March Drudion

March 2010ce

Atop Waden Hill, with Silbury visible immediately to the west and the monoliths of W. Kennett Ave just 200 yards to the east, the Archdrude – during a summit meeting – poses for a photograph with fellow Black Sheep Michael O’Sullivan and Vybik Jon.

Hey Drudion,

Some believe that Middle-Easterners are laughing at the USA for being hoodwinked into voting in some dude with the name Barack Hussein Obama. But why? I mean, would we laugh if – right in the middle of a war with the West – Iran took a new leader named Henry Bush Rotterfeller? Sure, the US president shares his middle name with the previous administration’s ultimate bête noire, but so what? And what if the US president’s surname IS a virtual copy of America’s Most Hated? Again, so what? And surely the US president’s admiration for Malcolm X’s autobiography ignores the part in which white people are described as having been created as part of an experiment by the evil Dr. Yacub (pages 164-7). I mean, no one could write this ‘Yacub’s bleached white race’ stuff up as fiction and get away with it, come now. I’m inclined to believe this all might just be some incredible Cosmic Joke on White America. And after the suffering they’ve put the rest of the world through in their so-called Pursuit of Happiness, well, a large part of me hopes the joke is for real. It nice being English sometimes because our days of being World Class Cunts are [almost] over; ain’t it nice to see the New Cunts on the Block squirming at last! Yow-zah!

THE SCUM ALBUM by Edible Woman

Okay, let’s cut to the chase and get to the reviews section. For a start, I gots to clue y’all to the magnificence and transgressing inventiveness of THE SCUM ALBUM from Rome’s clavinet-driven & testosterone-catchy quintet Edible Woman. Coming on like a bunch of raging No Wave bulls in a funky china shop, these druids is possessed, kiddies: possessed by the kind of epiphanic melodies that have you singing along after just half a listen; possessed of a kind of dynamic rhythmical urgency so wonderfully exhausting everything after sounds pure wuss; and possessed of a singer so brimming over with the kind of catchy choruses and effortless personality I can only think of early Pezza Farrell. Yup, THE SCUM ALBUM is such a complete & integrated curve-ball statement that’s rarely been off my turntable this month. Score this immediate slab o’genius from Psychotica Records (, or send kisses and messages of congratulation to the members of the ensemble at


Sweden’s The Movements are currently On One as evidenced by the haste with which they’ve followed up the excellent FOR SARDINES SPACE IS NOT A PROBLEM (See January Drudion 2010CE) with the brand new THE WORLD, THE FLESH & THE DEVIL. This time around replete with stripped-down Post Punk Euro-anthems of the catchy bastard variety and displaying a post-Mighty Lemon Drops rhythmic urgency, this new record plays host to several potential classics in the songs ‘How Long is Too Long’, ‘The Fun Ain’t For Free’ and the timelessly magnificent ‘Underdog’ (the latter’s still stuck in my head, you fuckers). But although there’s a truly beautiful 60s pop sensibility emanating from the heart of the songwriters in this band, the urgency of the performances and the obsessively uncluttered arrangements conspire to keep listeners in that same spacey late 70s zone created by Wah Heat, Echo & the Bunnymen and my own The Teardrop Explodes. Always musically interesting and vocally even compelling, the Movements deliver an exultant sound. Check them out at, and pester Alleycat Records ( for a copy.

IN ORBIT by Buttonmoon

Also search out the fabulous & huge IN ORBIT, over an hour’s worth of strung-out cavernous mantras and sonic formation flying from Cambridge band Buttonmoon (, whose cosmic music often inhabits a soundscape highly similar to that of Thighpaulsandra (especially on the heraldic monstrosity ‘Mosura Tai Gojira’) and ELIZABETH VAGINA-period Queen Elizabeth (especially ‘Final Approach’), though without ever entering those massively long lengths and fabulously interminable tailouts. Released on the Prods In The Dark Records (, IN ORBIT gurgles and burbles and blasts and farts, as sub sonic demons nibble yer ankles, all the while vast inert eternities both of analogue and string synthesizer rise & set. Occasionally, the music becomes a little too flute-based (ooer) and new age from my tastes, but those times are comparatively rare: the rest of the time is a Soviet moon landing with steamily opaque windows, and who’d turn that offer down?

OAKLAND MINOR by Ovipositor

In releasing their album OAKLAND MINOR on Germany’s Arbeit Macht Dinge label, California’s Ovipositor clearly sought to distract us from their Cleveland mid-70s obsessions, but a canny ‘Navvy’ cover versh slipped in too soon in the running order woulda hipped a Skellig Michael hermit to their Crocus Behemoth fixations. Similarly, this singer wants to be Hugh Cornwell/Mark Smith but ultimately achieves Martin Bramah by way of Everest the Hard Way. Elsewhere, strident overly ‘arena’ rock drumming occasionally marrs Ovipositor’s ‘ragged’ Tom Herman locomotive guitar motifs, but I dig this thing in a big Right Now way. Irritating as it should be. Overly mannered as it should be. Maybe I’m just Jonesing for a Post Punk cerebration, but I truly dig the manner in which Ovipositor’s fabulous epic Black Ribbon’ - somewhat reminiscent of Terminal Lovers – builds its walls on the foundations of Metal Urbain’s ever-descending & sinewy ‘Snuff Movie’. Unfortunately, ‘Hitmaker’s Delight’ is a pointless and out-of-place parody of the Fall c. TOTALE’S TURNS, but judging by the amount of times I’ve felt compelled to return to this album for another curious earful, pointless Fall parodies rendered this insistently might be worthy too. Check these poet ruffians out at, and try to hear OAKLAND MINOR.


Finally, Meditation of the Month goes to Newcastle Doom quartet Bong, whose masterpiece GILGAMESH LIVES more than makes up for the plethora of poor Sunn0))) copies I currently get sent for review. Released on the excellent English label Blackest Rainbow Records, Bong’s opening gambit sounds like a hobbling SATORI-period Flower Travellin’ Band pulling the kind of moves that Faust did for Tony Conrad on OUTSIDE THE DREAM SYNDICATE, or maybe the title track of Amon Düül 2’s YETI as performed by Tokyo’s Far Out (sitar’n’all). Better still, does this Bong brotherhood understand time or what: hell, the whole concentrate remains intact and just as it began until approx. 16-minutes-in, and even after that, the incline to exultation is a painfully gradual one. Two years ago, Aurora Borealis would have given this sucker a sumptuous 2LP gatefold release bound with ropes. Still, when the music is this fine AND this useful, who the hell needs all that kack? Right on! Viva la fucking digital format, says I, why we’d be cramming just this opening track on to two sides of 12” vinyl back in the day. So if you’re strapped’n’borassic this month, but still keep Jonesing for more Utter Cuntedness for your limited dosh, be sure to score this essential sucker from and kill two birds with one stoning. Not arf!

Right, I’m retreating underground now for an enforced period of silence until … well, next month, I guess. In the meantime, you all wrap up well and praise the Mother Earth for bringing us a few glimpses of Spring.

All love be upon y’all,