Paper Money

I wasn't best happy with this review. It's all fine, but I'm not sure I captured the last band very well, and teetered too much between liking and disliking the opener. Still, it's Supernormal this weekend, and I have a review pass, so expect a very long review before too long!

DAILY TOLL/ MYSTERY BISCUIT/ FIVER, OMS, Library, 11/7/25 

It’s like a game you might play after Christmas dinner, describe Fiver without using the word “Nirvana”. The solution, saying “”Mudhoney, might be considered gamesmanship and cause Granny to stomp off to the sherry decanter in a huff, but it’s actually a smart move, because Fiver’s take on US grunge has a rootsier, warmer heart that aligns them with the second in command in Seattle’s 90s army. There are even a couple of needling atonal moments which recall Dinosaur Jr, though in fairness, there are also times when Fiver remind us what side of the Atlantic they’re from, delivering bouncy rock somewhere between Wildhearts with a healthier lifestyle and Therapy? without the library cards. Inverting the adage, Fiver tonight suggest that the destination is more important than the journey, and to get to pleasingly chunky climaxes and rousing choruses we have to start each song with slightly clunky, chugging rhythms.  

Mind you there’s chugging and there’s chugging. Forget sub-Oasis pedestrian rockers, think of the steady heartbeat of John Lee Hooker, the relentless greasy grooves of ZZ Top, and the sleek kraut repetition of Can. Mystery Biscuit chug like a sleek silver machine rather than a rumbling old banger, painting bright Edgar Froese synth lines over modern psych tunes. They are experts at knowing when to build, and whenever it feels as though the rhythms couldn’t get more intense Marc Burgess switches from keys to second guitar and the music soars even higher. Perhaps the best track tonight is a slower burn, featuring a long recording of poet e e cummings, which is great with a capital G (somewhat ironically). 

Australia’s Daily Toll seem like the sort of band who’d appreciate a gag about the orthographical preferences of Modernist writers, they have a bookish indie air which makes one think of hand-illustrated C90s of Peel sessions and annotated paperbacks. Although their opening number swims into view from a miasma of bowed bass, their vintage introspective indie isn’t aggressively lofi, but neither is it prettily twee and toothless. Perhaps the best reference point is Yo La Tengo at their subtlest, with a touch of Mazzy Star around the glistening guitar, in handmade Sebadoh wrapping. Despite harking back to a very specific era, there’s plenty of variation, from a surprisingly insistent Jah Wobble bassline in one number to a bit of Dry Cleaning recitation in another, and even a studiously rocking cousin of ‘I Wanna Be Your Dog’. Their name evokes enrvating chores, but this inventive band is quietly invigorating. 

Ganja Crew

The last of the latest batch of LFTWY pieces. I rather like this one, though it does very slightly poke fun at other contributors to the zine.

LADYTRON – 604 (Invicta Hi-Fi)

We probably all have a phonobiography, a list of music that is intrinsically tied to certain eras in our lives. We read a lot of that in this very zine, records that spun as writers met their spouse, recovered from measles, or finished Manic Miner, discs dropped like markers on the Google Maps of their own history. Well, the past is a foreign county, LP Hartley reckoned (in between fly fishing and making jam, probably, I’ve done no research), so why not a country I’ve never visited? One where I don’t even know the currency or the approximate average rainfall: an Azerbaijan of times past, let’s say. 

So, the other day I went into the charity shop where one could get 10 CDs for a fiver - which is really too many for a deal, but I can rarely walk away from them - including 604, Ladytron’s debut album released in February 2001. I have never heard this record before, and have only the vaguest memories of hearing a track or two by them in the past, and I’ll type this review live as I listen for the first time.  Warning: may not include full sentences. Or full sense. What we're gonna do right here is go Baku, way Baku, Baku into time. 

mu-tron: Stomping descending motif.  Wiggly pre-wub bass tones.  Layers of treacly synth, a bit like a Add N To (X). Atonal elements.  An almost melancholic stately melody line on top, hints of Aphex. This is great, actually. 

discotraxx: What language was that?  It would be cool if it were Azerbaijani, but It was probably Bulgarian, judging by the fact the vocalist, Mira Aroyo is from there, as Wikiedia tells me.  Must stop checking Wikipedia, this temporal foreign country doesn’t have Ordnance Survey. Anyway, adding Marilyn Monroe-as-a-girl vocals changes the vibe, not yet sure whether I like that as much. Cantering bassline with a Bangelis vibe (that’s Vangelis that slaps harder, FYI).  

another breakfast with you: Telephone type noises, reminding me of that B12 track ‘Telefone 529’ (I’m allowed to look that up, don’t write in). Thin organ.  you can hear the live playing in the topline, it’s not quantised. Sort of like half a Madonna song. 

CSKA sofia: I guess I’m not allowed to look up what those letters mean, but I guess Sofia is the Bulgarian capital, not some girl. Kitsch instrumental with Farfisa-like tones and non-dance drum machine parts.   

the way that I found you: Simple uninflected but slightly breathy vocals make this like Broadcast, without the VHS horror and art archivism.  Simple romance for consumers. 

paco!: Clearly an homage to Are You being Served: “4th floor, electronica, fake antiques, and lingerie”, which is a rum mix. Nice thin bongo rhythm, glides mechanically but smoothly, like a long shopping centre escalator. 

commodore rock: The title makes me thing of ‘Computer Club’ by Datarock, though perhaps Commodore Rock is in the navy (the capitalisation is pretty random on the sleeve, so I have no idea). Proto-techno gyrations, the first time this LP has made me feel like dancing. Crunchy Nut Cornflakes advertising jingle by Model 500. French-accented spoken vocals remind me of Dr Calculus (see previous LFTWY article, if you know what’s good for you). 

ZMEYKA: Violin scrapes, and interesting background noises. Not in tune, or even noticeably related to what’s happening up front. Reminds me of MES methods, and it makes what might be a slightly generic eletro plod more interesting. 

playgirl: Tapping into that sort of Barbarella wide-eyed innocent sexiness. Bit dated, to be honest, but still no harm done. The chords cycle comfortably, it’s decent, but a bit static and thin on ideas – compare this with Stereolab’s take on 60s chintz, and it loses. 

I’m with the pilots: Shimmying sassy little bassline.  Sounds like it could be a Christine Aguilera track. Sprechgesang vocals, wry and aloof, like Black Box Recorder, though this doesn’t have the supercilious humour. 

this is our sound: Title is valid, they do sound like this (I mean, there’s a paradox there, but you get the gist) – perambulatory paced synth bass, simple drums, airy ditty vox. 

he took her to a movie: Unashamedly ‘The Model’. Like, not even trying to hide it at all. Title is most of the lyrics. Warhol faux-simplicity. 

laughing cavalier: Abstract and moody, like something from a Czech art film. Only a minute long, so no time to type any mo- 

lady bird: It’s two words, so maybe it’s about the old US first lady, not the insect. Quite close to a chart pop song, if the buzz and clunk were brightened and smoothed. Hints of Kylie. Nothing wrong with that, mind. Nice synth-glock outro. 

JET AGE: These capitals are driving me mad, I’m spending more time checking these are right than reviewing. Is there a snippet of the percussion breakbeat from ‘Apache’ by Incredible Bongo Band? A more wintry tone than the rest of the album. 

skools out: Quiet and tinny music, with the vocals very loud (are my computer speakers a little broken?  Surely it can’t be as “AM radio on the other side of a sand dune” thin as this.  Oh wait, the bass and mids have come in, as you were). Bassline one is from classic grease rock – I guess because of the titular ref to Alice Cooper (though their music is more elegant, for the most part, this sounds like something Ten Benson would have swiped from some forgotten dumbass protoglam single). There is no hidden track, the 90s are over, fools. 

Well that was quite good fun. I honestly liked the album, but just inspiring this stupid idea for a zine article was worth my 50p - which at the current exchange rate is 1 manat and 14 gapiks (yes, I looked it up...but I kept the mean precipitation as a sweet mystery to uncover another day). 

Ha, Marsupial Star

As promised, here's another from a LFTWY annual round-up. I'm pretty happy with this piece, it makes a valid general observation, whilst still acting as a review of the record itself, and it's pretty concise (there are no word limits at LFTWY, but I still keep myself to a few hundred, I think it's better for all concerned).

KID KOALA – CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME (Ninja Tune) 

You all know what guitarists are like. These blokes – they're always blokes – spend countless hours arguing about technique, studying the minutest elements of their heroes’ performances and attempting to emulate them, giving ability primacy over invention, and being, you know, no fun at all to be with. But, true though this might be, it’s triply true of turntablism fans. I can think of no instrument that is so tied to a narrow clutch of stylistic tropes as DJing and no group of fans that are such a bro-centration of conservatives (listening to deckheads arguing about how vinyl scratching is better than the modern digital version for five minutes is enough to make you long for that sweaty guy in the blues jam lecturing about valve amps). Do a quick search online for great turntable performances and you won’t find sweet musical excerpt, like Eric B clinically exploring a vocal phrase whilst Rakim takes a break on the mic, you won’t find the foundational methods and creations of Grand Wizard Theodore, and you sure as hell won’t find experimenters like Christian Marclay or Otomo Yoshihide. What you’ll find is hundreds of extracts from DMC mixing championships over the years, and a slew of clips in which a DJ does exactly the same things, but just fractionally faster, slicker or, occasionally, whilst standing on their head. More than any other slice of musical life, DJing is intrinsically connected with competition. Scratching isn’t art, it’s athletics. 

Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is a great DJ record because Kid Koala has technique coming out of his tufty grey ears, and has a crate-digger's sense of a funky rhythm to loop in classic hip-hop style, but he also has exactly zero interest in showing off, and instead a huge desire to intrigue and entertain. You can definitely dance to some of this record – or, at least, nod along whilst slumped in a sofa in the early hours – and ‘Fender Bender’ and ‘Roboshuffle’ aren’t too far from the sort of grooves you might get from DJ Shadow or Cut Chemist, but a lot of the record explores abstraction in a way that’s as close to Martin Tétreault as it is to Grandmaster Flash: check the tiny insectile clicks and chitters of ‘Scurvy’ , or the tiny fludge sounds stacked up on ‘Nerdball’, which are fast as hell and doubtless mindblowingly difficult to pull off, but also a world from the clean cuts that accepted technique requires. Lots of spoken elements are sliced or sped up so intensely that they are disconnected from any meaning, untethered phonemes swarming like flying ants, and when statements are clear, they are normally comical, from the wry knowingness of a Foley artist discussing how to make different noises or a stand-up ridiculing DJs, to the outright gagginess of the two ‘Barhopper’ tracks, which act as surreal lessons in pick-up artistry by jamming together lines form a multitiude of sources.  

The funniest parts of the record require no words at all though. ‘Drunk Trumpet’ sounds exactly as you might imagine, a hilariously woozy attack on a horn sample over a stumbling double bass lope, and I can’t imagine anyone not laughing at the wonky poultry party that is ‘Like Irregular Chickens’. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is a brilliant album to play to someone who doesn’t like hip-hop DJing so they can find out what a thoughtful and witty artist can create, but it’s an even better record to play to somebody who likes it too much, just to remind them that creativity is always more important than dexterity. 

Pole Opinion

I have received a new batch of LFTWY issues, so expect 3 old album reviews in quick succession. This is from the 1999 issue. Small but crucial typo from the print version fixed, accuracy fans!

POLE – 2 (Kiff SM) 

The great paradox of dub is that it sounds simultaneously cosmically other-worldly, and entirely organic. For all the toms that sound like they’re being played inside Krakatoa, or the hi-hats that sound like they’re being beamed in from Venus, you can never forget the physical input required to make this music: fingers pushing faders, hands leaping between dials, tape spooling in a battered Echoplex. Although there were plenty of decent records produced in the early 90s’ European digidub micromovement, the slick computer effects lack this earthy ruggedness. A few years later, Stefan Betke, AKA Pole, managed to rough up the smooth digital sheen, not with analogue equipment, but by using a digital device that was lightly shafted (the act name comes from something called a Waldorf 4-pole filter which Betke dropped on the floor, and which started going all wobbly). 

Opener ‘Fahren’ sounds most like Pole's digidub predecessors, and the synth melodica line recalls early Zion Train, but although the music is spacious it is neither ominous nor groovy. You might rightly call this dispassionate clinical music “cavernous”, but it sounds like a surveyor mapping a Victorian culvert, rather than someone lost in a haunted cave. ‘Stadt’ opens with plenty of hisses and crackles, and is superficially similar to the glitch music found on Mille Plateaux records around the same time, but it still manages to retain the ghost of a reggae riddim. 

‘Streit’ opens with a squitty little rhythmic twitch, the sound of a salivatory gland wired up to a dot matrix printer. Theres a slithering two-note bassline worming through the track, but again, you’d be hard pressed to skank to this one. There are equally unrhythmic strands of percussive noises on ‘Huckepack’ (which apparently means piggyback in German, but in my mind it will always be the Teutonic variant of vintage dance craze the hucklebuck). Here a tiny recurrent strand of pips – not so much a motif, more a tic – sounds a lot like someone unzipping a tent. 

Other ersatz sounds are the highly treated drum noise on ‘Hafen’ whcih sounds like a piece of cardboard coughing, and the pseudo-organ stabs that hang in off-beat clouds on ‘Weit’ so that listening feels like pushing one’s way through a forest of sere, dead bullrushes that crumble at the touch, whilst higher-pitched notes hang like zombie mosquitoes just out of reach. Except, you know, pleasant. Although the four albums Pole made in this style sound like a dead end now, an evolutionary avenue that died out whilst a more dominant strain mutated into dubstep a few years later and eclipsed its cousins, there’s still more than enough to intrigue on this record, arguably the pick of the four. This is music that doesn’t sound human, but equally doesn’t sound cold and regimented like most music that celebrates its lack of humanity. Warm yet impersonal, flawed yet robotic, there’s nothing else that sounds quite like this on my shelves.