Saturday, September 09, 2006

How's this for an afternoon of lissenin n grinnin (n pickin... my crack! Hah.)

The Magik Markers : For Sada Jane
The Dead C : perform Vain, Erudite and Stupid : Selected Works 1987-2005

In case you're wondering, the answer is 'real good.'
I'd been starting to think Magik Markers was like a garage band Fushitsusha, but here they pack the variety of four Haino projects on to one disc. Pete Nolan's Spectre Folk project definitely gets a nod, although placing this squarely in any camp is up to someone other than me, and if I could I'd tell them not to bother. It's definitely more house pet than wild beast. Whatever they do, the colouring has a healthy disregard for the lines in that way oh so dear to my heart, and I'm pretty sure Elisa is the scribbler. As with everything I've heard from the Markers as of late, it makes me think that something is really going on here. Looks like Arbitrary Signs has just popped out 3 new cdrs, but my couch is a futon, so I don't know where I'm gonna find the change.
And here's something that needed to be done: The Dead C's career retrospective is one of the best I've ever heard, but you tell me whether that has more to do with how well it's put together or that it it's the Dead fucking C. See, I didn't even know that the 2lp of Harsh 70s Reality was different from the cd, and now I know all kinds of things. I know that Max Harris was the name of an Australian poetry publisher who got hoaxed and printed poems by a couple of dudes who were mocking the style he loved. Oh, and he was a literary critic.
I read an interview with Bruce Russell, and he said that when the Dead C formed, it seemed like everyone around him thought that the ultimate aspiration was to make the perfect pop song, and he felt that was fine but there had to be more, and I thought "fucking exactly." And that's basically what I think whenever I listen to the Dead C. Fucking exactly. As a young'n I got deeply into things like early Pavement, and while the charm of the songs eventually faded, those sounds that bled through the edges, the lo-fi stumble and recorder grot, still seem to hold some eerie power. And the Dead C got that a long time before I did. Fuckin eh!
Oh, and here's what I wanted to say about Fag Tapes last time around, especially Barf Thoth: Think of driving through a scenic countryside and drifting dreamlike past some chemical mishap, what could've been a scattering of ponds turned all sorts of noxious colours, a cartoon horror. Think of mold growing inside your lungs. Think of your entire life receding into a spewing, hissing background noise, threatening to overtake you but pushed just far enough away. Like a lot of things, it's probably not that good for you, but it gets you through the day.

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