(L‑R) Common Era, Antrohny De La O, David Wrench, The Archdrude, Randy Apostle, Michael O’Sullivan, Holy McGrail. As albinos are only partially sighted, David Wrench reckoned that he — of all those Black Sheep assembled — would make the most appropriate official driver. Mercy!

Hey All You Students & Kiddies out on the Streets, bravo, bra-fucking-Vo!

Let this country ring with the clamour of unsatisfied, uncatered for youth, as the middle-aged greedhead death addicts shiver and shake in their bunkers, knowing they’ve been peddling too long bullshit what no fucker with his or her own IQ could possibly want. Burn those Milbank fuckers out, brothers’n’sisters. And bravo to all of you schoolchildren who defied your own too-conservative peers to take to the streets and voice your own support for the student protests; this will affect all of you sooner than you can know it. Or maybe youth does already know this Cultural Cul De Sac is a right Dead End and doesn’t need me to spout off. If so, right fucking on. The career politician must fizzle and fade, to be replaced only by those with experience: World experience. At this crucial juncture in Western Culture, we must look deep into the heart of all things and WRENCH OUT everything false. Much of today’s experience of culture is no more than a semblance of the real thing, viewed from a remote reality lived vicariously as though through a camera obscura at second or third hand or fourth or even fifth hand. Those absolute motherfuckers; those Greedheads. Right, I’ve had my say and I’m damned ecstatic to witness today’s youth generation politicized and ready to break something. Come on…

WILD EYES by Flying Horseman

Right, now I’ll try and simmer things down via this month’s reviews section. First, I wanna discuss the epic nature of WILD EYES, the extravagant debut by the Netherlands’ Flying Horseman. Whew, motherfuckers, you really nailed this fucker down! Huge guitar ramalama overloads the drums every time on this disc. Like heaping Justin Hayward’s post ‘Apache’ guitar mangle over Scott’s ‘The Seventh Seal’ or Nick ‘Johnny Cash’ Cave by way of Sonny Vincent and Glenn ‘Jimbo’ Danzig. And emanating out of that same arid Zoroastrian spaghetti desert as Yawning Man’s post-Post Punk takes, Flying Horseman sets up magnificent themes, indoctrinates us with’em, then brutally sweeps us sideways with indiscriminate drive-byes of minor-key evil… rat-atat-atat-ata-ata-ata-ata. Fabulous music this truly be, better still we gotta fully-fledged self-possessed figurehead in ye singer & songwriter, the starrishly-named Bert Dockx. WILD EYES is available on the excellent (and here percipient) Conspiracy Records (www​.conspiracyrecords​.com), so get your boots on and score this now.

DEATH DRIVE by Wrnlrd

Whenever Black Metal spawns a new shaman, I buy all the works and bow temporarily to his particular worldview, submerging my own in his biled out drool, glorying temporarily in his eternal Norwegian winters. It’s almost as therapeutic as howling inside West Kennett Longbarrow with the Black Sheep at 6am, or a Pancho Villa biography at 5am. So let’s hope that the extraordinary 10” EP DEATH DRIVE by Wrnlrd is the start of a long careering rock’n’roll. Like all the great Black Metal masters, Wrnlrd puts ludicrous demands on his audience yet succeeds through the sheer audacity of those demands: (here) a heaving harmonium drone gasps out its heraldic opening, (there) snatches of hissy fit bursts of Filipino cassette Black Metal, (elsewhere) even a Wümme school piano solo opens Side Two. Joe Preston’s sonic collages throughout Thrones comes to mind. Sheer ‘fuck yeah’-ness throughout this entire package also: already ironed the free patch on, the stickers useful too. Released on F.S.S. Records (www​.flingsound​.com), this is one essential motherfucker to own, brothers’n’sisters.

XAX by VipCancro

Those of you meditative types seeking total post-Industrial shutdown should rush out and grab XAX by VipCancro, an excellent and highly individual quartet from Tuscany, whose arsenal of old electronics – tone generators, various analogue oddities, broken Færiäl 5 – unite with twin Kan Mikami duets with No Face vocals (‘ah?’) to provide ye with a Stockhausenian weltanshauung worthy of permanent rotation. Available on Lisca Records (www​.liscarecords​.com), the 12” vinyl versh which – for all you utter-nutter Old Timers looking for extra reasons to shed your hard-earned – arrives replete with smart die-cut sleeve that nails artistically the hybrid between FAUST IV’s packaging and that of Family’s ANYWAY. Phew. Better geddit then… 

LIVE EP by Oneida

Another one to grab right now is Oneida’s demented new 12” LIVE EP, which sports a single long track something like an ambulant N.Y. No Wave act playing the Legendary Stardust Cowboy. Catchy as ten bastards and compelling throughout, I certainly prefer Oneida when they’re this sheerly cunted; heck, the brooding & obstinate tailout is like something of late Queen Elizabeth stuff. Again, this arrives in a delightful package, the vinyl itself inscribed on the non-playing side like Side Four of my own JEHOVAHKILL. With only 500 copies out there – it is after all released on Limited Appeal Records (www​.enemyhogs​.com) – you should try and scoff one off the shelves pronto, Tonto, or these suckers will quickly fade from sight.

12″ by Pas Chic Chic

The other slab of vinyl excellence worthy of consideration this month is the austerely named ‘12”’ by Canada’s excellent post-Krautrock ensemble Pas Chic Chic, who cannily unite typical motorik Can/Neu rhythms with ambulant synthscapes in such a ‘Canny’ manner that it never approaches parody or pastiche. Indeed, this highly useful music shares a lot in common with such later Krautrock as Extreme Musik à la Ping Pong or perhaps Asmus Tiechens’ BIOTOP period comes to mind. Released on the Semprini Records label (www​.semprinirecords​.com), Pas Chic Chic’s 12” has enjoyed molto spinnage in our household this past month, so I suggests y’all check these motherfuckers out.

I SHOT WESTWOOD by Drumcunt

Ah, from the tinnitus-inducing s‑s-s-s-screams of those rimshots and Wads of Bloodclat voah-kills it sounds like Drumcunt is back, kiddies. And yes, their new I SHOT WESTWOOD E.P. is yet another fine nest o’vipers to wear over your already tortured brainsac. Though evidently no longer quite the cunts for drums that they once were, Drumcunt incorporates herein massive amounts of post-Slipshod rhythmry, splatter-clatter loopers’n’bloopers, hell, even mucho soul organ emanate from within the late-Can groove of ’Dead Puss’. It’s like Pyrolator got a hold of Dillinger’s ‘Cocaine in My Brain’ and tried to do a Joe Gibbs ‘version’ on that sucker. Or maybe RASTAKRAUTPASTA as passing through the underhand genius of Asmus Tietchens’ SPIDERS ON PHASING filter… that zing‑y. And sorry I am that there’s no easier manner in which to review the ‘Cunt without resorting to facile comparisons. Still, that’s what makes this outfit so intriguing. So cop a load via www​.bunkland​.blogspot​.com, while there’s still time, kiddies, you know it makes no sense. 

JAILHOUSE ROCK by Heather Leigh Murray

Finally, I’d like to direct those of you with a perpetual jones for transcendental & meditative otherness to the euphoric & skyhigh whalesong contemplations of JAILHOUSE ROCK by Kentucky’s Heather Leigh, whose merciless deployment of mouth and pedal steel guitar invokes the sounds of Disney lightning storms partying above an industrial chemical fire, or a string section of Harrison Bertwhistle devotees committing collective suicide down the Chilean miners’ escape shaft. Phew. Ghoulish but compelling, brothers and sisters, this is a fucking essential AND highly useful racket that’s found my entire family grooving, stoning, yoga-ing or even eating over Leigh’s tumultuous waves of harsh sonic catering. Released on Los Angeles’s almost always excellent Not Not Fun Records (www​.notnotfun​.com), JAILHOUSE ROCK continues the bizarre saga of this singular Glasgow-based American with considerable style. Better still, each side of the vinyl works best on permanent rotation, permitting listeners the opportunity to cast all hang-ups to the floor and just bask in the sheer madness emanating from the sonic cauldron wherein Leigh mixes up her medicine. Cop a load, brothers’n’sisters: I guarantee you won’t regret your decision.

Okay, while I’m almost done for another month, I must now quickly make mention of a new Julian Cope retrospective due to appear on Head Heritage in the early New Year. Entitled THE JEHOVAHCOAT DEMOS – after my then-producer Donald Ross Skinner’s joke nickname – this wild compilation will collect together all of the recordings made during 1993CE, just after Island Records dropped me at the end of 1992CE, but before I signed to Def American Records for 1994CE’s AUTOGEDDON. It’s therefore jam-packed with wa-guitar workouts, ambient tripouts, peculiar ballads and merciless motorik burn-ups. Indeed, I even surprised myself reviewing the album’s contents recently. In the meantime, look after yourselves this winter and remember to toast our nation’s Youth Under Fire.

For those about to Wake Up!

We salute thee!

JULIAN (Lord Yatesbury)