Rettsounds - From Our Lips and Hips to the Horned One's Ears

Other than a decent knack for figuring out the names of black metal bands from their undecipherable fonts, I cannot say that I am anything of a metal head. But I do know what I like, and I like finally reading an interview with those Fifty-Foot-Hose-meets-Iron-Maiden weirdo metallers, Christian Mistress. And I really like checking out a timeline on Manilla Road, the finest and longest-running swords and sorcery underground metal band to come out of my country in the past 40 years. And I fucking love devouring an interview with Bobby Liebling from Pentagram, where he rattles on about his love for Wishbone Ash, Ursa Minor, and the Groundhogs. All this and photos of record cover art-scribbler Putrid ripping off a lady’s boob with his teeth can be found in the debut issue of Chips ‘N‘ Beer, a print mag put together from the head banging thinkers behind the Left Hand Path website. Perhaps if we all dial one in to the devil himself, this publication will become something like Forced Exposure for the metal crowd who enjoy their pizza and beer cold and their ladies smoking. From our lips and hips to the horned one's ears.

If you asked me what record I listened to the most in rapt fascination this week while my better half hacked and sneezed up a germ storm in the other room, it would undoubtedly be this double LP compilation released by the constantly on-point Unwucht label out of Germany entitled Krypton Ten. Both discs gather up stuff that was released by the Onset Offset cassette label that existed in Christ Church, New Zealand in the early 80s and the whole package is both an experience and an artifact that is utterly mind-blowing. I suppose even the novices out there are hip to some of the awkward jangle contained on here (Scorched Earth Policy, Alec Bathgate, The Puddle, etc.) but this thing spills over with bands that were mere rumors to my ears (The McGoohans or Ritual Sex) as well as shit that no one except for certain men of leisure are aware of, like the totally fucked Nick Slick and the smeary drugged abstractions of Straf. And how the hell was I suppose to know Ritchie Venus was the original author of the song "Forbidden Planet"?  I only knew it from The Renderers! History lessons this nourishing don’t come around all that much these days. So hop on it I say. Hop on it!

In a similar vein as Krypton Ten—just in a more anonymous and completely sleazy 'grey area' vein—we have the compilation LIFE IN THE FUTURE—SWEDISH POST-PUNK & SYNTH WAVE '79 – '87  and yeah, it does exactly what it says on the tin. Some stuff on here is a little too cigarettes-and-black-sweater-like for me, but the majority of this is pretty cool, especially Kitchen and the Plastic Spoons who sound more like a herky jerky late 70s LA band than any kind of winners at an Ian Curtis karaoke contest. By the way, the bands that do that moping voodoo so well on here are Modern Art, Cortes, and Unter Den Linden; just in case you were wondering. But you probably know all this already because you know everything. I know you. You’re on top of the game!

It’s been a few years now since we made the move from the shit holes of Brooklyn to the suburbs of Long Island, and even though it is nice to have a solid night's sleep without gunshots ringing outside our window, I gotta say it’s hard living in a place where the word "faggot" is screamed at any adult male not wearing a football jersey and/or a gold chain. So you can imagine my shock when I got a package in the mail from a group of dudes from the island of a non-Poison tribute band variety who call themselves Colour Buk. When I sat down to listen to the cassette, 7”, and LP they sent in one sitting, my shock turned to utter bafflement. I couldn't believe that something so twisted and insular could come from here; the land of Billy Joel and other assorted rich retards. The way this duo skirts from churning gray noise to formless dirt weed basement jamming to lumbering brainbombs so naturally and with no trace of cool dude desperation brings a skip to this piece of flint I keep in my chest. I salute them from this end of the couch, I really, really do. Next up for these guys is some sort of collabo thing with long-running whacky white improv troupe Smegma, so stay tuned and have a grandma slice ready to chow down on to celebrate its arrival.

I guess there has been a lot of pinched nostrils and foul mutterings from the internet dooferati and other burrito-choking types over the debut LP from Philadelphia’s Far-Out Fangtooth. I’ve spun the thing more than a few times in the past few weeks, and I really don’t see what the issue is here. Granted, they look like Vince Noir’s backing band if The Black Tubes backed out of the gig, but the whole capes and wizard caps thing aside, this is a solid listen that doesn’t really bring to mind the gloom, doom, or spent candles of the gothdom tag that has been lazily pinned upon them. It reminds me more of the pre-crappy moments of Band of Susans or the more obvious connection of SST era Sonic Youth—both decent things to be compared to, me thinks. Small boys from Australia are great and all, but jeesh, would it kill you to buy American once in awhile? You’ll be glad you did.

And now for the obligatory mention of an Australian band (ka-zing!): Per Purpose bowled me over onto my surprisingly boney ass earlier this year with a 7” that sounded like a more flailing version of Manchester’s unsung sons, Big Flame. And now I gotta whole 12” EP of theirs sitting in front of me entitled Implicating More Than One on the Bedroom Suck label, and I am enjoying it very much, thank you, and sure, I’d love a duck poutine omelet. The six songs that make up this thing gloriously shamble into each other in a breathless, possessed manner that sets my imagination to D. Boon and company excreting all the vitriol they could before being gobbed upon by Huntington Beach punks at the Fleetwood. It’d be great for these turkeys to make it to our shores. Maybe I’d actually go see them play. Eh… who am I kidding? I’d still just sit around here listening to Al Kooper records.

As usual, most of this crap can be found through the fine people at Fusetron, Goner and S.S. Records. Happy virtual hunting.

Previously - Mutant Mix