Left to their own devices with Scott Colburn (Arcade Fire, Animal Collective) at his voodoo lair, an old Finnish church turned recording studio, The Staxx Brothers return with a vengeance on We are The Blaxstonz. It’s an album that borders on black comedy with heavier social undercurrents; by now as much Chappelle & Carlin as Big Boi and Jagger. It’s a good time record that helps you dance through the tough ones. It’s HARD ASS SOUL. It’s ice cold. This is the way they used to make records. Step real close and you can detect that heavy scent of Howlin’ Wolf runnin’ wild through a Hip Hop landscape…I can still hear him laughin’
“Oh, Magik Markers — you dirty fuckers! You look like a reasonably intelligent young woman and man — perhaps a bit intense, but who isn’t in these end times? Then the needle drops and you’re amok, dusting us from the git-go, wild-eyed in a china shop where stop keeps meaning more. Ah, if it were only music — but it would appear you’ve rethought that too. And would it kill you to crack a smile? When an album begins with a song called ‘Risperdal,’ one should assume a mind-and-body-slamming forty-five minutes or so are underway. And ‘one’ wouldn’t be wrong, dickhead. Sure, Balf Quarry has moody space in its soul, melodies whether stretched over rock, ululating rhythm, chimes ‘n piano and/or wah-wah. Regardless of the configuration, Elisa Ambrogio and Pete Nolan are locked together, beating it out, listening to feeling the sound of their earth quake. And slicing through all the atmosphere, Elisa’s voice is a spear of light, splashes of mud, an acid purple flashback. The Balf Quarry libretto reads like an inner monologue of some poor bastard from The Stand: desperate and vengeful musings from the head of a witness to and survivor of an apocalypse, in a world they never made, dreaming helplessly of the demons out west. ‘Safe before their life sets in’ might mean hope in this landscape. The world’s not broken — people ruin it every time. Working with engineer Scott Colburn (Sun City Girls, Animal Collective, Sir Richard Bishop), Magik Markers have captured a lot of different moods and twitches on Balf Quarry. Tremoring mid-rhythms form the body, with a couple showers of hardcore, high flying free-duo style and several clinking music boxes of woe as well. On slower tunes, the mass of brooding guitar tone generated is Elisa’s signature, a carving all of her own. Fills, licks and other touches move the songs a broken arm’s length away from a fundament of chaos and horror. When colors actually match and you have grey music for grey days, it’s great — but what about grey music for cherry red lava days, or rainbow sounds arcing over six months of darkness? Anything goes — and just your luck, Magik Markers have brought anything with them on Balf Quarry — a multicolored projectile of vomit you can sing along to! If psychosis is your thing, Balf Quarry is like a jukebox just for you. The only thing it’s missing is a brick attached to the CD to facilitate throwing it through your window! No, we’re not talking about you, asshole. This is the royal ‘you’ — the ‘you’ of all Magik Markers fandom, the ‘you’ of anyone with ears and the guts for this shit. Wot fun! Prepare for the birth of the second sun, y’all.”
An idyllic island town is under attack by that most invasive of pests: zombies! Port Gamble is being overrun with braineaters, and the people seem powerless to stave them off. But wait, a rag tag band of rebels is trying to turn the tide and push the invading hoards of undead back. It sounds familiar, sure, but this time stereotypes are on parade (and parody) in a retake on the zombie thriller. We have the full compliment of cinematic shorthand, including the closeted small town boy who has gone to the city and returns with his pushy boyfriend in tow; the angry, hard-working, heavy-accented, immigrant from a Muslim country who is overprotective of his beautiful daughter; the hippie peacenik environmentalist; the fire and brimstone reverend who hates everything youd expect him to, and many more. Enter the zombies. Gore abounds (really abounds) and the current events-based hits keep coming. Gore abounds (really abounds) and the current events-based hits keep coming in this send-up of zombie movie cliches where no subculture escapes unscathed. — Gabe Shapiro, Minneapolis-St. Paul International Film Festival
This is a trilogy of 7″ records of bands doing Hawkwind covers. I was first interested in it cos Mudhoney was doing one. The first song I ever recorded by Mudhoney was Sonic Infusion and it reminded me of Hawkwind, so I was interested in hearing them doing a real Hawkwind song.
I got these records in and the Mudhoney track was pretty good but sounded less like Hawkwind than I expected. The B side was Mugstar and it was also a decent cover, but nothing to write home about.
Then I played the Kinski/ Bardo Pond. I thought Kinski would be good cos they do that sort of thing, but I was disappointed because it was probably the worst cover of a Hawkwind song I’ve ever heard. I mean, the rhythm was way off and the recordings was squeaky clean. A real let down. BUT the Bardo Pond was fantastic! Blew my mind really and prepared me for record three which was Acid Mothers Temple/ White Hills.
Acid Mothers Temple was pretty cool but left me a bit flat, so i played it at 45rpm and it was super sweet.
How could I know that when I flipped the record over and played White Hills that my face would become dislodged and end up hanging on the wall behind me. Now THAT’s a Hawkwind cover!!!
Started tracking a new batch of Feral Children songs. Totally amazing and nearly indescribable which was the same feeling I had when recording Animal Collective. Although Feral C draws from completely different influences.
It’s tough when there is a disconnect between an “influence” and a “impression”, If I said this had a Twin Peaks influence, you might think that it SOUNDED like the Twin Peaks soundtrack. Of course you would be completely wrong. But if I said that this recording is impressed with the Twin Peaks soundtrack. well…you probably would think I’m a little off my rocker.
