The Body Circus Presents Brazilica and Avastar

 

 

Qvasi Möd- Xhol

 

 

Qvasi Möd- Xhol!

 

Achtung Krautrock heads! An obscure Berlin pseudo-heavy freak-out rock band (formed 1968) with the accent on percussion, of whom we know very little, except having heard their contribution on the ‘BERLIN GEH WEG’ compilation on the ‘Kerching Gottsching’record label. Previously unreleased live recordings by this way-out-there, pioneering German band. Under-appreciated at the time, possibly due to their connections with  the Vandrugen Cotton Wool appreciation society.

 

Highly obscure live recordings from the psychedelic ghetto repressed on this limited edition clear vinyl 7” EP for Germany’s Record Bailout Day. ‘Qvasi Möd- Xhol’, who started life playing Music Cement as ‘Hands Und Fuss’, in the late sixties and then mutated into Mucky Grohl (and finally, just Xhol) as their sound developed to encompass hippified commune ‘pongfusion’ and post-"Soddom and Gomorrha" psychedelic dustbin man sound collages, on albums like "Galactic Cabbage" and the wonderfully titled "Ash Tray Tempel" (that one a classic krautrock freakfest document indeed, hence this new live collection's title of ‘Live’).

 

Four live cuts over two sides of one 7” disc (littered with spacey breakdowns from 1968 and '69, including a lengthy version of Eamon Dull's "Collapsing: Snivelling Warthogs" interpolated into Xhol's freeform "Burial Chamber Lanyard"). A second 10-minute cut, called "Hot Buttered Xhol", that features Wolfgang Minibus Moebius, utilising a drum machine and Douglas Baader-Meinhof Amps is a sonic rollercoaster of repetitive riffs and satirical freak outs. These archival recordings are great (‘Dr Schwitter’s Mitternacht’ - was originally for a radio broadcast but got stolen by the Stasi and used as an implement of torture), plus the sleevenotes on the back are full of Dr Hanz Geschieden’s case notes after lead singer Rafe Brandgeruch was committed to the Zoo Station Asylum in early 1970.

 

‘Tanz Der Phallus’ completes the four live cuts with its anarchist/socio-political bent as Brandgeruch yells over the proto-punk psyche wall of sound about his love of commune life, space-folk wispiness and teabags. ‘’All proper tea is theft’’, he shrieks repetitively over the sprawling psychedelic mess of a free form improv song which gradually meanders its way to a close encompassing the sound of a Suzuki being canned. Essential krautrock. In fact, one of the most interesting of its genre.

 

 

Strip Jack Naked

Once upon a time there lived a vain Fat House DJ whose only worry in life was to play the most upfront minimal house tunes he could find. He changed his tunes almost every hour and loved to show them off to his people.

      Word of the Fat House DJ’s refined habits spread over his website forum and beyond. Two scoundrels who had heard of the Fat House DJ’s vanity decided to take advantage of it. They introduced themselves at the Introductions page of the forum with a scheme in mind.

      "We are two very good Re-edits Producers and after many years of research we have invented an extraordinary method to produce a tune so minimal and fine that it sounds like silence. As a matter of fact it is silent to anyone who is too stupid and incompetent to appreciate its quality."

      The website moderator heard the scoundrel's strange story and sent for the cynical forum member. The cynical forum member notified the longest serving forum member who ran to the Fat House DJ and disclosed the incredible news. The Fat House DJ’s curiosity got the better of him and he decided to PM the two scoundrels.

      "Besides being silent, your House Highness, this tune will be mixed in beats and patterns created especially for you." The Fat House DJ gave the two men a bag of Gak in exchange for their promise to begin working on the tune immediately.

      "Just tell us what you need to get started and we'll give it to you." The two scoundrels asked for a laptop, piles of unreleased CDR pressure, more Gak and then pretended to begin working. The Fat House DJ thought he had spent his money quite well: in addition to getting a new extraordinary tune, he would discover which of his fans were ignorant and incompetent. A few days later, he called the old and wise, longest serving forum member, who was considered by everyone as a man with common sense.

      "Go and see how the work is proceeding," the Fat House DJ told him, "and come back to let me know."

      The longest serving forum member was welcomed by the two scoundrels.

      "We're almost finished, but we need a lot more Gak. Here, Excellency! Admire the sound colors, feel the minimal-ness!" The old longest serving forum member bent over the mixer and tried to hear the tune that was not there. He felt cold sweat on his forehead.

      "I can't hear anything," he thought. "If I hear nothing, that means I'm stupid! Or, worse, incompetent!" If the longest serving forum member admitted that he didn't hear anything, he would be discharged from the website.

      "What a marvelous minimal sound, he said then.”I'll certainly tell the Fat House DJ." The two scoundrels rubbed their hands gleefully. They had almost made it. More Gak was requested to finish the work.

      Finally, the Fat House DJ received the announcement that the two Re-edit DJ’s had come to preview the minimal house tune .

      "Come in," the Fat House DJ ordered. Even as they bowed, the two scoundrels pretended to be listening to the new tune.

      "Here it is your royal House Highness, the result of our labour," the scoundrels said. "We have worked night and day but, at last, the most beautiful minimal house tune in the world is ready for you. Listen to the beats and feel how fine they are." Of course the Fat House DJ did not hear any beats and could not feel anything like ‘House’. He panicked and felt like fainting. But luckily the computer chair was right behind him and he sat down. But when he realized that no one could know that he did not hear the tune, he felt better. Nobody could find out he was stupid and incompetent. And the Fat House DJ didn't know that everybody else around him thought and did the very same thing.

      The farce continued as the two scoundrels had foreseen it. Once they had taken the CDR out of the laptop, the two began cutting the air with their hands while hovering over the keyboard with their invisible re-editing skills.

      "Your House Highness, you'll have to take all your tunes out of your box to try and listen to the new one." The two scoundrels dropped the new tune into his player again and then held up their hands. The Fat House DJ was embarrassed but since none of his bystanders were, he felt relieved.

      "Yes, this is a beautiful tune and it sounds very good to me," the Fat House DJ said trying to look comfortable. "You've done a fine job."

      "Your House Majesty," the longest serving forum member said, "we have a request for you. The people have found out about this extraordinary tune and they are anxious to hear you play it in a club." The Fat House DJ was doubtful playing his silent tune to the people, but then he abandoned his fears. After all, no one would know about it except the ignorant and the incompetent.

      "All right," he said. "I will grant the people this privilege." He summoned his driver and a ceremonial parade to the club was formed.

A group of house fans stood at the very front of the decks in the club and anxiously scrutinized the faces of the people on the dancefloor. All the people had gathered in the main room, pushing and shoving to get a better listen. An applause welcomed the regal Fat House master. Everyone wanted to know how stupid or incompetent his or her neighbor was but, as the Fat House DJ span his new tune, a strange murmur rose from the crowd.  

      Everyone said, loud enough for the others to hear: "Check out the Fat House DJs new minimal tune. It’s beautiful!"

      "What a marvelous piece!"

      "And the beats! The beats of that beautiful Fabric type club tune! I have never heard anything like it in my life!" They all tried to conceal their disappointment at not being able to hear the tune, and since nobody was willing to admit his own stupidity and incompetence, they all behaved as the two scoundrels had predicted.

      A lad in the cloakroom, however, who had no important job and could only hear things which his ears reported to him, went up to the decks.

      "The Fat House DJ is playing nothing," he said.

      "Fool!" his boss reprimanded, running after him. "Don't talk nonsense!" He grabbed the lad’s arm and took him away. But the lad's remark, which had been heard by the bystanders, was repeated over and over again until everyone cried:

      "The cloakroom lad is right! The Fat House DJ is playing nothing! It's true!"

      The Fat House DJ realized that the people were right but could not admit to that. He though it better to continue the tune under the illusion that anyone who couldn't hear it was either stupid or incompetent. And he stood stiffly behind the decks, while behind him forum members held their hands in the air to the imaginary minimal house tune.

The Submerged Forest Presents 'John Barlycorn Must Die'

 

The character of John Barleycorn in the song is a personification of the important cereal crop barley and of the alcoholic beverages made from it, beer and whisky. In the song, John Barleycorn is represented as suffering attacks, death and indignities that correspond to the various stages of barley cultivation, such as reaping and malting.

Calling all Nautical Nihilists, Psyche Submariners, Acid Woodcraft Folk, Canterbury Scenesters, Migratory Beach Bums, Carpet Crawlers, Relentlessly Deranged Psychedelic Surfers, Neu Parasitoids, Pothead Mothers of Dementia, Crawling King Snakes, Dub Cabinet Key Keepers, Gentle Giants, Kosmische Pixies, Incredibly Strung-Out Bands, Crimson Kings, Peaking Light Crews, Iron Butterflies and Spiritual Forest Rangers, come and celebrate Jack in the Green.

Support Your Local Record Store!

Are You Still A Vinyl Junkie?

 

Are You Still A Vinyl Junkie?

 

Even in this day and age of free digitally downloadable music straight into your cerebral cortex, CDs for a couple of pence on the Amazon Basin, and streaming sites as open and free as a Jehovah Witness cake sale, are you still worried that you’re dangerously addicted to vinyl?

 

Are your friends and family concerned for your wellbeing, and have they started to question your obsession with all things disc shaped? Do you sketch out various gun tower designs in your head in order to ‘take out’ the eBay sharks who queue up at 2am on Record Store Day just to turn a quick profit? Since when did record collecting and gig going become the new Harrods Sale? Sleeping bags and thermos flasks at dawn as opposed to (Sex) Pistols at Dawn.

 

Do you lose sleep at night sweating about being a 12” Trainspotter, or spend your waking hours having unconditional cravings for gatefold sleeves and crease free spines?  If you are, then here are 24 fail-safe indicators which will help you to check the seriousness of your addiction.

 

You know you’re still a Vinyl Junkie if......

 

1) You suffer more pain to your body due to record collecting - shoulder strap burn, crate-lugging-spine-crack, dusty fingered dysentery, Isopropyl inhalation, and paper-cut lock-jaw - than sports related injuries. Why carry round a memory stick with the whole of HMV on it when 2 battered flight cases are a far more romantic healthy proposition. Even if the ‘gig’ is up three flights of stairs, recently decorated.  Laptops after all, are for laps, and for tits who want to check their Facebook updates.
 

2) You will quite happily visit a quaint historical English town purely for the record shops and not for the quaint historical English town.
 

3) You seriously weigh up the pros and cons of purchasing more records as opposed to buying any food at the weekend. "Well that jar of pickled eggs, box of All Bran and can of Sild will see me through ‘til the end of the month!"
 

4) Even on bright sunny days, 'inside with choons' is preferable: and even on clear days the only point you can see is the end of a stylus.
 

5) You frequently measure your accommodation, not for new furniture, but in order to look for extra space to pack in more vinyl. "Ahh, the skylight, now there's room for a shelf up there"
 

6) You develop a love for groups such as, 'XTC', 'Yes' and 'ZZ Top' because your alphabetical record library is a little, "A-B-C top heavy man!" Xmal Deutschland, Yummylip Jester, and Zebra Tripod certainly help fill a gap.
 

7) You will quite happily convince yourself that the one hundred pounds plus you have just spent on records is a sound investment. Only to get home and have a proper listen and realise that 90% of it is a load of old pony.
 

8) You think, Ikea is a hateful place, full of pseudo-trendy flat pack Automatons, purchasing lifestyles off the peg; but you're willing to concede that they do possess top quality shelving; and now that that advert with the ‘DJ’ has gone viral, you feel justly vindicated. Even though he’s probably an actor from Devon.
 

9) You will wander the length and breadth of towns and cities to find an uncreased mint nick version of the latest Moodyman 12". One tiny crease on the corner will not do. People banging into your bag on the bus creates more than a moody man.
 

10)You used to be prepared to wait behind, 'Dj Trance Monkey' - as he pretended he was  in Cream - and waste twenty minutes in Virgin/HMV just to listen to a record you picked up, 'on a whim.' You wished cholera and pestilence upon Cream after you eventually listened to your tune and you realised that it was a pot of pish. You now wait in a ‘virtual queue’ trying to score a limited edition of one of the 14 7”s from a cottage in Liverpool, hand stamped by a Slovakian exchange student.
 

11) You cannot sell any of your records and you will quite happily convince yourself that the 'Big Beat Happy Hardcore Tibetan Trance Revival' is just around the corner and all the top DJs will probably be caning that stuff next month.
 

12) You suffer apoplexy when steaming off price labels and it takes a bit of the cover off with it. You’d rather scald yourself than risk any part of that pink Day-Glo £6.99 sticker remaining.
 

13) You must have both versions of 'Strathclyde Milkbottles' by The Electric Figs, even though the only difference between the two 12"s is a triangle going, "PING" in the last two bars of the first version and an A or B on the matrix code.
 

14) You cannot return home from a shopping trip without the feel of a plastic record bag slapping at your thigh. Even if you have to buy, 'The Best of Racey', 'Mrs Mills Piano Party' , 'Mantovani Live' or 'Mother' by Goldie. You’ll convince yourself that The Rastrick Brass Band probably has at least one ‘winner’ on it too.
 

15) You get irritated when a reviewer spells the name of an Aphex Twin song incorrectly, eg. Antiphlemghoxxornish!te as opposed to Antiphlemghoxxornish!ta.
 

16) You will quite happily buy obscure 80s pop from markets and confidently pass it off as 'Balearic.' Point of Caution – Confiscated Snood, A Flock of Falkland Sheep and The Brotherhood of Hair Gel, were, and always will be shite.
 

17) You call into question the professional integrity of a record shop owner who doesn't open before eight o'clock in the morning. ‘Well without me, they’d close!’ you exclaim rather indignantly. They did, but they’re open again now.
 

18) You will happily talk for hours about the limited editions on the Bulgarian record label, 'Imploded Cavity' with anyone who will listen. NB. It is not a good idea to share your knowledge with, members of your family, the police or the armed forces. They will undoubtedly have you committed.
 

19) Christmas Day is scribbled onto your calendar with a 2B pencil, whereas Record Store Day is etched into your calendar with indelible ink, aerosol and your own blood.
 

20) It’s Vinyl not Vinyls
 

21) Every record you own is safely and lovingly sheathed in a plastic protective sleeve. Ironically you have a slightly more cavalier approach when it comes to prophylactic sheathing.
 

22) When people tell you stories about how they ‘used to have a large collection of ‘vinyls’, but they sold/lost/threw/burned/binned/recycled them, a little part of you dies.
 

23) You have too many records.
 

24) You state the bleedin' obvious!

Mutant Balearic Vol 1.

MUTANT BALEARIC Volume 1. Shameless Bootleg Collection (similar to 'The Balearic Sound of.'.) of some very rare tunes cobbled together by some wealthy baseball cap wearing hipster twat who hangs around 'Balearic' parties with an iPhone constantly on Shazam. A few know of his identity, but it would be churlish of me to reveal it here. Needless to say, he went to Cambridge, got a first in Economics and wouldn't know a decent tune if it hit him on his inbred chopping block of a head, were it not for the tireless DJs and music obsessives who unearth this type of stuff in the first place for this robbing cock to boot and reap the ill-gotten rewards.

Side A:

Chico Career – ‘It’s Bird Flu Time (Los Salinas Beach Bar Edit).’ Pop-infused paean to forgotten tabloid scare stories. The rare follow-up to his cover version of Izzit and Dizzit’s ‘Foot and Mouth’.

Ms Dynamite, Sean Paul, Roll Mop Herring Deep and Twista – ‘Water Get No Enema (Sunset over Palma Beatless Mix)’. Charity collective raising awareness for ‘Bowel Cleansing Week’. It’s some next level shit man. Witness the shitness.

Nils Loftgreen – ‘Roots Manoeuvre (Baldelli 4am paella mix)’. The diminutive bandana wearing clod-hopping rock Umpa lumpa’s latest tune, inspired by the tree surgeons of Ghent and Hydroponic secrecy.

The Protagonists - ‘Turin Shroud Brakes’ With a nod to Ibiza Rock Pools, Welsh electro-gash five-piece delicately rip through a song dedicated to the cog stopping holy cloth of Italy.

 The Balearic Sound of Nerina Lorry Pallet – ‘My Space Declined Kumquats (Café Del Mar Sunset over the hordes edit)  ’ Impish Balearic wobble pop from the daughter of the landlord of the Jolly Butcher’s Testicles, Hove.

Side B:

The Spanish Proclaimers – ‘Them X Factor Coonts Are Biting Oor Style’. Leith-spawned Celtic shouty pop from the brothers Ben King Carlos and Wayne.

 Herbie Hancock’s Half Hour – ‘Zoot, Sqoit, Plink, Whizz, Burble and Sploosh’. Onomatopoeic-cosmic jazz fest from the housewives favourite.

Transsexual Bob – ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman (Miss Selfridges Ku Mix)’ Canadian based cross-dressing perv murders (in a good way) the Shania Twain MOR stompathon.

 Julius Cesaro and Mariano Faithfulo with FPI Projecto  – ‘Futbol, Basketbol and Volleybol’(Amnesia ’88 Edit). Balearo-Jazz dance classic gets the edit treatment for the ASBO 88 EMO SENCO generation.

 Captain Hook – ‘Clap Your Hands, Say…..OW!’ (Jose Padilla Space Pirate mix) Booty breaks, hybrid squelch and sleazy skiffle grime from this Hoxton septet.