Edmonton hasn’t seen too many like Aaron Levin. The former music director at college radio station CJSR, Levin was instrumental in focusing that station’s DJs even more on the local and intriguing. Leaving that post for personal reasons, he kept up his commitment to the overlooked and underappreciated by founding Weird Canada, a music blog devoted to the undiscovered niches of Canadian music, from bedroom lo-fi pop recordings to debut CDRs to cassette labels, and everything in between.

I recently had a chance to speak with Levin in advance of Wyrd Fest, Weird Canada’s coming out party, and one of the more interesting shows to hit Edmonton in some time. Though we talked a bit about the two-stage, 16-band extravaganza, most of our conversation revolved around his interest in the eclectic and the changing face of interacting with music, and I’ve got the entire interesting transcript below.

David Berry: You’ve mentioned to me in the past that one of the great things about Weird Canada versus the CJSR gig is the freedom. I’m wondering if you could expand on that a bit, because CJSR doesn’t seem like the most restrictive place to work.

Aaron Levin: One of the more enjoyable things for me, on top of discovering music, was the process of discovery—going out and talking to bands, trying to find the pockets of creativity that happen in remote areas around Canada. But I always had to keep in mind the mandates of the station and the programming peculiarities of our DJs, as well as my own personal bias. I was never really free, and I never really had time to really enjoy the stuff, because I had hundreds of albums to go through.

When I left, one of the things I was worried about losing was the connection to what was going on, staying kind of tuned into that. One thing I discovered is that there seemed to be these micro-genre, niche scenes in every city that were similar. You have your weird punk band, your lo-fi pop guys, and all their friends had bands, and they were all recording and releasing stuff, but they never seemed to care about promoting it. I don’t know what they were doing, but they’re just kind of fucking around, but still creating all this stuff. I wanted to capture it. They’re not really interested in radio, because radio is becoming less relevant, and I was wondering how I could stay tuned into that, and then create a centre for all of it. That’s where Weird Canada came from: it’s basically just my own curation of the DIY scenes across Canada.
DB: So why this particular format, then, of keeping in touch.

AL: I tried to keep in mind my own peculiar ways of discovering music. In 2009—and you may not like to hear this as a writer—I don’t think people are really interested in reading full reviews. They’re looking for an element of curation, and sorting and sifting through all the shit that’s out there. You go to Pitchfork and there’s a 2000-word review, but I think all most people care about is who it is they’re talking about. They’ll go and find the album and listen to it and decide how they feel about it—they just want the curation. So I kind of created the template for Weird Canada around that: the reviews are very short, there’s always two MP3s that you can play right off the website, so they can immediately listen to it and decide what they think about it. The writing is actually very secondary.

Oh, and before I forget, I always get these comments from people that what I’m reviewing isn’t that ‘weird,’ but basically, Weird Canada sounded a lot better than eclectic Canada.

DB: You’ve also mentioned before that when you started collecting records when you were younger, you didn’t really have a lot of focus, so what lead you to the pretty specific, micro-niche kind of stuff?

AL: My interest in records was just a financial concern. When I was 18, I had been listening to rap for a long time, and I started to get into the origins of rap—jazz and stuff like that. I realized it was so much cheaper for me to go to a garage sale and buy some shitty jazz record for $1 than it was to go buy the same BlueNote CD for $25. I just started buying records, and ever since I was a kid, I’ve been curious—I’d see a cassette that looked interesting, and I’d buy it.

When you start doing that with records, you very quickly start amassing lots of records, and then you start seeing more records, and eventually you get to a point where you’re kind of burnt out—or, well, you’re eventually forced into a position where if you want to explore, the only real avenues are the unknown and the independent. You can go to Goodwill and find the Police and Hall and Oates and all these great bands, but if you do that for five years, you want to find some fucked-up shit. You want that self-released high school band with a fucked-up cover of “Melanie” by the Beatles. That’s kind of how I got into niche. I got the point where I was really looking, wanting to find that gem. At the same time, I was in internet communities that were doing the same thing, uncovering weird psychedelic rock and folk or whatever. And while I really wanted to find those really rare, private releases from the States, it was much easier for me to find the Canadian version, so I really started to focus on that. I could find Canadian garage records that nobody knew about and weird, fucked-up hard rock records and amazing singer-songwriter stuff that had 300 pressings in 1978. When you think about it, by having a focus, it keeps you from buying all the other records—there’s so many. There’s over 100 $1000 psych records that are pretty cool. It wasn’t until I started working at CJSR that I really started listening to new stuff, just because I couldn’t find Our Mercury 7″ at Goodwill.

DB: I’m curious: is part of the appeal unearthing that lost gem?

AL: It’s entirely the appeal. Honestly, its second to the music. I made this realization a year ago, and it kind of disturbed me, I was upset about it. Like, it seemed like a terrible association, but I have to be realisitic, and what excites me is the discovery—discovering it and sharing it, and I’ve thankfully had the opportunity to do that with Edmonton records and Canadian records and made them items in our scene. And Weird Canada is the same thing, except new—I’m not at the Goodwill, I’m on myspace and talking to people and getting mix CDs.

DB: Speaking of which, how do you go about finding new bands? Is it just a matter of going on Myspace and clicking through people’s friends, or what?

AL: I started with a pretty good pool of stuff that I had just bought—I’ve travelled a bit in pursuit of records, across Canada. It was difficult at first, though, because it was a new website. Now, though, I have people telling me about things, and it’s gotten a lot easier. I still do some of the myspace stuff, because there are always people who aren’t telling me, and there are people who don’t have releases yet, so I have to convince them to burn me a CD with a few songs. And I’ve got some relationships with labels—the kind of labels who put this stuff out—plus I’ve got some contributors now, so they’ll tell me about that stuff.

DB: You said before that people involved with this kind of stuff aren’t necessarily all the interested in promotion. So what were the band’s initial responses?

AL: The reaction is always fine. I think part of that is … well, a big aspect of the blog is that I never review anything I don’t like—I’ll just pass on it instead of giving something a bad review. As a writer, this is my free time, and I want to have some fun with this. And the response from people, too, has been very good—I was a bit worried people wouldn’t like my writing style, but people seem to like that I’m covering these things.

DB: That’s kind of interesting, and I guess it relates to what you were talking about before, regarding curation. One thing that comes up with, say, a lot of book sections these days is that people sort of complain that everything gets a good review, to which the people who run them usually respond, you know, we only have so much space and time, we might as well just focus on what’s good. But it seems as though you’re sort of losing the cultural criticism aspect in that, you’re losing the voice that’s looking at everything and figuring out how things fit into the landscape and what that means. Sorry, that’s a little off topic. I guess, to get back, why is it that you think curation is the way to go, as opposed to criticism?

AL: I think that’s just how we naturally are. I would put forward the proposition that we naturally navigate towards moral authorities and curatorial aspects. We’re more inclined to look—well, I guess what I’m trying to say is… Well, now I think the reader just doesn’t really need that. In 1970, you had no way of listening to a record that was being reviewed. Maybe you could catch some of it on the radio, but you had to go down to the store to see what they were talking about. Criticism of the record was really important, it was the defining factor in whether or not you wanted to buy it. The writer’s job was to tell you about the music, explain what was good, what was bad and what you should ultimately do with it.

I think now, with the internet, that’s just not an issue. The criticism is good if you’re interested in the criticism, but if you’re just trying to decide what out’s there, you can do that without it. In the case of books, you can’t really do that—you have to read the book, and it’s a big investment of your time, so you want criticism, because it tells you whether or not you want to invest in it.

I was talking with a friend last night about this, and kind of what’s going on is, in the ’60s, you had micro-genre niches, where people with a similar aesthetic would congregate together in a small scene within a much larger scene. There was locally made garage music, the folkies in Greenwich Village, stuff like that. Now, because we have better means of connecting people, those scenes are leeching together and sharing information more, and the way they share information is purely a curatorial distillation: these are what we’re into. This is what we’re about, these are the artists who are associated it with it, and if you’re into that then you’re going to be into this. That’s the curatorial aspect. When you’re talking with a friend, for whatever reason, we express aspects of our personality with what kind of art we’re into. Whether that’s a really important aspect of our personalities, and I don’t think it is, we do it, and that kind of projection of taste is a form of curation, too.

DB: That’s interesting, because I was actually just having a conversation with a friend about a similar subject. And one of the things he brought up was that kind of nicheing, and how, with the internet, it was taking away from the local scene. Like, in the ’80s, if I was into weird noise-punk, I could maybe send away to labels and stuff, but the only real community I could get was local, so maybe I’d end up going to a Rancid show, or something, just because it was the only thing that was around that was close. But by doing that, I meet people who maybe aren’t into my niche, but can we still form a community of somewhat like-minded people. Now, though, I can find a really specific community online, and get everything I need there, and it’s almost as though I don’t need that local community—or, in a broader sense, that those happenstance connections don’t form.

AL: So, like, in math, we have the idea of discrete sets, where the element of each set doesn’t interact. I can see the niches doing that, but at the same time, how can it be any other way? We’re overloaded with information: there’s so much more. You can’t expect someone to … well, I guess it depends on the kind of person. That kind of person who’s into noise punk but is forced to go to Rancid, they’re going to end up in micro-niche now, but at the same time, someone who wants to explore can. They can explore noise punk online, but they can also go see a singer-songwriter at the Haven or a pop band at the Hydeaway, or whatever they want. And also, we’re also more aware. I would agree that it’s happening, but I would say that the effect is that we get more choice.

DB: Well, related to that, then, do you think looking into one kind of alternative culture encourage people to look at another?

AL: I don’t know. It certainly did for me. For me, when I got into private records, I started thinking about self-published books, self-published poetry, other art, other films. It was really a very fruitful discovery. I don’t know if it’s that way for other people, but I would hope so.

DB: Further from that, then, what’s your goal with the festival—and, to some degree, the individual shows you’ve put on—as related to the website? Is that about creating local community as opposed to just online? Or do you just want to see a good show?

AL: I ask myself this question all the time. Yesterday I was having a meeting with a few people who have been helping out a lot with some aspects of it, and we were just joking around, and I said something along the lines of ‘Why am I doing this? I’m not making any money, it’s so much work … blah, blah, blah, blah.’ And one of them said, ‘Well, you’re saving the Edmonton music community.’ That’s preposterous, besides sounding so pretentious.

Inadvertently, though, it can have an effect. I don’t want to make a claim like I’m saving the Edmonton music community—I don’t even want to do that. But, in Lethbridge, there’s a guy named Paul Lawton—he plays in The Myelin Sheaths and Moby Dick and he runs a label and he’s a record collector and he contributes. And because of him, him making weird music and putting on shows and having a radio show where he cares about weird music, he literally created a weird punk scene in Lethbridge. People started making weird punk music and buying weird instruments and experimenting and having a lot of fun. One of the keys of that was that he was able to book shows for a venue—he was able to bring these kinds of bands through Lethbridge. So, in a sense, he created, and thereby saved, the music scene in Lethbridge. And this kind of thing can happen in Edmonton.

One of Edmonton’s struggling points, and it’s been one for 40 years, and you notice that as a record collector, is that we don’t see the same records as Calgary does, because bands didn’t tour through here. Because they didn’t come through here, people aren’t exposed to the music, so they’re not pushed in directions that would encourage new ideas to come about, there’s no notion that this is something they can do. When there’s no stimulus, you have stagnation. In some sense, I want to bring these bands up here so that people will be encouraged to make different music. And I also want to show other people that you can do this without money. I’ve broken even or made a bit on these shows, and Wyrd Fest will probably lose money. But the point is, you can do this if you work at it, and you’re not an idiot. Find a venue, make a Facebook page, send out your press releases, you can do it. And that will encourage more people to stop in Edmonton, because it’s a place to go, because they can play a show and get $150 bucks and have 100 people see their show. In some sense it’s to make Edmonton a touring stop, so we can have the cool bands that maybe Calgary does.

On the other hand, doing shows is also a way for me to promote the website. In some sense, Wyrd Fest is the physical manifestation of Weird Canada. Everything that it’s about it is here: it’s fun, it’s positive, there’s a shitload of bands, it’s cheap.

DB: Do you think we can create a kind of scene like this in Edmonton. The impression I get from a lot of people is that there’s a kind of limit, wherein eventually you just run out of people who will care about this different kind of stuff. Can you break through?

AL: I think that’s the struggle in any city. What hurts Edmonton is the lack of number of those kinds of events. People aren’t even given the choice of wanting to explore something—there’s just no opportunity. Even in a place like Montreal, these sorts of scenes, these micro-niche scenes, have trouble attracting people, even though the music I subjectively think is great, it’s just not popular. I think ultimately, if people are aware and it’s affordable and they want to go, then they’ll go.

So how do you make them aware? You expose it. You brand it, you get word of mouth going, you make it affordable. You have to make it something to talk about, too, make it hard for people to say no to it. Try to think outside the box: think of alternative venues, different ways of promoting music. There’s a lot of people who think in alternative ways, and you can appeal to them. I don’t want to project that my curation is better than anyone else’s, it’s just my taste. Ultimately, especially in Edmonton, it’s more important than regular, straight-ahead rock and roll. But I think a lot of people aren’t going to these things because they’re hesitant to explore.

One of the big inspirations for doing shows, which Wyrd Fest is a part of, was that Exposure Fest thing last year where they did the art exhibit in the bath house. There was a lot of reasons why I wanted to visit the bath house—my brother’s gay, and as a heterosexual male, these are kind of off-limits places: I can’t go in there and say, ‘I’m just going to check it out.’ So there are a lot of avenues there: you got into a venue that’s usually closed off, you got to see good art—there was a lot there to enjoy beyond just the one medium. And I don’t want to tokenize things, but it’s something different, and that goes a long way. When you’re in a place where these things aren’t necessarily resonating, you have to be sneaky about it. In my youth, I wrote for a Trotskyist paper, and they would have us handing out papers, and they were written in this really ancient, old-fashioned Communist style, with ‘Comrades’ and all that. And, well, you have to make people want to read it. Don’t make it difficult, don’t give them a reason to say no. Then they’ll get exposed to the ideas. With Wyrd Fest, you can’t say no to the price, you can’t say no to the line-up—there’s going to be at least one band you’ll think is interesting—the venue is central, it’s all-ages, and it’s audacious.

I love a good reissue and one of the best to come along this year is the re-release of Lydia Lunch’s debut solo album, Queen of Siam. Lunch produced this after the demise of Teenage Jesus and the Jerks and before she joined the almighty 8 Eyed Spy. The cast she assembled to accompany her on this was pretty impressive  (theguitarist was Robert Quine) and the production, musicianship and general vibe are a million miles away from her shambolic no-wave roots. The great Gloomy Sunday showcases  Lydia as a vaguely gothic torch singer while Mechanical Flattery and Tied and Twisted is Lydia doing her best little girl voice and somehow coming over as a new genre of  nursery rhyme, creepy pop. Her version of Spooky is a strangely straight version with sassy saxophones and showcases the full horror of lounge disco. Lunch writes about how much it  cost to make Queen of Siam in the liner notes and I suspect that Spooky was included just in case the  record company  wanted to release a single. Lady Scarface is all cabaret show band, A Cruise to the  Moonis all jazzy, noir classic but the track I enjoyed  the most is the awesome Atomic Bongos which has a hint of the post-punk funk that would later be adopted by ESG and Liquid Liquid.

Many out there would say that Lydia never bettered her debut but I’m not one of them. I really enjoy theHoneymoon in Red stuff and to my ears she never bettered the Harry Crews album although I think 8 Eyed Spy and Teenage Jesus and The Jerks are just fucking essential as well. If you are looking for Lunch at her drug fucked insane best, Queen of Siam is probably not for you but this is a pretty amazing record none the less. One of the  reissues of the year.

Words_John Calvert

“When the Jews were shipped off to the concentration camps, to Dachau, Auschwitz or Treblinka, they would arrive and there would be a beautiful station and they looked like quite nice places. But then they’d walk past the nicely painted walls through a door right into hell. And that’s exactly what Marty and I were doing with Suicide: we were giving them Treblinka”.

Speaking with the Jewish Chronicle in 2008 Alan Vega provides an all too fitting metaphor for Suicide’s incomparably sinister sound. It’s this limbo, these tranquil auditoriums at the gates of hell, that the duo’s avant electro-pop seems to emanate from. Suicide’s visionary stand was to entomb Rockabilly’s benign vitality in a petrified futurism. Thusly they imbued the semiotics of 50’s America, the country’s very own ‘nicely painted walls’, with an unshakable sensation that all was not well, like how nursery rhymes are creepy. If you listen closely, place an ear to the door, you can hear it in the deadened mechanistic functionalism of Marty Rev’s primitive drum machine and Farfisa organ; the muffled horrors of industrialised mass murder, but by Suicide’s approximation the victims were America’s youth, systematically culled in Vietnam or alienated and victim to the wretchedness of blue-collar slavery. Then, the door would occasionally be wrenched from its hinges, with terrifying results.

It was down to Suicide that music became, for a brief period in late-seventies New York, the preserve of the shock artists – diasporas from the normalizing Soho Art scene and an insufficiently radical Punk scene. Prefiguring No Wave’s extremist art-sleaze were Martin Reverby, a free-jazz buff and lapsed classical musician and Alan Vega a former-Physics student turned installation artist. Who, after meeting in 1974 in a gallery managed by Vega, formed Suicide in the very bowels of the city, to preface both No wave and laterally CBGBs-era Punk. Both a pre and post punk entity.

Whether Punks drawn to the band for its nihilistic-sounding name or perhaps simply leisure-drinkers in the wrong place at the wrong time, bewildered patrons found themselves stooges implicated in a perverse Dadaist prank, only funny if you’re Charles Manson, or Alan Vega. In his mission to jolt the audience from their apathy, while Marty Rev mooched in the background in sci-fi shades, Vega was known to wield a motorcycle chain. With no guitars, drum kit or traditional/punk vocals, the initial confusion evolved into rage in the face of Vega‘s refusal to break character or Rev’s utter indifference. Vega told the New Yorker in 2002: “If we were the future, it was a future that nobody wanted…there was nothing about us that was familiar”.

In the course of their ephemeral existence they would face bottles, lit cigarettes, police tear-gas and on one occasion an axe launched squarely at Vega’s head. These scenes were documented on the many CD reissues, including the startling ‘23 minutes over Brussels’ in which a support slot for Elvis Costello descended into anarchy when Belgian skinheads turned on the duo. “[The act] pushed me to the edge of a nervous breakdown” admitted Vega years later, “We had a reputation as the band everyone loved to hate, and I kind of enjoyed that. But there were times when we thought we were insane”. It was on experiencing a Stooges show in 1970, with Iggy stabbing himself with broken drumsticks, that Vega witnessed up close the power of self-abasement. “It showed me you didn’t have to do static artworks, you could create situations, do something environmental. That’s what got me moving more intensely in the direction of doing music”.

It was an environment generated with the bare minimum of information. Taking their cues from the reductive compositions of Phil Glass, Suicide’s minimalist aesthetic comprised of two components. Firstly, there was Alan Vega’s cadaverously reverbed vocals that often glitch-ed with a close delay, as if transforming him into a human electrical current, predating Kraftwerk’s man-as-machine shtick by about a year. Rather than the German’s tech-fetishism, however, the chilling modulations recalled Marx’s depiction of the proletariat as flesh extensions to the factory machinery. The reverb effect, traditionally used to create the illusion of space or replicate the invigorating atmospherics of a live venue, somehow become in Vega’s hands a mechanism for triggering a claustrophobic response, the oppressive sensation of being trapped, boxed in with the murmuring ghost of Elvis, in a two by six foot chamber.

Kill Your Idols: The No-Wave, Bowery summer 1978: Harold, Kristian Hoffman, Diego Cortez, Anya Phillips, Lydia Lunch, James Chance, Jim Sclavunos, Bradley Field, Liz Seidman. Photo © GODLIS

Alloyed with Vega’s vocals was the electronic–hydraulic hypnotism of Martin Rev’s drum machine and locked trajectory organ. With aimless repetition and the absence of narrative comes a mood of despondency and desolation, the needling whirr of Rev’s scuffed kit speaking of obsession, monomania, of madness and a lurking evil. From one track to the next, the Roland CR-68 would swish, ripple and wheeze, hiss or throb, but with an interminable certainty it never diverts its focus. Inducing what John Cale described as the state of ‘hyper-alert oblivion’ that was activated by the Velvet’s monomorphic whiteness, similar to night terrors. An even more appropriate analogy is provided by Keith Levene and his description of P.I.L’s avant-funk as ‘like looking at a white wall, if you keep looking at it for five minutes you’ll see different patterns appear; different colours, right before your eyes.’ Rev’s ‘burden’ device was closely aligned with the ideas of auto-destructive art movement, of which they were dedicated followers. Point 5 of Gustav Metzger’s manifesto stipulates that ‘Auto Destructive Art should re-enact the obsession with destruction, the pummelling which individuals and masses are subjected to.’ In David Lynch’s The Elephant Man (1980) Joseph Merrick dreams of the churning apparatus of Victorian industry, masticating human spirit and transmogrified to resemble the elephant that trampled his Mother. An example of the many aesthetic bloodlines it’s possible to trace between Suicide and the psychological milieu explored by Lynch.

Akin to Lynch, Suicide’s work has its closest relative in Pop Art. In Laymen’s terms the art of manipulating pop-iconography with all its charged associations, in order to derive new meaning or expose subliminal directives. While Warhol revelled in the kitsch democracy of mass-production and the dreamy imagery used to sell product, Suicide saw an unintended wickedness ingrained in conformist America’s veneer, and duly exploited it. Specifically in the setting of 50’s Pop and it’s bizarre rhetoric that repeatedly juxtaposed asexual love, the dream-state, death and the concept of eternity. In Suicide’s headspace the great open road of American mythology ends in a back basement on the LES and all the good-time teens have been slaughtered in Warhol’s ‘Red Car Crash’.

If Pop Art was an ageing concept by the mid-seventies, the mode of communication was nothing if not futuristic. Produced by Craig Leon, Suicide’s self-titled debut was more exotic than a thousand hours of Prog fantasia. There’s the proto-ambient shimmer of ‘Cheree’, the denatured Bebop of ‘Girl’, Vega’s numb incantations on ‘Che’, ‘Johnny’’s Sci-fi Surf Rock and the keynote ‘Ghost-Rider’. Long since returned to his Mother in a body-bag, he stalks the back roads “looking so cute” and all the while he’s “B-b-b-b-beep screaming the truth / America America is killing its youth”. Positioned at track 6 is Suicide’s hopeless, punishing masterpiece ‘Frankie Teardrop’. About that door..

Famously described by critic Emerson Dameron as “one of the most terrifying, riveting, absurd things I’ve ever heard”, Frankie Teardrop narrates the tale of a murder-suicide, the perpetrator a beaten-down factory stiff. Frankie’s working ‘Seven to Five / just trying to survive’ and so: ‘Well Frankie’s getting evicted/ Frankie’s gonna kill his wife and Kid’. It is Suicide’s most deranged moment and their most explicit plea to the establishment for mercy, for which Rev saved his most insidious sound – a stultifying pulse, like a robot’s heartbeat, or the pressure of Frankie’s unendurable working day. Vega’s method enactment, seemingly spasmodic and random, disguises a bravura exercise in mounting panic, orientated around the nagging refrain ‘Let’s hear it for Frankie’; Vega turned Zombie-Quiz show host. The vocalist’s trick of ruminating minutely adrift of the beat replicates a modern world gathering speed, out of time and hurtling towards cataclysm. It also has the effect that no matter how many times you listen to Frankie Teardrop its difficult to anticipate Vega’s awful screams, signalling respectively the murder of Frankie’s infant, his wife‘s demise, Frankie’s suicide and worst of all, what The Guardian’s Garry Mulholland called “the greatest scream ever unleashed in music’s name“: Frankie’s pained howl on entry to hell. Vega uses his final transmission, faltering amidst a swirling vortex in Satan’s refinery, to tell us that ‘We are all Frankie’s….We are all lying in Hell”. Featured as no. 14 in Nick Hornby’s ‘31 songs‘, Hornby confessed that “I didn’t even listen to it to write this (I didn’t feel the need, believe me the memory is still vivid), I just don’t want to be terrified by art anymore.”

Their second eponymous release was an attempt to deliver the pop dues promised by Rev pretty melodies. As a consequence the synthesizers that before were cyclical and banal were annotated with chirpy embellishment that served to leaven the intensity. Still, many incidences of Punk subversion remained with the languorous watercolour tone of ‘Dream Baby Dream’ distorted when Vega affixes ’Forever’ to the refrain; a sugared euthanasia pill.

The duo parted ways in 1980 with the advent of Vega’s solo outing and his French chart hit. ‘Jukebox Babe’. Reforming for the first time since The Way of Life in 1988, 2002’s ‘American Supreme’ offered a morbid opportunity to see how the still-fresh pain of a violated Manhattan Island might be assimilated into Suicide’s demonic circuitry. Vega resumed his preoccupation with the American death machine whilst Rev dabbled in Techno and bizarrely hip-hop scratching, flourishes that couldn’t smother the typically ominous tone or Vega’s imagistic brilliance. Irrevocably lost to history, though, was Suicide’s volatile live act, now formal affairs attended by desensitised hipsters or converted muso’s. Bereft of a cowering audience or airborne axes, their sets became PTA-meetings in celebration of a relic. It was a sad defanging of the world’s most surgically effective Punk band, who without resorting to adolescent chagrin or The Clash’s brand of literal, vindicated sermonising, concocted a short-hand for fear, of a nation in pain.

Original Side-bar

We Are All Frankies: Suicide’s Legacy

Bruce Springsteen

Vega’s depictions of spectral youth were hugely influential on the haunted sparseness of ‘Nebraska’, as evidenced in ‘State Trooper’ with its Vega-esque shrieking. Regularly finishes his sets with ‘Dream Baby Dream’.

Soft Cell

Relocated Suicide’s conceptual sleaze to London’s gay West End, so that the synth-duo might document the illicit thrills and sad realities of neon-soaked Soho.

Jesus And The Mary Chain

In thrall of Suicide’s commandeering of pop innocence, the gothic miserable-ists used nuclear feedback, reverb-drenched vocals and a touch of Vega‘s eroticism, in a twisted pastiche of fundamental Rock’n’Roll.

Liars

No Wave revivalists. Jettisoned disco-punk for a second album foray into abrasive, unsettling electro-minimalism, produced by Williamsburg godhead Dave Sitek.

Pulp

Suffused their sound with Suicide’s eerie ironies, the synth-flecked melancholy evoking a deadened Golden Age, made even more poignant in the context of the Sheffield’s faded glory.

“Joy Division” izenez ezagutzen ziren naziek beraien kontzentrazio-esparruetan beraien eginbehar sexualak judu giltzapetuekin asetzeko izaten zituzten tokiei. Oso izen atsegina ez dela beraz argi dago, talde punki probokatzaile bat ez bazara bederen. Halere, hasiera batean Warsaw izenez ezagutarazi ziren ingeles hauek izen hori aukeratu zuten beraien abesti bereziak izen horren azpian egon zitezen. Abesti bereziak diot bai, izan ere, tipo hauek beraien istoria laburrean sortu zuten musikak ez baitzuen parekorik, eta gaur egun ere benetan musika paregabea izaten jarraitzen baitu.

Ian Curtis mitifikatuak lideratutako taldeak soinu geldo, melankoliko, intimista eta antzeko adjektiboak merezi dituen soinuak Unknown Pleasures mitiko bezain handi honetan murgilarazten du entzulea, Disorder handitik Remember nothing itxierara bitartean abesti kolekzio paregabea eskaintzen digutelarik. Musika iluntzat hartu izan da beti Joy Divisionekoena, batenbat giza depresioaren islapen garbiena dela esatera iritsi delarik, baina iluntasun horren guztiaren atzean musikazale orok entzun beharko lukeen diska bat ezkutatzen da, benetan merezi duena. Gaurkoa bezalako egun euritsuetarako paregabea, inongo dudarik gabe.

Ah, eta azala benetan bikaina da, kuartoan enmarkatuta jartzeko edo tatuatzeko modukoa.

DESKARGA

In a previous life I used to review records for a student newspaper. There were many perks with that job one of which is this relic – a record that is so good that I still feel guilty that someone gave it to me for free. This also had a US release I think on the Twist label. In Australia it was released by Insipid Vinyl – a very eclectic and now sadly defunct label whose logo was drawn by Savage Pencil. The reason for the local release may be because Lunch toured hear on a spoken word gig around that time (see the rather full on interview clip I’ve added at the end).  This is now out of print but if you have some cash to splash around then there may be no better thing  to spend it on than a second hand copy of this.

This is a two disc release. The first disc, Transmutation, is a pretty good overview of her career and includes most of her important incarnations. Included are a few songs on which she collaborates with Rowland S Howard which come from the Shotgun Wedding and Honeymoon in Red records, Race Mixing from her stint with Teenage Jesus and the Jerks, Motor Oil Shanty from  8 Eyed Spy, collaborations with Die Haut and Shockheaded Peters, her cover of the Beatle’s Why Don’t We Do It In The Road and even a cut off her no-wave big band phase from Queen of Siam. The real treat for fans is the inclusion of three of the tracks from the mighty Stinkfist EP, a now out of print collaboration  with Clint Ruin and Thurston Moore (only Son of Stink is missing). It’s all very good stuff and indeed if the record stopped there you would go away very happy but also included is a second disc of a live gig of Lydia playing Honeymoon in Red with Rowland S. Howard, Jim Sclavunos and others. And to make it even more indispensible it includes a live version of Gospel Singer a track written by Kim Gordon for the Harry Crews album. There is no information as to where the gig was played nor when, so it’s all a bit of a mystery but to hear Lunch at the height of her powers is something to behold.

6 listopada 2009, piątek
Tektura, start: 21:00
Wjazd: 10 zł

Noise rockowy Plum założyli w 1999 dwaj bracia. Aktualnie to trio, którego skład tworzą: Marcin Piekoszowski (bas, wokal), Rafał Piekoszewski (gitara, wokal) i Adam Nastawski (perkusja).

Bezkompromisowe brzmienie, energia i wrażliwość zespołu przywołują na myśl, jak mówią sami członkowie, takie formacje jak Jesus Lizard, Shellac czy Oxbow. Tworzone przez muzyków Plum harmonie i ściany dźwięku porównuje się często do dokonań Sonic Youth oraz zespołów z wytwórni Touch & Go Records. Mają na koncie kilka płyt i niezliczoną ilość koncertów m.in. z Ten Grand, Victims Family czy Sunshine

www.myspace.com/likeplum

Śmierć Disko Sound(s) to didżejski kolektyw rozkręcający od kilku lat alternatywne potańcówki. W swoich setach wydobywają to co najbardziej taneczne w muzyce alternatywnej od końca lat 70 do dziś, czerpiąc głównie z nurtów postpunk, new wave, cold wave, no wave, electro i dance-punk. Nie ustają w wirtualnych podróżach poprzez czas i przestrzeń z których przywożą starannie dobrane dźwięki dla ludzi o silnych nogach i otwartych głowach.

Ostatnio pojawiają się przy okazji różnej maści artystycznych festiwali oraz imprez typu live act/dead act. Rozgrzewali publiczność do koncertów Procesora Plus, Dick4Dick oraz kręcili afterparty po koncertach zespołów Mikrowafle, Skinny Patrini, Organizm, Bruno Schulz, Bajzel i Hotel Kosmos.

www.myspace.com/smiercdiskosoundsystem

23 Skidoo were born skirting the fringes of post punk, industrial, funk and dub, a nearly peerless realm infrequently visited by A Certain Ratio, Throbbing Gristle, and This Heat.  Twisting these genre elements through a strangely appealing recombination act was just the beginning of what the band means; it’s a coldly academic observation neglecting the warmly aggressive, primal energy bursting through the sonic capillaries of every piece they wrought.  Honestly, the only act I could consider a true musical neighbor are the willfully radical legends The Pop Group.  This is a remarkably good thing.

First of all, Seven Songs is 8 tracks long.  That’s the first clue about the contents of this enigmatic, quintessential release – like The Pop Group, their modus operandi was grounded in subverting expectations and twisting them into something altogether surprising, thrilling, and a little bit scary.  The limitless ingenuity spread across these 32 minutes constantly pulls the rug out from under the listener, encouraging fleet feet and an open mind.  Unexpectedness, in this case, means welcome change and otherworldly juxtapositions, with the comfort of a trail guide who – despite a melange of insanity – knows exactly where he’s taking us.

Articulated noise pulls straight into a gutteral dub beat and tribal percussion stabs while the band cuts in and out with all manner of wordless vocal bursts and sheets of guitar noise on first cut Kundalini, laying the foundation for a record every bit as catchy as it is obtuse.  Next off we’re treated to a skittering drum kit and funkadelic guitar, touchstones of Sly & Robbie infused dub, and one of the most ‘conventional’ moments of the album before dropping through the trumpet accented drone abyss of Mary’s Operation, leading directly into the asterix of a track 4, Lock Groove, which is aptly titled as anything here.  This is also the reason the album is appropriately named – 30 seconds of oscillations do not make a song, thus “7″ is indeed correct.  But I digress.

Picking up the scattered shards and welding them into a lumbering prehistorical Transformer, New Testament proceeds to stride right into the path of album highlight IY.  Kicking off with energetic, get-up-and-dance (or kick ass) percussion and a swaggering muted horn, it’s equally ready-made for epileptic dance fits and barnstorming runs over decaying industrial districts.  Building through a propulsive rhythm motorcade to a fevered crescendo, the track sweats out all the clap-happy energy – leaving the album in a whirlpool of dread and ennui.  Amping up the atmosphere beyond smoke-machine-and-lights-out darkness, Porno Base nearly defines the word cavernous and sets the stage for quirky closer Quiet Pillage.  All cricket-squeak guiro and steel drum swarm, the track gradually shifts toward a subdued ambient pulse and wood flute accents before dissipating entirely, like waking from a disturbing, curiously addictive dream.

Like I said, this exists on its own terms, and anyone half interested should get to know them.

[pick this up at boomkat or amazon - the 2008 reissue sweetens the deal with bonus tracks and a welcome remaster ]

New York’s No Wave scene of the late ’70s is often portrayed as a lot of atonal and un-funky noise buggery, typified by such bands as Mars, DNA, and Teenage Jesus & The Jerks (all admittedly terrific atonal and un-funky noise buggers).  Yet, there was one lily white James Brown wannabe who danced through the puddles of piss and waves of feedback to bring the unsmiling art types a bit of groove: James Chance (a.k.a. James White).  Certainly, this was still not quite as accessible as the Talking Heads’ parallel forays into funk, but The Contortions’ music helped to bridge the aural divide between the two Eno-approved camps.  It should be noted that Chance was a bit more confrontational than David Byrne.  It’s hard to imagine Byrne physically challenging Robert Christgau during a concert. 

Of course, as much as I dig The Contortions, it would be pretty foolish to pretend that their version is better than James Browns’ original.  It’s not quite a fair fight.  So here is the mustachioed(!) sex machine performing a medley of his hits (including “I Can’t Stand Myself) on a 1974 episode of “Midnight Special”:

And, of course, here’s Eddie Murphy:

-Chris Piercy

di Tiziana Lo Porto

Erano bellissimi nella loro oltraggiosa imperfezione. Se ne infischiavano del mondo, e la stessa musica punk suonava alle loro orecchie troppo convenzionale. Dipingevano, fotografavano, riprendevano, cantavano, urlavano, più di ogni altra cosa si esibivano, e il loro palcoscenico era la fin troppo celebrata New York di fine anni Settanta. La New York del CBGB, per esempio, amatissimo locale live che un paio di anni fa chiuse i battenti tra pianti e rimpianti di nostalgici e sopravvissuti. La New York di Patti Smith e Robert Mapplethorpe, coppia icona di un’epoca irriproducibile, irriducibile e oltremodo invidiabile. La New York di Lydia Lunch che di quegli anni e di quella scena questo dice: «L’anti-chiunque della No Wave era un miagolare collettivo che sfidava le classificazioni, contagiava il pubblico, oltraggiava le convenzioni, cagava in faccia alla storia, e poi spaccava». Così racconta di sé e dintorni nella prefazione a un gran bel libro fotografico appena uscito negli States e curato da Thurston Moore dei Sonic Youth e dal critico musicale Byron Coley. Il libro si chiama No Wave: Post-Punk. Underground. New York. 1976-1980, e insieme al testo di Lydia Lunch raccoglie una serie di importanti foto in bianco e nero e rare interviste ai protagonisti di quel mezzo decennio lì, ovvero la cosiddetta scena No Wave (per farsi un’idea basta ascoltare la compilation del 1978 No New York curata da Brian Eno).

Una non-corrente o anti-corrente musicale che all’epoca si contrapponeva alla New Wave e che per Thurston Moore probabilmente ha rappresentato le radici, le origini, l’io-vengo-da-lì, credibile movente di un accurato e devotissimo lavoro di ricerca, indagine, inchiesta. Operazione già realizzata un paio di anni fa dal regista Scott Crary nell’eccellente documentario Kill Your Idols, che coinvolgeva oltre che lo stesso Moore e il collega chitarrista Lee Ranaldo, la vecchia guardia di quella scena No Wave (con Lydia Lunch ancora una volta capofila) e i giovani eredi a noi contemporanei (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Liars e simili) che dovrebbero «uccidere i loro idoli», ma che, ammettiamolo pure, forse non saranno mai all’altezza. E non per mancanza di talento. «Qui in quest’album di famiglia si nasconde la progenie di sale di Lot», scriveva la poetessa russa Marina Tsvetaeva, rendendo bene l’idea che ci si fa nel rivedere oggi le immagini di un manipolo di ragazzi scapestrati talmente incoscienti e arditi da riuscire a creare una vera e proprio Sodoma nel cuore di New York senza mai rinnegarla. «Non vedevamo molte altre scelte al di là del fare quello che abbiamo fatto», dice adesso Martin Rev dei Suicide, insistendo soprattutto sul fatto che quella che facevano comunque non era musica. Si trattava di distruggere la musica degli altri piuttosto, o – per come la mette Arto Lindsay, all’epoca DNA – di riarrangiarla, ma in ogni caso di radere al suolo in primis, e poi ricostruire il tutto un po’ come capita, ovvero a cazzo. Questa la No Wave, la cui importanza nella storia del rock è stata soprattutto l’avere consentito di superare tutto quello che c’era prima, blues o punk che fosse, di costringere il prossimo a inventare e non limitarsi a rifare. È nata così, pochi anni dopo, la musica dei Sonic Youth, e Thurston Moore ne è consapevole. Il noise dei Sonic Youth è uno dei prodotti migliori della No Wave. Basta assistere a un loro concerto, ora come dieci o vent’anni fa, per capirlo. Accanto a loro, chiunque suoni prima o dopo o nel frattempo, semplicemente scompare. Ascoltateli e, nella peggiore delle ipotesi vi ritroverete a collezionare cd, ep, vinili, bootleg, dvd, libri fotografici, poster, la qualunque, nella migliore deciderete di diventare anche voi musicisti e metterete su la vostra di band. Michael Azzerad, autorevole giornalista musicale, c’ha scritto sopra un capitolo (una band per ogni capitolo, tredici capitoli in tutto) di uno dei suoi libri migliori, Our Band Could Be Your Life, ovvero la nostra band potrebbe diventare la tua vita. Che come concetto può apparire un poco estremo, ma rende perfettamente l’impatto che questa – come poche altre band – può avere sul prossimo.
Alcuni dei nomi della No Wave tornano poi in un secondo volume, curato sempre da Thurston Moore. Mix Tape è il titolo del libro, che si presenta come una raccolta ben confezionata di contributi (testi, disegni, foto, collage, elenchi di canzoni e di nomi di band) intorno al tema della compilation da musicassetta. Un omaggio a un oggetto scomparso, in pratica, che raccoglie nomi più o meno famosi della scena artistica e musicale americana, chiamati a riesumare bei ricordi&compilation. Presenti all’appello, accanto a Moore e a musicisti e artisti che orbitano intorno ai Sonic (Jim O’Rourke, o Leah Singer, artista e moglie del chitarrista Lee Ranaldo), John Sinclair, Dean Wareham, Damon Krukowski e Naomi Yang (ex Galaxie 500), la scrittrice Mary Gaitskill (suo il bel racconto da cui è tratto il film Secretary), Ahmet Zappa, musicista, attore e figlio di Frank Zappa, la regista Allison Anders (quella di Mi Vida Loca e di Four Rooms) e molta altra beautiful people.
Ammirevole il risultato che inevitabilmente induce a mettere a soqquadro casa alla ricerca del proprio di «mix tape» del cuore. O a cercare di ricostruire a mente la scaletta esatta delle canzoni regalate all’amato nel tentativo di sedurlo (se l’amato lo si è poi sedotto e conquistato si può pure provare a chiedergli direttamente se tante volte quella cassetta lì l’ha conservata, risparmiando così tempo e affanno). Nel caso in cui poi vi sentiate abbastanza nostalgici, o anche solo per noia, accendete il computer e andate alla pagina muxtape.com Potrete riprovare il piacere di farvi da voi il vostro impeccabile mix da cassetta, chiamarlo come vi pare e diffonderlo nell’etere. Qualcuno forse apprezzerà.
Nota a margine sulla mia vita, ovvero come Pretty Woman mi ha fatto scoprire la musica dei Sonic Youth. Quando vidi per la prima volta al cinema Julia Roberts dentro la vasca da bagno della camera d’albergo di Richard Gere che, auricolari dentro le orecchie e saponata intorno, cantava Kiss di Prince a squarciagola, avevo diciannove anni. Il giorno dopo andai a comprare un walkman identico al suo, di plastica, giallo e subacqueo. È dentro quel walkman che ho scoperto i Pearl Jam, i Nirvana e molta altra musica. Ci ascoltavo soprattutto vecchie cassette dei Pixies e dei Pere Ubu. Ci ascoltavo anch’io Prince, Kiss e Darling Nikki, la mia preferita che mettevo in tutte le mie compilation. Un giorno ci ho ascoltato anche Thurston Moore, e Kim Gordon, e i Sonic Youth. Per la prima volta. M’è venuto in mente adesso, leggendo questi libri, e ho pensato che da qualche parte dovessi scriverlo. Ecco, l’ho scritto qui.

Thurston Moore e Byron Coley, No Wave: Post-Punk. Underground. New York. 1976-1980, Abrams Image, pp. 143, £ 14.00
Thurston Moore (a cura di), Mix Tape. L’arte della cultura delle audiocassette, Isbn Edizioni, pp. 95, euro 22
Scott Crary, Kill Your Idols, Rarovideo, euro 17,90

Wrongtom’s mixtapes are always welcome here at Meatskull. Seems he’s garnered quite a following worldwide for his quality selections of sounds obscure and always funky – even showing off with some post-punk disco junk on this mix. Caught this set over at Out Of Control Robots.

1. (Intro) Pig Bag “The Back Side” (Y)
2. Orestt “Homies” (Everlast)
3. Peter Brown “Burning Love Breakdown” (Drive)
4. Drrty Haze “We See Everything” (Tirk)
5. Simphonia “It Aint Right What You Do (Accadrumdubella)” (Atlantic)
6. Hard-Fi “Suburban Knights (Dj Wrongtom’s Delight)” (Atlantic)
7. Baldelli &Dionigi “Dyprion” (Gomma)
8. Bell X1 “Flame (Chicken Lips Dub Deluxe)” (Island)
9. Ingram “Dj Delight” (Streetwave)
10. Kasso “Dancing On The Beach” (Banana)
11. Lindstrom “Let’s Practice (Dub)” (Feedelity)
12. Konk “Uptown Breakdown” (Celluloid)
13. Konk “Master Cylinder Jam” (Celluloid)
14. Grace Jones “Nipple To The Bottle” (Island)
15. James White & The Blacks “Irresistible Impulse” (Animal)
16. (Outro) Anthony Braxton “(840M)/Realise” (Delmark)

LINK

Basically, the Model Citizens took the oddball, oddly arranged (dare I say progressive?) strategies of a select few – Zappa, Gong perhaps, most certainly Phillip Glass – and distilled them into something leaner, spikier, more anxious and intense. It was a sensibility right in tune with that of other musical absurdists of the time – the Akron/Clevo axis of DEVO, Ubu and Tin Huey, the ascendant B-52’s.

Michael Layne Heath

MySpace

Model Citizens – Shift The Blame 7″

No Wave was a pretty short musical movement in the late ’70s  that fell somewhere between experimental and punk. It was often more grating than influential but artists like Lydia Lunch and Glenn Branca inspired Sonic Youth. So we can be grateful for that.

Lydia brings her band Teenage Jesus and the Jerks to the Empty Bottle Monday.

Becuz – Sonic Youth

Tom Violence – Sonic Youth

Koncert: ELEKTRYCZNY WĘGORZ + Śmierć Disko Sound(s) (10.10.2009)

ELEKTRYCZNY WĘGORZ (LIVE ACT)

ŚMIERĆ DISKO SOUND(S) (DEAD ACT)

10 pazdziernika 2009, piątek

Tektura, start: 20:00,

składka: 10PLN

myspace.com/elektrycznywegorz

ms.com/smiercdiskosoundsystem

Elektryczny Węgorz to łódzki projekt łączący muzykę electro z rapowana forma przekazu i humorystycznymi lekkimi tekstami.
W roku 2007 Węgorz udziela się w dwóch nowych projektach, „Imprezowi Terroryści” oraz „Lover Bojs” które kończą swój żywot w tym samym roku na jednym wydawnictwie.
Koncertował z Krzyż Krosem, N.r.p.d., Mikrowaflami, Deuce, Q64, Brudne Dzieci Sida oraz Psychocukrem.

Śmierć Disko Sound(s) to didżejski kolektyw rozkręcający od kilku lat alternatywne potańcówki. W swoich setach wydobywają to co najbardziej taneczne w muzyce alternatywnej od końca lat 70 do dziś, czerpiąc głównie z nurtów postpunk, new wave, cold wave, no wave, electro i dance-punk. Nie ustają w wirtualnych podróżach poprzez czas i przestrzeń z których przywożą starannie dobrane dźwięki dla ludzi o silnych nogach i otwartych głowach.

Ostatnio pojawiają się przy okazji różnej maści artstycznych festiwali oraz imprez typu live act/dead act. Rozgrzewali publiczność do koncertów Procesora Plus, Dick4Dick oraz kręcili after-party po koncertach zespołów Mikrowafle, Skinny Patrini, Organizm, Bruno Schulz, Bajzel i Hotel Kosmos.

Teenage Jesus & the Jerks – Orphans, Less of me
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZLUUDZdKxuA

TT Mahoney & The Standard 8 - Young Lovers

When I started this blog the idea was to post music without any comments, without any stories wrapped around them. Just music. I was thinking that, maybe, sometime in the next couple of months i would get to post enough songs and have enough loyal readers that, maybe, bands would send me their tracks for the purpose of promoting good music through this blog.

Well, what do you know? It’s been a week since I started blogging and checking my email on Tuesday night was probably the best news I’ve heard this week. TT Mahony & The Standard 8, a band from Athens GA wants me to have a listen to their tracks and review them on this blog. HELL YEAH I WILL!!

So, here we are. I wouldn’t know where to put this band in terms of musical genre but I can tell you one thing: I really enjoyed all the songs and it got me dancing here in my office in between reports, calls, emails and what not! Take you time and have a listen/download these 2 songs, courtesy of the band.

TT Mahony & The Standard 8 – Young Lovers (from the debut album, titled Young Lovers)

TT Mahony & The Standard 8 – Interstate (from the same album)

Interested to know more about the band? Well then, here’s what the guys have to say about themselves. One nice and funny little story.

Oh, and don’t forget to buy this album if you like it. Remember, artists need to be supported, not record labels

Standard 8 was formed in late 2006 when T.T. Mahony came to the end of a long period of wandering and happened upon Jeremy Smith in the now-defunct Chapel bar in Athens, Georgia.  Over many rounds (Mahony paid, naturally), they discovered a shared affinity for Bowie, Ferry, Mercury, Television (and their no-wave offspring), the outlaws of early rock’n’roll, cheap 70s exploitation and horror, and sleaze generally.  Finding himself at loose ends, Mahony was susceptible to Smith’s suggestion that they start a band together.

Drawing together Smith’s childhood compatriots (who also found themselves at loose ends from defunct Athens bands such as the Quiet Men, the Ones and backing Count Kellam), the group began rehearsals in late 2006, quickly assembling a body of blitzkrieg pop songs, and taking to the stage in May of 2007.  Fittingly, the first show was a one-off performance of the now-defunct Del Shannon’s “Runaway” at the annual Atlanta benefit, 500 Songs for Kids.

Over the remainder of 2007 and 2008, T.T. and the Standard 8 walked the boards at most of the choice Athens and Atlanta venues, as well as a few unmitigated dives, including shows at Lenny’s, the Star Bar, the 10 High, the 40 Watt, the Caledonia, Tasty World and a few other corners too dingy to name.  Over this time, the craft and unmistakable sound of the band were honed, and an ambitious 16-song debut album were recorded, followed by well-received appearances at the Drunken Unicorn and at the Athens Music and Arts Festival in summer 2009.

Young Lovers was released in February of 2009, with a follow-up record slated for release in early 2010.

Demo ini bersemayam lama di harddisk komputer teman Gembi jaman kuliah dulu di Bandung, sejak pertengahan tahun 2007. Waktu itu Gembi buat demo ini sebagai sketsa lagu untuk rekaman materi album Kecuali Mengenang Betismu (Lost Disco, 2007) di studio.

Setelah sekian waktu, iseng-iseng saja Gembi meminta 4-tracks demo ini untuk di-mixing sekenanya, akhirnya jadilah lagu ini, “Marilah Kusebut Saja Sebagai Pesawat Pengurai” dan Wasted Rockers adalah pihak yang mendapat otoritas untuk mem-publish rare-single ini! Single ini dipersembahkan buat para ‘Sungsang Darling’ (ket: julukan khas fans SLT*). Ayo, unduh segera!…

Download

Foto oleh: Provoke! On-line