CREEPY BALLERINA

January is quickly turning into february, the start of the year already feeling just the same way the rest of the year does, all resoloutions burned, back on the booze, too much money spent in the city, no time, no time, no time.

I am slowly coming round to the idea of getting a week planner. Studying, reading, drinking, travelling, studying, time wasting, drinking, records. It kind of blurrrrrs into one big where am I and before you know it there isnt any time to get on and make zines. So as usual, our plans have jinxed us, deadlines will be long lost and forgotten, we're just going to have to see what happens.

We're beavering away on our little project, slowly but surely things are starting to happen. Matt ordered some badges, I completed a booklet of polaroids, both of us have been searching away for bands to put on tapes and we've got our first two cassette releases sorted. Patience, patience, patience. Things will start to materialise soon!

In the meantime, here is a little round up of whats been going on. I saw Action Beat play last night in a loveley little pub somewhere in Dalston and they were phenominal. They played with four guitarists and three drummers and ruined my ears. Their set was a short blast of gigantic riffs and static and loud, loud, loudness. So much rhythm, energy, sweat, sound dripping from the ceiling splashing all over the place couldnt move only dance dance dance away. Good beer on tap too, always trust a place that pours Pilsner Urquell into slender glasses like hoppy gold! If you take one tip from some guy that writes a blog on his laptop in the middle of Surrey take this - Action Beat. Matt and the Half A Handshake crew are putting them on in Sheffield on the 7th of February, mega line up here.

For inspiration, this week is the new Shit And Shine record with its many sounds and sonic experiments, an excellent article in the February issue of Wire about the Baltimore noise scene that only mentions Dan Deacon once and make me want to fly straight over and freak out, dancing at Bethnal Green Working Mens Club to cheap n sleazy rock n roll then hearing a legendary Alan Price tune, starting to get ideas and lots of 'em, Jean Prouve at the Design Museum, Owen Richards just updated his website and has taken some brilliant shots of David Thomas Broughton for Plan B (who seem to have just discovered him - our man Matt was on it over a year ago - anyone want to employ us???) and not getting much much sleep.

It seems that the Rant Magazine website has been taken down. Myself and Matt both contributed a little to it. I dont know where its gone, but assume its for definate. Here are a few snippets from some of the reviews I did for the website...

Passions at The New Cross Inn

‘For the dreaming, the drowning and the drunk’ reads part of a huge stencil painted onto the back wall of the New Cross Inn, a six foot ship smashed clean out a glass bottle in a white on black salute to hardy booze hounds and tipsy idealists alike. And we’re all here tonight, its midweek in this tiny, shabby, charming place. There’s middle aged men staring vacant propped up on bar stools and kids looking good milling around, far too few for a party, its near empty and not just because of the smokers standing grouchy in the cold outside. But here are the dreamers, you can see a couple, conversations stopped, now just wide eyes for Passions who appeared with ‘Emergency’ sometime not so long ago on the Kitsune label, a single dropping like fizzy electro gold dust, kind of like sherbet back in the day all bursting with everything you ever wanted to taste, a fine sugar rush stomp that was also one of the finest tracks on the fourth compilation from those cunning French trend setters. What sounds like a band on record appeared on stage as one super skinny fella stooped over a laptop, arms like strawberry laces working double time to punch out electroclash that rushed out and filled the room with jolts of mutant techno. Heavy, abrasive, jarring, obnoxious, rib snappingly feel good dance music that you crave for all week in between pod casts and trips to the record store, rushing through the tube high on cheap wine and suddenly there it is come crashing down, this new sound that twists and snarls and makes your hair stand on end. The pub can hardly contain it, a barrage twice as loud as the DJ’s before, students fleeing the noise, an apple mac propped up by a crooked wooden table Passions working whatever’s on the screen totally destroying it. We look on in disbelief, disappear into the end of the night, fall asleep on double decker busses totally content.

Cronica Label Showcase (Atlantic Waves Festival) at the ICA

Saturday night Trafalgar Square is a swirl of energy. Stand in the middle and feel the whole world revolve around you on that one spot. It feels huge and majestic as the people and the traffic and the tall buildings collide in a constant rush. There’s a hint of electricity in the air that only comes once darkness descends at 5pm and the whole city becomes illuminated. Hurry through Admiralty Arch and stare at the underside of its big beamed belly, find the Mall that stretches all the way up to the hard iron gates of the palace. But take a while. The trees here stand proud, foliage heaped in orange on the side of the pavement. Street lamps sing sweet light out into the night. The architecture seems vast. It’s still ok to wear a light jumper, because it is dry and magical out.

And here we are, the masochists of sound. We sit patient and brave and feel @C, Aki Onda, Gert Jan Prins and Lia construct a sonic landscape from behind computer screens. A projection flickers schizophrenic like a broken television set as we are lead by the hand into a sparse, visceral field. It begins minimally, waves of short circuit bass spread spine tingling fuzz across the room, broken beats fall in abstract, unpredictable patterns, electrodes spring forth suddenly and zap, dart, twist themselves into frantic angles and are gone, raw slashes of sound cut through the ether the way a great swordsman would strike an enemy. Suddenly we are enveloped in a dense terror, as the noises get louder, harsher. Static starts to shake the building, massive bangs erupt into splinters long enough to be arrows, no instruments can be seen, just the pioneers of some great expedition stood concentrating, their faces gone apple mac blue, their eyes wide, bloodshot. It soon becomes a blend of fearsome noise; the harsh rumbling of electronics that feels like pure bliss. It whips the breath away. It scrambles the mind with something never experienced before. Pure improvisation. The twists and turns and simple beautiful balance.

Darren Hayman And The Secondary Modern LP

Clasp this record to your heart and let it melt, let these love songs simmer and envelop. Hayman’s awkward voice singing clever and funny above tinkling banjos and ukuleles, mad fiddles and triumphant horns. His acoustic guitar always strumming constant. And there’s more too, if you listen hard enough. Let the beginning of a smile turn into a grin and remember being a child, a teenager, an adult that can’t quite grow up. Daft but true, this twee, life affirming sound Hayman has been producing for years is still irresistible.

Fuck Buttons at Kentish Town Forum ( ATP Release The Bats)

Fuck Buttons are playing as we enter, our snarls drowned by the unholy noise they create. Pockets of people stand around open jawed, eyes wide in terror. Others descend into a demonic trance and sway in the waves of static. Onstage, two men face each other, bowed over laptops, toy microphones, all sorts of knobs and buttons. The air is alive with electricity, pure and sharp like huge lightning cracks caught on tape and played over and over again. The ground shakes and ribs rattle. Huge hail stones of noise rain down from above. It’s nothing and everything all at once. Imagine being caught in a television snow storm; scared, frightened, trapped and totally alive. One of the men starts to drum a shamanic rhythm, an electronic beat kicks in, synth riffs glide beautifully into the air, creating such wonderful chaos that they could have closed the show there and then.

Thao - We Brave Bee Stings And All

Here is a record for the darkest depths of winter, when only a bright spark will do. Thao delivers it perfectly, a set of songs simmering in a cosy atmosphere of colour and optimism, energy too. Her lyrics and delicate arrangements come across oh so strong and resonant. When she sings the line “It soothes you like a lick of ice cream”, It becomes clear that Thao will be the toast of the New Year. The one to drag us through a raw December and out the other side, safe and sound, re-emerging beneath fireworks in a starry sky on the last day of the year, leaving us no choice but to embrace her sparkle, charm and hope.

Matt's latest website update is also well worth a look, the picture he did of Efterklang for Rant is on there too.

Thats it. Zines soon soon soon.

Thanks for reading, more to come.

Seb

xx