As its cover suggests, Bad Moon Rising is, on the whole, something of an ominous affair despite the rousing intro of "Brave Men Run (In My Family)." For example, never before has a song with a title like "I Love Her All The Time" sounded so bereft of sincerity or hope. Even its 'hit' "Death Valley '69" is humming with an evil undercurrent. While still definitely effective, the malevolent pretensions of Bad Moon Rising are, as it's Creedence Clearwater Revival referencing title hints, somewhat cartoonish compared with the genuine Eraserhead-level anxiety evident on Confusion…

As is to be expected from a band as long lastingly idiosyncratic as Sonic Youth, their birth was not an easy thing. Confusion is Sex is sparse and brooding, shot-through with the screeching molestation of electric guitar that would underpin their sound for the duration of their career. Cultured in the shadow of avant garde guitarist Glenn Branca, in whose band Lee Ranaldo learned his trade, their first album proper is also steeped in the ambient experimentation of their No Wave influences, and cuts a twisted figure. When at 1:38 into the ominous drone of "Freezer Burn…

"I'd love to speak with Leonard…"

Cohen had already embarked upon something of a comeback by the time he discovered his retirement fund had been pilfered to the tune of $5 million in 2005, having the previous year released the brilliant Dear Heather, just three years on the heels of its equal ten new songs. Which robs writers of a cynical theory as to why, 45 years after making the switch between poetry and folk, Leonard manages to remain as potent as when he disavowed the arguably nobler career path he had initially embarked upon.

old ideas as…

————Original article with pictures published here—————-

“No sooner is Christmas in the bin than we’re thinking about Easter.”

The pine needle outlines tell me the bin men have finally disposed of the Christmas tree corpses that have besieged my street for a week. I’m Febreze-ing my bollocks-off this frosty Friday the 13th, because as chance would have it, I’m sat only in these pants, and last night saw fit to damn them to the stench of ‘Kaltenberg Hell’. Why don’t they arbitrarily randomize the smell of Febreze? This stink is an insinuation of filth. Much the same as Hospitals seem…

New Brigade comes pounding out of darkness to your door, before flailing around your house like an amphetamine-addled Warsaw during one of Ian Curtis' epileptic fits. I can't remember a debut sounding so menacing and energetic. The guitar sounds like it's being played with a cheese grater, bass superficially compliant, but on closer examination is psychotically off-kilter, sufficiently to make even this album's most upbeat riffs sound positively horrible…in the best possible way. Meanwhile, the drummer packs-in more hits than a one-man-band hurtling down a cliffside. Every song is like battery acid in the blood, from Rotting Heights down to…

There’s an ongoing pseudo scene in the outdated amber streetlight-encased backstreets off the beaten track of our major cities and surrounding towns - In the Vaults of their seemingly less-frequented boozers, while you might initially expect to find your entrance met with rheumy-eyed animosity, you’re almost as likely to find a band playing taut renditions of standards from 60s rock's red-headed stepchildren. If you're really lucky you might even be blessed with the presence of an ex-member of one of the transitory incarnations of Captain Beefheart’s Magic Band, or an alumnus of Frank Zappa’s Utility Muffin Research Kitchen. If…

Tue 25 Oct – VICE.COM ISSUE LAUNCH

Original version, including photos here: http://www.manchesterscenewipe.co.uk/reviews/miasma-vice/

I. THE CONFLAGRATION OF THE FATES

In the googolplexianth echo away from this particular delineation of what we refer to as ‘reality’, a headless humanoid made of mushroom does a push-up in furtherance of lifting itself from a steam-covered, mossy forest floor and shambles it’s way through the undergrowth and insect chirps to a clearing where the multiple blazing suns above are diffused by a tissue-thin Opalescent canopy. In the centre of this clearing glint the honey-dewed cunny lips of a 15-year-old earth-girl, draped atop a subtly…

Mon 26 Sep – Metronomy

A slovenly jogger’s bicep-mounted iPod screen sways through the black toward me rather than this increasingly elusive bus’s amber triple-digits. Looks like the lesbian dentist’s assistant got her community centre’s out of hours activity schedule wrong as she’s met at the door by her matte-black doppelganger in its glass. The frog-necked blonde on the bus stop bench jostles her knockers and shuffles her change into order of superiority to avail the driver of a DayRider. I pass a café whose walls are adorned with Neon observations passed-off as an art-form.

‘The Inauguration of the Coconut…

Originally published here: http://www.manchesterscenewipe.co.uk/reviews/die-indie-die-the-decade-of-ethical-decay-in-indie-rock/

con·verse 2

–adjective

1. opposite or contrary in direction, action, sequence, etc.; turned around.

It wouldn’t be revelatory for me to say that the 00s saw the underground-overground, wandering free, (in aptly nicknamed ‘Cons’ buffering their owner’s tootsies’ soles through the unimaginative labyrinth of a decade so wholly bereft of new ideas, that we eventually dug-up the most abhorrent facets of the fashions and attitudes that time so-badly wanted forgotten) but in the spirit of the age, I’m going to ask you to speed-dial your grandma, make sure she’s got a six-pack of ‘free range’ to…

Thu 7 Jul – Doctor Dee

Originally appeared here: http://anegativenarrative.com/blog/review-doctor-dee/

"In Nomine Dei Patris…"

Clichéd and Playstation 3 though it may now be, I love me some Orchestra warming. The optimum pantomime venue of my youth is tonight patronised by the Bona Fide. The J20 is flowing like wine among the veritable Grey-Parade who are pre-ordering their intermission drinks with fresh £20s - the odd waxed moustache or natty woolen hat lending proceedings some bohemian credibility, while the Jewish contingent check my genetic membership at the ticket desk. The Palace is most definitely visually befitting of an Opera in my…