CASSETTE CULTURE #4
Across the blogosphere the debate continues to rage...in oak-panelled gentlemen's clubs, men with strange-shaped beards assemble and smoke odd-looking, twisted perspex pipes filled w/ a strange green moss, while blank-eye'd moose heads look down on them (these are not stuffed trophies, but undead zombie-moose who bray and snort their disapproval). From Hello to OK magazine, the question on everyone's lips is:
Does Fricara Pacchu actually exist?
The yay-sayers point to a fresh body of evidence that includes this release (Lal Lal Lal #29 from Turku, Finland)...a cassette album called "Space Puppet" wh/ is attributed to Fricara Pacchu. Is it real? Or is it a con; a double-bluff created to con the foolish and the gullible? Is this all just an elaborate hoax? Am I in on it? Fuck...W-who am I?
It doesn't matter whether Fricara exists or if he's just a figment of someone's ummmmmagination or a pseudonym...the fact remains that this is a remarkable collection of (mostly) electronic space-trash w/ titles like "Megasolar Bodyslam" and "Snail Territory" that exhibit the same degree of wit and enthusiasm and invention and bloodyminded sheer alienness as the best of Richard James' early 90s releases.
Oh, look! Another way out of the 'electronica'/Eye Dee Emm Post-Aphex hypervirtuosal prog-splatterbreak coul de sac that a whole raft of electronic music drove up (then couldn't find reverse).
Echoplex'd analogue electronics collide w/ their cheapskate Casio digital preset counterparts: machineswarf, bubble and swirl...drum-machines chug and huff, trying to keep up w/ Robby the Robot as he skids past on an air-sledge...someone hammers the fuck out of a synth-pad or something, while elevators plummet and air-raid sirens squawk and computers crash: this sounds mostly unsequenced, with overdubbed sounds piling up like miniature c-c-carcrashes. In places, this reminds me of a (very) early angst-free Cabaret Voltaire...elsewhere, I can hear snatches of "Zuckerzeit" era Cluster...this is a refreshingly Industrial-free zone, the other side of the TG divide from the likes of Wolf Eyes...druggy electro-psych machine jam-downs...creamy 1971 klingklang krautdelica w/ Conrad Schnitzler coming up on a fistful of pills...
Then, just when you think you've got the hang of things, someone turns up w/ a drum-kit, a guitar and a van-load of FX-pedals, then kicks out the astral motherfucking jams...metaphorically speaking.
On "Ray of Light": a microsecond-delay'd beat-box stops n starts, hiccoughing its way in betwn accoustic gtrs and something that sounds like an electronic bagpipe. It's kinda like early The Durutti Column after a bottle of cough mixture and it's fucking gorgeous.
Wouldn't it be great if Fricara Pacchu didn't exist after all and this music had just made itself up?