Four new cassettes. Two pounds and fifty pence each, plus postage. Scroll down further for new(ish) non-vermin wares.
Total Vermin #79: Wasteroids Bazookass C75
The latest progeny of Joincey's on-off relationship with reality is a big old 16-lber of a baby, constructed from the variously jettisoned and disgorged limbs and organs of popular music's grotesque battalions. Mummy Joincey's voice, rich with the vapours of gin and fag, whispers, croaks and croons lullabies, fables, diatribes, etc. to his ugly wee man, and documents these precious moments for your edification. Behold, and take instruction wisely.
Posset Joe sez:
"Photographer, musician, blogger and beat-juggler Joincey serves up another classic tape on Total Vermin. This collection dares to be beautiful, with the peachy, fuzzed-out bliss you get as the hot Stoke-on-Trent sun beats down on your closed eyelids. A mixture of songs and pieces and, for the archivist in us all, side B presents a selection of backing tracks and sketches that add a helpful footnote to the swooning. There are some pure pop genius moments here: Example #1; warm AM radio loops that gently shift and turn in on themselves to reveal Wet Wet Wet... ‘is it wrong baby?’ Example #2 the Coldplay sampling that honestly sounds like the sort of off-kilter loop the RZA drops on the Wu-Tang buddies for shits & giggles. But I’m getting ahead of myself, these are just the ‘unfinished ideas for the sequel’...side one opens with some beats and moaning into clear-blue sky guitar fingering; all foamy cascades, waterfall consciousness and Gnostic glossolalia. ‘Hummum-fuzz’ is a nursery rhyme for children of The Culture while ‘The Albatross’ is a hymn to the blunted AR Kane generation (stumbling bass, euphoric loops and dreamlike sighs) which should end up on an advert for perfume or something. Robert Wyatt’s wino moan is coupled with slowed-down frog croaks and time-stretched mud pool bubbles. A lover’s whispers turns into a furious curse in your wax-clogged ear...paranoid? Repetition and pop-culture signifiers are all warped and tested; measured up for sparkle and then giving a good seeing-to through a lo-fi hiss to keep things sub-underground. It might the image of Beatle Paul that’s dredging this up but I’ve heard tell of some unreleased post-fab four efforts from Macca that effortlessly bridge the gap between improv chops and popstar solo album weirdness. So until the erect-thumbed Scouse needs another couple of million I think we can count Joincey as the 5th one and this Wasteroid as an Apple platter that didn’t. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"
Posset Joe sez:
"Photographer, musician, blogger and beat-juggler Joincey serves up another classic tape on Total Vermin. This collection dares to be beautiful, with the peachy, fuzzed-out bliss you get as the hot Stoke-on-Trent sun beats down on your closed eyelids. A mixture of songs and pieces and, for the archivist in us all, side B presents a selection of backing tracks and sketches that add a helpful footnote to the swooning. There are some pure pop genius moments here: Example #1; warm AM radio loops that gently shift and turn in on themselves to reveal Wet Wet Wet... ‘is it wrong baby?’ Example #2 the Coldplay sampling that honestly sounds like the sort of off-kilter loop the RZA drops on the Wu-Tang buddies for shits & giggles. But I’m getting ahead of myself, these are just the ‘unfinished ideas for the sequel’...side one opens with some beats and moaning into clear-blue sky guitar fingering; all foamy cascades, waterfall consciousness and Gnostic glossolalia. ‘Hummum-fuzz’ is a nursery rhyme for children of The Culture while ‘The Albatross’ is a hymn to the blunted AR Kane generation (stumbling bass, euphoric loops and dreamlike sighs) which should end up on an advert for perfume or something. Robert Wyatt’s wino moan is coupled with slowed-down frog croaks and time-stretched mud pool bubbles. A lover’s whispers turns into a furious curse in your wax-clogged ear...paranoid? Repetition and pop-culture signifiers are all warped and tested; measured up for sparkle and then giving a good seeing-to through a lo-fi hiss to keep things sub-underground. It might the image of Beatle Paul that’s dredging this up but I’ve heard tell of some unreleased post-fab four efforts from Macca that effortlessly bridge the gap between improv chops and popstar solo album weirdness. So until the erect-thumbed Scouse needs another couple of million I think we can count Joincey as the 5th one and this Wasteroid as an Apple platter that didn’t. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!"
Total Vermin #80: Jointhee and thee Acrid Lactations - "Toe" C43
Album of real songs - 7 on each side - words by Joincey, arrangements by Susan and me. Joincey takes most of the lead vocals, while the Ac Lac team kicks up a variety of ruckuses with dictaphone, horns, voices, percussion, strings, keys. Recorded in the home on the south side of Glasgow on successive Joincey visits in December '12 and January '13. I believe that this is the first Total Vermin release to include a lyric sheet.
Posset Joe:
"Sindre Bjerga look-a-like Joincey adds a set of spiritualist hymns over the fruity babble created by backing band The Acrid Lactations. Like when Chuck Berry hires the local pub band to back him; Joincey (in full pompadour effect) sets off the Acrid Lactations and lets them play what they want as long as it’s chugga-chugga backing. By now, all readers must be familiar with the no-audience underground no-chord trick. Open the brain and let the magic drip from fingers and tonsils; tin can rattle, full throated mouth-jazz, semi-improv rustling, Dictaphone tape strangle and pre-jazz hornings. But such a slippery beast as this makes reference points a challenge. Saying that, there is an element of folk reinvention going on here. I doubt Joincey’s words saw the inside of Cecil Sharp House but there is little to separate this from such backwoods yodel and holla you’d expect on the Folkways label; Jim Nollman’s duets with Coyotes being the obvious place to start. "
Posset Joe:
"Sindre Bjerga look-a-like Joincey adds a set of spiritualist hymns over the fruity babble created by backing band The Acrid Lactations. Like when Chuck Berry hires the local pub band to back him; Joincey (in full pompadour effect) sets off the Acrid Lactations and lets them play what they want as long as it’s chugga-chugga backing. By now, all readers must be familiar with the no-audience underground no-chord trick. Open the brain and let the magic drip from fingers and tonsils; tin can rattle, full throated mouth-jazz, semi-improv rustling, Dictaphone tape strangle and pre-jazz hornings. But such a slippery beast as this makes reference points a challenge. Saying that, there is an element of folk reinvention going on here. I doubt Joincey’s words saw the inside of Cecil Sharp House but there is little to separate this from such backwoods yodel and holla you’d expect on the Folkways label; Jim Nollman’s duets with Coyotes being the obvious place to start. "
Total Vermin #81: Posset - The Glistening Fist C25
Civil servant, journalist, dandy, Joe Murray opens his journal and licks his nib. The pages are hidden from your view by his majestic frame. He reaches for the absinthe, but finding the bottle empty, politely excuses himself. Listening for the creak that will mark his return from the cellar, you hasten to glimpse that diary in search of some clue to the soul of this most enigmatic behemoth, only to find that every page is filled with strange hieroglyphs. You reach for another volume, but find the same. As you frantically flick through the pages you feel a cold breeze rush through the thin cotton of your shirt. Quickly, you turn round. Big Joe is standing at the door, watching you. And laughing.
Luckily for we asemics and lesser intellects, Joe also keeps a record of his affairs in the international language of magnetic tape. Here is the glimpse at those pages you so desired - every detail of his thoughts, dreams and essential functions expressed through the play and pause of his enchanted dictaphones.
Luckily for we asemics and lesser intellects, Joe also keeps a record of his affairs in the international language of magnetic tape. Here is the glimpse at those pages you so desired - every detail of his thoughts, dreams and essential functions expressed through the play and pause of his enchanted dictaphones.
Total Vermin #82: Poormouth s/t C33
This is the first solo album by Ben Knight of Towering Breaker, Helhesten, Marvo Men, etc., taking the form of two extended binaural narratives. An orchestra of household items backs the first tale, sighs, conspiratorial whispers, playground chants. Multiple voices (all the author's) version the story of the second, a singular kitchen sink realist tale, heard through the refracting indeterminacy of aeroplanes.
Posset Joe:
"A totally unclassifiable sing-song, stream of consciousness, dream-like encounter with Poormouth. Blimey! This is truly odd. Not so much the sounds but the intention...what makes a man sit down with a scrap of paper (and what I think is a Young One’s quote) a few bits and pieces and crackle on in this Jackanory style? Not sure if i can figure that one but I’m so glad that the Poormouth did. At times I’m taken back to the no-audience underground classic ‘Lake’ by Richard Youngs & Simon Wickham Smith. Lake’s otherness, calmness, space and reconstruction of everyday sounds fits perfectly with Poormouth’s world of tin foil scrunch and estuary speech. The bell solo on side one tinkles like a thousand silver blades of grass on a frosty morning and divides the non-story ramble delivered in naive bursts of chatter. The subtle swish of traffic creates a wash of hush to stabilise the spoken patterns. Side two is a vocal piece that gently layers speech in a delightfully mitten-fingered way. The slight speech slips on the, ‘th...’ & ‘ph...’ sounds, adds a gorgeous richness, depth and character to the insect themed ramble. Like the way Alvin Lucier’s, ‘I am sitting in a room’ would be nothing without the stutter. A genius fadeout to traffic noise, spare cough and water gulp is a breather...held for just a second too long and then the babble starts up again. The everyday psychedelic doesn’t need phasers & wah-wah. Just two or three texts read aloud, together, creating a dense web of ‘muuh’. Brilliant."
Non-Vermin
A couple of bits hitherto unlisted...
Winebox18: Solo Guitar Volume II 3 x C21 £15
Jon has sold out of these before I even listed my copies, whoops. I don't have many, so act fast if you've missed out thus far. Postage might be a bit pricy, but it is a beautiful thing, and worth the outlay. JC's text below.
"Second volume of six sides of loosely defined solo guitar recordings (following the first one from 2009), this one featuring Fliss Horrocks, Bridget Hayden, Core of the Coalman, Plum Slate, Harappian Night Recordings and Irma Vep. Styles run from heavy sliding blues through phased cyclical picking to late night raga and scattered otherworldly tweaking.
Boxed edition of 74 copies started out as a door, a good one too. The cassettes contained within come wrapped in fabric to prevent them shunting out the ends of the box in transit; feel free to discard this on arrival. "
This is the first solo album by Ben Knight of Towering Breaker, Helhesten, Marvo Men, etc., taking the form of two extended binaural narratives. An orchestra of household items backs the first tale, sighs, conspiratorial whispers, playground chants. Multiple voices (all the author's) version the story of the second, a singular kitchen sink realist tale, heard through the refracting indeterminacy of aeroplanes.
Posset Joe:
"A totally unclassifiable sing-song, stream of consciousness, dream-like encounter with Poormouth. Blimey! This is truly odd. Not so much the sounds but the intention...what makes a man sit down with a scrap of paper (and what I think is a Young One’s quote) a few bits and pieces and crackle on in this Jackanory style? Not sure if i can figure that one but I’m so glad that the Poormouth did. At times I’m taken back to the no-audience underground classic ‘Lake’ by Richard Youngs & Simon Wickham Smith. Lake’s otherness, calmness, space and reconstruction of everyday sounds fits perfectly with Poormouth’s world of tin foil scrunch and estuary speech. The bell solo on side one tinkles like a thousand silver blades of grass on a frosty morning and divides the non-story ramble delivered in naive bursts of chatter. The subtle swish of traffic creates a wash of hush to stabilise the spoken patterns. Side two is a vocal piece that gently layers speech in a delightfully mitten-fingered way. The slight speech slips on the, ‘th...’ & ‘ph...’ sounds, adds a gorgeous richness, depth and character to the insect themed ramble. Like the way Alvin Lucier’s, ‘I am sitting in a room’ would be nothing without the stutter. A genius fadeout to traffic noise, spare cough and water gulp is a breather...held for just a second too long and then the babble starts up again. The everyday psychedelic doesn’t need phasers & wah-wah. Just two or three texts read aloud, together, creating a dense web of ‘muuh’. Brilliant."
Non-Vermin
A couple of bits hitherto unlisted...
Winebox18: Solo Guitar Volume II 3 x C21 £15
Jon has sold out of these before I even listed my copies, whoops. I don't have many, so act fast if you've missed out thus far. Postage might be a bit pricy, but it is a beautiful thing, and worth the outlay. JC's text below.
"Second volume of six sides of loosely defined solo guitar recordings (following the first one from 2009), this one featuring Fliss Horrocks, Bridget Hayden, Core of the Coalman, Plum Slate, Harappian Night Recordings and Irma Vep. Styles run from heavy sliding blues through phased cyclical picking to late night raga and scattered otherworldly tweaking.
Boxed edition of 74 copies started out as a door, a good one too. The cassettes contained within come wrapped in fabric to prevent them shunting out the ends of the box in transit; feel free to discard this on arrival. "
Singing Knives (no cat): Acrid Lactations - "Aura Mirror Come Fickle, Anachronous Law and Manner" C44 £3
New studio (sitting room) album from the Ac Lac duo. Each piece recorded in two takes, using stereo microphone attached to turntable. Pro-dubbed! Singing Knives got Posset Joe to write their description. Reprinted below:
"It’s two jammy cosmonauts that make up las lactancias acre; Susan Fitzpatrick & Stuart Arnot, direct from jazzhole central - Glasgow. Making the swinging singing scene for a few years this couple of McWitches & Claypoles engage in the bad touch just for you.
And so it begins ... Hot pipes get browned off with mouth-gas like the world’s tootingest brass band for starters, leading directly into a Capuchin Heimlich situation with soft brown dates shooting slowly out twin glossy throats. The groans of a rust-encrusted seal playing a brine-swollen concertina are coupled with blustery backwards blowing raising a fair old foamy sea spiral.
The world of field recordings shouldn’t go without mention as parts of this (17 mins in on side one) sound like a secret taping of The Art Ensemble of Chicago clocking off, changing into baggy pants and dialling out for pizza. Hot Potato Daddio! Side two takes the recording deeper underground with a bassier offering of cloven coven dealings accompanied by dappy percussion from the sort of teapot you find in cheap seaside B&Bs. Then it all gets more knotted and complex. A very male noise, usually reserved for the solitary cubicle, squirts around a more repetitive pattern of pre-speech mouthings that sound strangely like Kraftwerk without electricity. Bringing on a series of wet sips and slappings the jazz blowing continues like an overheated dog, all raspy panting and jowly shudder - stand well clear or get flecked with meaty spit! But the lactations are not just about the sounds man ... any joker can make armpit farts and crack eggy noise-guffs. It’s about the placement, the balance and the context. No wild ‘skeeve’ or ‘fasss’ or ‘vooom’ is introduced without careful planning and consideration. If you ever watched Planet of the Apes (the ‘70’s original not the re-make doofus) you’ll be prepared for this parallel universe sound of ram’s horns, discordant organs, burning charcoal and lashings of mouth-cavity reverb. But who is responsible for bursting this particular acrid boil all over you? Why, it’s the Singing Knives Records Company of course. Vibrating with pleasure they are launching this particular disc to you with accuracy and love."
