sounds like someone is drilling through your wall! Great for neighbour wars!

Second CD consist of five different pieces. There's lots of humming synth, broken textures crackling, swirling and popping around them. Low frequencies looming in the background, some goes to nice subtonal levels. One song a highly irritating tone that keeps blasting your ears for 10 minutes, real endurance test!

Strongly recommend this one, fascinating album. Or maybe I am just down in the hole of more abstract noise but this is very enjoyable to listen to, 2hr duration of the double CD goes fast, besides that ear ripper. Also have to give props to mastering, there's a wide spectrum of many kinda of sounds but they all are crystal clear, or deep ocean low, all blend in a impressive mix.