Nate Fitzbutler did a remix to Kanye West’s and Kendrick Lamar’s “No More Parties in LA” called “No More Parties in SD”. He said, "we made this track to try to bring some national buzz to our city that’s always been in the shadow of the LA music scene."

Niko Sitaras from the San Diego based dream rock band Paper Days says, "We just released our new EP 'Fun For Family & Friends'. Our release party is on Feb 19th being hosted at the Irenic (with The Bash Dogs & Splavender). 

Panic Is Perfect is an indie-pop group from San Fran and they are touring in support of their new album, Cellspace, which drops tomorrow on Strange Loop Records. They'll be playing at The Loft @ UCSD on Feb. 12!





 

 

 

 

Festival? We Don't Need No Stinking Festival
09.12.06 at The Smell in LA By Keith Boyd
Ah, the urban wilderness that is LA! The wild smog in the wild air settles all over you like a fine coating of pancake makeup applied to a nude model. You stroll through this thick atmosphere and feel the desperation and faded glory assault your senses. Crumbled and stained sidewalks and curbs seem half real beneath your feet. Whole blocks of dirty and ratty tents stuffed with people driven half mad or all the way mad by drugs and no food and illness and inner demons. Mexican transvestites preen past the gauzy green glow of the neon lights in the window of the botanica. As the sunlight fades a new city rises from these ruins. This is the city of other senses. This is the city of smell. The city of human urine and car exhaust and heat bleeding out of old stone walls. This is the city of touch. The cracked and callused hand of a homeless man as he shakes you hand waiting for his moment to start the hustle for change. This is the city of sound. The sound of Ranchera and Mexican dance music blatting at full volume. The sound of desperate shouts and garbled screams coming from unknown directions. This city keeps you on your toes. It was into this city that myself and a few pal ventured last Saturday night to check out the spectacle, the phenomena, and the outright surreal indecency of the Acid Mothers Temple's "New Japanese Music Festival".

To call this a "festival" requires that one's ability to visualize or conceptualize is deeply rooted in a Marx Brothers aesthetic. Perhaps it even requires something beyond The Marx Brothers. A bit of 3 Stooges mixed together with Monty Python and the Firesign Theatre all soaked in Ayhuasca and shot up your nose by an Amazonian shaman. That might approach it. Now that you've rearranged your perspective you're ready to call this event a FESTIVAL! It consisted of several permutations of 3 of the ever expanding Acid Mother's Temple lineup. In this case that would include, Kawabata Makoto, Yoshida Tatsuya and Tsuyama Atsushi. Each assembly of these same three people would get up and play for between 10-20 minutes, then they would dash off backstage to take a quick smoke break and run back on to "become" the next group.

Musically there was an entire gamut to run. There was a healthy dose of beautiful and damaged Gregorian drone chanting. This was surrounded by contact microphone noise sessions of pant zippers and scissors. There were longish riffs on various "famous" and not so "famous" songs by Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin and Miles Davis. These were delivered in a wacky, hand-made Captain Beefheart tone that, to me, was a bit off putting. While the sentiments of slap-dash deconstructionism are commendable, after standing in the sweat and cigarette drenched club for a few hours, the joke wore thin. It began at times to feel like a test of will. The atmosphere in The Smell contributed to this by acting like an unhealthy sauna. It was the reverse of every positive feeling one could have in a space. The thickness of the air filled with human sweat and bad breath and cigarette smoke and vague industrial smells and of course, urine was inescapable.

Better were the sets of Ruins solo and the great grand finale of Acid Mothers Temple pile driving it home. The Ruins set was a master work of intense drumming. While playing along with a sampler and guest bassist Yoshida somehow channeled the sound of several drummers playing furiously all at once. The beauty and devastation of the songs, filled with manic energy and wild swerves of tempo was inspiring. Best of all however was the massive cathartic, freak-power lift off of Acid Mothers Temple . It's hard to describe the massive push of sound pressure created by AMT live. They seem to literally strangle the music out of thin air and then ride this throbbing monster for all it is worth. The spontaneous and chance filled collides with pure daring and intent to create hypnotic magick. AMT is one of the best live acts going and it would behoove you to drive, fly, crawl on bloody stumps, skip, or roll to wherever they are playing and dig it.

This wild trip to LA didn't end with the last collapsing chords of AMT though. From there our San Diego foursome (the impossibly tall and handsome Philsy, his lovely pixie-booted wife Yuko and "The Two High School Girls" Eric and I) and some other pals (wise acre, music magician, actor and all purpose freak Brucey and sweetheart of the rodeo and dog-bar lover extraordinaire Helveta) scampered off to one of those LA ex-Rummy/Barfly, now taken over by hipsters, bars called, "Footsies".  As to what happened here perhaps the less said the better! Let's just say that tequila and Tabasco is a lovely way to go and that watching large gothic girl dig cell phones out of their cleavage to show you pictures of themselves hung-over in a taxi is not. Really what this night was about was connection and freedom. It's a blessing to be with great friends laughing and riffing on time present and past. It's a blessing to get out of your head once in awhile. It's a blessing to see the variety of human experience. And finally it's a blessing to hear the pure caterwaul and inspired free-form lunacy of Acid Mothers Temple no matter what the line up, smell or cost to mind and body.

 

 


    Lotushouse MP3 Sampler
    Maquiladora - The Revenge of Becky Royal (New Piano)
    Tenniscoats + Maquiladora - Hours
    High Mountain Tempel - Processional (An Invocation to Thee Angelic Sister)
    Raagnagrok - HJD
    Beggars - Will We Call It Love
    Maquiladora - Termez 1936
    Maquiladora - Song 26
    Buzz or Howl - Sendhe Mortu Chin Rigore
    Earthling Tempel - Celestial Inhabitants of the Sun
    Buzz or Howl - The Sins Of The Flower Are Visited On The Shunned
    Maquiladora - Light of the Rain
    High Mountain Tempel - The Ascended Master (Hang Gliding in Heaven)
    High Mountain Tempel - Fluctuat Nec Mergitur
    High Mountain Tempel - Tempel Walk
    Buzz or Howl - 05 Oct 05
    Buzz or Howl - Sun as the Destroyer of Dreams
    Live version at the Make Room SF 2005
    Maquiladora - In This Life
    Maquiladora - Simply to See You
    Maquiladora with Kawabata Makoto - Nampasen
    Maquiladora Maquiladora - Drunk and Lighting Fires (A Waltz)
    Maquiladora Maquiladora - Ritual of Hearts
    Maquiladora Maquiladora - Ankle
    Maquiladora - Mayday
    Loraine Loraine - Pasqually Old Pasqually

    Beggars - S/T
    by Pierro Scaruffi

    Maquiladora's Eric Nielsen and Bruce McKenzie joined forces with Skygreen Leopards' Glenn Donaldson to form Beggars, whose double-disc Beggars (Lotushouse, 2013) is a tour de force of ecstatic Eastern-influenced freak-folk. Mostly these pieces lean towards the traditional song format, although inevitably deformed by the musicians' pedigrees.

    The ghostly hyper-dilated drones of Ghost Coyote are imbued with quasi-Morricone western-movie guitar twang and even harmonica. The sweet lullaby and the trotting pace of Eureka My Love as well as the romantic honky-tonking Justine (with a refrain a bit reminiscent of Dylan's Blowing in the Wind) hark back to the heydays of country-rock. 2-3-74 Floating evokes the martial laments of the young Neil Young although diluted amid discordant guitar jamming and lulled by waves of funereal vocal harmonies. Berserker's Boogie is a lively and poppy almost-bluegrass tune. They even intone the singalong Queen Anne's Lace with drums, banjo and all.

    Thankfully, the spaced-out yodeling of Lullaby de Bourbon (memories of Aoxomoxoa-era Grateful Dead), the free-form quasi-jazz guitar and vocal interplay of Will We Call It Love, the seven-minute dreaming psalm Big Pink Sun and its sublimely disintegrating coda, remind us of what Maquiladora are best at. The 23-minute Midget Decapitates Clownis an ambitious concerto for suspense and agony. Far from being just a droning piece, it piles up sonic event after sonic event, producing the trancey effect out of a multitude of traumatic sounds. The chirping and tweeting that accumulates half-way into the piece decays into a nervous organic filigree and dies away in the most cryptic manner; one of the high points of Maquiladora's career.


    Earthling Tempel - Pilgrimage To Thunderbolt Pagoda
    by Aquarius Records

    Not sure if this is part 4, or just the first in a new multi part epic, hardly matters, what does matter is, this is another glorious expansive collection of meditative psychedelic abstract dronefolk ambience. Every High Mountain Tempel disc we're reviewed thus far has gotten played to death here, and this one doesn't appear to be any different. Well, at least in that respect. In one distinct way it is very different, HMT are not going it alone this time. They've assembled a pretty impressive collection of sonic alchemists and musical conjurers to help with this ritual, Isis Aquarian from the Source Family, Charles Curtis from La Monte Young's Just Alap Raga Ensemble, and two crews from the UK we've never heard of, Earthling Society and Astarism, but even with all those cooks in the kitchen, HMT and friends have managed to weave another dark minimal masterpiece, all hushed barely there guitar shimmer, drifting whispered vocals, delicate crystalline melodies, dense swirls of piano, warm swells of tape hiss, mysterious voices and field recordings, whirring organ, bowed steel strings... so lovely.

    If the liner notes are to be believed, two of the tracks feature Earthling Society on their own, and those tracks do sound different, much less free and sprawling, a bit more structured, like seventies UK acid folk, swirling and melodic and quite lovely. The final two tracks find the two groups in full on collaborative mode, and the gears shift to something much more space rocky and Hawkwindy, all blissed out and heart-of-the-sun, until the final track which is a strummy, delicate, moody chill out closer, a sort of dour doom folk drift, that makes a perfect ending.

    Super nice packaging, silkscreened oversized 4 panel sleeve, white on black, with the cd-r affixed to the inside. And of course, SUPER LIMITED!

    High Mountain Tempel - The Glass Bead Game by Aquarius Records

    Part three in the ongoing series of limited cd-r explorations from mysterious drone combo High Mountain Tempel, and like the two before it, the band continue to delve into some murky sonic underworld, again presenting loooong songs, each separated by brief sonic interludes, this disc seems feature more actual vocals, the opening track features a processed voice, that sounds a bit like throat singing, or a Speak And Spell, intoning some arcane message, interwoven with long drawn out tones, and a thick ropy buzz, super dark and intense and atmospheric. Elsewhere sampled voices surface, there are bits of chanting here and there, all peppered throughout the disc. But even with the extra voices, the focus here is still on dark, lugubrious, extended dronescapes.

    The sound of High Mountain Tempel is probably closest to Expo '70, as their various permutations of dronemusic seem to have a definite krautrock vibe, that gives the sound a sort of spaced out quality, and a subtle propulsion, but unlike Expo '70, HMT seem to have a distinct Eastern influence, much of the music is meditative and subtly dramatic, a bit soundtracky, and some of it sounds like it could be Japanese. Especially the way field recordings are incorporated into the sounds. Giving everything a definite texture, some of it sounding like it was perhaps recorded live in some hilltop temple. Which we would imagine is the idea.

    Not sure what else to say actually. This is indeed fantastic, brooding and malefic, but also shimmery and dreamy, sonically it has much in common with the first two installments, so definitely check out those reviews to read more about their 'sound'.

    Needless to say, fans of the drone and folks into the current crop of cd-r soundscapers will for sure dig this, but like the other HMT discs, this is more than simple drone music, this is ritualistic alchemical soundwork, one can almost imagine stumbling across a group of cloaked figures huddled around a fire in a forest clearing, tossing various powders into the flames, causing the fire to change color and cast beastlike shadows on the branches above, and this is the sound filtering through the forest like a black moonlit fog...
    SUPER LIMITED of course, packaged beautifully in a foldover silkscreened sleeve, gold metallic on red on the outside, black on red on the inside.

    High Mountain Tempel - A Screaming Comes Across The Sky - The Faultline Scriptures
    by Aquarius Records

    Record number two from this mysterious drone-kraut styled duo. Their last disc was a huge hit around here, so we were pretty thrilled to get our hands on this one, a logical sonic extension of the first, delving deeper into some murky tripped out twilit soundworld.
    The disc opens with shimmering clouds of gongs and cymbals, whirring and sizzling, suspended over a deep distant rumble, a delicate intro to a record at once hypnotic and lovely, dark and dense.

    The record is arranged into three epic tracks, interspersed with short sonic interludes, ranging from field recordings of crickets, looped chants (Elizabeth Clare Prophet if we're not mistaken), spirituals and mysterious liturgical songs, whirring drones, and backwards percussion, but it's the long tracks where the duo get to spread out, let their dense soundscapes sprawl.

    The three long tracks sounds like movements of a greater whole, clocking in at 15 minutes, 11 minutes and nearly 17 minutes respectively, each rife with creepy delayed vocals, churning guitars and smeared chords, roiling muddy whirls, which often dissipate leaving streaks of fragmented melody and haunting slowed down voices. Buried amidst the drones and whirs, are lullaby-like melodies, skittery percussion, streaks of grinding distortion, hidden voices, more field recordings, thick swaths of cavernous rumbles, little bits of electronic glitch and lots and lots of low end buzz.

    Packaged in a fancy navy blue fold over sleeve, screenprinted in white ink, with a photocopied insert with liner notes and song credits.

    LIMITED TO 150 COPIES! Each one hand numbered.

 

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