Sunday, June 07, 2009


The Savage Young Taterbug: mentioned this fine feathery fellah before.

Oh, and also here in a piece by Kek-w on the Iowa Underground. Kek just *knew* that any release by the 'bug had the potential to be great and he wasn't disappointed. (Sometimes yr vibedar just senses something's inner coolness; it's a combo of artist name, album title, a glimpse of a cover, a label or certain associations, track-record/back catalogue; sometimes it's a leap of faith, a jump out into the abyss.) "Boys of the Feather" is the best thing I've heard all week by far (apart from maybe when Not Kid Kid Kid Shirt spontaneously started singing "He's a bunyard/ he's a tailor/ a sailor in a ssssquipppwreck/ got my chocolate/ got my [unintelligible, but possibly sounded like 'venison'!!???]/ got my space-car/ and my doggy...).

Loving the green packaging - green of all ilks being Kek's fave colour - and the artwerk by Shawn Reed. This is available from the fabulous Night People imprint who art thee other syde of thee Raccoo-oo-oonschism, the reverse being the soon-to-be-legendary Gel Records.

"Play Loud On Weed!" it says.

There is something ghostly, ghastly and queasily ethereal about SYT-B's jams: frequencies rub up against each other, multi-tracked cassette-phantoms of Wilson/Partridge/Manson Families bounced from track to track n back again, via sickly, other-dimensional tape-transports and creaking, grease-smear'd spindles and cheap slack-spooled tapes that have been sitting in a damp attic or a travel-trunk - a mouldy old valise - laying fallow in the barn since 1975. After a while, there's so much tape-bounce-age that it gets tricky to tell who's who. "Boys of The Feather" hints at some sort of leakage from elsewhere, songs seen thru a fog...a fug of smoke (and mirrors); inverted sound-images slippin' n a-slidin' up thru space n time... "coming atcha!"....aberrent sonarities, slack-jawed mystic zzzzt, the sound of spectral space-gospel and woozy Blues; a world stretched so thin by tape-warp that I feel my mind is gonna snap.

There's a coupla songs from the css on his MySpace, so you can get a vague idea of what Kek'm talking about, but the tape is dreamier, driftier in places, bloozier...the vocals oddly anthopomorphic, but in reverse: in places, the singer sounds - via the magic of random indeterminancy - like a chicken, a cat, several different types of dogs...and when The Tater finally sings in something that resembles Human Language it comes as a shock - a genuine WTF! Moment.

Keyboards are overloaded to the point that the hi-end o'the mix dances w/ so much treble that it sounds woolen. A fuffy warm softness; an addled fibrous-ness... as if the sounds are taking on additional textures inside yr head. The transformational tendencies of distortion.

A pale, pale faux-Blues riff is Casiotone'd to death, repeated until it becomes a mantra-like sound-symbol imprinted on the inside of yr cerebellum, a sound-tattoo. The vocals are wordless, a soft, semi-animalistic, post-verbal plea - a keening - for, affection; Kek'm not sure which, but it's lilting and lovely and oddly affecting.

Elsewhere, a budgie or a parakeet joins in as accoustic-gtr pickage accreets more and more sonic clones of itself. "Momma, momma, free yerrr head..." Wonderful.

And another track is so incredibly moving/sad/preposterous/ludicrous, sounding like a gospel-choir of Chinese cats sat on top of a wheezy harmonium while a New Orleans Jazz funeral waltzes by outside.

Skaters, watch out: The Taterbug is a hot potato right now! A serious talent; a guy to watch, ikho.

Best thing Kek's heard this week. Apart from {}.

Oh, you kno.


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