For example Chicagoan outfit Loto Ball Show, about whom we wouldn’t have found out perhaps in a long time if it hadn’t be for a fortunate coincidence on the myspace place, another object of constant derision which has nevertheless been a steady source of goodness.

Loto Ball Show look and sound business, they are the sort of band you would expect to see playing in some dingey and damp basement cellar where people dress in black jack it old school style, you know, get sweaty and dance the mess away, that is the way to go. They make a dark, muscular and intense hick garage blues racket with the relentless gusto of The Bad Seeds fucking Deanna, sharpened by the non-cliched post punk apocalyptic edge one finds in Public Image Ltd. (also exemplified in early-day Liars), sexy horns add an extra bit of epic omph to their clanging and banging onslaught, the outcome sounds awesomely instantaneous in the same excellent way as, for example, the Black Lips or In The Red days Deadly Snakes, now kids, that is a rare thing.

Loto Ball Show- Dead Kiss

This is from their ‘I Can Be Your Eyes’ EP, out in Reversible Records.

We have loved Abe Vigoda for a long time, we first heard them in a wild split with Hot Girls Cool Guys, and then saw them trashing LA in the fantastic 40 bands 80 minutes DVD, since then they have continued changing and evolving from their initial greatness to absolute incandescence, in the way becoming one of the two or three ‘indie’ (see above) bands out there who seriously kill it on every side, as DJ Rick has dutifully documented, we grabbed a copy of their Animal Ghosts 7” at a No Age show (also fucking out there, napper) and this is what we found in it,

Abe Vigoda- Animal Ghosts

Which is, together with El Guincho’s stuff, one of the sweetest things to blow us away for a while, listening to this music makes us happy because we realise that it is not that we are eternal pop-hating obscurity loving geeks, but that good pop stuff is fucking hard to make, and hence to come across, Abe Vigoda have struck gold here most undoubtedly, Animal Ghosts pounces simultaneously joyous, jangly and powerful like Unicorns trapped inside a Liquid Liquid loop, or Animal Collective doing the post-punk splits with Q and not U, it sounds like it was recorded by people jumping up and down and smiling which is coherent with its contagious impact on our winter-afflicted spirit, this tune shines rays of Californian sun on us withered nerds and that’s all we could ask for, thank you Abe Vigoda.

&&&

Post title taken from a song by the mighty Hands on Heads

%%%

Talking about California, if you are in San Francisco on Thursday, go to this:

These two numbers share a flavour of mystery and darkness, like ancient bloodstains spilled a long time ago over the floor of an anonymous motel room. You could imagine them featured in a David Lynch film, soundtracking the psycho strut of Dennis Hopper or Willem Dafoe, sliding inside a crimson den filling the atmosphere with rattlesnake poison, bad times probably, but exciting times too. Meditation trascendentalists don’t last much in this town.

Wooden Shjips (myspace) hail from San Francisco with the dark power of a satanic storm, their esoteric fuzz drenched sheets of Spaceman 3- style distortion rise in the sky like pillars of psychedelic smoke turning day into night, from the derelict belfry of a gothic church flies a shapeless swarm of bats from which there is no possible escape, trapping you inside a screeching vault populated by emaciated hippie ghosts, a sticky zone of badness which dirty people like Suicide would have called ‘home’. Feeble types like us can only stay for a short visit, least our hearts burn like cinders to pave the highways of hell.

Wooden Shjips- Loose Lips

From the Loose Lips/Start to Dreaming 7”.

Boris and Merzbow’s live album Rock Dream does what it says in the box, stoner rock noise shards of pure zenta power summoning electricity drenched winds from the heights of the bald mountain escalate into cyclopean walks down the epic side of things, that’s what happens when the heavyweight champions of heaviness get together with the Gengis Khan of Noise, this is the stuff legends are made of kids, maybe the stuff some kids are made of too, and some kids those are, kids!

In the midst of all the satisfying brutality and granitic riffage there are also sparse moments of contemplative, ethereal beauty such as Rainbow, a haunted piece of Can-like spectral funk which slides past you like ghosts in the night, like tears in the rain.

Boris and Merzbow- Rainbow.

We bid you farewell in a we hope fitting way, with a new 20JFG mixtape. We picked this up on the side of a highway we were wandering aimlessly after getting off a wooden cross where some mutant hicks had decided to nail us for a laugh, as it were. We recommend you play it while driving around the neighbourhood busting mailboxes with a baseball bat bristling with rusty nails carnage mode, one third Harry Dean Stanton in Paris Texas, two thirds Rutger Hauer in Hitcher,

Love Songs for Scorpions.

We heart you.

20JFG Mixtape: Road Kill

Tracklist

1-Boredoms- Super Are

2-Liars- Let’s not wrestle Mt. Heart Attack

3-Vangelis- We were all Uprooted

4-Hawkwind- Opa Loka

5-Smog- Bloodflow

6-Silver Apples- Ruby

7-Butthole Surfers- Jimmy

8-Sun City Girls- Blue Mambo

9-Flower Travellin’ Band- Satori Pt. 2

10-Comets on Fire- Brotherhood of the Harvest

11-Black Mountain- Tyrants

12-Royal Trux- Stevie (for Steven S.)

13-Buckingham Nicks- Don’t Let me Down Again

All mixed up in true 20JFG ‘punk rock styles’ using Garageband with no skills or patience whatsoever. Enjoy!

AND ON SATURDAY:

Which is but a reincarnation of the Do in a place where you shall get no bullshit.

So…an indie dance party for people who care

AT THE BARFLY (former Gloucester)

SATURDAY 1st DECEMBER

11-3

£5/4 NUS

£3 Cheaplist (REPLY TO THIS)

Music Policy=ALL HITS NO SHIT

Liars, Jay Z, Daft Punk, Beastie Boys, Nation of Ulysses, At the Drive In, Dan Deacon, Gay Against You, Anthrax, Can, DFA79, LCD Soundsystem, Silver Apples, Andrew WK, Les Georges Leningrad, Deerhoof, The Unicorns, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, the Knife, Prince, Thedeathset, Best Fwends, Lovvers, Claws, My Bloody Valentine, Polysics, Sonic Youth, Pavement, Beyonce, Justice, M.I.A., Gossip, Erase Errata, Crystal Castles, The Horrors, Drive like Jehu, Slayer, Liquid Liquid, ESG, Dizzee Rascal, Public Enemy, Lightning Bolt, Hot Snakes, Black Lips, Les Savy Fav, Old Dirty Bastard, Make Up, The Fall, Talking Heads, Ramones, Pere Ubu, Le Tigre, NWA & MANY MANY MORE

X-Ray Eyes PLAY LIVE: Toy Pirate Affiliated garage sex filth party to welcome the arrival of Santa Claws with the right attitude.

It different this time, the red eye of the desert must have seen something setting them apart from so many other victims, maybe a lack of fear, an embrace of what’s to come, and souls sharp like machetes, the eye gazes upon them with satanic intensity, a twinkle of curiousity in its blood-shot pupil rains attention upon their small fragile bodies, a decision is made, pillars of sand shoot up in the crimsom sky and precipitate upon them as the metamorphosis takes place and aeons of knowledge spill from an alien place filling their ribcages in a pulse synchronised with their heart beat, speeding faster and faster into a humming drone reaching a climax and then silence.

The creatures of the desert stare shivering as the dust settles down, the air smells of fire, something bad is coming this way.

No Age take you under a tunnel of psychedelic bliss which soothes with the contained power of late-era Boredoms before stepping on the accelerator activating kerosene powered blades of distortion, breezy east coast melody lift you in the air to fly with the eagles in a brief moment of shimmering beauty.

No Age- Dead Plane

From the Dead Plane EP.

Ghost’s Hypnotic Underworld is in my humble not-quite-head-heritage-freak opinion the best psyche album released so far this millenium, up there with Comets on Fire’s Blue Cathedral, and the second part of Each One Teach One by Oneida, yes, the one that drove your soul into the pre-cambric Oceans of eternal bashing with Sheets of Easter, up in Anctartidan heights they clash projecting colossal shadows, we hear echoes of the cyclopean struggle, and from time to time meteorites of pure energy strike our village driving the children insane, meteorites like Kiseichukan, a fiery ball of progressive magma which could have soundtracked Conan the Barbarian’s adventures going all ronin across the hyperborean wastelands.

Ghost- Kiseichukan

We are collateral victims of the struggle between Gods, ok then, we can live with that.

The Flower Travellin’ Band, or Japan’s answer to Black Sabbath landed on 20JFG’s prog loving loins via Lord Nuneaton Savage’s pack of tarot cards, and hencerforth our lives changed for the heaviest, placed in a position of frightened awe as puny witnesses of a clash of Cthonic Dimensions, our conciousness bombarded with hallucinated images straight off When the Riff Colossi ruled the Earth as summoned by Akira Yamanaka’s shamanic ululating.

Flower Travellin’ Band- Satori Pt. 1

Warning- We’re preparing something big. There is a pattern underlying all this seeming chaos, reports from encounters with demonic intelligences in the depths of the deserts, it’s not a coincidence, we have a plan, keep looking at the sky. We’re coming, from the dark stellar voids beyond, and with the storm which rages in the barren tundras, we are the steps following you not into, but FROM WITHIN the dark Cul de Sac. Don’t be scared, we love you, in a special way. It’s happening.

ALSO

This Saturday: Brighton, Penthouse 8-1 Free entry, Expensive music.

It’s us!

Psychedelic Hortseshit arrive to vanquish the false prophets of bad-digested LSD stream-of-conciousness bullshit from the hallowed grounds of the temple of music, their astonishing AFS endorsed new album ‘Magic Flowers Droned’ is the wreckage of a beautiful car-crash of distortion and melody, all skin-piercing angles and spikes raising crippled like broken teeth, frozen in an attempt to bite the sky.

Psychedelic Horseshit- New Wave Hippies

Factums bomb the shit of the place with bootleg Napalm elaborated according to an ancient recipe developed during the secret wars between witches and puritans, their satanic stomp twitches and coils a rebel rhythm of subversive garage, the infection vector is transmitted through shards of noise projected in damp basements where forlorn shrines are raised to worship the wild spirit of Butthole Surfers and other no no wave berserkers.

Factums- Drip

Their album Alien Native is the soundtrack to the beginning of Blade if it had been directed by Harmony Korine, now that’s what I call disco carnage.

!!!!

That whole ‘burying your record in the sands of the desert with a bottle of bourbon and some neanderthal arrow heads, and waiting til it crawls out confused and fierce to publish it’ technique that we reckon the folks at Siltbreeze have developed works a treat, because they always deliver the real thing, love and respect to them.

We are on a journey. We are on a journey to find the best club ever. Since living in outerspace we have realised that we have to make a concerted effort to create our own fun but this is just becoming tired (plus, Soulseek doesn’t work past the perimeters of our solar system and it doesn’t matter how much money you paypal them for privileges). So its back to Earth then.

We have boarded and salvaged what we can from the spaceship that Dave abandoned a few light years away from Jupiter at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey. While he is busy soaring through the great cosmic 60′s neon drug ejaculation to starchild status, we have rewired Hal 9000 into a vocoder-voiced computerslave that is downloading information on underground discos, boxsets of Giallos horror movies and the precise location of Screamers mixtapes and leather jacket patches. We picked up a group of bored Plutonian housewives and now this crack team of blue skinned beauties are plotting a course for home whilst cooking up choco-cereals and pancakes.

Our chief flight coordinator has picked up a strong signal bouncing off of the dark side of the Moon and has deciphered its code as that of the new 12″ from disco (not disco) porn-house pioneers, In Flagranti. Its origin is from a remote desert location, and a course is set.

In Flagranti – Effective Placebo Affect

We touch back down on Earth, a blistering hot day in middle America. Our convertible Delorian can take the heat though, its got those sophisticated future technologies that we could bore you with but won’t just now. We are trying to home in on the radiowaves from 1982 on our in-car stereo but that’s proving difficult. We slide in a holodisc and on comes Hatchback with a track that seems to sense how blue the skies above us are and how smooth our ride along the dry dusty road is going, juxtaposing our 90mph speed with a slowed bpm and elastic robofunk bassline, all the while considering that we have just seen space and we are not so easily impressed anymore.

Hatchback – Carefree Highway

The kid from Flight Of The Navigator buzzes us in his giant chrome kidney-shaped spacecraft hollering about some new disco opening up tonite, and then Stu stands up in the back of the car and punches the air over and over as we glimpse the city on the horizon silhouetted by the sunset.

We have no idea where we are now, this metallic metropolis is unfamiliar to us. No sign posts lead us here, it was just instinct and a faint throbbing bassline luring us in a particular direction.

We find the club in a dark part of town, down by the docks, synthesised bleeps ricocheting off of the cranes and ship masts, a lurid neon light darts back and forth from a back alley casting the panther-like shadow of the Delorian across a line of eager clubbers. We go to the front and the rope is unclipped for us to breeze through.

Ilija Rudman – After Midnight (L.S.B. Remix)

Inside, all the guys either look like Daft Punk or Giorgio Moroder and dance like you would imagine them to and the women are a cross between Leiji Matsumoto heroines and A Clockwork Orange milkbar mannequins and move like no one would expect. The synthesised disco beats come thick and fast, firing into our minds on lasers and light pulses shone from a ceiling covered in mirrorballs. To be honest this much fun could be too much, or we could get used to it and never leave. But then closing time comes so we leave.

Juan turns the key in the ignition of the Delorian and then flicks a silver switch which raises the car in the air, flips the wheels 90 degrees, blasts fire out of the boosters at the rear and before we know it we are docking with our hijacked spacecraft once more.

On deck, the Pluto babes are going apeshit with delight for we have received a special message from the Martian Disco Council leader, Commander Simonetti, personally inviting us to a galactic show from Glass Candy.

We turn toward Mars and cruise towards the coordinates stated on the digital flyer. We arrive at the space docks of Phobos and pull up alongside Chromatics who have come along for the show in their galactic Transylvanian castle cruiser, blacked out windows and robo-skeleton crew as standard. Martian tones over the pa system inform us of 5 minutes until showtime.

Glass Candy – Digital Versicolor

Ida No is resplendent in translucent oranges and greens, her vocals manifest in colours, violet and blue, spinning and coiling into the heavens and creating stargates in gigantic explosions that rain down crystal dust. Johnny Jewel plucks asteroids from space and grinds them down into tectonic synth beats that can be heard in neighbouring solar systems, echoing from one end of the universe to the other.