Author: Record Editors

In the dead of night, deep in the forest; in the shadiest of groves, the neglected, lost souls of this earth gather and cause a mighty din. And not in an A.A. meeting kind of way. This is sheer debauchery, a feast of sin even. It is urgent and sensual, incomprehensibly dark and devilishly alluring. Like swimming through the folds of the velvet blanket of night, and drowning, and sinking into it, endlessly…… And then waking up inside of a jack-o-lantern. Awful, demonic creatures are dancing around you in circles and laughing beautifully. Everything seems fluid and starts to blur, and you find yourself lost but comfortable, and the shadows creep over your mind like a coma. And then you wake up again, alone in the rain. The wind is blowing and the leaves are falling and you are staring at the face of eternity. It looks kind of like movement stuck inside of an aging polaroid photograph and…. then it’s gone. That’s it, party’s over. The way the details of a dream slip away from you as you watch the sun drift up over the horizon, it just goes away.

There’s this Mogwai song that says that if stars had sounds then they would sound like Mogwai. Eh. I’m going to disagree and say that I think that if stars had sounds then they would sound like Boards Of Canada. Really though, it sounds like stars; stars exploding, or stars making love, you know, all that general kind of star stuff that stars do. I had a vision one time when I was tripping that in the future I would mate with a very tall, purple alien woman who could float. I mean, you know, it probably wasn’t a woman at all, I mean it was an alien and all that. But you get the idea. Anyways, I love Boards Of Canada. Although the music is almost exclusively digital, there is something about it that is more organic than dirt. Vibrating, breathing, neon tinged dirt. All over you. It sizzles and glitches like a robit in an acid bath as it interfaces with the hardware of your soul, and it will teach you the songs of the stars. Two thumbs up.

Time-Tested Quality Blends

Some strange pastoral romance, written in blood and scattered about the plains for the wind to find. The wind found it, and recited it to the hills, and sang it to the sky, and screamed it across the deserts. And someone just happened to be there with a recording studio. It’s like magic and shit! The music on this album conjures the feeling of a train swaggering across some green, vast expanse. These are songs of love, transfiguration, and departure. Think Joni Mitchell worshiping Baphomet for roughly ten years and smoking just enough punk rock to get really dirty in it. Really an absolutely remarkable album. Straight-forward enough to be widely accessible and crafted with enough innovation and skill to please even the most pretentious of ear drums, I feel like I see most people enjoying this recording. I’d also like to use this space to plug White Magic’s forthcoming first ever full length release, “Dat Rosa Mel Apibus�, available November 14th. Don’t worry, you folks at Drag City can just send me a check later.

Wood Pipes:
It’s raining candy in the jungle, and all the tigers are turning neon colors like fruit stripe gum. But, really though, who the shit is this crazy fucking Japanese woman and why does she keep screaming?! Is it Lisa Frank? Does she have any opium? No silly, it’s just Yoshimi P-We from the Boredoms. And as to what the shit she is screaming about, I have no idea, I think it’s Japanese. But regardless of what language it is it’s wild and I think that I like it a lot. I feel like Hansel and Gretel at the same time on some crrrraazzzy rainforest spaceship made out of candy. Is Yoshimi some kind of wicked witch or something? Maybe, but whatever, this spaceship tastes hell of good. So where are we going, anyway? Well, to the funky rainbow colored dancehall built on clouds and reggae. Duh……..

Ivan:
This ceedee attracted my attention immediately given the fact that it began with an actual staccato of drum beats; this almost caused me to actually move somewhat on my seat. Quickly, however, came the horribly sad whining high pitch voice of a young woman. This complaint, though short, was immediately overwhelmed by two to four lines of response by strong low voiced women.

Another portion began with the unmistakable sounds of a galloping horse, followed to the best of my imagination by those of a screeching frog. Then some clear rhythms managed to catch my attention, basically the line sounded DA DA DEE DEE, DA DA DEE DEE, DADADEESEE, DADADEEDEE…The rapid succession of rhythmic sounds eventually compressed and produced in me a feeling of confinement and resentment. I was expecting the DA DA DEE DEE, to become as expected DA DA DA, DEE, DEE, DEE…DADEE, DADADA…But this expectation was for nought. This cede did certainly make an effort to communicate something important to its audience, unfortunately I could not begin to understand what that might have been.

Having thought a few minutes since this last sentence I do come to the conclusion that such a ceede’s raison d’etre might indeed be to demonstrate to educated and long-lived listeners that they are clearly unable to cope with evolution in the musical world. I, however, intend to expose myself further to such art in order to determine exactly what these shiny round objects intend to do to our civilization.

“Bring me some cereal”
– Wood Pipes