Search:marrow of the mind

Sticking a dirty thumb in the eye of fate, our third collaboration sees this marrow deep family malarky turn official as Pace Yourself teams up with YS’s own imprint ERF REC for a split release. As if our status as minor celebrities and footnotes of the underground could level off no further: the unification no one asked for is here. Sticking it to the man, handing your arse to ya on plate; cauterising infected suburban minds world over.

Burn is the second YS album and written as a direct follow-up album to Brutal Flowers. If their first album was an exercise in the incremental, a construction of poise and patience, Burn, should be taken way the fuck at it’s word: it quite literally finds catharsis in twisted reverse. Birthed out the malignant kick found in deconstruction and chaos. Evil twin, psychotic younger sibling, call it what the hell you like. It might take you a moment to get the lay of the land in this darkly mutated world. Like a bug eye’d native first confronted with a zippo, the hit is radical and instant: a new way for the world to go up in smoke.

Splice the Seattle slacker scene with the spliffhead soundsystem culture of the 90s Bristol trip-hop scene, then cross-breed that with the DIY optimism and glee in creation found in the cut-and-paste worlds of skate, graffiti and hiphop, now run that through the skitzo basement mind of John.T. Gast and you’re close to the kind of scorched earth and spiked suburbia that birthed Burn.

Dunno quite what YS have been ingesting of late but this massively twisted LP touches on a host of gloriously fucked totemic underground sources while not sounding much like any of them. It has the ballsy swagger and hard flipping of the script as Massive Attack’s seminal Blue Lines. Indeed, the eponymous album tracks sound similar - the opener ‘Burn’ is like a hard nosed jammed out redux of ‘Blue Lines’. Getting into a kind of slow-spinning overdubbed maximal euphoria ending with mumbled downer vocals, struggling to conceal their tongues in their cheeks there’s an air of paranoia and proto-conspiracy theory. It’ll leave you scratching your head, feeling like you’ve stepped into a New World Order governed by a cacophony of drop outs, dope fiends and apocalyptic stoners. A cracked out world somewhere between Richard Linklater’s movie Slacker (1990) and Marc Singer’s Dark Days (2001).

The rest of the album parts like a tongue on a wine glass: Smith and Mighty, Bandulu, ambient Luke Slater records, Wah Wah Wino, Nurse with Wound, Land of the Loops, Placid Angels, Adrian Sherwood, Urban Tribe and DJ Shadow can all be heard in momentary splatters - but Burn like other works by YS, is its own ritual beast. ‘Moth’, a track which has been knocking about the underground deejai circuit for many moons, is a real raw chopped and screwed slice of stoner erotica that reeks of obsession and unrequited desire. Elsewhere, on tracks like ‘Switch’, ‘Trying’ and ‘Drift’ the throughline from Brutal Flowers can be heard. Underneath the driving heavy gravity the trademark emotional intimacies of YS linger: eternal recurrence, ghosts of static and shortwave, worn memories of the playful and painful sort. The brief moments where flashes of orchestral ambience get out from underneath the swagger are so pure, personal and unguarded that for a moment they leave you completely lonesome. In the album’s closer ‘End’, you can hear the fleeting promise and DIY possibilities of an analogue world and embers of ash that flutter in its wake: where it seemed, for a brief moment, that collective of DJs, engineers, rappers, graffiti artists and skate crews were emerging from the streets, giving the middle fingers to the system, before just as quickly disappearing back to the doldrums of obscurity. ‘End’ is a bittersweet ode to early soundsystem culture, MCs and pirate radio - an out of step time where for a moment the underdogs and weirdos seemed to be kicking on the door of something bigger.

A veritable teenage doof suite dosed with desire, claustrophobia and deviance. Burn is a good old howl at the moon: lonely, raw, and out for blood; basement style exegesis at its best. A thump to the gut, a stud through your blood. A dubbed-to-death classic straight out of the annals of nowhere. A perfect post card from oblivion. A bleak, bold and personally ferocious vision of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

This is everything that record collectors skip dates for. Fuck the scene and keep that shit underground. That’s what it is all about. Know what I mean, if you do? You’re in…

Fashion Flesh tears the fabric of space and time. This is his first offering for the ESP Institute. With side A’s 'Atoms Revolt', ESP cordially introduces Fashion Flesh, AKA John Talaga, to the deepest corners of your mind. Using largely homemade electronics, circuit-bent gadgets, and tape manipulation, John manages to tap into the innate character of these otherwise introverted machines, eavesdropping and documenting their buried inner dialogue. His command of distortion is multi-tiered. On a micro level, he induces happy accidents and shepherds stray elements. Zooming out a bit, we begin to understand the sonic meat grinder that equalizes his bag of disparate ingredients. And from a macro vantage point, we fully recognize the greater tool that sculpts all of the above into form. Side B’s 'New Freedom' conjures a specific dystopian image—the byproduct of an artist involuntarily conditioned by the commute between up-river Bay County, Michigan and the Detroit metropolitan area. Like cutting away at flesh and muscle, breaking through the bone to suck the marrow, John depicts both the contrast and parallels between two post-industrial urban landscapes, the banal trek across The Thumb between them, and the gradual disintegration of agriculture as one nears the Techno city. Voice fragments begin to stutter in syncopation like radio frequencies interfering with our psyche, Geiger counters wail and moan, untamed oscillations mimic caged primates rioting at the zoo, and a steady-firing piston of drums struggles to break through a dense harmonic soot. The depth of personality John extracts through his manipulation process is remarkable— a point-of-view that foreshadows humanity’s looming technological singularity while hinting that it may have always been here, hiding in plain sight, waiting to be given a voice. These two songs will trip your circuit breakers.

Crypt of the Wizard is proud to present Dipygus - Dipygus on vinyl and digital formats. Breaking bones, sucking the marrow dry and concocting its own mind-bending blend of cryptid death metal mutilations for over a decade now, Dipygus are a North American quartet powerhouse of crushing caveman gore grooves and monstrous neanderthal percussive slaughter. With already a blood hungry host of extended plays, splits and full-lengths under their gut string loincloths, Dipygus burst forth into 2024 with their self-titled third album—pushing the primitive psychosis of their sonic assault into new arenas of hallucinogenic cannibal combat. Rife with the foetid stench of mouldering mammoth corpses, Dipygus have spared no prisoners for their latest album; amping up their jungle fever dead dreams with skull smashing drumwork, monolithic bass brutality, captivating death hooks, venomous hypnotic leads, guttural flesh growls, ancient cryptid thematics and a truly diseased atmosphere, one that is as equally oppressive, as it is ferociously ominous. Freak induced fatalism from the backward fringes of time, Dipygus have once again laid morbid massacre to the audio waves and created their most potent slab of infectious caveman styled death metal to date, one that any cannibalistic monster marauder would be thrilled to sharpen their gnarled bone axes upon.

Historically Fucked is a four way entanglement made to create short, eruptive songs and then set about obliterating them from the inside, like improvising a barrel to encase themselves in and then proceeding to lick their way out of it. It is about playing and laughing at playing, and it is about not doing either of those things sometimes. Sometimes it is to do with talking, howling or grunting, and sometimes it is to do with hitting and rubbing.
Historically Fucked contains four people, who each share the same duties, and whose names in sequence are Otto Willberg, David Birchall, Greta Buitkuté and Alecs Pierce. They are from Manchester and often other places. Guitar, bass, drums and voices keenly jostle amid the group’s frenzy of spontaneous rock throttles. Some of these rampant exercises in avant are collected on ‘The Mule Peasants’ Revolt of 12,067’, the band’s new album, released by Upset The Rhythm on February 3rd. This is the group’s first release since 2018’s mantlepiece staple ‘Aliven Wool’ (Heavy Petting). This is Rock and/or Roll as fertilizer, uncivilised and free, as if one were to imagine what the Plastic Ono Band would’ve hit upon if they had read ‘Riddley Walker’, the sound of an entire timeline of expression put back together back-to-front, misshapen and irradiated.

‘The Mule Peasants’ Revolt of 12,067’ is not mere Sedentary Rock but Blasted Basalt, Frog worshipping cave-funk, harmolodic hullabaloo-wop, a musical game of “badger in the bag”. It is the sound of sacks crammed full of aggregate, a chimerical mind-meld, a seductive din that is to a hound dog in blue suede shoes what a raking of the dorsal fin with a fat marrow pinecone is to a pelican in the midst of being fired from the academy.

‘The Mule Peasants’ Revolt of 12,067’ by Historically Fucked was recorded by Rory Salter, mixed by Otto Willberg and mastered by Mikey Young. The liminally worrisome artwork was painted by John Cobweaver.

“They say these days that History is Fucked. Nothing ever dies but continues to rule the earth as an undead tyrant that cannot accept its own decomposition, look earwardly upon the dance of the proudly dead and decrepit!”

Vymethoxy Redspiders, Leeds 2022

Mix 1 (20:00)
1.1 Don Shelley– Dance To The Music 1:24
1.2 Lee Marrow– Cannibals (Baa-Bou - Baa-Bou) 0:37
1.3 Panorama – War In Love 0:37
1.4 Brian Auger– Night Train To Nowhere 0:54
1.5 Sylvi Foster– Hookey 0:39
1.6 Mike Cannon– Voices In The Dark 0:18
1.7 Steel Mind– Bad Passion 1:15
1.8 Brian Ice– Talking To The Night 0:39
1.9 Valerie Dore– The Night 0:58
1.10 M Basic– OK. Run 0:18
1.11 Mac Jr.– Elephant Song 0:26
1.12 Scotch– Disco Band 0:56
1.13 Koto– Japanese War Games 0:34
1.14 Miko Mission– How Old Are You? 0:51
1.15 Silver Pozzolli*– Around My Dream 0:36
1.16 Baby's Gang– Happy Song 0:17
1.17 Sky Creackers– You Should Be Dancing 0:12
1.18 Marzio Dance– You Can Do It 1:09
1.19 N.O.I.A.– True Love 0:28
1.20 Kano– I Need Love 0:25
1.21 N.O.I.A.– Stranger In A Strange Land 0:33
1.22 Miko Mission– The World Is You 0:45
1.23 Torrevado– Living In The Shuttle 0:35
1.24 Electric Mind– Can We Go 0:33
1.25 Kano– Another Life 0:34
1.26 Flexx – Love Theme From Flexxy-Ball (You´ll Never Change No More) 0:49
1.27 Duke Lake– Dance Tonight 0:26
1.28 Doctor's Cat– Feel The Drive 1:24
1.29 Cheaps– Moliendo Cafe 0:42


Mix 2 (20:00)
2.1 Koto– Visitors 0:05
2.2 Ken Laszlo– Tonight 0:23
2.3 Time– Shaker Shake 0:16
2.4 Diviacchi– Waiting For Heaven 0:33
2.5 Brand Image– Are You Loving? 0:38
2.6 Fred Ventura– The Years (Go By) 0:23
2.7 Koto– Jabdah 0:28
2.8 Capricorn – I Need Love 0:56
2.9 Duke Lake– Do You 0:37
2.10 Doctor's Cat– Watch Out! 1:13
2.11 J.D. Jaber– Don´t Stop Lovin´ 0:48
2.12 Marzio Dance– Rap-O-Hush 1:13
2.13 Tommy Bow– Dance Tonight 0:53
2.14 Ryan Paris– Dolce Vita 1:03
2.15 Stopp– I´m Hungry 0:24
2.16 Baby's Gang– Challenger 0:06
2.17 Charlie– Spacer Woman 0:21
2.18 Chris Luis– The Heart In The City 0:32
2.19 Fun Fun– Colour My Love 1:05
2.20 Stylóo– Pretty Face 1:11
2.21 Faxe– Time For Changes 0:34
2.22 Scotch– Money Runner 1:32
2.23 Nico Band– Let It Show 1:24
2.24 Baby's Gang– Jamin 1:03
2.25 Den Harrow– A Taste Of Love 1:24
2.26 Baby's Gang– My Little Japanese Boy 0:55