Sunday, April 28, 2013


No Guru
There's No Guru LP
Hashram Concern 2013

What we got here is a wonderfully un-communal, barely ritualized, fun, wholly unpretentious, only-faintly-Krauty, collection of 2006 improvs from the Sky Needle/Mad Nanna extended Brisbane family. Why such a litany of un's and dashes? Cuz the cud what get's chewed herein smartly avoids the mushy chyme or well-trod bunny trails of a lotta this sort of noise. Basic bits shuffle in and out, riding a kind of mobile counterpoint, which surely is the bouncing baby of good listening and a healthy sense of humor. They snake thru the neighborhood, but're more content to either brood in novilunar shadows ("Happy Keys") or swan-dive into the shrubbery. And alla you ADHD sufferers can cool yer jets; this ain't just a pair of slowly unfolding sides. No Guru keep it lively and shifting. The best bits, like a lotta the greatness oozing out of the Brisbane margins these days, are both rooted and landless ("Ruptet"), cosmopolitan and insular ("Exploding Beef," "West Born Dadanelles"). Heck, the closest they get to identifiable is a track dedicated to Fela Kuti that sounds like that there Nonesuch Music from the Morning of the World LP covered by No Neck in their infancy or Circle circa Arkades (the Circle record we can all agree doesn't suck, I think). Which is to say, it's as much what it ain't as what it is that makes it what it is. Ya feel me?
Not to close on too sad a note but, it's a howlin' shame that a key member of this caravan is no more. Does that mean this, like the Hammering the Cramps stuff, is only a posthumous release? As Ol' Neil woulda said, long may it run.

Available thru Easter Bilby, Little Big Chief, and Goner, near as I can tell.

s/t 7" EP
R.I.P. Society 2013

I took a coma-length nap on this, so it may have passed many of y'all by. Shame, really, especially since I got zero excuses. Maybe I wernt in the mood to have a roilin' 15min good time! Housewives take a hoot of a ride thru all the fun spots of almost every punk scene worth a doot around the world and in half a dozen eras. Ya got the babble of 90s Japan, the bouncy squeal of 80s Sweden, some A-Frames (sans robot fixation, thankfully) and even the vomit and cocaine encrusted curbs of late-90s San Diego. The hand claps in "Special Power," cloaked in the smoke of a dark surf peel-out, got me up offa my pouffe every time. Otherwise, the shorter numbers (like, "Lick the Pip") hit me right in the deep pleasure lizard brain zone, but I'm an 8-day-a-week slut for economy. All 'round, though, I'm light on complaints. Which is to say, I'ma shut my yap, drop the needle, and smash another can against my dome.
Recorded with maximum hiss to properly swab out yer sound holes. Lookin' forward to mas!

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