The question of what the quality, creepy moon-rock of Creepoid has in common with the slashed-speaker Siouxie-suicide of Psychic Teens is the immediate question of the day.
Our easy answer would be their shared headquarters of Philadelphia, the beautiful and beaming “City of Brotherly Love,” its very name an echo of the people-power of Greece, philos (“loving”) and adelphos(“brother”), sitting side-by-side.
And as we come to praise both Creepoid and Psychic Teens in that spirit of brotherly love, we reflect on the words of the now seriously dead Philadelphian Ben Franklin, who declared, “Mankind naturally and generally love to be flatter’d.”
However, a more contemporary figure of the American Enlightenment, less charitably but more directly addressed Philadelphia this way: “You fucking one bridge-having piece of shit city that no one gives a fuck about.”
We hear more than a bit of that duality, the bite and fight of reaching out for brotherly love in both Psychic Teens and Creepoid, and we’re flatter’d that they share those sounds with us all.
Falling in love with the music of Psychic Teens is some feat, given the vicious piledriver the soul-grating shoe-gazers give to the the loving heart on their debut, “Teen.” Like the tribute their fair city paid to their Greek forefathers, the Psychic Teens have no qualms with saluting the works that precede them, wielding their mutated sonic sword of volume in defense of the loveless and the damaged, with the raw power of Dr. Henry Philip “Hank” McCoy.
It’s a telepathic defense mostly, befitting the their paranormal name, while concisely capturing that desperately teenage condition of damaged love.
“From the darkest corners of this godless world, we will rise,” goes the prayer of the Psychic Teens on “Kira,” only a song after posing the ominous question, “Do we share the same disease?” on the album opener.
Both songs set the stage for the blue-hued blueprint of the Teens’ sound: bass and drum as anchor, guitar as a healing, hair-raising bone-saw. If the shared disease is damaged love, then that disease has reached terminal state by the time the listener reaches the album-closing, head-snapping doom-gaze of “Rose.”
“Time has healed nothing, I’m empty inside … Time is not by my side,” goes the refrain, the perfect, coffin-rocking end of the first flight by these adult teenagers from Philly, by way of Mars (and they don’t care).
But Psychic Teens must care, or they wouldn’t have been able to make an album as fine as “Teen.” Through our own psychic-optics, we hear “Teen” as a more universal funeral, a cosmic casket of sound.
Damaged love neither begins nor ends with the teenage years, the word “teenage” itself only recently created (cosmically speaking, of course) to capture and categorize that turbulent timeframe when the folds in our brain shift and mutate, producing these new, crooked emotions – perhaps even the damaged love of Psychic Teens. We eagerly await what springs from the next fold that growing in their explosive psychic brain – perhaps even the Easter-like resurrection of philos.
Given their name, there’s a pleasantly peculiar amount of philos in the sound of the Creepoid with the atom brain, a collection of fellow Philadelphians, whose wild, wondrous sonic sculpture honors the spirit of a different kind of Easter, a differenthero‘s battle.
“Horse Heaven” as an album – and Creepoid as a live band – is time-tested without being aged. We’d dare to even reach a step closer toward grandeur and pomposity and declare their sound – as heard among an astonishing orbit of crawling, crooning punk-folk-psych-rock hooks and highlights throughout repeated rides in the saddle of “Horse Heaven” – as that of a celestial stallion, reflective and regretful of being halter-broke.
We would, but that would be creepy.
Which reflects one of the great pleasures of the Creepoid sound: It’s as beautiful, as measured and as musically mature as it is creepy. They are a mutation – they are Creepoid.
Maybe Creepoid embody that sentiment of philos, in the way those ancient Greeks meant it when they rocked out with their kouloukaria out: as a uniting desire, a natural enjoyment of friends and activities.
Not that “Horse Heaven” is any less of a love-in-a-void experience because of it. The crooked emotions are still out in full force, as they always are, teen or not, from Philly or Mars. It’s just that Creepoid seem creepily adept at “driving straight down a crooked road,” as harmonized on “Stranger” – a tiny masterpiece of a song with an off-kilter drive and decency that reminds our ears and hearts of still another hero of the American Enlightenment, and still another kind of love. Never mind the “Spirit of ’76” – this is the Creepoid spirit.
It’s a groovy, ghoul-ey kind of love that fuels the cosmic Creepoid call we hear in our brain. It’s time-tested – an eternal trip down a crooked road lined with those crooked emotions, full of fears and giant beers, but we wouldn’t want it any other way – which is great, because love – especially the psychedelic, philodemic love of a Creepoid – isn’t offered any other way.
“The Faith you mention has doubtless its use in the World. I do not desire to see it diminished, nor would I endeavour to lessen it in any Man. But I wish it were more productive of good Works, than I have generally seen it: I mean real good Works, Works of Kindness, Charity, Mercy, and Publick Spirit; not Holiday-keeping, Sermon-Reading or Hearing; performing Church Ceremonies, or making long Prayers, filled with Flatteries and Compliments, despis’d even by wise Men, and much less capable of pleasing the Deity. The worship of God is a Duty; the hearing and reading of Sermons may be useful; but, if Men rest in Hearing and Praying, as too many do, it is as if a Tree should Value itself on being water’d and putting forth Leaves, tho’ it never produc’d any Fruit.” – Benjamin “Bad Brains” Franklin, Letter to Joseph Huey (6 June 1753); published in Albert Henry Smyth, The Writings of Benjamin Franklin, volume 3, p. 145.
“People that can eat people are the luckiest people of all,” wrote our dearly departed pal Mr. Vonnegut in his late-period novel, “Hocus-Pocus” – though it’s important to note that Mr. Vonnegut died long before the formation of Yorba Linda, California’s Feeding People.
Had he lived long enough to listen to Feeding People’s debut cassette entitled “Peace, Victory and The Devil” (from the always appetizing Burger Records), certainly Vonnegut would have been singing a different tune. Yet you needn’t be a pioneering, science-fiction-humanist author to eagerly digest Feeding People. On “Peace, Victory and The Devil,” we find the band gambling with garage rock that resists the forces of gravity, their sound expanding quickly toward the outer limits of space, all wrapped around a volcanic vocal core that sounds alternately scared and centered. It’s an amazing ride, appropriately peaceful in patches, devilish in the details and ultimately victorious over both boredom and the expected.
Feeding People’s full-length debut will appear on Innovative Leisure, but not before singing for their supper at Austin Psych Fest 2012, and sometime after guitarist Louis Filliger, vocalist Jessie Jones and drummer Mike Reinhart were kind enough to make a meal out of our ridiculous interview questions. Enjoy.
Grace Slick famously used the words “Feed your head” in the song “White Rabbit,” taking her imagery but not her dialogue from Lewis Carroll’s “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.” What – if anything – do those words mean to you? In what regard – if any – does your band name refer to a hunger for knowledge, or for the impossibly broad category of mind expansion? Or are you just hungry – like, can I make you a sandwich?
Louis (guitar): I just imagine Grace Slick eating mushrooms in the cover of darkness. As far as the band name goes, Jessie (singer) named the band before it was a band. As of late, though, the name has been taking on some of the things you have mentioned above. I think band names take on a life of their own; when you think of KISS, you don’t think of a kiss – you think of a bunch of sweaty dudes that get laid. I never thought of our band name as a hunger for knowledge, or that we were feeding people some slick-licks, but more so that we are people that FEED. We might change the band name to Fiending People. All jokes aside, Jessie is an amazing cook, strangely enough … funny side note: yesterday, some body builder confronted us outside of a convenience store and said his motorcycle had just been impounded and that he was dying for a sandwich, and that he was about to eat the bark off of a tree. We fed him.
Jessie (vocals): Feed your head, like food for thought … and yeah, what Louis said!
Mike (drums): She’s telling us to do lots of drugs and forget everything we were ever taught about our current reality. In regard to our band name, part of me thinks of hunger for knowledge and mind expansion, and another part of me sees a little fat kid getting sausages rammed down his throat … or, I don’t really have an opinion.
Do any members of Feeding People come from a distinctly musical background – parents, siblings playing or recording music? Who are the people in your life that you credit with helping your interest in music blossom? Can you point to one specific band or album as being representative of assisting your musical perspective in expanding beyond what might be considered “the norm”?
Jessie: If music were to come from anyone, it’s probably my dads’ fault that I play music. He gave me my first guitar and lesson when I was little. Often, Louis will tell me I have a strange accent – my mother is from Minnesota, so don’t you know it’s got to be her influence on the way I sing. I thank both of my parents for supporting my interest in music. The earliest inspiration towards my affinity for weird music goes to every Disney movie that still haunts me!
Louis: Musicianship runs in my family, but I would never consider myself a musician. My mom has supported all of my musical endeavors – love you, mom. I remember exactly when my “musical perspective” of rock music was irreversibly changed!! It had to have been when I heard Syd Barrett’s “The Madcap Laughs” for the first time. It totally put me in a daze and I immediately began searching for albums that had the same effect on my brain.
Mike: First and only in my family. Michael Jackson, Kenny Rogers, Tony Danza, Billy Zane, Mark Wahlberg, Warwick Davis.
Was there anything as straightforward as a goal or a central idea around which Feeding People formed? Or was it a more organic, perhaps accidental process? Did any of the members play in other bands together prior to this one? How do you think being in Feeding People – even for a relatively short period of time – has altered your everyday sensibilities? What has been the most surprising thing about the Feeding People experience thus far?
Jessie: Everything as far as I am concerned has been a surprise. I leave everything to fate, and this whole band is proof!
Louis: Feeding People as a full band formed as a fluke. I would consider it a total accident. Prior to Feeding People, Mike (drummer) and I were in a band called Bronco Tatonka and we played music for over 6 years together, so I think it helped when we both switched over to playing in another band. The Feeding People experience?? Haha … I don’t know. It has been a really fun time for us. The most surprising thing is just all the amazing people we get to associate with. Free the Robots (Chris Alfaro) played on our last album. We just recorded at Johnny Bell’s studio (Crystal Antlers) and that was a total dream come true, and now we come to find out Bobby Harlow is mixing our album – it’s a total trip.
Mike: Pretty much random. I’ve done bands with Louis in the past, Bronco Tatonka and Tablefruit. One night, I was at an open mic in a cabin in the woods and I saw Jessie singing, and I instantly was star struck. I wanted to get her out in front of a full band. Not knowing how to play the drums at the time, I offered to fill in for a show I got them on Bronco Tatonka’s tour thru Reno, Nevada. It was the worst show we ever played, but I knew this shit was really real. When we got home, we put Louis on bass and became a full band. It’s been about a year and a half now.
What does the title of your debut cassette release from Burger Records – “Peace, Victory and The Devil” – represent to you? What was the single strangest misconception that was relayed to you about Feeding People once the cassette was released? How – if at all – do you think the band has changed since the recording of “Peace, Victory and The Devil”?
Jessie: Being so involved with Jesus as a child aroused my curiosity for the Devil. We never talked about the title of the album. I woke up one day and that’s what it was. Seeing that everything has either been a twist of fate or divine intervention, I wonder who is really watching over me.
Louis: I cannot, for the life of me, remember how we made up that name. Something to do with the fact there are more sightings of the Devil than of God. The most annoying misconception was that all we did was drop acid and put mushrooms on our pizza for lunch every day. We are just music nerds – dudes next door. The band has changed a few members since our tape was released. I originally played the bass, but I’ve replaced the original guitarist and Max Riech, our keyboardist Jane’s brother , has taken over on bass and he is way better than me. It is a little different sound, but if we didn’t think it sounded better we would have just stopped. We aren’t tools … yet.
Mike: The name insinuates that you gotta crack a couple eggs to make an omelet, one man has to burn for another man’s victory, you throw a bowl of fruit at a silverback’s forehead and the damn thing’s gunna go ape shit, you step on my toe, I break your foot, you slap my face, I’ll kick your head off … all in all, it’s about finding peace and serenity through Satanism or no beliefs at all.
What can you tell us about the origin of the almost unbearably awesome song, “Night Owl”? Not that it hampers our enjoyment, but we only make bits and pieces of the lyrics – can we so blunt as to ask what the song is about? In Roman times, the hoot of an owl was said to be the sound that preceded imminent death. To an Apache Indian, dreaming of an owl signified approaching death, while in the Americas, the owl is commonly associated with wisdom and knowing how to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. What does it mean to you? (NOTE: In interest of full disclosure, we asked the exact same question of the band Weird Owl.) Did Nanna ever get her clock fixed?
Jessie: It all happened when I was searching for answers on the sidewalk. I was staring at the sky, and the words poured out from the Milky Way! I believe nature reiterates itself with and beyond language. Sometimes it speaks through people, and sometimes it writes songs called “Night Owl.” I was unaware of any mythical connections and strange legends surrounding owls before I wrote this song! So after reading about owls being messengers of death, wisdom, and aliens, I feel that I have been guided by voices. And the song took on a new meaning. It’s a mystery, even to me!
Louis: Owls supposedly portend alien abductions! We all get our clocks fixed, eventually.
Mike: No comment … I just like the song.
What music have you been listening to lately? If push comes to shove, what’s your favorite Black Sabbath song of all time and why?
Jessie: Alright, I have been obsessing over Broadcast and anything Trish Keenan put her surreal, velvety voice over. Also, Crystal Antlers and anything Burger Records has released! My favorite Black Sabbath song of all time is “Planet Caravan”! I walked like a mad psycho up and down the streets to this song for a couple of hours when I first heard it.
Louis: As of late, I’ve been listening to a lot of incredible string bands, which apparently annoys the shit out of most people, a lot of Camper Van Beethoven, C.A. Quintet, Jaill, Conspiracy of Owls, Crystal Antlers and all my Burger tapes … Infinity People out on Burger Records – literally out of this world, really. Favorite Black Sabbath song has to be “Electric Funeral.”
Mike: Black Sabbath Rules Hard.
Would you care to comment on the rumor (the rumor that we are attempting to start right now) that your full-length debut for Innovative Leisure will include only cover sings relating to people feeding? Tentative song list includes “Eat the Rich” by Motorhead, “”Feed Me (Git It)” from the soundtrack to “Little Shop of Horrors” and “Hungry Heart” by Bruce Springsteen.
Jessie: Holy Hell!! Yes to all of the above (and below …).
Louis: That is absolutely true. We will also be covering the Fun song, “We Are Young,” and Beck’s “Mother Fucker.” “(A Dash of) Pumperknickle” by Barney, as well.
Mike: I’m lost … ?
How did you first hear of Austin Psych Fest? Are there any bands in particular that you are excited to try and see while in Texas?
Louis: I don’t remember when I first heard of the Austin Psych Fest. I heard The Golden Dawn is playing and that is just nutty. I also enjoy Brian Jonestown Massacre. MMOSS should be amazing to see, as well. Just saw Quilt at SXSW and they are way above the curve.
Jessie: My friend, Brian, was talking about the festival being a sensation last year. It sounded right down my alley, but I never thought I’d be going, let alone playing!! I am excited to see The Golden Dawn, Brian Jonestown Massacre, MMOSS, Quilt, The Meat Puppets and The Cosmonauts. Their drummer, Jen, is out of this world!!
Mike: … ?? …
Napoleon Hill – author of perhaps the world’s most popular “self-help” book, “Think and Grow Rich,” and a giant fan of Black Flag –said the following:
“We begin to see, therefore, the importance of selecting our environment with the greatest of care, because environment is the mental feeding ground out of which the food that goes into our minds is extracted.”
Your thoughts?
Jessie: Yes, yes, yes – I really relate to that. I believe everything is a reflection of our own perspective. Egos need constant stimulation and knowledge to grow from our collective consciousness as human beings. If you don’t feed your body and mind the right substances, you will be left with a deprived soul.
Louis: I was pondering this same concept about a year ago. I was getting depressed because of what I saw and how I thought it correlated with my mental capacity. If you see a shitty suburban landscape, it is because that is all you are capable of understanding mentally. So I thought I was stuck in some suburban state of mind and that got me thinking that reality was roughly fifty-percent of what you see and fifty-percent unconscious and subconscious mind, which cannot be understood or explained or even described, a void that encompasses the whole which cannot be if it isn’t. I also think we dump other realities into other parts of the world via wars and pollution. American hypocrisies are cleaned up here, put into bombs and other energy sources and dropped onto foreign countries. I think thoughts take up physical space and have to be physically dumped into other places. Our country has run out of room for mental bullshit and we ship our mental bullshit oversees. Too many people, too many thoughts, more wars. I guess we live everywhere at once. Cosmic consciousness. I’m a burn out 🙂 Feeding people our mess. Wonder what poor soul this subconscious pollution will land on. Hopefully it will hit the desert or be shot out into space.
What’s next for Feeding People?
Jessie: WE ARE GOING TO THE MOON!!!
Louis: WOODSTOCK ‘94, an endorsement for Sketcher’s, and an all-expense-paid trip to Electric Wheelchairland.
There’s an altogether dichotomous pleasure to The Meek – the band from L.A. that has captured our attention and interest to such an extent that they were one of the very first bands interviewed on this site, while being absolutely the first band we insisted upon interviewing twice and, now, unquestionably the first band to be interviewed three times for Revolt of the Apes.
The dichotomy finds its point of origin in the band’s name, the moniker given to what is (in our view) a group featuring some of the brightest people in the world, creating some of the darkest music in the world. That dichotomy extends to the band playing some of our favorite music in the world, while regularly releasing almost none of it, and also extends to their great force as a live band, while regularly playing live almost never.
We could go on about our admiration for The Meek, but we’ll hope that admiration is conveyed appropriately through this, the third set of our ridiculous questions graciously answered by Ame Lee, in advance of the band’s long-awaited return to the stage at Austin Psych Fest 2012. Step into the yin of The Meek – they’ve go the yang that we’re looking for. Enjoy.
When Revolt of the Apes last had the pleasure of interviewing you, you were preparing for The Meek’s trip to and performance at Austin Psych Fest 2011. We still have very strong memories surrounding the massive sound produced by The Meek that night – but what are your strongest memories regarding your second Texas appearance? Do you think it will become a tradition for The Meek to lead the audience into the dark, dark night, as the final performer on the second night of Austin Psych Fest, for the foreseeable future? Would there be a difference if The Meek were to perform in the sunny mid-afternoon (aside from the very real possibility of not being awake)? Were there any performances in particular that made an impression on you?
I believe we are going to break the tradition this year and play an earlier slot. We are not sunny afternoon music. I think I would insist on darkness, though we could wear shades. Psych Fest 4 … I liked the industrial space of the Power Plant and how the sound carried as you walked around the complex. Roky Erikson and Spectrum were the highlights.
Outside of your trip to Austin, what live performances have The Meek engaged in over the past year? Do you feel that you are playing live as a band more or less frequently as of late, and why?
We took a break, so to speak, since last summer to focus on work and health.
On a related note, what bands did you see perform over the past year that left a favorable impression on you? What band was the biggest surprise, or perhaps which artist most notably exceeded your expectations? What was it about that performance that captured your attention?
The Cure playing their first three albums at The Pantages. I like this trend of bands playing records in their entirety. I enjoy the concept instead of a band on shuffle; it is a refined concert experience for me. I look forward to Spiritualized.
We join a legion of black-t-shirt-wearing misfits around the globe in our excitement over the new seven-inch from The Meek, entitled “Grave.” What can you tell us about the origin of these two songs? What does it mean to you to spend a life digging out of a grave? The harmony vocal on the chorus sounds very, very familiar, but we can’t place it. Is it Geddy Lee?
The back-up vocal on “Grave” is Alex Maas (of The Black Angels) and Henrik Bjornsson (Singapore Sling) recorded the songs. Christian Bland (The Black Angels) and Gregg Foreman (Cat Power) add guitar to the b-side. Ramses did original artwork for the cover. “I spend my life digging my own grave/I live my life with a price to pay.” It’s about living when you are dying. The b-side is a torch song.
While some bands seem to be in a competition with themselves to see how many releases they can squeeze into a single year, the approach of The Meek seems quite opposite. Is there a thought or strategy that drives The Meek’s limited release philosophy, or it just what fate has delivered us?
There is not a strategy per se, but we have neglected opportunities in the past to get in deals as to avoid compromise and demands. The Meek is a labor of love and artistic necessity and our collection of demos, live recordings, and rarities will one day be released as such. I wanted to release vinyl and this was a natural occurrence amongst friends to do so.
In our continuing effort to be viewed as the “16 Magazine” of the underground psychedelic rock scene, we must ask you what music you have been listening to over the past year. Did you make any notable discoveries that had eluded your grasp for too long? If push comes to shove, what is your favorite Leonard Cohen song of all time?
Lots of Bob Dylan, Lee Hazlewood, The Doors, Nico – the poets I always come back to. I will be many years late listening to anything that is happenin’ now. I love The Jesus & Mary Chain’s cover of “Tower of Song.” I got that vinyl when I was fifteen and quickly learned that Leonard Cohen was not just my parent’s music – rather, the Godfather of Gloom.
Similarly, what discoveries in the realm of the printed word have you made over the past year? Did you have a favorite book or two from 2011? What are you reading now? How are things going at The Daily Planet?
The Daily Planet is going great. I am the sole owner now and I’m blessed to have a business I feel so passionate about. The “On” series, collected writings by the greatest thinkers, is my newest discovery. For example, “Houdini On Deception,” “John Donne On Death,” “Freud on Cocaine,” “Baudelaire on Wine and Hashish.” “Wisdom of The Heart” by Henry Miller is on my bedside. The definitive book on Spacemen 3, I just finished.
Would you care to comment on the rumor (the rumor that we are attempting to start right now) that The Meek will not only play Austin Psych Fest this year, but that you are also the proprietors behind a Vietnamese Bar-B-Que food truck to be parked in the vendor area, under the name, “Meek-Kong Delta Blues”?
Ha! Of all the rumors I was worried you might mention, unless it’s a Vegan food truck, I ain’t got nothing to do with it.
In his novel “The Ground Beneath Her Feet,” Salman Rushdie writes the following:
“Whenever someone who knows you disappears, you lose one version of yourself. Yourself as you were seen, as you were judged to be. Lover or enemy, mother or friend, those who know us construct us, and their several knowings slant the different facets of our characters like diamond-cutter’s tools. Each such loss is a step leading to the grave, where all versions blend and end.”
Your thoughts?
To grieve reminds us that we are not autonomous. We are undone by each other. As painful as the experience can be, we ought to receive a new appreciation for our own vulnerability, and perhaps a new humility in our relationships with others. This novel is a eulogy to love, a divine love above death and art.
It’s no easy task to describe either the music or the general approach of Prince Rama. Resisting easy categorization, even our attempt to pigeonhole the music on their unforgettable, most recent album – “Trust Now,” their second release on the Paw-Tracks label – as “skin-pounding electronic new-age space gospel” falls immeasurably short and quite off the mark.
Despite the fact that their previous Paw-Tracks album (“Shadow Temple”) actually rose as high as #3 on the Billboard New Age charts, Prince Rama are stated advocates of “the now-age” – and we’d be lying if we said our level of experience in said field rises above the sub-dilettante level.
What we can’t lie about is the fact that Prince Rama’s music – a heavy, heady and heroic mixture of rhythm, chanting, singing and raw emotion – moves us in mind, body and spirit. Such a broad, general statement attached to such a singular, distinctive sound provides little insight for the uninitiated. To them, we can only say: Get initiated.
We now trust you will enjoy this interview with one-half of Prince Rama, Taraka Larson, in advance of their appearance at Austin Psych Fest 2012. Trust!
What is the earliest memory you have of realizing the relationship you have with your sister would not only be a central one in your life, but a musical one as well? Are there ways in which your own musical preferences have confounded one another over the years, or do you feel you’ve largely been on the same page, so to speak? Do you think there’s a level of comfort in Prince Rama as sisters that allows you to explore and create your music at a more ambitious level? Or do we presume too much? Our apologies if you’re actually fueled musically by your mutual hatred.
Ha! Wow, that’s a complex question! We are both really different people, and always have been, but I think that’s why we work so well together. We very rarely step on each other’s toes because we’re usually dancing in totally different sides of the club. That said, I think taking dance together when we were younger and choreographing elaborate ballets set to “Cats” was one of our first steps towards being collaborative partners. Deep down we each know we’re the only ones who will ever truly understand just how insane the other really is!
Thinking terribly broadly American music in the past handful of generations, there’s seems to be a void in ready examples of sisters making music together, while one can casually consider a dozen or more examples of brothers making music together. Would you hazard a guess on why? (We heard the Scissor Sisters aren’t even sisters.) However, there exists a strong lineage of sisters making music together in the arenas of gospel and folk, so … is it cool if we say “Trust Now” is one of the most intriguing and inspiring gospel-folk albums we’ve heard in many a moon?
Ha, gospel folk album … that’s a first! But I mean, no one can prove the Hanson brothers are really brothers – they might be sisters, too. So there’s another example. I have no idea why there aren’t more sisters making music. Why haven’t the Olsen twins put out an album yet?
What is the significance of the title “Trust Now” from a musical perspective, and does the title hold any influence on how the album is sequenced? Which part do you feel you struggle with more – the “trust” or the “now”?
Both “trust” and “now” are the two most vital ingredients to making music in my book, and I probably struggle with both equally. Making music involves taking risks, rendering yourself vulnerable in a place of danger, touching the dark unknown forces within yourself and bloodily embracing the chaos with open arms … it can be terrifying! That is why there must be an element of trust. The “now” is the most dangerous realm you can possibly put yourself in because it doesn’t really exist … “now” is a mere prism of all possibilities taking place in the past and future that shatters the moment you try to put a face on it. So by trusting “now” you are trusting the invisible, the faceless, the everything, the nothing, the void … “Trust Now” as an album was sequenced mostly as a psycho-physical experiment in carving a space for both words to exist through sound.
We’ll admit to it taking about twelve seconds for us to fall in love with “Trust Now,” and we’re curious about the placement of the album’s two opening songs, “Rest In Peace” and “Summer of Love” – is there anything in particular that led to those titles? Any particular reason they live next to each other on “Trust Now”?
The whole album was structured as a ritual of sorts, beginning with a death and ending with a birth. In this case, the opening track, “Rest in Peace,” was written about the death of our grandmother and the closing track, “Golden Silence” is about the birth of a new love, a new relationship. Both are celebrations.
Regardless, the two songs account for twelve-plus minutes of really wildly ecstatic music – and, for us, really heavy, in the best possible way. Can you recall any two songs on any album that you love that you think of as inseparable, or at least belonging together?
The first album that pops to mind is Amon Duul’s “Collapsing.” The sequence on that album blows my mind every time I listen to it … it is like watching a really well-edited action film. Each song transitions into the next with a bang or an explosion.
Would you care to comment on the rumor (the rumor that we are attempting to start right now) that you are well into recording a special fan-club only album with a certain purple-hued musical mystic from Minnesota, entitled “PrincePrinceRama, Mama!”?
Huh?? This is the first we’ve heard of it.
What music have you been listening to lately? If push comes to shove, what is your favorite Beatles album and why?
Gotta say, we’re not really that into The Beatles. George Harrison is cool, but The Beatles themselves are pretty overrated. Currently jamming out to white noise static on the Indiana radio.
How did you first hear about Austin Psych Fest? Have you had an opportunity to see the line-up and if so, are there any bands that you’ve not seen perform before that you’re anxious to see?
Heard about it through some friends a long time ago … pretty “psyched” about going this year, pardon the pun. We’re anxious to watch everyone.
In his excellent, scholarly account entitled “This Ain’t The Summer of Love: Conflict and Crossover in Heavy Metal and Punk,” Steve Waksman, Associate Professor of Music and American Studies at Smith College, says the following about the 1976 song that gives his book its title, as performed by Blue Oyster Cult (including, of course, the beautifully named guitarist, Buck Dharma):
“The lyric is spare but suggestive and the verses are especially elliptical, each one ending with the assertion “This is the night we ride” … they mock the suggestion that the late 1960s was some golden era never to be reproduced or recovered … Resources of the past became the means to counter the orthodoxies of the present and to create a new synthesis …”
Leave it to California’s Cosmonautsto reach their orbit without the aid of rocket fuel, the Russian Federal Space Agency or scientific reasoning. Rather, the band achieves lift-off with the aid of a somewhat more common set of supplies – guitars, drums, an ID card that allows for the purchase of medical-grade supplies at a range of dispensaries, and most important, the love and desire to use and abuse all three of these supplies until they reach the breaking point.
Reaching that breaking point has been something the band has done with remarkable consistency on a variety of releases. A self-titled cassette on the always tasty Burger Records provided the initial launch-pad, while last year’s impossibly insane “New Psychic Denim” EP crushed like a meteor shower, and left you equally unclean.
Yet the most powerful explosions are yet to come, as evidenced by the band’s most recent full-length, “If You Wanna Die, Then I Wanna Die.” If reading the album title alone has you feeling sinister, go off and see a minister – because you don’t have a prayer of surviving Cosmonauts’ explorations like “Motorcycle #1” and “Super Reverb.”
We were fortunate enough to catch two Cosmonauts – guitarist/vocalist Alex Ahmadi and fellow guitarist/vocalist Derek Cowart – on a rare moment when gravity had them stuck on earth, and we pleased to share their words in advance of their appearance at Austin Psych Fest 2012. Enjoy.
Famously, the 1977 Voyager spacecraft took with it several golden records, containing music from Mozart, Stravinsky and Chuck Berry, among others. What artist would you choose to be aboard Voyager, to introduce the human race to others? What album or artist felt like it was from outer space to you upon first hearing it?
Derek: They ought to put “My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult” on the Voyager to keep aliens afraid of the human race. I think “Playing With Fire” was the first outer space album I ever listened to.
Are all of the Cosmonauts from California originally? How, if at all, do you think being from California has influenced your music? Were there any local or semi-local bands of note that compelled you to move forward with the Cosmonauts, either prior to your formation or after? What is the most positive thing, musically or socially, about being from your part of California?
Derek: We’re all from California originally but none of us can surf or skate. So, I guess we’re pretty bad at being Californians. We live by Burger Records in Fullerton and share a lockout with Audacity – those are probably the most compelling locals.
Alex: And they’re way more into all that X-Games shit. But I bet California’s influenced us more than we know. Not the music as much, but just growing up in Orange County where we always get to wear t-shirts. There hasn’t been this much music happening in Orange County since the 80s, y’know, with Burger Records, Audacity, The Growlers and everything. And I really dig what’s going on in San Francisco right now. We’re like twenty minutes from Los Angeles, but I don’t care about much shit there. There are some rad bands though, like Dirt Dress, The Meek, Tijuana Panthers, Sleeping Bags and Pangea.
Speaking of the Bear state, what can you tell us about the origin of the song “T.V. California” from your self-titled album, one of the shortest and most hyper-charged songs on an album full of hyper-charged songs? What are your overall thoughts on this album now that some time has passed? How likely are you to go back and listen to older Cosmonaut songs in general?
Derek: When we started with “T.V. California,” it was a slower song, maybe the slowest. Eventually we played it as fast as we could, just as a joke. We liked it better that way.
Alex: Yeah, our drummer at the time just did it once like that, and figured it sounded cooler. And I don’t listen to them that much. Once in a while when I’m stoned in traffic I’ll listen to the tapes.
The songs on “New Psychic Denim” are – to our ears – slightly more insane even than those on its predecessor. The vocals on the title track are straight out of a mental institution – but what is the song about? Do these new psychic denim jeans make my ass look fat? How much was the song title “Flower Bomb” influenced by the Hawkwind classic “Urban Guerrilla” (“So let’s not talk of peace and flowers/And things that don’t explode”), and if the answer is “not at all” … why not?
Alex: I guess “New Psychic Denim” is about mean girls and drugs. But mostly about how much of a dick everyone is.
Derek: “Flowerbomb” has more to do with motorcycles and perfume than it does with Hawkwind.
What music have you been listening to lately? If push comes to shove, what is your favorite Beach Boys song and why?
Alex: Royal Baths new stuff sounds great, and also our friends Tomorrow’s Tulips have a great record out now that’s some of the best beach/fuzz/drug/pop I’ve ever heard. And as far as the Beach Boys, “Don’t Worry Baby” might be it. It’s about a dude’s girlfriend giving him the courage to race his car. Real nostalgic shit.
Derek: Been listening to anything I can get my hands on. I just got some Ringo Deathstarr – hope to catch them when we’re in Austin and see what they’re about.
Would you care to comment on the rumor (the rumor that we are attempting to start right now) that you will actually not take the stage at Austin Psych Fest this year, but will instead operate a food cart in the vendor area, selling roasted peanuts, cashews and almonds, called “Cosmo Nuts”?
Alex: Not really.
How did you first hear of Austin Psych Fest? Are there any bands sharing the bill that you have not seen before that you are particularly excited to try and catch live?
Derek: The Brian Jonestown Massacre. I’m stoked for them.
Alex: Likewise, also The Telescopes. I’m hoping they play a loud set. A lot of psych music nowadays is ultra-sterile and really fucking boring. I get real turned off to bands when they jack-off with a delay pedal or whatever. That’s definitely a problem with a buncha L.A. psych bands currently.
What has been the most surprising thing about your experience in the Cosmonauts thus far? What have you learned about life in general – that you didn’t know before – from playing together with this band?
Alex: I learned that Californian weather and girls from Texas are babes.
The first human in space (aside from Sky Saxon) was of course a Cosmonaut named Yuri Gagarin, though perhaps more spacey was our old friend “Wild” William Burroughs, who once said the following:
“In my writing I am acting as a map maker, an explorer of psychic areas … a cosmonaut of inner space, and I see no point in exploring areas that have already been thoroughly surveyed.”
Your thoughts?
Derek: Let’s make maps.
Alex: Ha, I wish more bands read that quote and took it to heart. Just earlier today, Derek and I were talkin’ about some of the bands we saw at SXSW last week, and how they are just regurgitating the same “relevant” shit as everybody else. But I totally agree – there’s no point in “exploring” areas of music that have already been discovered. I realized that when I was sixteen years old and quit my high school band that sounded like Rage Against The Machine. I’m just shocked sometimes by people who are older than me (I’m 21) that have yet to realize the same thing.
What’s next for Cosmonauts?
Alex: We’ve got our second full-length LP, “If You Wanna Die Then I Wanna Die”, coming out this April, 2012, on Burger Records, and a 7″ EP of even newer stuff being released by The Reverberation Appreciation Society. That’s gonna be titled “Lazerbeam” and released in April as well. We’ll be touring with Night Beats after Austin Psych Fest this year. So if you live in the Southwest or on the West Coast, look out for us. And also we plan on touring Europe within a year or so – we’ve been getting hit up by a handful of European booking agencies recently, and have also released a couple of 7″ singles over there. So you can expect national touring and more vinyl from us this year, so pay attention.
It’s not impossible to separate the White Hills from the Black Tempest, even while it’s unclear how they’ve been sonically stitched together. Yet while the optics can portray the two as very, very different, we’ve come to view the two as something very, very much the same – both producing inspired and unrestrained art, the sonic end-results of individualism.
Songs of individuals, songs of everything. White and black, loud and quiet, cacophony and harmony, many, few, one – all elements are decidedly in play throughout the sounds of White Hills and Black Tempest alike.
For their part, the continuing mental map-making made in the music of White Hills has long been part of our DNA. Yet with every new elevation explored – in this case, the fully-cooked, full-color cosmic collision that is the recently unleashed LP “Frying On This Rock” – the overall perspective only widens. The consistent (we’re tempted to say unstoppable), colossal and creative nature of White Hills’ rapid recording reveals a permanent place in our atom-heart, mother.
Why? Two words – “hypnotic mantra.”
Words clearly fail us in the attempt to describe the much vaunted and legitimately lunatic sonic space savagery conjured up by White Hills – or more specifically, guitar-god Dave W. and bass-divinity Ego Sensation, an evolving cast of characters, and what we assume is a collection of effects pedals covertly funded by the CIA. Yet as explosive as “Frying On This Rock” is – and let there be no doubt for the faint of heart … it IS – it’s the words inside their high-flying frying pan that are resonating throughout these White Hills, throughout the valleys previously forged.
The hypnotic mantra … heard only a blink of an eye ago on “Three Quarters,” from the self-titledsilver-machine … “on and on.”
The hypnotic mantra … heard with speed-of-light immediacy soon after, throughout the stark, black-and-white bombast of “Hp-1” … “now is the time, sound the cry.”
The hypnotic mantra … heard and felt on “Frying On This Rock,” through the acrid haze of nerve-singing rocket fuel, which ends with the Galactus-sized “I Wrote a Thousand Letters (Pulp on Bone).” It’s an appropriate, false-finality to a ride that continues, a new hypnotic mantra surely on the White Hills horizon, a thousand more letters certain to be written, more amplifier-frying to be recorded.
We’ve never had the words to describe White Hills, but it took this “Rock” to make it clear that they do, and it’s written in their bones.
Where White Hills make no bones about taking flight with the assistance of a Hawkwind, it’s another wind altogether that levitates Black Tempest‘s songs of everything.
Much different than – while exactly the same as – White Hills, the hypnotic mantra created by Black Tempest throughout the truly towering “Proxima” goes by wordlessly (which cannot be said for its companion, the equally astounding, and at times Albert Ayler-ly, “Ex-Proxima“). Yet just like – although much differently than – White Hills, the music speaks volumes, returning volumes of sound, while into the blackness of this tempest we drown.
It might seem easy to drown in the music and output of Black Tempest, and we’ve only recently begun to explore the altitude and amplitude produced via the cosmic map, starting with the treasure recently supplied by the Fruits De Mar “Head Music” compilation, a stunning collection that recently gave reason to howl at the moon electric. Within, we found Black Tempest gliding gracefully through “Bayreuth Return,” a track by kosmische pioneer par-excellence and antecedent synth-sorceror, Klause Schulze.
We’ll resist the time machine necessary to create a drone of our own, about the time, twenty-plus years prior to today, a good friend recommended by way of insistence that we purchase a used album called “Timewind” by Klause Schulze. We’ll resist also detailing how that single act of intermingled cosmos and commerce was in its way directly responsible for us writing about Black Tempest today (or at least, fueling our own explorations of the music kosmische, kooky and killer, often all at once).
We’ll also resist, surprisingly, being long-winded in our recommendation of a headlong dive into the time-wind generated by the Black Tempest. So perfect do we find the lift of “Proxima” – a lift fueled by white and black, loud and quiet, cacophony and harmony, many, few, one. In this case the one is Stephen Bradbury, the individual behind the Black Tempest nom-de-synth-sorcery, operating in a sonic laboratory of his own creation.
Thankfully, the inventions of this individual are indivisible from the collective reception of the whole. And in this case exactly, precisely like White Hills, we anxiously and patiently await receipt of the next transmission, the next song of everything, fueled by individuals.
“It is not by wearing down into uniformity all that is individual in themselves, but by cultivating it and calling it forth … that human beings become a noble and beautiful object of contemplation … and whatever crushes individuality is despotism, by whatever name it may be called and whether it professes to be enforcing the will of God or the injunctions of men.” – John Stuart “Motorik” Mill, “Of Individuality”
We might be better served to go with the flow, but we can’t resist amateurishly parsing the meaning, intention or ambition of Psychic Ills‘ most recent album – the not-necessarily-stoned-but-beautiful bliss of “Hazed Dream” – and the “dream” part of the equation in particular.
Since their earliest incarnation, the incantations of Psychic Ills have never suffered for lack of a hazy vibe, with the Ills laying down all manner of psychedelic sickness for which there is no cure, for there is no disease. Appropriate to the Wolf Vostell painting that graced the cover of 2006’s full-length debut, “Dins,” the approach of Psychic Ills seems to embrace a Fluxus-esque approach of breaking down core elements, rearranging them and building them up again, creating something new – something current – in the process. What seems utterly dreamlike to us is that this destruction and reconstruction ultimately led to the cool comfort of “Hazed Dream.”
But then, the Latin root of Fluxus is “to flow” – and if nothing else, Psychic Ills appear completely committed to going with it, and we couldn’t be more fortunate to be along for the ride.
Nor could we be more fortunate than to share the words and thoughts of the primary psychics behind this ill-lumination, Tres Warren and Elizabeth Hart, prior to their appearance at Austin Psych Fest 2012. Enjoy.
What is your earliest memory from your youth in regard to having a dream? What is it about that dream that you feel has enabled it to stay in your mind years later? Is there a connection – either tenuous or powerful – between your dreams and the music you create? In what ways do you find the two intersecting?
Tres Warren: Man, you’re not joking with these questions. I don’t honestly know. I don’t track my dreams in a journal, but I keep saying I’m gonna start. I can’t remember my real early dreams and I don’t know how they intersect with the music, either. I did get a dream interpretation book after I had a dream about frogs. Not the one Paul Bowles talks about in “The Sheltering Sky” – “Madame La Hiff’s Gypsy Dream Dictionary” – but it gave me the news I wanted to hear, nonetheless. It said, “Frogs are harmless creatures and to dream about frogs is a favorable dream.” That was good to hear, but then about a year later, I watched this film about Brazil called “Manda Bala,” and part of it has to do with a frog farm. Anyway, it turns out frogs are cannibals – they’ll eat each other if there’s nothing else around. The good news is they weren’t eating each other in my dream – they were just hanging around.
Elizabeth Hart: Yeah, I have no idea what my earliest dream recollection is. When I was young, I had this recurring dream often where I ended up in this machine that was hanging from a ceiling above a large indoor pool. The machine was very large, similar to a flying saucer. There were thousands of unlabeled, lit-up buttons inside. Each one, when pressed, would eject you from the machine in a different way into the pool, whether it be by slide, catapult, whatever. You never knew what you were gonna get, but it was ever thrilling. I was always trying to get back into that dream.
With regard to your own musical development, who were the key people in your life (if any) whom encouraged you to explore creating music, or to explore a love of music in general? What did you learn from that person (or persons) that you still keep with you today? Have you noticed that your overall relationship with music has evolved significantly over the past few years – or is it something that remains relatively stable within your life?
TW: My Mom and Dad had a decent record collection as far a parents record collections go. Aside from that, I used to tape songs off the radio and make my own collections of stuff. The family wasn’t really musical but there was a piano around and I got an acoustic guitar for an early birthday, but I didn’t take to these things until later.
EH: 94.5 The Edge was a pretty good radio station back in the day, especially when – in Texas – it was like 90% new country. They played stuff like The Butthole Surfers, Primal Scream, The Smiths, etc. I made tapes from the radio too.
In what ways – if at all – does the concept of the “psychic” relate to the manner in which you create Psychic Ills’ music? Do you find yourselves following similar musical paths when improvising together? Do you find that musical improvisation, as a form of non-verbal communication, can strengthen the overall connection of the band members to the music of Psychic Ills? To your personal relationships as well?
TW: The name’s not related that I can tell. Some might say otherwise, though! But, yeah, playing, jamming, improvising together sort of tunes everyone in together. I still like getting lost in music … playing music with friends as the time passes. Playing music is the easy part. It’s everything else that goes with it that’s complicated – ha! But I’m not complaining—we’re pretty resilient.
EH: Psychic intuition? And yes, I think that jamming together certainly strengthens the overall connection. In terms of playing together or in personal relationships, a stronger bond is created if you are from the same village, so to speak. And, if you don’t notice it in the beginning it surely becomes evident sooner or later …
We’d be lying if we said that we can see a time in the near future when we will stop listening to “Hazed Dream” – it sounds to be an album of great confidence, even in the face of unsettling environments. Was there anything in your approach to this album that was notably different than the manner you worked on previous albums? What are your thoughts on the album now that some time has passed since it has been born into the world? Do you ever go back and revisit your recordings, days, months or years afterwards?
TW: I’m glad you like. I’m not worn out on it yet either, which is sort of cool for a change. It was made a little differently. We had demos, and the improvisation was limited. We had these songs and just went in and knocked it out in a couple days.
EH: When we recorded the record, we had yet to play any of the songs live, when usually by the time you record a record you are already sick of the songs. So, in that sense, “Hazed Dream” is still kind of new to me, which is cool.
What can you tell us about the origin of the song “Incense Head”? Incense can be used for meditation, religious rituals or simply for masking an unwelcome odor – for which of these purposes would incense most likely be used within the Psychic Ills tour van?
TW: The song originated as a riff. I was trying to play a Mexican sounding riff, but it ended up sounding sort of Eastern again. I’m trying to break that habit. Regarding incense in the van, maybe we won’t use it all during this tour to avoid some of the unwanted attention we received on previous tours … you get my drift?
EH: Haha – all of the above probably.
What music have you been listening to lately? If push comes to shove, what is your favorite Psychic TV album and why?
TW: Lately: Angus MacLise/Tony Conrad/Jack Smith – “Dreamweapon I,” Steve Young — “Seven Bridges Road,” and there’s this bar that I like to go that put a Little Richard CD in the jukebox, so I’ve been putting dollars in on that.
Regarding Psychic TV, I don’t know … how about the Beach Boys cover, “Good Vibrations”? I’m not hip to all of the output, but I still go back to Throbbing Gristle when the mood strikes.
EH: I will never tire of the Mistress Mix/Psychic TV version of Serge Gainsbourg/Jane Birken’s, “Je T’Aime.” Amazing.
What benefits do you gain from your other creative endeavors outside of music? Does your relationship with non-musical art directly influence your thinking when it comes to creating the music of Psychic Ills? What reception or attitude do you see in the art world at large that you would be pleased to see more of within the arena of music?
TW: I don’t really know. I’m just doing stuff. I don’t keep tabs on that stuff. We’re just making music and trying to enjoy doing it.
Would you care to comment on the rumor (the rumor that we are attempting to start right now) that your next album will be a space-rock-opera based on the late-in-life medical struggles of one-time “Tonight Show” co-host Ed McMahon, entitled “Sidekick Ills by Psychic Ills”?
TW: I can’t talk on it too much, y’know … legal stuff. But everyone knows about Ed’s “other side.” We just wanted to tell his side of the story in the best light, and a space-rock opera was sort of the only thing that made sense. De Palma’s “Phantom of the Paradise” is a good starting point.
EH: Yes – really the only possible option.
William Crookes – the 19th century chemist and a huge Deep Purple fan – said the following in an address to the British Association for the Advancement of Science in 1898:
“It would be well to begin with telepathy; with the fundamental law, as I believe it to be, that thoughts and images may be transferred from one mind to another without the agency of the recognized organs of sense — that knowledge may enter the human mind without being communicated in any hitherto known or recognized ways.”
Your thoughts?
TW: Yeah – One time I was walking down the street and it started pouring real hard rain. I never usually carry an umbrella, and I’m thinking, man, I could use one. So I walk ten more feet and there’s an umbrella on the sidewalk—no joke. I tried that once when I was short on rent money, but it didn’t work. And I’ve definitely had that thing happen where I’ll think about someone and they’ll call me a minute later. I don’t know if that’s telepathy, synchronicity or coincidence.
EH: Mentalism
What’s next for Psychic Ills?
TW: Going on tour around the U.S., then making another record.
We have only a glimpse into Rose Windows, yet it’s enough to have us eager for a much, much longer look at a band looking to focus their vision.
Even that may be reading too much into what is in Rose Windows’ line of sight. But the music of Rose Windows overflows with enough pure, uncut drama to make it near impossible for the ears not to send in the call for a sometimes less than rosy ride.
The “drama” we see when peering into Rose Windows is meant as a high compliment, meant not in any modern way, in fact meant in the most ancient way possible – a drama defined by the action, by celebration, by collaboration. The result of collaboration is collective reception – which of course makes Rose Windows and every band a collective, not only the best ones and certainly not only the dead ones.
No, the music of Rose Windows is very much alive, crackling with life even – as the above number demonstrates with an almost unbearable level of clarity. In that way, the Rose Windows sound is very modern indeed, modern art to these ears, influenced and infused by the ancient arts.
Which brings us back to drama. And clarity. And modern art? Maybe.
Drama, in the case of one who has played the wholespectrum, can redefine the ordinary. On paper, the opening minute of “Walkin’ With a Woman” couldn’t be more ordinary. “I was walking with a women. I was walking down the road.” Shot through the enormous, enviously huge prism of Rose Windows, it becomes something else entirely. The marching beat taunts the guitars that are clearly itching for a fight, a fine flute playing peacemaker all the while. A stunning, spectacular, stop-you-in-your-tracks voice delivers a sinister dispatch from the very depths of her soul, from the very depths of our over-soul. “I was walking with a women. I was walking down the road.” Sinister – and this long before the devil, some gold and an uncle creepier than the creepiest uncle on earth are introduced to the walk.
The Windows do get thrown open in the eight minutes of “Walkin’ With a Woman” that follow, giving air and light to the song without ever subduing its thrill, resulting in an unforgettable astral-window smashing.
Such clarity requires focus, and the vision of Rose Windows is now clearly focused on recording a full-length album, “The Sun Dogs.” Appropriately, their doing so with a Kickstarter campaign (currently more en vogue than making a deal with the devil) and with the assistance of a Master Musician in Randull Dunn (and Dunn himself has done did some damn drama, y’all).
As for the modern art … it’s up to you to choose if you want to believe in the illusion. Illusion or not, we like what we see reflected in Rose Windows.
“One of the greatest things drama can do, at it’s best, is to redefine the words we use every day such as love, home, family, loyalty and envy. Tragedy need not be a downer.” – Ben Kinsley (born Krishna Pandit Bhanji)
One of the few things that can be said without question about the DVD “Black Mass Rising“ is that it is many things, made of many things.
It is an undeniably singular, compelling film – one made without film, one made by the incomparable Shazzula. Shazzula, our old friend, is also many things, made of many things – she who once made unparalleled psychic-insanity-rock with Aqua Nebula Oscillator, she who occasionally makes additional outer-space firepower with such formidable, intergalactic enemies of silence as White Hills, OGOD, Farflung, Kadavar, Mater Suspiria Vision and more, she who introduced us to some of our now-favorite sounds, she who is always doing more, more, forever moving, moving, picture-taking, music-making, film-making, world-making.
“Black Mass Rising” is equally made by an equally compelling, extraordinary collection of magickly-mutated music-making magi, familiar to some, perhaps foreign to others, certainly far-out to all: Master Musicians of Bukkake, Ga’an, Sylvester Anfang II, Menace Ruine, The Entrance Band, Kawabata Makoto from Acid Mothers Temple, Yoga, Burial Hex and – appropriately – Bobby Beausoleil.
Together, this black mass is creepily consecrated, made of the mix of musicians providing the sounds of mysticism, the apocalypse, religion and darkness, while Shazzula presides over the marriage of these sounds to their visual equivalents – the result being something utterly inspired and inspiring.
Given the many and varied attendees – physical, spiritual, musical – called together to celebrate this mass, it’s equally appropriate that “Black Mass Rising” will soon be made into a triple vinyl document of this remarkable musical procession, tripping toward possession.
Yet given the marriage between both ears and all three eyes necessary to fully experience “Black Mass Rising,” we find it difficult and probably pointless to accurately describe the visuals contained within, not to mention ruining the neo-Thelemite thrill of watching it unfold.
The appearance of Beausoliel makes concrete the connection between “Black Mass Rising” and “Lucifer Rising” in particular, but more than that, the spirit and enduring appeal of Kenneth Anger’s best work in general. Like Anger, “Black Mass Rising” evokes a ceremonial voice, guided by the aesthetics of the disenfranchised.
We don’t say lightly that we are incalculably inspired by “Black Mass Rising” – nor do we say so as indication of subscribing to its frenzied, loose liturgy. We’re prone to being equally inspired by the work of a Prince as we are of a King, with room still for allmanner of royalty.
Rather, we are utterly inspired by “Black Mass Rising,” Shazzula, and the musicians she has collaborated and conspired with for their dedication to seizing the moment and creating something new, something unique. We’re reminded of Shazzula’s own words, shared on this site – “ENJOY LIFE IN MUSIC AND ART! Never stop … continue to FIGHT!” – and even more so, the words written some time ago by one artist and sent to inspire another, both equally out of step with the times, equally disillusioned and equally committed to making a world of their own.
“Act from thought should quickly follow: What is thinking for? Your unique and moping station Proves you cold; Stand up and fold Your map of desolation.”
Stand up and fold your map of desolation – make way for the “Black Mass Rising.”
It’s been more time than we would like since we checked in on Screen Vinyl Image, one of the first bands ever to tolerate our ridiculous interview questions – though truth be told, they’re never far from our mind (as evidenced by the Screen Vinyl Image t-shirt that remains in heavy rotation).
Their second LP for the Custom Made Music label is titled “Strange Behavior,” an album we’ve managed to fall in love with despite not immediately feeling anything particularly strange about the duo’s behavior on the songs contained within. Admittedly, when it comes to music, we largely love the strange – the odd, the unusual, the music that grows and flourishes along the edges of the less traveled path. When Screen Vinyl Image marries the strange with the seductive – as they do repeatedly, remarkably on “Strange Behavior” – the resulting sound is so massive, so all-enveloping that their chaos becomes your comfort. Resistance is less than futile – after the first song, it’s a concept completely forgotten.
There’s nothing to resist when it comes to being immediately stricken by the space-age, streamlined, light-speed lament of opener “We Don’t Belong,” an appropriately awesome anthem for walking that less traveled path previously mentioned. The sound is the sound of Screen Vinyl Image – as pretty as it is prickly, as prone to a scream as a synth, super-sonically engineered immersions into sky-gaze grandeur that you can also dance to (even if you also dance with the grace of old farm equipment). “Revival” comes next, finding the duo rising from the (45) grave, the gruesome guitars now completely covered in a snarling, stinging shell.
Halfway through the near eight minutes of “Stay Asleep,” Screen Vinyl Image descends into a swirling, static-stained, vendetta-violence breakdown, bridging the gap between Jesu and The Jesus and Mary Chain so capably, so crushingly, it’s as if a gap never existed. The pulse of the distorted beat presses onward, breaking through all manner of neck-snapping noise, until “My Confession” reveals a strange, somber solace.
Only here do we begin to reflect on the title “Strange Behavior,” forcing our stubborn ears to remember that this is strange behavior – in the routine and robotic world, most people don’t make songs like Screen Vinyl Image and even fewer people listen to them. In that routine and robotic world, quite happily, “We Don’t Belong.”
Revolt of the Apes 
