Hey Population,

What a time to live! As the British public suffers the worst recession since the ‘70s, the British prime minister smiling blandly poses in front of a fucking Nazi swastika (hakenkreuz, you Germans), utterly unaware that such an image totally sums up the manner in which he (first as Chancellor, as then PM) has hoodwinked us for the past decade, whilst hordes of chancer MPs and Gravy Train public servants wring all the taxes they can out of us and squander it all as expenses on their livestock’s living quarters and 2nd homes… come on! You gotta hand it to these evil motherfuckers; this decrepit regime even has the BBC smoke-screening on their behalf, as evidenced by a Radio 5 Live news report this very morning that submerged the Chancellor’s Double Speak expense account behind a so-called lead item about an ailing TV Talent Contestant being hurried to hospital… WTF? Struggling desperately to locate historical equivalents, it seems to me there’s currently a mass feeling both of Cultural AND Spiritual Abandonment reminiscent of those days before the commencement of the English Civil War, the Spanish Civil War and the French Revolution. Who stands for what nowadays? And who can keep up with the colossal U‑Turns and Multi-faced Allspeak of today’s politicians? We don’t need reform, kiddies. We need nothing short of Revolution. The only way to topple the Haves is to remove them from the equation altogether. We need to dismantle the System and start over again. Oh yeah, and while I’m on one, I’ve noticed our brave new US president travelling in Turkey has already already already all but denied the Armenian Holocaust he so supported before his election victory. So, I just want it to be remembered that I was probably the first to describe Barrack Obama as a cunt way back in January, in the Independent on Sunday, “… albeit a far higher quality of cunt”, as I said back then. From time to time, events conspire to rend the cultural fabric in a manner which allows opportunists to seize the day. Let’s truly ensure – this time around – that the new boss ain’t just gonna be a re-run of the old boss, ho-hum…

Okay, we’d better move on to the review section before I give away my gameplan. First off, I have to alert y’all to the splendidly stupefying rituals that pervade TOTEM ONE by the Master Musicians of Bukkake, on Conspiracy Records. Unlike the Master Musicians of Jujuku and the Master Musicians of Buggeru, this seven-piece hails not from North Africa nor even Sardinia, but from Grunge Mecca, yup, Seattle! Seems as though these dudes is from that same Commune scene as Valley of Ashes and Zodiac Mountain, and it’s to these druids that future discontented US Youth will travel once the States break up in the next 20 years or so. And, boy, do we have some wonderful heathens planned for the next Yankee generation if this is the music they’re going to be born to. Whoa, these Master Musicians hit monolithic percussion and monolithic tuned percussion (marimbas, glockenspiels, xylophones), whilst intoning deep bass monotones like priests of Minos in a Zeusian antron… Sheesh! Imagine the massed ranks of OSOREZAN-period Geino Yamashirogumi being joined on a permanently rotating stage by the Breton bombardists of the Kevrenn Alré, the dear dancing biddies of Osaka’s Bon-odori, the power trio-period Ash Ra Tempel and Yoko Ono. Record them as they pass by repeatedly and this album may be a close approximation of your results. Fabulously useful AND fabulous at the same time, if my innate Odinism wasn’t so totally in opposition to all things Zen, I’d weaken and use that word to describe some of this music. Ahem. Catch its wonder via Conspiracy Records or hassle these druids at myspace​.com/​m​a​s​t​e​r​m​u​s​i​c​i​a​n​s​o​f​b​u​kkake.

The incredibly tense ‘Highway Star’-like opening of PSYCHIC PSUMMER by Chicago’s Cave heralds the arrival of one motherfucker of a catchy bastard record. Highly inspired by mentors Oneida, Cave’s music explores endless rotating textures, its lower haunches slipping’n’sliding between fierce Ian Paicean Heavy Rock, Excepter grooves and the kind of furious late Can ‘All the Gates Are Open’-styled Motorik Krautrock that Sweden’s Audionom excel at. Simultaneously, the ensemble’s entire upper body pops loopily to a combination of African, Afro-American and Bavarian beats, mainly resulting in bizarre driving music for stoners on autobahns, but occasionally creating the kind of righteous urban syncopations that Martin Hannett used to achieve with bands such as ESG. Occasionally, some mush-mouthed MC pops up and exhorts us to get up with it, but you just can’t help yourself with these daft anthems, which are available on Important Records, and should be prescribed listening for those seeking those important in-between worlds. Lahverly.

Also hugely enjoyable, highly original AND psychically useful is the music of Australian duo The Scrapes, whose fiery epic guitar and abandoned Mithraic fiddle pieces evoke images of lost Keltic lands inundated by the oceans, lost Iberian & Armorican sea peoples and lost times from beyond the beyond. Mostly, violinist Adam Cadell conjures up a fabulous and heathen see-sawing from his machine, kicking up a down home/back porch Henry Flyntian dust that guitarist/axe wielder Ryan Potter orchestrates with apocalyptic power chords and huge crunching rhythms. At times it’s like Kid Strange and Urban Blitz from the Doctors of Madness at their most morose played Overhang Party, or a mogadon’d Peter Hammill jamming with Van Der Graaf’s Graham Smith. Elsewhere, the singular desolation is most reminiscent of the most down down moments of Nico’s THE MARBLE INDEX or even of Jesse Colin Young’s The Youngbloods at their most mercurial. But the Scrapes are still so original their music ultimately don’t sound like nobody but themselves. And just who on Mother Urth [sic] could feel compelled to include a rhythm section in their new band after hearing music this ardently real AND which can be achieved by just two true Motherfuckers? Check out these mental gentlemen at myspace​.com/​p​l​a​n​e​t​o​f​t​h​e​s​c​rapes, and tell ‘em the Drude sent ya!

Also of extreme use for meditation, navigation and general cuntedness is FIVE PERSPECTIVES ON THE SAME EVENT, the new album by Glaswegian Andrew Paine on Apollolan Recordings. Consisting of just one single 28-minute track, Paine’s highly original and rounded Vision commences with the artist chanting ‘I was born in silence’ over & over as cracked sounds and ambient squirmings from distant galaxies invade his sonic space. Gradually, as Paine itemizes the extremely specific details of his birth, various other hefty aural vehicles drop in for tea & buns at Paine’s lonely sonic roadside café, but all are eventually chased away by the artist’s obsessive chanting, which draws to it an incoming sea fog that obscures all detail and gives the impression of forthcoming disaster. Powered by pipe organs, reed organs, bandonians and a harmonium, the disorientating overall effect throws up a scene from Ivor Cutler’s ‘Life in a Scotch Sitting Room’, as though invaded by New Age Presbyterians engaged in some vast Japanese Gagaku ceremony. Timeless, weird, strung out, religious and self-obsessed; this is wonderful Western Music that celebrates the alienness of our modern culture in a similarly vocal-heavy & mythical manner as the Residents. Score this superb package from David Keenan’s excellent Volcanic Tongue or check out myspace​.com/​s​o​n​i​c​o​y​s​t​e​r​r​e​cords, which Paine has recently set up. Ripping stuff!

Highly Gallic in a beautifully ice-rink & exquisitely Joe Meekian manner is LA PETITE NICOLE by Montreal trio Torngat, whose obvious obsession with the Cold War, movie spy themes and TV commercials lends their instrumentals an overloaded Soviet element, as monolithic electro melodies tinkle and shimmer. Forget about the rinky dink and clockwork-powered tunes of Cluster; these Montreal dudes take J. Meek’s advice and back up their novelty compost with real drummers and some deadly crunching rhythms. Imagine this album as the offspring and legal heir to Battiato’s CLIC, Bowie’s LOW and yooz deffo approaching its pleasure centres. These gentlemen are available on Canada’s excellent Alien8 Recordings, or check them out personally at myspace​.com​.com/​t​o​rngat, and score the stupidly rare vinyl edition of this motherfucking gem. Yowzah!

Then be sure to scour the shelves for THE TEMPLE by Swedish quartet The Skull Defects, a kind of neurotically heavy post-everything rage through rhythm, chant and power dynamics. No Wave drums shag Post-Punk bass guitars, as clunky stentorian guitar stabs and off kilter vocals direct the proceedings. The huge percussion workout of ‘Six Sixes’ evokes memories of Choukoku No Niwa’s 1999 half-hour marathon ‘Fukorou’, whilst the analogue synths, FX and massed drums of ‘Unholy Drums for Psychedelic Africa’ sound like 1930’s Abyssinian herdsmen frantically conjuring up a Storm God as Il Duce’s trimotor bombers circle overhead pumping out mustard gas. In truth, The Skull Defects display an admirable commitment to the notion that ultimate sonic monotony can allow listeners to bypass entertainment altogether and dive spread-eagled & headlong into the Underworld. Released on the excellent Massachusetts label Important Records, this is a massive declaration by a highly confident band.

Now, it’s not like me to interface with the so-called Real World very often, so please excuse my delight at the arrival of PARANOID DELUXE, a massive 3CD and double vinyl trawl through Black Sabbath’s master tapes, but this is a serious Cultural Event, and one which warrants attention. It will be truly impossible to imagine what a given Black Sabbath was in the very early ‘70s. After their 1st LP, even soul girls like Vicky Warham at our school would pester DJs for the full ‘NIB’ at a Sat’day Nacht disco. So when the 2nd LP yielded a bona fide massive Top 10 hit, Oz, Geezer, Bill & Iommi briefly became unlikely pop stars like Deep Purple after ‘Black Night’. So hearing Ozzy sing ‘alternative’ lyrics on Disc 2’s otherwise note-perfect version of ‘Paranoid’ is most serpently a rich & rewarding experience… especially as he clearly had nothing to sing about before Geezer went in and wrote some proper words. Released with a great deal of love on Universal Records, the super heavyweight double vinyl edition comes clad in original Vertigo swirl labels, and a sympathetically re-designed gatefold, whilst the 3CD pack is just monstrous. Kids, even if you don’t wanna shell out, cop a proper gander at this baby. It’s epp-fucking-pick!

Finally, this June Drudion’s vinyl award goes to BALLS BOOGIE, the brand new burnt offering from that clamorous’n’glamorous Vancover nontet, ladies’n’gennlemen, I give you Vancover Women’s Institute Amateur Dramatics’ answer to Destroy All Monsters … July Fourth Toilet. What do I say of a reprobate eight man/one woman ensemble (one man/woman, four longhairs, two ska dudes & a Mexican!) that just delivered 13 songs of extreme diversity, ranging from Death C&W to Soviet-powered Detroit Space Rock, via wonderfully excruciating mush-mouthed male-female Vow Renewals and Sober’d Up confessionals. For fans of Destroy All Monsters (all periods, kiddies), Armand Schaubroeuk Steals, the Afrika Corps, BALLS BOOGIE rescues several Long Dead musical genres from the Straights and slams them out eins, zwei, and drei, without so much as a soundcheck. Released on the highly acclaimed (and impossible to locate, webwise) Pro-Am Entertainment International, you’d best get in touch with the band members themselves via julyfourthtoilet​.com, and grab your own copy of the vinyl while it lasts. And remember there’s a free download for all buyers. Search out this hot slab pronto, Tonto, and check out those front men while yooz at it! Ooer, missus!

Right, that’s me done for another month, except for a brief note about ON THIS DEITY, my wife Dorian’s new blog – doriancope​.blogspot​.com. Like an alternative to the BBC’s longstanding ‘On This Day’, Dorian is commemorating culture heroes & outsider icons and excavating forgotten world events which Time has lent extraordinary significance; mythical happenings quite unlikely to be found in our current national curriculum. It looks as though a persistent theme is gradually emerging as she sheds light on both moments & historical figures (‘ancestors’ or ‘beloved immortals’ as Dorian refers to them) whose singular actions defined the routes taken by future peoples; heroes & heroines whose words and deeds have caused such colossal footprints in the social fabric that their methods still aid we Moderns in navigating the storms of the Here and Now. Whew! Better sod off now before she totally swamps me spotlight, motherfuckers!

Love Ya Dearly,

YATESBURY (Archdrude of Wessex)