Hail World Drudion,

From my home at the source of the Kennet at the foot of Silbury, whence grew up the mightiest of the early post-Diluvial religions, this December 21st 2012 I wish y’all rampant rejoicings broadcast in full voice, untempered outpourings of dizzy gleefulness, and all with two Agincourt fingers cocked and ready to explode in the face of that foul Old World Order we appear to be leaving behind. Fuck Off the lot of them. What the Mayan predictions facilitate in us is the chance to get shut of all that psychic plaque that the recent past has hefted forth. Knowledge, brothers and sisters. Knowledge and a fastidious studying of the 20th century and its horrific ‘Dynamic Leaders’ can facilitate our flight to Newness. Motherfuckers, can you believe all the smoke-screening bullshit still peddled by our own school curriculum? Resist it all, brothers’n’sisters, and understand that our current woes can all be traced to a fear of personal self-reliance and a daft serf-like faith in the nanny state, whose long cascading white locks, open arms and perma-grin-of-concern are not those of our favourite auntie but of Jimmy Savile. How to break free? Knowledge sets us free, brothers’n’sisters. Direct knowledge directly experienced. The second-hand knowledge of the vicar is evidenced by the word’s sibling ‘vicarious’. Make your life Gnostic and you KNOW from experience. Slow it all down, shut out the second-hand, and soon the Old World Order will be readily revealed as the enemy it so clearly is. The end of everything, declare the Mayans? Not really, ’13 may well be the luckiest beginning we ever did see. Awl-fucking-rite! 

Self-titled by Anthroprophh

Meanwhile, there’s a fracas over at the Reviews Section due to the enormity of the debut album from Bristol’s Anthroprophh, whose first statement for the excellent Rocket Recordings has caused major heart palpitations here at H.H. All the work of former Heads guitarist Paul P.P. Allen, the self-titled ANTHROPROPHH sounds more like an R‑U Kaiser-produced collaboration between Twink and Steve Peregrine Took than the work of any guitarist. Laden with bongo/synthesizer workouts, frenzied monster truck haulages and organ-based Mithraic burn-ups of the Agitation Free variety, this superb album is anutha notch on the collective bedpost of Bristol’s finest, and a stuperb beginning to the career of this particularly sustaining Mein Hairy. Stunning disc, sir. Have a fine X‑Mass, Mon Sewer!

Self-titled by Eternal Zio

Also superb is the self-titled debut by Eternal Zio from northern Italy, which whips up a divine melange of dark but uplifting pagan ritual music mostly utilizing just droning keyboards, mucho clattery tambourines’n’cymbals, molto hollow drums, bowed cellos/violas and lumpen bass, plus heaps of highly purposeful vocal chanting. Better still is the production, which captures totally the sound of the room in which this record was made, lending to the entire project a true feeling of having captured the moment, again and again and again. Released in combination via both the excellent Boring Machines label and Black Sweat Records , this Eternal Zio debut bulges with that same abandoned character as Faust and early Sunburned Hand Of The Man. Oh, and do score the vinyl if you can, kiddies, as it’s a particularly lovely art sleeve.

THE CHASMS OF MY HEART

Next up, I’ve been melting down a lot lately to THE CHASMS OF MY HEART by Theologian, whose desiccated transmissions from an ailing B‑52 – or that’s what I presume these be – broadcast with such colossal Edisonian power that they tear great rends in the fabric of the Universe then spray Titan-sized CFC-laden mists of sticky unknown substance into those rends, then move on systematically lacerating each carefully hemmed hedge in Ye Galaxie. Indeed, Theologian may well be a consortium of highly well stocked technocrats – Planetary drills, Species incinerators, that sorta thing – whose sole mission is to enlarge Humanity’s crania. Like Hääre, Sacrificial Totem and Kabalist before them, these babbies appear perfectly placed to achieve such righteous aims. Released on CD in a highly desirable gatefold on the highly trustworthy Crucial Blast label, THE CHASMS OF MY HEART is a fucking Cerebration Overload. Get down.

CONFIGURATION by Hörde

This December Reviews Section also features a mystery album – pictured opposite – that I’ve overplayed to death but still know nothing about other than that it goes by the name of CONFIGURATION and it’s by a band [presumably] whom I know nothing of, but who go by the name of Hörde. Who are you people? And why did you send this to me? Perhaps it’s somebody I know under a different name, but I was determined to announce the existence of such an enthralling proposition as CONFIGURATION. Three epic pieces – one of nearly a half-hour’s duration – shake and quarrel with the Cosmos, their DikMik-meet-Clangers electronics and overtly muscular gloopiness offering listeners a truly mind-manifesting trawl through shark infested meditations. At times, this could be the work of Queen Elizabeth, Taj Mahal Travellers, Group Ongaku; even bursts of T. Dream’s extraordinary ATEM come to mind. So search out this CONFIGURATION and tell me who the fuck these ornery electronic fuckers be. Pleeeeeze!!!

THE ROAD FROM TOWNHEAD MILL by Tractor

Finally, those of you with a permanent jones for Utopian psychedelic rock should take care not to miss the sumptuous red vinyl double-LP compilation THE ROAD FROM TOWNHEAD MILL by Rochdale legends and long-time Cope faves Tractor. For the howling, nay, devastating guitar performances contained herein blast forth with such emotion, such relentless hippy zeal and such righteous choices of notes that each song sags with tragedy and lost hope. All the big songs are here, of course, but new versions and new songs abound also, all showcasing that magnificent proto-Indie production that made this duo’s home of John Peel’s wonderfuel Dandelion Records label so righteous. Yup, while all the other white boys were busy aping J. Hendrix in a drippy sub-Robin Trower stylee, Messrs Tractor & Trailer were off on a totally Krautrock trajectory, their own Hendrixisms exhibiting more Eddie Hazelisms than yer average Funkadelic record – step forwards ‘Lost On The Ocean’… Sheesh! Indeed, despite overplaying the J. Peel credentials and being clad in a cheesy-cheesy sub-sub-fan club style that makes Marc On Wax look like Factory Benelux, THE ROAD TO TOWNHEAD MILL is chock full of soaring’n’heart-rending classics of the kind that only Tractor’s Jim Milne and Steve Clayton were capable, and for that we should kiss their long-time benefactors Ozit Records. So score this gatefold beastette from the aforemenched and tell ‘em the Drude sent ya!

Righty oh, I must also now remind you to tune in next week, kiddies, to the fourth part of TUE’SDAY NIGHT/WODENSDAY MORNING, the Black Sheep’s periodical four-hour radio show. This time hosted in Humberside from the home of Black Sheep artist Hebbs, Show 4 will be the first to be broadcast on Fido‑X’s own brand new radio station. So should you wish to tune in to this extravaganza of sonic over-achievement, do please give yourselves some before-time to find Fido’s station.

Right, and with that I can only wish you the most splendidly secular X‑Mass this side of the End of the World, and look forward to catching up – hopefully not too many pounds heavier – in the early days of 2013. Now that’s what I call a date, kiddies. 2013. Bring that fucker on!

All love from the Marlborough Downs,

JULIAN (Lord Yatesbury)