Buscar:spike fuck

For ten years Spike Fuck has existed more as a messy myth than an art- ist; sporadic works forever poised on the precipice of triumph, rumours of death or insanity and so on. Spike’s mission is to distill the sacred and profane, balancing the melancholy and humour of life; “to be alive is to be traumatised.” Luckily, the devotion to his music persevered, some- what bolstered by his inconsistency and inaccessibility. This inexplicable goodwill towards his artistry is perhaps partly due to Spike’s timeless, pained and confessional lyricism, though more pointedly, the fragility of a life mired in addiction. His being or works does not question the virtue of life, but simply addresses the numb, pragmatic and far more immediate matter of surviving another day, an almost ineffable senti- ment only justified by his distinct, poetic audaciousness. Free from his arresting thoughts, evidence, the long anticipated debut album, is a bra- zen proof of life statement. Convicted by the outlandish idea of evidenc- ing a ‘you had to be there’ mentality, the record honours the presence in body, a record to be felt, never to be rationalized.

The material on evidence touches on elements of new wave, glam, soul and doo-wop, citing Pere Ubu, New York Dolls, The Temptations and Bettye Swan as key influences. Melodically it emits the energy of a down- and-out CBGBs band who cashes in by recording a lucrative Christmas album.

Spike frequently uses sonic and lyrical juxtapositions to perform comic twists of sincerity, a reflection of society's obsession with ‘getting a rise’. On “Bored to Death,” a scuzzy, laidback and soulful tune, paired with morbid ragebait lyrics that payoff as a stand up joke “when I look up at the sun it makes me so happy cause I know one day it’s gonna kill me, and it’ll kill you too!” Lead single “All By Myself” carries on in this fashion; with feelgood, family-friendly punk doo-wop production, Spike is misleading on if his joy comes from the pride in solitude, or from lone- liness and a ‘give me everything’ mentality in the act of shooting heroin. The vocal performances oscillate between being blasé, vulnerable and manic; “Sweet Release” meets power-ballad criteria solely due to Spike’s deteriorating cries into the void, the jittery delivery on “Getting Sober” embodies religious fanaticism while sounding like a pop song written by Suicide for a David Lynch film.

evidence is an album that lives outside the limits of discourse; its purpose is eponymous and self-evident. It is what it is, and is subject to interpretation. There is no point in interrogating attachments, virtue or value. The only rightful way to live is to be.

a 01. CAN'T GET IT UP 4:38
b 02. HAD YOUR WAY 4:04
[c] 03. SWEET RELEASE [3:27]
[d] 04. BORED TO DEATH [3:31]
[e] 05. ALL BY MYSELF [2:38]
[f] 06. GETTING SOBER [3:33]
[g] 07. BLUELIGHT[4:35]
[h] 08. HATE ME [7:44]

[a] 01. CAN'T GET IT UP [4:38]
[b] 02. HAD YOUR WAY [4:04]
[c] 03. SWEET RELEASE [3:27]
[d] 04. BORED TO DEATH [3:31]
[e] 05. ALL BY MYSELF [2:38]
[f] 06. GETTING SOBER [3:33]
[g] 07. BLUELIGHT[4:35]
[h] 08. HATE ME [7:44]

[a] 01. CAN'T GET IT UP [4:38]
[b] 02. HAD YOUR WAY [4:04]
[c] 03. SWEET RELEASE [3:27]
[d] 04. BORED TO DEATH [3:31]
[e] 05. ALL BY MYSELF [2:38]
[f] 06. GETTING SOBER [3:33]
[g] 07. BLUELIGHT[4:35]
[h] 08. HATE ME [7:44]

[a] 01. CAN'T GET IT UP [4:38]
[b] 02. HAD YOUR WAY [4:04]
[c] 03. SWEET RELEASE [3:27]
[d] 04. BORED TO DEATH [3:31]
[e] 05. ALL BY MYSELF [2:38]
[f] 06. GETTING SOBER [3:33]
[g] 07. BLUELIGHT[4:35]
[h] 08. HATE ME [7:44]

[a] 01. CAN'T GET IT UP [4:38]
[b] 02. HAD YOUR WAY [4:04]
[c] 03. SWEET RELEASE [3:27]
[d] 04. BORED TO DEATH [3:31]
[e] 05. ALL BY MYSELF [2:38]
[f] 06. GETTING SOBER [3:33]
[g] 07. BLUELIGHT[4:35]
[h] 08. HATE ME [7:44]

*TIP* Previously released on Low Company in 2023, now back... a weirdo lo fi gem

Naturestrip, Naarm, Australia write:

"purely physical teeny tapes perform an invaluable public service in exhuming static cleaner lost reward’s ‘breathing under honey from the heady year o’ 2023’, a slack-jawed riddle within the all-consuming enigma that is thee world of tarquin manek™.

few records command a reissue so soon after their release, the soil heaped atop the (sainted) low company corpse still remaining more than a little damp, but this one’s discreet-to-the-point-of-fury initial release justifies the flogging of the proverbial carked horse, boiled back down into glue for a fresh round of rollicking mucky. arriving as the last release on that fine imprint, ‘breathing under honey’ represents (obliquely, natch) something of a convenient summary of that aforementioned elegantly sloshed world™, condensing as it does the artist’s proclivities exercised among the sweetest of contemporary depth-dwellers, articulated alongside/within y.l. hooi, bum creek, carla dal forno, f ingers, kallista kult, under endless solo monikers…the fun never ends.

let loose here in a suitably gonzo/spellunked mood, the second full-length under the static cleaner moniker (see debut $mile$ from 2013 thru altered states) is compiled of delirious half-thoughts & riddimic gestures accumulated between 2013 & 2020, everything wet & awash with a fine sprouting of lysergic mush between its digits. the implication thereof might suggest something schlonky or amateurish, but fear not, prospective listener, for your ears are in the sticky hands of one of the finest shit-savant prodigies these times have known, crud-caked technoid shapes & blissed pop-glob nous submerged in sublime dubbed-out grog, the resulting sonar-pong shards positively chemical in their ability to simultaneously slant + seduce.

think: martin denny face-deep in a paper bag at the black ark, graciously fucked tropicalia, liquid dub techno housed in vat of spiked quaff, the skaters infiltrating urban tribe, lopsided + caked to the nines in glitter for the gutter.

utterly tranced, sumptuous/sweet & patently ill. a classique of this modern horror epoch if there ever was one."

You blink; eyes crusty. Last night went a little too late again, and as you stumble towards the kitchen you stare at the record player like it’s a cup of coffee. The rest of your life can wait. You stare at the record again and hit the lever and the needle falls.

First up: Gastón Cabrera’s Inhumano, a little relentless and unforgiving, like being thrown in the back of an Aston Martin and driven away. The groove builds to a haunting peak, and you want more. Then the record blurs into Alfalfa’s La Fiebre, which tickles your ears with eerie bells, and builds from bass fundamentals into something more driving. It’s hopeful, but makes you work for it – wading through acid; climbing the hill.

Everything stops. Fuck it. You flip the record, and Marcos Coya’s The Underdog starts off easy, but slips you down a dark path to a pool of churning, hypnotic synths. There’s a strange moment of quiet before the final track. vault. and Isaac Elejalde close with authority on Just Melt: a raw and writhing finale spiked with voices and sirens that will leave you out of breath, somewhere else.

Introducing The Goods. Four tracks; one abduction. Limited to 300 copies – vinyl exclusive, forever.

As collaborative projects often do, 33 has in time found a more fixed form, a kind of structure that turned it from a loose collection of collaborators gravitating around founders Bill John Bultheel and Alexander Iezzi into something resembling more of a traditional band. Not that there is anything conventional in their creative process tho, nor in the music itself… Nontheless Tripolar - their second album and first for Haunter - seems to take them closer to song territory than ever before.

The (progressive) graduation of multi-instrumentalist Cem Dukkha and vocalist/clarinet player Ivan Cheng from collaborators to full-time members has brought 33 to a more refined awareness of their possibilities as a creative unit, although their compositional process has retained a high level of spontaneity and musical madness. Tripolar was in fact assembled by editing hours of improvisation that Bultheel, Iezzi and Dukkah recorded with no specific endgame in mind. The sessions saw them exchange a variety of acoustic, electronic and electric musical instruments: percussions, guitars, strings, piano, hurdy gurdy, synthesizers and even CDJs as a tool of live sampling manipulation.

By molding the pieces into what they are now, the band managed to concoct some beautiful vignettes of contradictory mental and emotional states, as sonically playful as a renaissance fair happening within a broken timestream. Cheng’s lyrical and vocal contributions helped them coalesce even further into proper songs, adding a melodic presence that’s at once seductive and uncanny. But vocal duties are often ceded to guests, namely Danish pop-neoclassicist Astrid Sonne, Kenyan metal guru Lord Spikeheart, Irish goth raconteur Olan Monk and Japanese body-poet Golin.The amount of different sounds arranged into each of the tracks produces a unique sense of awe and bewilderment, a testament to the incredible talent and craft the musicians have employed into putting together such a broad range of influences and approaches into a coherent and extremely effective musical journey.

An equally erratic thematic thread seems to run through all the tracks, one ultimately preoccupied with mental health and its ramifications. Without turning the project into a concept album, 33 and their collaborators have sprinkled it with references to personality disorders and mental conditions that are all too relevant to the contemporary age, reflecting on the lineage of human inner life. A wide display of lyrical and musical tools is employed to explore these themes, ranging from Sonne’s expressionist depiction of ADHD in the opener, to Cheng’s queer-themed reinvention of an Irish murder ballad in closing track ‘Babymusicc’. Tracing lateral trajectories for introspection, Tripolar is not only highly captivating, but it ultimately sounds esoteric in the best possible way: progressively revealing layer after layer of incredible aural magic, its true meaning living in the form and in its manic scope of energies.

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…

A crazy Hardcore EP !

JKLL open the EP with a Frenchcore killer ! Rock'n'roll baby !
The Unit brings a big corrida fucker. Collab between UNIT and JKLL
Flip the record and go for 2 Face Mask dancefloor hardcore lickerz ! Pityless kick and non-stop kick-changer. Radium style ^^

BIG up and welcome to this new french Hardcore label !!

‘Island’, the latest album from Oscar-nominated composer and
songwriter Owen Pallett, released on Domino / Secret City
Records (Canada).
Almost entirely acoustic, ‘Island’ begins with 13 darkened
chords and was recorded live at Abbey Road Studios with the
London Contemporary Orchestra. The introduction is the sound
of waking up alone and on the shore of a strange land. What
follows is a shimmering and luscious orchestral album that
draws across the full breadth of Pallett’s discography, from
‘Heartland’’s Technicolor to the glittering, fingerpicked guitar
that marked Pallett’s first records with their trio, Les Mouches.
In addition to Pallett’s Grammy Award-winning work with
Arcade Fire, Pallett’s commissions have included string, brass
and orchestral work for Last Shadow Puppets, The National,
The Mountain Goats, Christine and arrangements for Frank
Ocean, Caribou, R.E.M., Linkin Park, Sigur Rós, Taylor Swift and
the Pet Shop Boys.
Since the release of ‘In Conflict’ (2014), Pallett has earned an
Oscar nomination for their film scoring work on Spike Jonze’s
‘Her’ and an Emmy for Sølve Sundsbø’s ‘Fourteen Actors Acting’.
Their score for Matt Wolf’s ‘Spaceship Earth’, a documentary
about a crew who spent two years quarantined inside a replica
of Earth’s ecosystem called BIOSPHERE 2, is out now.

Jack Black and Kyle Glass release a 6 part series of animated videos, with one being released each Friday from September 28th. Each episode was hand drawn by Jack Black and every character voiced by Black/Glass. This new 21 track album is released by Columbia Records to accompany the animated videos and all tracks feature across the series. Formats are a single translucent green LP (initial pressing) and standard CD. Produced by John Spiker and features Dave Grohl on drums. Satellite TV ads. Online/social media activity. Ads, features and reviews across all press. Video plays across MTV/Vevo. Radio support across Kerrang and other rock music specialist shows. Poster campaign and database mailout.