As you would expect, of all that Services’ new album, ‘Eat Prey Love’, has to offer, 20JFG likes the 6 minutes long proggy instrumental best.

The rest is all very enjoyable Ballardian disjointed electro-punk that will undoubtedly add a few well needed ounces of serrated steel to the clockwork mechanisms regulating the operation of thee trendy discotheque. But then we don’t go to the trendy discotheque that often, we prefer to stay at home in a kaleidoscopic daze listening to this kind of stuff while we fantasise about the way Electroma would have been if it had been directed by Sam Peckimpah, hallucinations about a squad of world-weary chromed outlaws advancing silent across plains of an absolute emptiness blasted by the Eye of God, Zero in the binary equation of existence, eventually arriving at a village whose adobe square is filled with the music of a synthetic minuet played by a small orchestra of mechanical mariachis. This is the sound of Ratatat covering Cursor Miner’s the Sport of Kings after reading I Robot, Alan Parsons Project edition.

We think it is definitely more fun.

Services- She Made It Big In A Small Mexican Village

Last saturday, Stuart and me were on the taxi that would take our pathetic asses to the Penthouse for another odyssey of nerdiness, headbanging to the wailing of the Greek gods and so forth when I told him I had got the Jay Reatard’s collection of singles released by Matador in very nice double vinyl pack. We moved on to discuss a broad range of things pertaining to this feral savant of anthemic garage, such as his other incarnations, e..g in the machine music leatherette body of Lost Sounds, or his talent for turning what, in any other hands would be shining gems of pop perfection, into brain-damaged nuggets limping around like a three legged dog, there’s always something that goes awry, a rhythm skipping off track, pitching steering into hysteria, worlds of tinnyness, a whole gang of gremlins raucous enough to drive any producer insane, also buckets of sweat spilled and guts revolted according to the sacred cycles of Rock and Roll, i.e. the sort of shit we love so much.

Jay is our kind of guy.

Jay Reatard- Fluorescent Grey (Deerhunter Cover)

Watch him brutalising Deerhunter’s pristine ‘Fluorescent Grey’, as released in a recent split 7′‘ with them, watch him scaring away a slender butterfly that had landed on the cheek of a dreamed corpse, to then dismember the body, femur are brandished like twin drumsticks & banged fiercely against colossal mountains from whose summit a broken heart nourishes distant seas with a steady flow of thick blood, watch him, watch him.

He was raised by Fenrir, he was raised by Astarte, he had to come from Memphis, he is definitely our kind of guy.

Perhaps it is that the dynamics of the music industry in this country where so-called indie (aka indie schmindie) is the scene du jour (the kind of music that might make you money and get you laid via your ‘cool’, or something) create unhealthy pressures and incentives, watch a zillion uninteresting revival acts bloom, while those that were original and interesting in the first place go shit real fast, or vanish into the void. The Libertines were the prophets of our doom.

The hysterical fashion-driven ‘getting started-getting signed-getting dropped’ churn cycle makes it difficult for new promising bands to find their own voice before they become the best thing in the history of mankind OMFG hyperspace portal jump straight into becoming last-week’s news, as the fringed mob moves somewhere else (always in London). This might perhaps be a consequence of the strong association between indie and pop in the UK: pop is great, but by definition is disposable and fickle, an ethos which doesn’t fit well with the perhaps loftier aspirations of true independent rock music. Here we are not talking about novelty and entertainment, but something more durable, hrm, art? culture? Hell yeah! Why not?

We are actually fun people, believe it.

Additionally, live music has been punished by draconian licensing policies, with the ensuing reduction in the number of small venues, which are more suitable for non-mainstream gigs (i.e. by bands who don’t sound like Bloc Party). Consolidation pushes hiring fees upward making life really hard for adventurous promoters, this results in a situation where bands almost need to pay from their own pockets to tour the country, and this can’t help either. We have never made money in a gig we have put, but we haven’t been able to pay many amazing artists the money they deserve either, which makes us feel a bit shit. And puts us off organising shows…

Where’s the Smell in this country?

So I guess the UK is an environment where those real indie-rock acts that will publish the 7” I want to buy find it very hard to thrive. Which is sad when one thinks of past scenes started here (post-punk, C-86) whose awesomely groundbreaking output was captured to live forever (or until the desperate mainstream record industry develops cybernetic DRM roaches that devour vinyl and shit gold) in that lovely format. What happened?

Anyhow, what all this means is I have to get my 7” fix from the US instead. From bands like these.

That ‘every act that has no heart will be found out at the end’ is an statement we agree with in this blog, we love music made with passion with a passion. Faked smiles won’t get you anywhere in these parts.

Abe Vigoda- World Heart

So if the previous is true, then what happens to acts who don’t just have a heart, but a World Heart? I dunno, I guess their music, upon being created and played, helps reanimate those Ghibli-style colourful fairy folks of the forests whose life-power was drained away by contamination and industrialisation, a colourful festival full of joyful situations ensues as they parade through campings and bungalows across the land, the green-hued pool of goodness to which all acts of kindness contribute overflows as Abe Vigoda’s rambunctious polirrhythmical mini-symphonies stumble and crash in every direction, think El Guincho and a bunch of Unicorns charging onward to bring down the grey damp walls of reality like an EMP-bomb of positive energy going BLAMM whenever you press play in the turntable, find ‘World Heart’ in their 7” split with Mikaela’s Fiend, and love it.

Jay Reatard is a power-pop-punk savant who never fails to tie our innards into a bleeding knot with the intoxicating energy of his amphetaminic power ballads, then pulls the laces tight with fuzzy chops and relentless rhythm, out comes the heart still pumping through rupturing grimacing smiling mouths, haemoglobin & saliva splatter all over the emotional charnel-house, filling a bucket inside which the brush dips frantic, to then scribble cryptic graffitti in 7” discs such as See/Saw, underground transmissions of thee secret fucked up teen super hero legion HQ, we forget about broken hearts and start worrying about broken rib-cages through which intestines spill like the petals of an ugly and colourful flower, and in the midst of a chaotic cloud of noise, spazz in, love out.

Jay Reatard- Screaming Hand

Finally Punk crash and stomp in the midst of a fiery whirlwind you can’t learn to summon, you either have it or not, 20 boy indie rock bands can practise in their basements, then go out and get wasted, party til the cows come back home or play it wacky and start saying they are wizards or some such shit and at its shining best their music won’t be but a feeble drop of ‘energy’ and ‘fun’ in the vast ocean of goodness that Mika Miko are, same goes for gloriously loose Finally Punk, whose Primary Colors 7” doesn’t make us wanna boogie, it makes us boogie, an affront to all that is balanced and righteous, but ridiculously fun too, you know, WTF, missile!

Finally Punk- Boyfriend Application

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*Actually it was this O.I.B. split. Kudos to them, to Yeborobo, to Upset the Rhythm (Hands on Heads!), Shimmy Rivers and and Canal, Gay vs You, Gentle Friendly, Munch Munch, Buttonhead and the other good ‘uns, you know who you are. And someone sign Medicine and Duty please.

Started this post about the great In The Red Records, got lost in the middle somewhere, as you do, and ended up stuck on old favs Lost Sounds – but first off more from masters of unreality Human Eye on Disordered Records.

Human Eye – Rare Little Creature

Is there something already eerily familiar about Rare Little Creature ? And not just if you have listened to early Misfits or Chrome.

Human Eye takes you on a rusty Harley through the post apocalyptic drooling zombie filled world, searching for his still alive lost love – just how we like a good ballad. The vocals sound so from the crypt he may have succumb to the radiation himself, a tragic tale of an undead troubadour if we ever did hear one.

We already love Human Eye for their first devastating self-titled offering on In The Red Records, and this 7″ on Disordered Records brings out a sleaze equal to crooning Iggy at the psychotic drug endued pace of the Gaye Bykers on Acid. (btw when is the grebbo revival – we got the bright colours from new rave, bring on the heavy grunge!)

Quite how Human Eye‘s love will react when she finds he boyfriends’ back and he looks like the Ghost Rider is another instalment. If Helios Creed wasn’t so dammed alive he’d thrash in his grave.

And now for once we are not going overhype a band, Lost Sounds have many many faults. In spite and probably because of this, once they get into your blood, you love them. As fast as an atom in a 2 mile particle accelerator, we take you on a rapid journey through some of those faults.

No 1. Memphis is Dead.

Memphis is Dead slays you, erm, dead with it’s lack of 1 2 3 4, straight into the scremo beginning for pretty much every track – a tactic we now love bands like The Blood Brothers for. Like everything Reatard you cannot help the feeling of pop fan with attitude. When they scream together Alicja and Jay strike a rock and roll chord of The Runaways and Deadboys, with Alicja naturally as Stiv, we don’t habitually hear on synth-punk.

Lost Sounds – Disease

Disease sounds like it was written in less time than it takes to play the song. Despite the Lost Sounds desire to pack everything up into >3 mins, and frequent over energetic race to the end of every song, Disease relatively takes its time and leaves some virtual space in the noise. I’ve no idea if this is closer to Black Flag or early Motley Crue in naivety of rock n’ roll before breaking into a more cabaret rock of pre-Moroder Sparks. Undeveloped, no-wave and instant as fuck it left me wanting more and thinking who the fuck r these guys? R they even old enough to be out past 6pm? and most importantly when the fuck are they playing in my town?

No.2 Black Wave

I waited. It would be nice to say by the second album the Lost Sounds had developed or learned to play, but that would also really fuck over half the appeal! Don’t worry. They had. But only a bit.

Lost Sounds – I See Everything

I See Everything feels dark, like the bad trip tale. It’s got a punishing conviction and only the naive keyboard playing around. Alicja’s third eye is obviously giving her problems. Jay almost understatedly tells us about everything he has lost. It kind of scares me to think what happened to the band since Memphis is Dead to come up with this, kids don’t form a band – it don’t sound like fun anymore. Never mind if Memphis is Dead, that’s like a testament of fuck u – down with the old guard, this is the new shit but Black Wave – that’s just a Wave of, well, black.

No.3 Rat’s Brains and Microchips

Coming to terms with the dark side and emerging out the other side gives people some kinda soul us middle class no problems kids are missing out on. We don’t advocate having your heart broken, dreams crushed, taking drugs, becoming homeless and getting some issues before you form a band – oh fuck it – we do.

Lost Sounds – Frozen in Time

Back into their old crush of The Screamers, but this is the new wave land of Howard Devoto with Magazine and an almost premature attempt at adult songwriting, which you’d think would kill just about everything you originally loved about Lost Sounds. Pretending to be Devo can be fun too. Incredibly Frozen In Time approaches subtly, musical substance and a scary section straight out of 80s horror movies before turning into what sounds like hardcore rave keyboards to a badly missed chance for an ending. It’s still Lost Sounds throughout.

No. 4 I stopped listening. I’m a bad fan.

No one likes this shit in the UK, but thats no real excuse.

This is a very much incomplete picture of a band. They are gone now, and that’s it.

I never went to see them. I probably would have bee disappointed. For a time they were special to me so I thought I’d share it with you.

Now I’m older and wiser more cynical I see faults and huge imperfections all over Lost Sounds which I was oblivious to at the time. I know the music they borrowed from, and hear bands do it better different. I don’t listen to them much anymore. Some of me remembers still, I hear them in bands of now, but no one knows what I’m talking about.

I’ll count this as an exorcism if that’s ok with you guys ?

Let us never talk of it again.

Isn’t it funny how you love things, and then you don’t? Which is probably the worst link in the world but a good excuse for an mp3 about things being In and out of grace? Like sub-pop. Wtf happened to them? i mean CSS???

I don’t think that’s what Mudhoney really meant, but people don’t play this anymore so, least we forget, here is a nod – out. It’s the weekend; we all know what you want to do. Should write more because this is such a great seminal track, but feel I just ranted so just for once – let the music do the talking.

Mudhoney – In n out of grace

Meanwhile we got am email from Matador saying they had signed some hot new artist.

Have a great weekend everyone – go see your fav band now before they split up on you, or take a break like Deerhunter (ba**ards!) – ah well, looking fwd to Atlas Sounds album.

And so we have followed Jay Reatard down his chaotic hero path to the ‘hit in xxjfg’s head’ Hammer I Miss You, and this fine blog culture we live in almost making Blood Visions a breakthrough album. Jay’s vision walks a yellow brick road along side Blood Brothers, pre-scremo hardcore and Devo with XBXRX’s sensibilities.

We are certain his next album will turn up on Pitchfork, he can raise controversy by getting his beautiful girlfriend to pose naked on an album cover, and every hipster in town will be claiming to have loved em since ‘Feel Good About Your Body’, but until ascendance to that throne of Spencer, Jay can be our own pin-up boy.

Jay Reatard – Night of Broken Glass

In The Red Records – home to The Country Teasers, Human Eye the formerly mentioned Mr Spencer and The Horrors (excellent choice!) – have Jay’s new EP Night of Broken Glass out (soonish?) which again sees Jay Reatard with his innate sense of punk-pop sensibilities battling an almost self destructive love for disorder and anarchic musical fun. We don’t know who will win, but in the mean time xxjfg are along for and enjoying the ride.

In the twilight of this anarchy xxjfg wears two faces, both creator and destroyer. Thus destroyers topple empires; make a canvas of clean rubble where creators can then build a better world. Link Wray was one such destroyer, taking the soul of a gospel singer and feeding it to the devil itself that is rock and roll.

David Walker born again as Bunker Hill, baptised by the mighty thunder of Link’s guitar, gave birth to the most potent black rock’n'roll ever made. The preacher with a knockout punch was unchained to release into the pretty boy pop charts some of the most sexually charged, sweat drenched, animal beats which cleave your feet from under you and seem to pound to the very same pulse as your own heart.

There is something unconventional to Hide and go Seek’s none click track hypnotic pulse that resonates strongly of Neu! in xxjfg’s krautrock obsession riddled brain, while the fragile none linear arrangement of hard hitting story telling verse and gospel preacher chorus rapture fires neuron connections to our freeform jam masters and The Last Poets.

Bunker Hill – Hide and Go Seek (parts 1 & 2)

Microphones in the 60s seem incapable of capturing the full throttle of Bunker’s vocal rip. From the very first listen it captivates and intoxicates, is this a human being? just like me? What those microphones lacked for in technology they made up for in the magical ability to capture the material essence of charisma, its electric, and unbounded in this man’s songs.

As it is Hide and Go Seek (Parts 1 & 2) runs out at 4:30ish but with a party like that we would have liked it to go Für immer .