The Hand Loom Lament Radio Hour // news
wce s02 #0016
In celebration of International Womens Day, Ship Canal presents a mixtape consisting of some of the least easily reducible female crafted out-sounds this side of a swollen perma-wanking patriarch!
Rapturous tribal chants from Burundi, cracked psycho-shred lo fi gutter rock, totally dessicated ketamine disco, fuck off Fluxus iconoclasm, naked invocations of a mystical Eden and slow-mo psyche trances.
Posted at 01:55, 9th March 2012
wce s02 #0015
Humdinger piss pot manacle slurry untoward drinks cabinet lurker funeral gloat sodden wet patch grandads favourite chair no more bets on the grand national buy summat nice for the wife while the warm weather lasts end of the pier rip chord job none of that foreign muck.
The home brewed tape scene of the 1980s has been recalibrated and spunked out into the interzone big time over the last few years. Fuck, most of us have entire hard drives dripping with innumerable ultra obscure sub underground psycho-folk from Bhutan and proto-Industrial hate straight out of a Minnesota garage in '86.
But amidst the (now temporarily stemmed) tide of one-time impossibly esoteric and largely uncontextualized infoslabs we all got hipped to by Mutant Sounds or D.I.Y or DIE certain currents become noticeable and subjectively crafted into a weird kind of horizontal scene... these people didn't necessarily know they were doing something that referenced anything outside of themselves and their own taste, but the hyper cataloguing of subculture in the age of cyberspace lets cunts like me get all blokey and try to assemble lineages or something.
So, to that end, I present a mixtape in progress that teases out... utopian synth exploration, wide eyed smacked out anti-disco, weather-beaten no budget galactic escapism (when the nearest different planet outside of your own door is probably Bolton) and full of technofuturist fetishism.
All crafted in someones bedroom years ago. All reaching for the stars.
I hope the result is more like that bloke who used to appear on North West Tonight all the time back in the day with rockets he had built in his shed than it is Appollo 13.
Posted at 14:10, 1st March 2012
wce s02 #0015
Hulking tongue crack agadoo bhuna bovvering riptarded seismo-gibbon get out of my tavern incredulous shitehawk garden hopper devlisz rococo innards spilled about the bush beat yerself off barmcake post fritter loitering moistness next to godliness.
I gave in. Broken, beaten, bottom of the stairs. A teary cummy puddle of regret. Fuck, I didn't even used to wake up until midnight. These days I'm in bits by noon. Over a decades worth of dodgy downers and terrible (I mean, really really bad) booze and daysleeping has resulted in a 26 year old semi-carcass of a man with the energy levels of a burnt out Lada whose owner has left the lights on overnight.
So I pussied out big time and asked to get rescheduled. But don't worry, I'm not gunna start dropping James Last and that. I'll just have to get used to playing the weird shit in daylight. Piece of piss.
As an absolute cuntmouthed war criminal once said, a new dawn has broken (has it not). And I've heralded it by putting together a fractured collage of minature sounds, over 40 eyeblink blats of dilletante sonics, all of them under a minute long, most them not much over 30 seconds. Blocks of bleached black static, mangled semi skits, rerouted segues and gobs of pulse, retuned intervention and cocktease glimpses of the perverted sublime.
Plus brand new boogie from Richard Youngs, Imbogodom, Gonjasufi and a wild reissue from Doug Jerebine.
Dig the new thing.
Posted at 00:06, 24th February 2012
wce s02 #0014
Tranquil wank-sock desire machine extension of trilby town crier fritter in a bap whence ye came upon a husk of a man a former society man of exquisite stock and warm regard proper bitmarked pound of directors sausages have you got 20p (just 20p) so I can get back to Oldham?
After a fortnight of silence (the Balkans is going NUTS. I'm huge in the Balkans.)the Hand Loom Lament radio hour returns with a languid hunk of wacked out visionary transhuman pastoralism and creaking, decrepit reminders of Albions default mode of completely unassuming bonkers eccentricity.
This isn't England. It's odder than that. It's a refraction of suppressed weirdo currents, a channeling of pre-corporate, industrialized multiculture.
Expect taut as fuck folk cult moves, the implied menace of wrongscape paens to the Open University, ungovernable outsider spittle punk and the summoning of ancient demons, the ones that were birthed by the old, weird England. Replete with unfeasibly large collections of ornamental garden gnomes, pinches of snuff, pork scratchings and total class war.
And a shit ton of Ship Canal edits. What? It's my show, dickheads.
Posted at 18:30, 9th February 2012
wce s02 #0013
Transmitting this one straight from the deepest bowels of the shipyards to your busted hearing aid. Pieced together amidst a horrendous headcold, this outer studio telegram celebrates hum, throb, pulse, tone and scorched earth heaviosty. Proper heavy mind. None of this loud guitar rock band shit. How boring is THAT in 2012?
I'm not taking a shit on guitars anyway. There is one in here somewhere, now I come to think about it.
But it's mostly the worst drug experience you ever had cross-pollinated with repeated false awakenings and sleep paralysis. And lemsip.
Play loud. In the dark. On headphones.
Posted at 12:01, 21st January 2012
wce s02 #0012
Pint of unfulfilled potential turned into a hundred rancid sambuca scoops glugged away into the ancestrial disabuse of the malfunctioning lungs I inherited from centuries of hand loom weavers and shipyard foreman total body bust for the next week getting far too old for this twonked that stinky biffweasel til his nose turned red and wapped a kinky one up his shnozzpipe for later dinky pillock sweaty secretary general beehive buttfuck vibes.
Got some fresh meat for you nasty fuckers tonight. Triple threat Dekorder action from Daniel Padden, Ensemble Economique and Andrew Pekler. Plus two absolute headplate recalibrations from my boys at Exotic Pylon, The House In The Woods and Ronny Juzzle.
PLUS: I recently celebrated a birthday. This is the kind of thing that makes me fucking anxious. I have done nothing notable with my life. Not really. Another year closer to death. I did meet Sunderland legend Kevin Ball recently, mind. He's gone proper grey un'all. Shit one.
Anyway, the second half of the show comprises a mixtape of wanglepoops and pissmops from the often surprisingly crystalline bedroom morass of the mid 80's sub underground. This includes, but is in no way limited to, a hellishly young Andrew Chalk tossing off dark ambient PsycheDelia nothingness, heavily alcobused nutter-synth showtunes, hopelessly machninic data skronk from France and a peach from Anthony Braxtons most underrated (or overrated... it really depends which cunts you read)period. I tried not to include Jandek too, but you know how difficult that shit is for me.
Posted at 06:28, 12th January 2012
wce s02 #0011
Microlaboratized middlebrow dullard dump super hero latex knock off DVD's out the battered leather holdall down the pub blotchy old tomato head cunt sat in the corner just spits and spits all day long cant tell when his jaundiced decrepit mit ends and his geometrically impossible roll up begins well good on the fruit machines mind like he knows summat' we don't interstellar alco-warrior straight out of rag and bone dyslexia.
After being locked in my homestead last week by what the majority of countries on earth would designate as mildly bad weather, but we, we band of brothers, we defenders of our sceptered Isle pure shat it and all of a sudden it was a HURRICANE. FUCCCCKKK!!! Where's that old Michael "looks like he was cobbled together out of an egg and some cotton wool buds on Blue Peter" Fish geezer when you need him most?
Hopefully not in the same place as Austerity Britain, for his sake. This bloke is the info-overload equivalent of Jandek if his Dad owned a bookies in Oldham. Ultra lo-fi booze blues that summarizes nigh on two decades of complete and utter disappointment with the way his life has turned out. Non verbal sleep apnoea yelps mingle with gutter synth and heavily drugged guitar/internal mic sickness.
Tonight Austerity Britain treats us to a preview of his forthcoming Hand Loom Lament CD-R Total Insolvent, dropping at the start of next year if I get my shit together in time. Which I obviously wont.
Before that Ship Canal (wait, that's me...) presents a selection of field recordings, sound art and processed source material that evoke harsh elementalism.
Posted at 16:59, 15th December 2011
wce s02 #0010
Excess consumption waste bin contraband distinction info dump flaccid trad Marxist cocktease attend to the right now ring out yer towel blast bad loan bollocks to bits consume/produce night shift data shift huff huff what kind of Keith Joseph wet dream is this?
"I don’t believe another world is possible, because I know that all things superseded stick around and stink as unwelcome reminders of that we have to deal with, so another world is necessary but only built from the gutted hull of this one"
"Cyberpunk was the dream image of neo-liberalism par excellence, albeit one that encoded within it enough short-circuits to wake itself again and again."
"for what is steam punk if not a romanticized do-over, a setting of the clock back, a time of craftsmanship and real (fetishized) objects, remaking the world, not in the mode of the ceaseless slow sprawl of cheap oil but in the Victorian self-aware world making spirit?"
"What I propose in the place of steampunk, that weak handmaiden of Obama capitalism, is what I call salvagepunk: the post-apocalyptic vision of a kaputt world, strewn with both the dream residues and the real junk of the world that was, and shot through with the hard work of salvaging, repurposing, détourning, scrapping. "
Tonight I present a mix inspired by Evan Calder William's concept of Salvagepunk, expanded and expounded upon at length in his book "Combined And Uneven Apocalypse" and his essential blog Socialism and/or Barbarism.
Who the fuck says I never bring you anything highbrow? Tunes from Elklink, Diamond Catalog, Moon Pool And Dead Band, Jessica Rylan, The Lost Domain, Patrice And Friends, Chris Watsn, Frozen Border and more. I might drop a Current 93 cover I finished t'other day in somewhere too. Easy now.
Posted at 21:45, 1st December 2011
wce s02 #009
Stark bollock naked next to a guinea pig double check for smeared poo pellets all over the plastic sheets thank fuck praise the lord straight into the shower catch sight of yourself in the mirror cheap cloudy lemonade hand shandy deep breath check balls for lumps another day in paradise.
Who says I never play any pop music? OK, so I'm being a bit disingenuous... Tangles isn't pop music like yer Mam used to jive to. It's an aquatic exploratory drift through a half remembered, pre sleep capturing of something fucking sublime. There is far too much cynicism (most of it emanating from cunts like me) in the world these days. Tangles music makes me want to be so much less of a bastard, and, really, that's what we should all be aiming for.
Sure, it IS pretty stuff... I mean, this shit has a transitory beauty, some heavenly line of flight that soars through eyes-rolled-into-the-back-of-your-skull pedal pummeled bliss rock... but that's to miss the point entirely... it swirls, it trickles, bobs up and down in crystalline drip drip drips til it cakes your eyes with snowflakes an everything gets a bit kaleidoscopic... if half of those hypno/nugaze/whatever fruits meant it as much as Tangles did then we would all have saved A LOT of our precious time over the last few years.
So tonight the whole show is a big fat sexy Tangles takeover. Ricky will be picking some tunes that are currently getting him all hot under the collar then he's gonna play live.
Don't say I never treat you right.
Tangles tumblr: http://tanglestanglestangles.tumblr.com/
Tangles on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tangles/293452562447
Tangles soundcloud: http://soundcloud.com/tanglestanglestangles
Posted at 15:45, 17th November 2011
wce s02 #008
Sploshing fetish comedown curry stains all over your flannel on a hot date nightmare fucking scenario son gonna have to sort that one out in the bog mid second round of drinks total rubberhead only drinking fanta (telltale titty sign) chewing her off upon your return time to rut get yer wangs oot and rut like the palsied patriarchal blowhards you are. Home in time for a massive teary wank and that. Hell.
It's been a tough week. I've barely slept a wink and it has nothing whatsoever to do with anything even approaching having a good time. I nearly got caught shoplifting again today. And I was sick in broad daylight outside Schuh in town. Seconds later I was that fucking close to being shat on by a pigeon that I can only interpret his last minute swerve to my left as being a pitiful gesture.
Pitied by a fucking pigeon.
You know what makes me feel mildly less agitated on days like this? Tape hiss. Lovely warm reverby tape hiss that you can climb inside and lose yourself in. I recently picked up a load of tapes I'd variously traded, bought, stole, swapped or inherited when I was back home recently, so I've slung you together a mixtape made of tapes. McLuhancy.
Liminal tracing paper noise static, ebullient afrocentricity, staggered sufi verses, PCP huffing psyche howls, squalid high rise minimal synth splats etc.
To celebrate the brand new Hand Loom Lament release from your total fantasy dream girl drone space synthesizer queen Emma Stirner, I've got an exclusive live set recorded in whichever room of her flat she doesn't use for storing her pathologically bagged 'n' backed collection of Weimar period erotic picture books and discarded dueling pistols.
It's a total harrowing drug mess.
Grab the album for no money whatsoever (nowt) here:
Posted at 23:24, 10th November 2011
wce s02 #007
Absolute lemon sponge reverberation slabs of primary school rim of the desk table ruler twanging Monday Night Football gladitorial nonce bashing cutting edge film making DAVID SILVA IS GOD stabbing ungrateful Rodger Red Hats in their thighs with a 2HB motherfucker and rendering their left thigh an eternal focus of ennui upon every repeated glance gutted mate you got sparked heavy in summat' like reception. Unlucky.
Tonight... well, I'll be honest. I did no work for this. None whatsoever. I was away making weird noises with the Awkward Sons beforehand, which is no excuse, coz' they still showed up and rinsed it, but aye, got stuff on me mind at the minute... so.
Anyway, dark nights. I fucking hate the cunts. As my magnificent mate Sarah says "you sleep in and it's night again".
I'm pretty sure that the onset of winter is amongst my many hang ups (flying, eating in front of people I don't know, eating food on any plate that isn't white, waiting until I'm just about to piss my strides until I run for the bog, like it's some kind of cosmic challenge to my bowels, not being able to go to bed without the light on when I'm stoned...).
I used to adore it. It meant Christmas, it meant some presents from my parents, living the Thatchero-Blairite credit dream until it went bollocks up... it meant home, it meant the vicarious imbibing of alcohol through the lived in husks of the middle aged.. it was hopeful, basically.
Now my life is like an Aidan Moffat song. A new one. Tax credits, value Tesco bacon, periodically calling up your increasingly aging parents to borrow yet more money to pay back yet more debts. Grim as fuck innit.
So here are some largely miserablist tunes. Fuck you all.
Also, for those of you (surely no one) who is following this series incredibly unsubtle dropping of 90's footballer names into every other show, there is another tonight. Keep noting them down for the chance to win a free copy of the next Ship Canal release (CD-R, vinyl or cassette, we're not fobbing you off with one of the digital releases) and two whole pounds worth of Premium Bonds.
Posted at 01:52, 4th November 2011
wce s02 #006
Slaphead griddle sponge up yer clogged up ginnels for your free peneth and peace of mind I keep doing the most horrendous things when I drink White And Mackays it's like it's fucking drinking me they never let me back into their house limpid scrote manicure buddhist gape special.
Tonight, because I'm still proper out of whack from Supersonic festival, I'm going to have a go at just mixing. Mixing live, all the way through, no chat after the start. The Shock Of The New, eh?
It's called Dissociative Blues. It's kind of like an improvised mixtape germinated in a laptop and forced to consume data interpretations of a third rate William Gibson hack novelist.
But it's all a bit frazzled and cyborgcock and pre-pass out, so get in about it.
Posted at 18:37, 27th October 2011
wce s02 #005
Don't cry for Steve Jobs cry for the jobless 24 hour commodity fetishism flowers outside a fucking living corporate tomb some entire lifes work dedicated to making things easier better faster bro never wrote a single episode of Dads Army or got heavy wreckoed with John Renbourne slavering techno oblivion humping off the back of Ayn Rands skid marked test tube baby you can shove yer silicon valley up yer caramac pipe hippy no long hairs allowed.
Apologies for leaving you hanging there sugarpop. Me and Chris Awkward been smashing it at the Tusk festival in Newcastle. Intense man to man bacon swapping aktion.
Back, although not necessarily with any bone.
Last episode I piped new shit from a brand new label down your vibro-holes. This week it's all about pure old stuff. Like, before Ipads and that. Round the time of the third or fourth episode of Our Friends In The North like.
The Homosexuals done got a fair claim at being one of the most champion overlooked and downright inspirational cabals in all of the UK punk scene... although int' it, really... I mean, punks all postcards and mohawks and growing up to be a property developer for a lot of folk eh? Not these cunts.
They always sounded so fucking indoors, like everything outside their own windows was full of danger... luckily though they had obviously raided the only freak bloke in the neighbourhoods record collection before they decided to birth their own eco system squat experiments, snorting up otherworldly psyche, heavy dub and porno garage spunk, occasionally ripping up the odd cracked hook from somewhere behind the back of the sofa and casually frittering it away into a pan with some beans and farting it back out into the ether as some loop heavy homespun concrete project.
I love them.
And if that sounds wank, check what Forced Exposure had to say about the pimpin' three disc Astral Glamour collection that Messthetics put out a bit ago:
"They wrote and recorded for five years, but they never took out an advert, sent out a promotional record, or got paid for a gig. The legend has grown, and today the Homosexuals are arguably the most acclaimed-and-least-heard band of the postpunk era."
When Forced Exposure speaks, you bloody well listen. Standard.
I love them.
The best thing about them was that they were the total forerunners of that 2000s explosion of different bedroom bound fuckers pumping out new blats every other week under different names, often with markedly different results but always with that... summat...
You know when you've heard a Homosexuals related record. You just do.
So tonight, I'm bringing you a mix of some of my favorite homo related releases, all tossed out there by Black Noise or It's War Boys, their D.I.Y up yours moneybags labels. This shit was a beacon back in the day.
And I'm also gonna play you some wild new stuff from the likes of John Olson and Nate Youngs alcoholically spooked bass/sax/electronics duo Stare Case, some harrowing Romanian funeral folk, private press German synth obscura, some totally what-the-fuck Russian industrial bass and some kid from the states who sounds like he lunches on Jolly Ranchers and shoves E's up his arse for supper.
Posted at 21:23, 13th October 2011
wce s02 #004
Shibboleth ribcage hardon the great English eccentric and his record breaking number of gnomes culturally anachronistic that he should wear cowboy boots boring boring guitar pish Jam and Spoon these men have given of their lives inside that cell tonight is there anything more fucking agonizingly long ball game than a tweed polite cunt ale geek alerted to the existence of the proletariat in a skip outside Leyton Buzzard is there fuck mate.
Heavy rinse or heavy mince? YOU DECIDE.
Tonight it is my absolute fucking pleasure to dedicate most of the show to celebrating the launch of Exotic Pylon Records.
Exotic Pylon is like some triple (four, five?) hardwired one man matrix of fucking getting off your arse and DOING something. It's the brainchild of my bro Jonny Mugwump, who has been bringing you the mighty weirdo echo chamber of heavy warp shtick that is Exotic Pylon radio on Resonance FM and Fnoob.com for proper time now.
I ripped that shit off summat' proper for this show, that's for sure.
Jonny is also the brains and balls behind the monthly EP nights at The Vortex in London, bringing you the likes of SHACKLETON, MORDANT MUSIC, EKOPLEKZ, NEIL LANDSTRUMM, ANDY STOTT, ENSEMBLE ECONOMIQUE and a bacon butty load more live interceptions... I'm told that the lad eats occasionally, although how he has time amid all that finger in pie shit I will never know.
But he does, and the world is a better place for it innit.
So tonight I'm gonna play you some forthcoming tracks from the label, including absolute pencil sharpeners from The Lord and Infinite Livez before indulging in the on air equivalent of one of those soul crushingly artificial porno's in which some dead behind the eyes seasoned vet of the game flicks one out in some shabbily converted suburban garage until the most artifical of orgasms... I'm gonna play you my set from last months Exotic Pylon Live at The Vortex.
*FULL LINKS AND DETAILS TO ALL EXOTIC PYLON INFO WILL BE UPPED AFTER THE BROADCAST (I'VE HAD A LONG DAY YOU GET ME?)*
Posted at 21:45, 29th September 2011
wce s02 #003
Throbosaurus cervix bungler of the highest most germaine order shudders in atemporal pigeon fancying on the hard shoulder of a massive sponge dogger give us a look through your poophole pal nae action tonight 24 hour cafe fastidious kebab twirler dances for groats and felches for change SKOL! SKOL! SKOL! here will you get off with me mate leave adequate space between each others crotches during ballad dance to disguise primordial rub of the erection tonight Russel Grant's powers are weak Matthew.
You, at the back, with the pork pie hat and the gammy eye, keep it down.
Tonight's soiree into the aural equivalent of a drooling Ket zombie traversing a 9AM living room for discarded fag butts and merciful dregs includes some bonkers and bonk obsessed bizarro prog, Sufi rites performed on the streets of Morocco, post-riot industrio-tech, frazzled reverb happy dub science and the devastating dirge of a New Orleans funeral band in full flow.
Plus new tunes from Uton and Hive Mind.
Posted at 22:25, 22nd September 2011
wce s02 #002
Hide behind a paywall with your plastic sushi in it's little Victorian box with your little Edwardian brain prolapse Armageddon stinky Buddha flaps hulking husks of html fat free yogurt (YOH-GURT?) disappointed slum dweller hovel party about the reduced aisle buzzsaw rugby cunt with bent pinstripe garlic mayo splatter birthmark across his dish do you want me to wait here with you love he looked pretty angry milton mowbray Gordon Ramsay porno dwarf double etc.
Hows it goin?
I'm fucking off down to London tomorrow morning to play at this:
If you're some graphic design pump wearing cuntbag with a fine line in indoor sunglasses and limp wristed shandy drinking then come along and embrace the Great British class system by hanging out with a real life honest to god Northerner. If you need any odd jobs doing or owt round the house then giz a shout too.
But yeah, in celebration of my little micro-holiday to the BIG CITY I'm gonna be playing some tracks by the other folks on the bill at The Vortex tomorrow, including Philip Jeck, Bruce Gilbert, Kemper Norton and Time Attendant. PLUS +++
New music from Z'ev, The Cutmen, Merzbow and Richard Pinhas, Cindytalk
and The Black Neck Band of the Common Loon.
Posted at 14:29, 15th September 2011
wce s02 #001
How the fuck did this shit get a second series? I mean, I know it's all about the amateur dribbles and that but bloody hell, STANDARDS!!??
HANG THE LOT OF EM'/FERAL UNDERCLASS/AWAY BACK TO YOUR SLEAZY CHICKEN MASTERS IN MUMBAI YOU YES MAN.
D.I.Y arse splurge-o-thon full effect minge peddler whackaday Ron Dixon Crossroads civilian casualty opposed to a new supermarket in Marple poop scoop Frank Bough on the tortutre rack I swear it wasn't me mate with free scoring Edin Dzeko in the ranks MUSHY PEAS and no red sauce you frumpy insertion carp local resident Glyniss Berryman (59) always a party.
Brand new music from Call Back The Giants, Oneohtrix Point Never, Regis, Konx Om Pax feat Tyler Gumb, Rodger Stella and Bill Orcutt.
Plus some gorgeous rackety Tajikistani stuff from The Secret Museum of Mankind series and more from the Nurse With Wound List
Posted at 13:09, 10th September 2011
that wont keep me in tarts and fags
"I was vouchsafed this vision by a pockmarked Lascar in the arms of a frump in a Huddersfield bordello..."
Someone done a minge on the poop deck.
Away this week. Mainlined the I.T Orcs with a macaroon of a mix for youse though. Proper babies head sniffer this one.
Dream boogie noir from Borful Tang, dada humping freak moves from Stutter, the harrowing nothing blues of Robert Pete Williams... plus brand new (well, sort of... not really, but still) music from Surgeon, Joe McPhee and Chris Corsano and the quite indecently wild Death Grips.
Back next week for a right old sesh.
GAME AINT BASED ON SYMPATHY. GABOS!
Posted at 20:50, 4th June 2011
voodoo discombobulation drums/tangled mains+fiber
MESSI NEVER DIVES. MESSI NEVER DIVES. MESSI NEVER DIVES. STARDUST IN THEM THERE BOOTS.
Sooo... it's like this. Ever had a dream about Andres Iniesta covered in blood after a particularly nasty clash of heads with recently retired Espanyol legend Ivan De La Pena? Statistically, you probably have. Just variables and that innit. Freduian variables mate. So yeah, I had a dream like that, but it turns out I must be into violent blood caked gay bukkake, coz at the end of the dream Iniesta popped one out all over De La Pena's face... eeeehhhh??? Woke up from that one pretty sharpish, I can tell you.
So all week I reckon I'm probably gay. Which is totally cool. I never liked straig.................................................................................................................................................................................
.............................................. nah, what? Thought I'd lost all them files in the great external hard drive says no comedown of 2010! Serious! There they all are again, all them reissues from 2010 that I had a serious thing for way back last year (remember them days? WHEN PILLS WERE PILLS. WHEN IT WAS A FIVER TO GET INTO ANY CLUB. WHEN WIMPY WAS KING OF THE FUCKING HIGH STREET)... so what better way to prove my total hetero-supremacist street cred than by polishing off this bottle of rose and heading up to the studio to attempt to meld together all that fractured once forgotten synthwave numbers with those wacked out vanguard House pummelers... the two most stridently MACHO genres of them all. Just so you are DEFINITLEY sure that I'm not gonna try and join your military and leave my safety catch off while I eye up Private Wilsons sweet sweet ass, I'm gonna drop some new stuff by Pascal Nichols (Part Wild Horses Mane On Both Sides) and that wild industrio-horror tech thing what Regis did under his own name with that other bloke once.
AND FOR THE SECOND HALF OF THE SHOW? It's only fucking Vickie Charmicarmicat (polymath and that... artist, bringer of pain in DIVORCE, booty mangling WAVEY GRAVES cat) with her insanely handy "Tangled Mains and Fiber" mix... THIS is how you put together a mix, y'all are gonna whisper into your cats ear. Put it this way: She starts off with Delia Derbyshire. She ends up at Ultra Eczema's doorstep, all ragged and bleary, like Behan out of a Belshill bush. That good.
"TANGLED MAINS AND FIBER" Mixed by Vickie Charmicarmicat:
1. Delia Derbyshire - blue veils and golden sands // BBC 2. Bad Boy - shooty // animal fact
3. Doggs - centipede stationary // animal fact
4. Wolf Eyes - ancient delay // subpop
5. Doggs - tongue hole // animal fact
6. Unicorn Hard-on - gold pony // self released
7. The Minty - slipstream 2 channel 9 // animal fact
8. Guam River - map3 // ultra eszcema
9. Unicorn Hard-on - in the fix of the fox // [tanzprocesz]
10. Can't - the sun the sky the world // ultra eszcema
11. Black Vomit - constdecnt // rusty axe
12. Can't - butterfly collector // ultra eszcema
Posted at 22:52, 2nd June 2011
worst chips ever presents hacker farm "poundland"
" “Poundland” is a CD collection of processed Pre-Industrial Music, Milking-Parlour Ambient, Junk-Shop Drone, Farm Punk Concrète and Rural Gabba. Mostly improvised live-to-disk, plus a couple studio-built pieces. Yours for Five Quid (includes postage to any Google-confirmed Earthbound location. Mythical destinations, lost cities, parallel dimensions, etc are extra. Sorry.)
Make-do and mend. Broken music for a Broken Britain."
Rise of the machines. If you can hear this, you are the resistance or summat'.
I'm also gonna be playing a pulsating thrust of stuff but really, if you only listen to half the show, make it the second half. Sorry mate, s'not your scene tonight.
Out to KekW. http://www.kekw.org/
Posted at 21:23, 16th May 2011
"What hope for a country where people will camp out for three days to glimpse the Royal Couple? Where one store clerk refers to another as his 'colleague'? ... God save the Queen and a fascist regime ... a flabby, toothless fascism to be sure. Never go too far in any direction is the basic law on which Limey-Land is built. The Queen stabilizes the whole stinking shithouse and keeps a small elite of wealth and privilege on top ....
The English have gone soft in the outhouse. England is like some stricken beast too stupid to know it is dead. Inglorioulsy foundering in its own waste products, the backlash and bad karma of empre. You see what we owe to Washington and the Valley Forge boys for getting us out from under this den of snobbery and accent, this ladder where everyone stomps discreetly on the hands below them:
"Pardon me, old chap, but you aren't you getting just a bit ahead of yourself in rather an offensive manner?"
... The English thing worked too well and too long. They'll never get all that ballast of unearned privilege up into space. Who wants that dumped in his vicinity? They get out of a spaceship and start looking desperately for inferiors."
- William Burroughs, The Place of Dead Roads
(Except I haven't read that one, so I nicked it off K Punk. Cracking though, eh? Oh what? Fuck off! I've read Junkie, Naked Lunch, Interzone, The Soft Machine and possibly another one... 2005 was a bit much...)
Tonight I'm bringing wild synth fantasies old and new (Harold Grosskopf/Nigga's With Guitars), raging hardon white man outsider metal (White Boy and The Average Rat Band/Bone Awl), murder gawking horror OST fear (Tobe Hooper), a prostate pokingly camp Franco disco funk melange (Arpadys), harrowing documentary folk and phantastical bastard song (Karen Dalton/Alexander Tucker) and a hunk of yum from the Nurse With Wound List ( Pekka Airaksinen/Agiation Free).
And a thrumming piece of vintage Oramics to finish you off. Plastic sheets over all yer sofas.
Posted at 23:39, 5th May 2011
topical royal wedding gag factor
Fucking inbred bunch of humanoid lizard people. That's what they are.
I'm fully aware that in the wider political cosmos one wideo ballbag's utterly cackhanded armchair activist posturing is completely empty.
But I'm fairly familiar with cowardly emptiness, so piss off.
Seriously. State of us. That we cowtow to the likes of them... and those MENTALLY ILL folks who camp out over night in union jack sleeping bags... is that just to get a wee documentary realist take on the disgusting social problems that their beloved Maggie pissed out onto us? They should make them sell Big Issues while they await the unjustified authority of the royal slugfuck?
So yeah, tonight I'm pumping my big radio wedding cake with creamy jets of Topic records. Seriously, I know earnestness and all that is not really in these days, but folk was better when it were like that. Trust.
And there will also be some stuff from Clay Man In The Well, Kode 9 and Spaceape, Russell Haswell, Gunter Shickert and Cosmic Dead.
Posted at 21:25, 28th April 2011
it's a big soundcloud pokey bum wank in absentia.
I can't afford to eat meat at the moment. Not even some coley portions or any of that imitation prawn ring shit. I can't even eat vegetables without risking imprisonment (supermarket self service. No bar codes on onions. That's all I'm sayin').
So I'm back home at my parents place. Mum cooked me fuckin' PRAWNS today. Living the dream, serious.
Anyway I'm getting shit DONE. I'm a million miles away from my skunk dealer and I'm not drinking myself half to death every other night because I'm shit scared I'll end up in one of those horrendous botty clenching conversations about how much I'm totally inspired by, like, your life, Dad... what was it like to see The Pop Group? I FUCKING LOVE YOU.
So yeah, been writing a load of poop and making music. I've even started using Soundcloud recently, summat like 30 years later than every other cunt. Social bloody butterfly me.
I've discovered a fair bit of awesome weird on there too, as well as being able to check out a lot of stuff by folk I already totally spunked over in the first place. So tonight the mix is made up of completely free completely killer stuff by people I "follow" or who have been deluded enough to "follow" me. Yeah, I'm like Mohammed and Jesus and Rio Ferdinand's Twitter feed. Rio pure got merked by Balotelli innit. Amazing.
So I'm bringing some rapturous free psyche from Vampire Blues, gothic isolated wooden hut backwoods jings by Mystery Phil, an outrageously magick reworking of You Got The Love what Universal Swimsuit made, some more Somerset oddball electronics from Kek W (seriously need to do a Somerset special like) and a corkin' remix from Lunar Halo. Plus loads of other stuff that I would be genuinely suspicous of you if you didn't like.
Posted at 21:13, 21st April 2011
you bunch of cynical automotons.
That's what you are, with your bloody vicarious spunk offs wrriten pseudonymously underneath essentially fucking inane pieces of news and comments that we absolutely MUST read. YOU ARE IMPORTANT. Got it.
People that do that really puncture my rim. It's the overbearing micro-climate of NOTHING HAVING ANY MEANING ANY MORE that really fucks me off.
Sidney Lumet was twice the man you'll ever be, punk.
He's also just died, so to add to the grim catalogue of mortality (check out the DEATH SPECIAL I blessed you with the other month) that Worst Chips seems intent on documenting as a wankerish method of making you realize how CULTURED I AM, tonight is about Sidney Lumet.
Well, it's mostly me playing stuff, but I'll make a vague gesture toward including some samples of his films.
The Wiz wasnt THAT bad, anyway.
Posted at 20:41, 14th April 2011
Apologies folks. Turned up at the studio t'other night and some bugger had made off with the Subcity keys without checking them back in again. Fear not though. Sending a homebaked version of the episode off to the I.T orcs as we speak. Yes Cinders, you xanax munching end-of-night-shoe-carrying tear stained mess... YE SHALL GO TO THE BALL.
Posted at 23:54, 11th April 2011
Sound good? Aye, thought so.
After last week's aural abortion of a program, in which your preternaturally sozzled host managed to semi-puke his way through an hour of meticulously planned best-of-the-first-quarter-of-the-year radio sound with all the verbal panache of a sack full of Premier League post game interviews... I have decided to play it oh so fucking safe this week.
Six tracks, one hour. BIG FAT LONG SONGS. Weirdo gurgle spasms and broken glass blips that nudge at the ten minute mark (and then some). Ecstatic synth drone, sound art, free jazz, gutter HxC and total teuton machine worship.
Hope I'm back in your good books or summat.
Posted at 18:04, 7th April 2011
shiny new things
...in which I play a selection of records that are not chronologically schizophrenic in the least. I know the Worst Chips Ever all three of you listeners know and love has built it's continental reputation on a solid foundation of plopping out a pre WW2 primative blues 78' right after a throbbing gob of lo-fi noise scuzz recorded in someones bedroom the night before and available in an edition of 10... but tonight I'm keepinbg this strictly 2011.. OK, that's essentially a massive porky, as I'm gonna be dropping some mythical Brazilian psyche to kick things off in tribute to the great Lula Cortes who sadly popped his clogs recently. And yeah, fair enough, there will be a wee little something from the reissue of The Black Artists Group seminal free jazz opus "In Paris, Aries 1973"... but sandwiched inbetween them it's all stuff from the last three months. I hope...
So you can look forward to that incredible new UK funky banger on Hyperdub from Funkystepz, the latest transmission from the chilly trance-folk universe of Christina Carter, weirdo late night fuzz disco from Maria Minerva, earworm candy pop from Dirty Marquee and Illum Sphere remixing Bjork.
Contemporary as FUCK mate.
Posted at 18:38, 31st March 2011
fuck you lemsip
I'm on some Unlucky Alf shit right here. Swear down.
In the park next door to my house there are feral Rangers fans with taps aff smacking footballs square in the face of students on that hill. Old Swampy is loitering with the sheer intent of talking to you, off on another one of his gargling poppers or eating dog poo sized kernels of hash and banging on about he had all his dub 7 inches stolen by someone at a party and he finally managed to get reunited with his family when some mad bastard taught him how to use the internet and he did the whole Friends Reunited out yer face on cheap Brandy shtick.
Frosty Jacks is getting supped and warm tonic wine is at that stage where its all spicky and weird and calpoly. Some skater just vommed next to that ice cream van where that NEDS style hammer incident happened a few years back. One of those fucking horrendous Glaswegian just stepped outta the Belle and Sebastian LP cover goons is tootering around on one of those lame bicycles (never a BIKE with these twee cunts, eh?) and everyone on the hill secretly wants her to fall off and graze her sickeningly smug face off and go all Mel Gibson in Man Without A Face. Try getting your leg over at a Camera Obscura gig with THAT look loser!
Some weirdo on day release is feeding the ducks. That ALWAYS happens.
Anyway all that bop is happening in the park but I'm indoors in bed and I do not feel well at all.
So I've bunked off the studio stuff tonight and instead produced this mix of odd from old and new stuff I've been digging recently. Including a new one from Falty DL's latest, some archive synth action, NDW spittle subversionists Die Todliche Doris, abusive reaction wind and brass humping from Arnold Dreyblatt and Colin Stenson, total underground brain-out with Acid Birds and more.
Posted at 22:24, 24th March 2011
Manchester. Fuck all to answer for, now you ask, y'nosey cunt.
The Peterloo Massacre. The civic totem of the Chartist and Suffragette movements. The worlds first nuclear free city. Fuck, the worlds first CITY In industrial terms. Cottonopolis. Friedrich Engels Dad's factory was kickin' about, his broke mate Charlie Marx and him came up with a few ideas. It was one of our lot who first imported E into the British Isles too, so sorry about that.
And then there was Acid House and shit. Factory. Which everyone knows about. Joy Division, New Order, all that. Oh aye, the birth of the Football League and the Trades Union Congress happened in the capital of the north too.
This is part one of a personal view of the Mancuniun underground. We have more to offer than testosterone fuelled cock slapping Gallagher tragedy snuff rock. Serious.
Guy Called Gerald. The Stranger. Irma Vep. Big Flame. Tools You Can Trust. Infinite Light. Autechre.
Anthony Burgess too. And Trevor Griffiths set The Comedians here. And our fucking takeaways dont shut at like 1am, like some fruity blah. And we can get alcohold till 2am at Spar and for 24hrs a day at certain supermarkets.
Posted at 06:36, 18th March 2011
an absolute drink sodden mess of friendship parps
I'll level with you.
I was drunk. My mate Sarah txts me at about 3 in the afternoon. I'm flat broke, dole day aint for another week, I'm proper surviving on shoplifting/asking my girlfriend to cook for me/hanging around outside the Noodle Bar in town loitering with intent, hoping my number one cosmic ordering wish will be heeded by the planetary overlords...
... but no folk ever take their eyes off their chop suey in time for me to make off with it. Fair enough. Shit is like 6.50.
Anyhow, Sarah invites me to the bar round the corner from my flat, and she's buying. Between her and another nutter I know (this ones Italian, which makes him even more bonkers) we get absolutely Summerslammed on pink wine. Sarah legged it off somewhere quite unexpectedly, me and Enrico watched the football. Lovely.
The next day I woke up next to a full bottle of wine. I drank that wine. At some point, my mate Tim came over with another bottle of wine. I drank that too. In the studio Earthly Matters were on it. I drank more.
This show is the result of a two day binge. It is, therefore, not for the faint hearted.
It was meant to be about the concept of friendship, but I circumnavigated all that by playing a whole hunk of St Vitus and Heresy and shit.
Don't really remember much from half an hour in.
Go forth. Be brave.
Posted at 23:51, 10th March 2011
noel edmonds vs orbital vs the orb(s) in the mix
WORST CHIPS EVER PRESENTS THE FIRST ANNUAL NOEL EDMONDS HEAVY COSMIC ORDERING JAM SESSION.
(This shit is gonna be MASSIVE in the untapped celestial lifestream)
Noel Edmonds believes that the souls of his dead parents follow him everywhere in the form of two orbs, he has revealed.
The TV presenter claims they are a constant presence by his side and often sit on his shoulders as bouncing balls of light.
The 59-year-old is a follower of the New Age theory of Cosmic Ordering, which involves writing a wish-list and asking the planets to carry it out.
TV presenter Noel Edmonds revealed in a television interview that his deceased parents are 'little bundles of energy about the size of melons' that follow him
Edmonds said: 'Orbs are little bundles of positive energy and they
think they can move between 500 and 1,000 miles per hour.
'They look like little round planets but they come in all shapes and sizes. Conventional photography can't pick them up but digital cameras can.
'My belief is that these are something to do with some form of positive energy I like to think they are my parents.
'I've got loads of photographs of me at home with two orbs that visit me.
'The two that I have are about the size of melons. One sits on my arm and the other is usually in the back of the shot, sitting just over my right shoulder.'
Edmonds's girlfriend Liz Davies, 37, introduced him to Cosmic Ordering after they met two years ago when she worked as a make-up artist on his Channel 4 series Deal or No Deal.
Edmonds's 18-year marriage to second wife Helen Soby - mother of his four daughters - had ended three years earlier.
He claimed he was not an ' evangelist' for his orb theory but admitted: 'I don't pour scorn on any idea either. It's the same with the Cosmic Ordering.
'I've got a few nice little orders in at the moment. I've got one in for a friend who would like to meet the man of her dreams. And another for a couple who had some difficult financial issues recently. I'm confident they will come true.'
Posted at 01:15, 25th February 2011
you sold me queer giraffes
"Reed was famous for his excessive drinking, which fitted in with the "social" attitude of many rugby teams in the 1960s and 1970s, and there are numerous anecdotes such as Reed and 36 friends drinking in an evening, 60 gallons of beer, 32 bottles of Scotch, 17 bottles of gin, four crates of wine, and one bottle of Babycham. He subsequently revised the story, claiming he drank 106 pints of beer on a two-day binge before marrying Josephine; "The event that was reported actually took place during an arm-wrestling competition in Guernsey about 15 years ago, it was highly exaggerated." Steve McQueen told the story that in 1973 he flew to the UK to discuss a film project with Reed and suggested the pair go to a nightclub in London. They ended up on a marathon pub crawl during which Reed vomited on McQueen. Reed's face had been scarred 10 years previously during a 1963 bar fight after which he received 63 stitches and was in danger of having his film career terminated in his 20s.
Reed was often irritated that his appearances on TV chat shows concentrated on his drinking feats rather than his latest film. David Letterman cut to a commercial when it appeared Reed might get violent after being asked too many questions about his drinking. In September 1975, in front of a speechless Johnny Carson, Reed famously had a glass of whiskey poured over his head on-camera by an enraged Shelley Winters on The Tonight Show (Winters had been upset by Reed's seemingly derogatory comments toward women). He was held partly responsible for the demise of BBC1's Sin on Saturday after some typically forthright comments on the subject of lust, the sin featured on the first programme. The show had many other problems and a fellow guest revealed that Reed recognised this when he arrived and virtually had to be dragged in front of the cameras. Near the end of his life, he was brought onto some TV shows specifically for his drinking; for example The Word put bottles of liquor in his dressing room so he could be secretly filmed getting drunk. He was forced to leave the set of the Channel 4 television discussion programme After Dark after arriving drunk and attempting to kiss feminist writer Kate Millett, uttering the memorable phrase, "Give us a kiss, big tits." He was seemingly very drunk on the Michael Aspel chat show, to many highly entertaining, to others a waste of a great acting talent. However, author Cliff Goodwin, in his biography of Reed titled Evil Spirits, offers the theory that Reed was not always as drunk on chat shows as he appeared to be, but rather was acting the part of an uncontrollably sodden former star to liven things up, at the producers' behests.
In December 1987, Reed became seriously ill with kidney problems as a result of his alcoholism and had to abstain from drinking for a year.
In later years, Reed could often be seen quietly drinking with his wife, Josephine Burge, at the bar of the White Horse Hotel in the High Street in Dorking, Surrey, not far from his home in Oakwoodhill. When working in London, he was often found at The Duke of Hamilton pub in Hampstead, an area and pub he often frequented earlier in his career with Peter O'Toole and Richard Burton."
The above has nothing whatsoever to do with tonight's show, but why waste time reading some cack spurts from my brainhole when you could be filling it with trivia like THAT???
No theme tonight, I'll probably just play back to back Limp Bizkit.
Posted at 21:44, 17th February 2011
brain bonking japanese psyche grope.
Come with me, my little chipolatas, on a journey to the other side of the world. That's right children, we are all off to JAPAN!!! Wherein we are all going to drop a shit ton of bonkers street drugs and freak out. Not like 'dem plastic hippy bores at Woodstock though. No siree. In Japan, see, they are SERIOUS about psychedelia.
So serious, in fact, that most Japanese musicians can get high off just looking at their guitars (probably).
This one is a proper indulgence on my part (as if sitting in a nutsack-clinging-to-inner-thigh sweatbox playing weird shit for an hour every Friday morning isnt egotistical enough). An hours worth of uninterrupted far eastern brain buggering cherry picked from my own personal stash. I've drawn together noise, sound art, improv and traditional selections in amongst all that psyche too, so y'all dont lose the plot and try and crawl up your own noses or summat.
Les Rallizes Denudes. Merzbow. Flower Travellin' Band. Up Tight. Shizuka. Speed Glue and Shinki. And Hijokaidan covering Hawkwind. Uh huh.
Posted at 21:33, 10th February 2011
this week, our theme is death.
Everyone keeps dying. It's getting me down.
Rolf Julius is dead. Trish Keenan is dead. Casco is dead. John Barry is dead.
More importantly, Neil Young, one of the most graceful players to ever pull on the sacred sky blue colours of my beloved Manchester City, is also dead.
All these passings are categorical proof that:
A) Nietzsche was right. God is fucking dead. B) There is no fucking God. But I reckon that was what Friedrich was probably getting at.
So... tonight I invite you to shuffle off your mortal coils and join me for an hour of musicking themed around one of lifes only certainties.
Featuring brain dreck sermons from 16 Bitch Pile Up, hopelessly optimistic street corner gospel, doomstep auteurship fro Shackleton, paranoid dub fantasy from Augustus Pablo, industrialized nightmare clatter from Lemon Kittens, Thai pop exotica based around the death of an entire city, French underground electronic garishness and loads of other stuff to slit yer wrists to.
Posted at 01:28, 4th February 2011
the dystopian lesbian space nightclub of my dreams
So. When I was ill the other week, I had the strangest dream. I was hanging out with the Colonial fleet, Battlestar Galactica style, in what I can only describe as a cool as nuts lounge bar populated entirely by lesbians, all tooled up with massive rail guns and rocking cool Terminator shades and stuff.
They were going completely bonkers to the music, grooving like hip cats did to Bird back in the day, but with a compellingly violent air about them, ready to blast some Cylon ass all the way back to the other end of the galaxy if need be.
I couldnt make out what the music was like, mainly because in the dream, as in life, I was precariously drunk, teetering on the edge of vomiting thanks largely to a sweet tasting purple liquid that I was being fed by Claire Balding, who was behind the bar for some reason.
Anyway, it was totally awesome so I thought I'd attempt to recreate a little of that dytopian sci-fi atmosphere on this weeks show. Minimal talking, more noise. It's a mixture of combined futurist lo-fi psyche and dreamlike tape visions, free folk freak out rituals, harrowing blasts of throat singing and mangled hurdy gurdy, poised Italian sound art and even a dollop of UK bass.
Frack 'em up sisters.
Posted at 19:30, 27th January 2011
a plague upon ye'!!!
It's the first Worst Chips Ever of the new year. Back to the fucking grind. We're all in this together! THE BIG SOCIETY, aye? Bollocks. I'm on JSA and I've been chained to a bloody toilet all day vomiting out whats left of my dignity. It's just the flu. Not that I've been to a doctor. I'm a Northern MAN, dammit. I dont have need for such quackery. Probably just read you some guff out of a book and fill you full of them antibiotics what mean you cant go down the pub. No ta. I'll see this one out with the spirit of my forefathers...and while I cant necessarily compare the sacrifice of two generations of British war dead to a tit with the flu, I reckon my struggle is, in its own way, just as trying.
Anyway, not in the studio in person tonight, but the show goes out live none the less thanks to the combined efforts of The Awkward Sons of Patrick Stewart and Earthly Matters, who have ensured I dont miss yet another show by sorting stuff out studio-side. Big up.
Due to me only being able to look at a computer screen for around five minutes at a time before everything goes all Anime and my brain falls through my nose, tonights show is a re-run of a mixtape I made for the short lived blog that Worst Chips Ever arose from. I only did a handful of these mixtapes but this was by far the most well received. It focuses on vocal manipulations, acapella, improvised sound poetry and non musical field recordings. Lots of garbled vowells and militant toasting, street corner proto hip hop enunciations, invocations of a parallel mystical Albion and much more. Anne Briggs, Henri Chopin, Blood Stereo, traditional vocal workouts from Burundi, sacred harp singing, gospel choirs, work songs and field hollers.
Posted at 02:55, 14th January 2011
worst chips ever mega mega xmas special!!!
Ding dong merrily etc etc etc!
I AM ALIVE!!! ALIVE!!! Just. And I’m about as well adjusted as a gentleman who has recently survived a horrendous snow laden fifteen hour journey from one end of the country to another (ATP, babes) with only one half of Subcity’s very own Awkward Sons of Patrick Stewart for company to be greeted upon returning to his homestead by a DEAD laptop can be.
So chums, a recent plethora of bad weather and bad luck has meant that I have been on hiatus. Apologies.
In a shameless bid to smarm my way into back onto your Xmas card list I have put together two shows recorded live (kind of) in the welcoming environs of my girlfriends flat (I cant afford heating at the minute) to tide you Chips junkies – all 4 of you - over til the new year. It’s an MP3 download type jobby due to me not wanting to anger the good folks at the Subcity I.T department by asking them to upload yet another episode. Thin ice and all that.
OVER THREE HOURS OF UNADULTERATED EAR SYRUP! AND ONLY ONE SONG ABOUT FUCKING CHRISTMAS!!! For Don Van Vliet, whose death upset me so much that I nearly burned down my kitchen in a blubby alcohol sodden mess on Saturday morning when the news came through. Also for my flatmate Kenny, who quite possibly saved all our lives by turning off the hob. This ones for you.
WORST CHIPS EVER XMAS BLOWOUT PART 1: CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN:
Captain Beefheart and The Magic Band – Pena (Straight)
Negativland – A Nice Place To Live (Seeland)
Shackleton – It’s Time For Love (Perlon)
Captain Beefheart – Ashtray Heart (V****n)
C.C.C.C – Reticular Formation (Endorphine Factory)
Nam June Paik – Hommage a John Cage (Sub Rosa)
Eddie Gale – Fulton Street (Blue Note)
Birds Of Delay – Beheading The Shrew (Troniks)
Captain Beefheart – Japan In A Dishpan (Straight)
The Kids – Bloody Belgium (Philips)
Vainquer – Lyot (Maurizio mix) (Maurizio)
Levenshulme Bicycle Orchestra – Bandage Eyes (Concrete Moniker)
Captain Beefheart – Big Eyed Beans From Venus (Reprise)
Demdike Stare – Haxan Dub (Modern Love)
Black Ox Orkestar – Violin Duet (Constellation)
Vindicatrix – Rubbing Pages Out (Mordant Music)
Captain Beefheart – 81 Poop Hatch (V****n)
Walsh – DTF (Curiosities)
Alastair Galbraith – Fall (Table Of The Elements)
Zs – Masonry (The Social Registry)
Captain Beefheart – Zig Zag Wanderer (Buddah)
Irma Vep – Desert Creepers 1 (Icecapades)
Woebot – Diudate (Woebot)
Daniel Higgs – Moeharsing and Schoenhut (Thrill Jockey)
Captain Beefheart – Mirror Man (live) (Movieplay Gold)
WORST CHIPS EVER XMAS BLOWOUT PART 2 (Being a selection of musical oddities and ends mostly comprised of tracks baring no relation to each whatsoever…the theme is that there IS NO THEME!!!):
Acid Eater – LSD (Time Bomb)
Television Personalities – Bright Sunny Smiles (Illuminated)
Blood Stereo – Tapes (Chocolate Monk)
Mount Kimbie – Blind Night Errand (Hot Flush)
Arthur Doyle – African Express (Ecstatic Peace)
Godz – Eleven (ESP)
Rangers – Golden Triangles (Olde English Spelling Bee)
AMM – Ailuntus Glandulosa (Reccomended)
Current – Monument (Council)
Birchville Cat Motel – Lux (Drunken Fish)
Swell Maps – Cake Shop Girl (Secretly Canadian)
Alva Noto – Stalker (For Andrei Tarkovsky) (Raster Noton)
A Broken Consort – Weight of Days (Sustain Release)
Flies Inside The Sun – Mothers Kiss (Kranky)
DJ Screw – Seven Years (mixtape)
Ex Cocaine – Klondike (Killertree)
John Martyn – Outside In (Island)
Brian Lewis Saunders and Z’ev – Philosophy of the Anti Hole and Hole(Outfall Channel)
Blake Baxter – Ghost (Tresor)
Carlos Giffoni – Unopened Bottle(No Fun)
Wet Hair - Cult Electric Annihilation (Not Not Fun)
Half Man Half Biscuit – Its Clichéd To Be Cynical At Christmas (Probe Plus)
Posted at 09:54, 20th December 2010
This week Worst Chips Ever is all about the sub-underground sound of New Sheffield... except no one is really calling it that, apart from Keenan but...you get the point.
Singing Knives is one of the most consistently killer labels in the UK, blurting out releases from a raft of post-free folk improvisers and ethno-skronking badasses including Harappian Night Recordings, Part Wild Horses Mane On Both Sides, Chora, Serfs, Dylan Nyoukis, Stephanie Hladowski and many more.
This episode Im gonna be playing tracks from the labels recent compilation "Thoughts From Screeching Lake" alongside some new tunes from The Hunter Gracchus as well as an edited version of one of the new Nyoukis blurps from the imminent re-release of the deliciously bonkers "Carrion Hut" LP, previously available only as part of an incorporated extra found accompanying the initial run of releases of "Inside Wino Lodge".
Other than this medley of guaranteed chart smashers, this show will be opening and closing with two tracks that bare the mark of Sleazy Pete Christopherson, sadly departed from our midst in his sleep just last night. This show is dedicated to him. Not that he would have given much of a fuck for such sentimentality.
A coule of treats from my two favorite electronic releases of the year so far get a run out tonight also. Step forward Raime and D.D Denham.
Elsewhere there is some neon long-lost-Miami Vice-action-sequence soundtrack fun from Daniel Lapotin's Games project, the fractured beauty of Hasil Adkins, some astounding free form vocalising from Sonny and Linda Sharrock and an unreconstructed blast of guitar battery from Richard Youngs recent Volcanic Tongue belter.
Wrap yer ears round it young team!
UPDATE: Due to my shitty freeware playing up there is some dead air doing the rounds this episode. Consequently, I had to cut short my Singing Knives special by a few tracks. To hear the full version, download THIS ----------> http://www.mediafire.com/?cz4amqgy3ke42m7
Posted at 22:04, 25th November 2010
FINALLY. Worst Chips Ever somewhat sheepishly presents a third episode. Mangled esoteric technophilia from Astral Social Club and The Village Orchestra. Some irresistible west African calypso, cult Japanese psyche and immersive dub happenin' too, amongst the rest of the sonic blather on offer from Dirty Beaches and Henry Flynt.
Far more importantly, this week is an Entr'acte Records showcase. Allon Kaye's London based avant electronics imprint is home to numerous digitial dilettantes including EVOL, Legowelt, eriKm and a host of others, serving up constantly challenging releases as aesthetically conceptualized as they are formally vibrant.
DECENT SPEAKERS AND LOUD VOLUME WILL HEIGHTEN AND INTENSIFY YOUR RESPONSES TO THE MUSIC OF:
Tomas Korber & Ralf Wehowsky / hamaYôko / EVOL / Lee Gamble / Helena Gough / Michael J Schumacher.
For more information on Entr'acte's unique approach to packaging and graphic design, as well as an interview with Mr Kaye himself, check out Derek Walmsley's profile from last months issue of The Wire here:
And of course, http://www.entracte.co.uk for further information regarding artists, releases and projects both past and present from this cracking wee label.
Posted at 20:36, 25th November 2010
How in the name of Anton Lavey's nutsack I have managed to compile a selection of tracks that are evocative (in their own skewed or tangential way) of the fella downstairs with the cloven hooves and the dope as fuck horns without including The Misfits... one of my ALL TIME favorite bands no less... is quite beyond me. But I have.
I also managed to siphon off some seriously worthy tunes by the likes of Shackleton, Vodka Soap, Kams, Ludo Milch, The New Blockaders and a slew of others...
ANYWAY. I have but an hour to felch your earholes and here lies the last playlist and testament. Killer Juke moves, seminal UK underground proto-free Folk, bedroom bound and long time banned electronics, back from the dead Free Jazz, pyschedelic excorcism worthy soul and militant dub with a slash of Drag and a splatter of Black Metal.
Go on. I dare ya'.
Posted at 23:08, 29th October 2010
worst chips ever # 1: god, heaven and kim jong il
The Big Man. Him Upstairs. Lifes Landlord. Allahnis Morrissette. Jah. Old Beardy Balls.
Lets be honest: your probably not down with God, are you? I mean, if we are to believe the capo-regime of the Catholic church (and why the hell wouldnt we?), our sceptered Isle is knee deep in a souless quagmire of "atheistic extremism" and "aggressive secularism".
Furthermore, if we dont all excercise absolute, rigid spirtual observance (and sharpish) we are all DOOMED to spend an eternity tootling on the Devils trombone along with the rest of the proto-Nazis in HELL.
In an admittedly brave and undoubtedly valiant effort on my part, I have decided to take up the Lords AK-47 and smoke some heathen ass with a Vatican approved play list that takes in pioneering turntablist sound art, work songs and field hollers, transcendent Detroit tech, depraved overlooked US HxC, apocolyptic high camp goth-folk, Buddhist cremation music and a staggeringly terrifying collage of hagiography dedicated to North Koreas very own demigod.
Worst Chips Ever: Jammin with the Lord since 2010.
Posted at 17:26, 20th October 2010