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Tag Archives: Psychedelic

There’s a big bucket of everything going on in this record. Carlos uses up to 48 “Dolbyized” tracks (including electronic/quasi-classical/ambient music composed and performed by Carlos along with environmental recordings including surf, birds, frogs, lightning, wind, rain, and anything else Mother Nature can cook up) at any given point in this monstrous psychoacoustic experiment. The whole effect simultaneously soothes and challenges the old noggin’ in the most curious way.

Here’s a simple way to describe it. Take one of Walter Carlos’ traditional early-electronic Moog pieces and mix it with one or two discs from the Environments series. Make sure they’re smooshed together nicely then board ‘em on Willy Wonka’s Psychedelic Boat Trip.

Only attempt in the company of a responsible adult. Or a frog bong.

Sonic Seasonings is a Double LP with four different “songs”, which are as follows:

Side 1: Spring (22:09 Minutes)

Side 2: Summer (21:31 Minutes)

Side 3: Fall (20:56 Minutes)

Side 4: Winter (20:31 Minutes)

Click here to download Sonic Seasonings from vinyl at 320 kbps

There isn’t much I know about King Of Woolworths. There isn’t even a Wikipedia entry for the group. The little I’ve found out about project has been through sites run by fans around the globe. I only know that I LOVE this album.

It was only by a chance that I ever even heard about them in the first place. During the summer of 2002 the radio station WOXY, in Oxford, OH at the time, starting playing this curious little track called “To The Devil A Donut.” It started off in slow rotation but eventually made it into heavy play for a few solid months. I’m not sure the DJs even knew much about it…they just liked it so they put it on the radio.

It’s a pretty creepy track with bits from an old horror movie entitled “To The Devil A Daughter”. On the face there are very obvious reasons why it’s got a case of the creep. It uses snippets of dialogue about baptizing a baby in the blood of her dead mother, bringing that babe up in seclusion as the devil,  and then pumping her full of morphine. You know, the usual.

But it’s not really what’s on the face that makes it creep hypnotique, verging on a dream. With every song on this album I envision myself lying on the ground, staring face up at a different situation. The beat, the strange use of strange 70′s British synth, and the vaporous ambient cloud swallows you up and spits you out on another locale at each track’s start

With “To The Devil A Daughter” I envision myself sprawled out in a cold cellar of an ancient English country manor. It’s so old, in fact, that the floor is composed of soft, damp earth instead of hard cement. The walls are large stone without caulk. The ceiling is comprised of old oak beams, covered in spider webs. The room is lit by the soft but terrifying flicker of torch light. Hooded shadows work their way in and out of the ominous glow, always threatening but never pouncing. The suspense is terrible but just as it comes to a climax the track changes and I’m transported elsewhere.

In “Theydon” I’m lying on the beach somewhere on the coast of the North Sea. I don’t know how I got there and I don’t know why I’m wet and I don’t know why I’m wearing a blue and white fleece because I don’t ever wear fleece but I don’t care. I don’t care because beautiful music floats over my drenched body and connects me with the little pebbles covering my jeans. I say hello to the passing gulls. The sun rises and I worry temporarily that it will melt my bones, but the fear quickly passes and I’m at peace. Everything’s OK.

The album takes turns tossing you psychologically from dark to light, harm to safety. It’s like a continually operating wooden rollercoaster in an abandoned park that you keep riding over and over and over. You always think it’s gonna jump the tracks and fling you into a bloody underbrush demise. But it doesn’t, it keeps on round and round in a beautiful and terrifying loop.

I think Mr. King Of Woolworths himself, Jon Brooks, puts it best: “Everything’s fine, but there is something not quite right about it.”

>>>Click here to download Ming Star

Tracklist

1 Kentish Town 5:33
2 Bakerloo (Main Titles) 6:19
3 Where Fleas Hide 1:58
4 Stalker Song 4:44
5 Colcannon 5:14
6 To The Devil A Donut 6:02
7 Kite Hill 5:30
8 The Watchmaker’s Hands 7:11
9 Theydon 6:49
10 Bakerloo (End Credits) 4:40

This is the album that made me think I wanted to visit the UK. Well, not this actual 12″, but the LP that this 12 was derived from. I bought this 12″ a few years after I bought the original in high school. Sue me…joke’s on you, I’m broke.

For a split second it seems like a good idea, vising the Cream Isle. After all, Britannia rules the waves! Wait, can they really do that? Is their science so far ahead of ours? We can’t even clean oil, albeit millions upon trillions of gallons of oil, from our waves. Yet somehow they are able to force the foaming sea to bring millions of Britons breakfast in bed each and every morning.

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rules the waves!

There really aren’t any perks to visiting England. It’s not like you can hang out for a week on one of their fabulous beaches. You can’t visit their quaint little alpine lodges. You can’t witness the splendor of untainted fauna roaming virgin countrysides. You can’t do none of that because none of that exists!

And do you know why? It’s because the United Kingdom is just a bigger version of New Jersey. There are a lot of weird-looking white people living there with no other place to go. So, in protest of their shitty luck, they’ve been forming unholy missionary positions for the past millenium and producing terribly ugly babies. And those babies have been killing off any wildlife, African Swallows included, they could get within their single-barrel shotgun sights. England, Wales and Scotland aren’t the shallow end of the gene pool…they are the trash compactor.

Instead of white trash they have “chavs”.

But somehow this little island of misfit boy toys never fails to produce a steady stream of musical savants. And you know what, it kind of gives me the creeps. It’s not like these guys are being fostered in a culturally rich environment. The Beatles were from Liverpool, for Christ’s sake.

With less than 900,000 “Liverpudlians” within the greater city limits, Liverpool is less populous than Cincinnati. The only thing that ever came out of Cincinnati was 27th President of the United States William Howard Taft. He was a president so terrible that Teddy Roosevelt came out of political retirement to form a new political party in an attempt to knock Taft, Roosevelt’s former Vice President, out of office.

Nice pants, asshole.

So how, oh how, is it that this land mass crawling with cheeky monkeys keeps birthing killer bands? After listening to the song “Gomez In A Bucket (A Seaside Town Made Of Ice Cream, Slowly Melting)” I think I’ve found an answer both simple and mysterious. That, of course, is the little known existence of an unbelievably potent strain of Indian hash called “Symphalamajamjam”.

Everyone thinks that Gandhi was the reason India gained independence from the British. Non-violence my ass. No, it was because all of the Maharajas running the Indian drug trade got together and said enough was enough; those British bastards had hampered their sweet cheeba trade for long enough. So, in a bid to rid their dominion of the buzzkill wankers, the head Maharaja met secretly with GeorgeVI to let him in on a little secret.

This guy loved the doobage.

Boss Maharaja sais, “Look Georgey Boy, I don’t like you and you don’t like me,” he says. “You been floppin’ your stinky pikey feet all over my sweet subcontinental turf for too long. I want you gone and gone quick but I’m gonna make it real sweet for you, see?”

Boss Maharaja leaned in real close to George VI. It looked as if he would kiss George on the brow, but he resisted.

“This here Symphalamajamjam is gonna make all your people real good at the gee-tar. One toke and they will be just as good as the Beatles, maybe better.”

“Why in the bloody hell would I want my subjects acting like insects, blub blub blub,” said a moistening Charles.

“That’s not important, my man, that’s not important,” said Boss Maharaja. “What isimportant is that you take this little brick of sticky wicky home along with these seeds. Every street and alley in London will be like a god damn Gilbert and Sullivan convention. You dig?”

“No, but your turban is very convincing.”

And that’s how Gomez came to produce this 12″ in 1999.

Click here to download We Haven’t Turned Around and all the fixins’.

Tracklist

A1 We Haven’t Turned Around 6:30
A2 Flight 3:30
A3 Rosemary 4:51
B1 We Haven’t Turned Around (X-Ray Version) 3:16
B2 Gomez In A Bucket (A Seaside Town Made Of Ice Cream, Slowly Melting) 10:02
B3 Emergency Surgery 2:18

*vinyl download below*

If you take a look behind Mr. Triangular Turban, the one right there leaking digital flesh, you’ll notice the background resembles a Magic Eye poster. You remember, Magic Eye, the artwork you saw at mall kiosks during the 90′s. The first time you saw those curious technicolored splatters you didn’t really know what to make of them. The Kiosk Master sensed your bewilderment and explained, “Um they’re a hidden 3D picture, kind of. You sort of have to look through them or past them…or something. I think that one’s a dolphin jumping over a desert island. I think.” So you tried to stare through them. You also crossed your eyes, wiggled them, gouged them repeatedly because of your inability to see the hidden dolphin and his high-flying acrobatics.

Pleasures of the deep.

Then, just as you were about to kick the Kiosk Master in the nuts, the sea mammal and his sick air came into view. Oh, the beauty you beheld. Yes, it was just the outline of the dolphin and it wasn’t really the actual color of a dolphin and it gave you a terrible headache but it was AWESOME. It was like stepping into a whole ‘nother dimension where simply-shaped environments prevail  and taste accounts for nothing: A dimension called The Tri-County Mall Foodcourt. With this freeing feeling about your person you confidently worked down the gallery lineup. Pyramids at Giza, Statue of Liberty, Bald Eagle over Star-Spangled Banner, Confused Pug Puppy in Easter basket….each one outdoing its predecessor. It left you with terrifying anticipation. You thought, “If we’re making Magic Eyes now in ’93 there’s no telling what 3D beast we will unleash come 2k.”

Pleasures of the deepest.

… Well, 2000 only brought retinal tears and activated gag reflexes within the stereogram universe. Sorry.

*Side Note: This album is what would happen if The Moody Blues found themselves trapped in a Magic Eye poster. The scene would unfold as follows:

Narwhals, under the influence of Four Loko, would serve as the band’s transportation through a green-lightning sea. While navigating through a particularly spooky coral reef the fellows attempt to play “Tuesday Afternoon” to lift their spirits. However, just at that moment, the narwhals take a sharp dip into a grove of seafloor vents spewing Old Grand Dad Bourbon. “Tuesday Afternoon” Green-Ranger-morphs instantaneously into “Ambling Alp”.

The rest is history.

>>Click to download ODD BLOOD<<<<Get it while it’s hot.

Tracklist

A1 The Children
A2 Ambling Alp
A3 Madder Red
A4 I Remember
A5 O.N.E.
B1 Love Me Girl
B2 Rome
B3 Strange Reunions
B4 Mondegreen
B5 Grizelda

*download below*

This is the album that shepherded me into the rolling knolls of Vinyl Hunters Valley. This is because it causes the most mysterious synaptic firings within my squishy grey matter. Makes my temples swell with a pleasing uneasiness. Causes mysterious pockets within my loins to quake and flutter.

It’s my HEAD, Schwartz, it’s MY HEAD!

OK, so basically I have no idea what it does to me but I’m certain it transmits some sort of ultrasonic frequency that says, “GO ON EBAY AND BUY A TURNTABLE RIGHT NOW. NOT LATER, NOW. TURN OFF COPS, YOU’VE SEEN THIS EPISODE, GUY, BUY ONE NOW.” So I did and never looked back.

Despite the fact that I love, love, love this album I’ve been avoiding reviewing it here because it’s difficult to capture the essence with letters. Most stereoponies love to saddle the “Trip Hop” label onto this album but that does it no justice whatsoever. That term conjures the visions of hippies listening to hip hop, smoking a big J and spouting, “whoa man this rap groove is, like, so trippy. It’s totally gnarring my buzz, man.” While this album will most likely multiply and sassify marijuana-induced intoxication it’s so unfair to tie it to pot culture. Endtroducing would never, EVER get caught dead in patchwork corduroy pants.

Our youth are under attack.

Other bucking vinylbroncos like to describe  the album by mentioning Endtroducing’s ingredients: hip hop, jazz, psychedelia, movie dialogue, television show trialogue, percussion samples etc. However none of these phonocowboys can ever really capture this wild one.  True, you get a flavor of each along the winding train ride through British Columbia that is Endtroducing but it’s so much more than bits and pieces. It’s like describing your favorite pizza to a friend and saying, “Yeah man I had this awesome food today it was, like, a bit of tomato, flour, a touch of salt and some, like, I think cheese.” Those ingredients are all fine and good but separately they wouldn’t do an Adriatico’s Bearcat Pizza justice just like calling this album a fusion of genres is a crime. The sum is much greater than the parts.

I think, maybe, this album is like watching the most beautiful little bubble you ever saw. You can watch it dance on the wings of an invisible wind but as soon as you try to capture the damn thing in your hands it’s gone. You’ve taken your dirty little paws and ruined such a magical, delicate thing. You should be ashamed of yourself. We were all having such a wonderful time watching that little orb. Next time chill out, stop trying to bottle it up and just behold its angelic splendor while the gettin’s good.

“From listening to records I just knew what to do…mainly I taught myself. And you know I did pretty well…there were a few mistakes that I have just recently cleared up. I’d just like to continue to be able to express myself as best as I can. I feel like I have a lot of work to do still. I’m a student of the drums and I’m also a teacher of the drums too. And I would like to be able to continue to let what is inside of me, which comes from all of the music that I hear, I’d like for that to come out, and it’s like it’s not really me…the music’s coming through me.”

What’s truly incredible about Endtroducing is how it was composed. You have to remember that this was created in 1996 and if anyone even had a laptop it could maybe hold a gigabyte of files, if you were lucky and rich. In addition, music manipulation software like AudioMulch or Adobe Audition hadn’t been invented yet. So, Shadow had to use an Akai MPC-60 music sampler/beat machine to cut, splice, and melt his tracks together. If you then take into consideration exactly how much trial and error of listening to thousands of big vinyl discs it took to find the necessary sounds for the album it becomes evident that either a miracle was performed in the making of Endtroducing or Shadow’s some sort of DJ genius. I prefer to believe the latter, especially after taking watching the following video.

So if you haven’t heard this album, regardless of what music you’re into, you need to get in the boat and get your float on. If you’re a fan you can always use a higher quality rip. And, if you really want to get deep, pick up the vinyl and take a voyage into the continental divide…of your mind!!!!

Click here to download Endtroducing

Tracklist

A1 Best Foot Forward 0:49
A2 Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt 6:40
A3 The Number Song 4:40
B1.a Changeling 7:51
B1.b **Transmission 1
B2 Stem/Long Stem 9:21
C1.a **Transmission 2
C1.b Mutual Slump 4:02
C2 Organ Donor 1:57
C3 Why Hip Hop Sucks In ’96 0:43
C4 Midnight In A Perfect World 4:57
D1 Napalm Brain/Scatter Brain 9:23
D2.a What Does Your Soul Look Like (Part 1 – Blue Sky Revisit) 7:28
D2.b **Transmission 3

*Vinyl Re-Ripped and Updated 12/6/10*

I’m really excited to finally have the opportunity to share this online.

This album was one of the first I heard after the Miracle at Aural Canal–aka when I finally regained full hearing in my left after a mysterious year-long drought.

Anyway, I’ve had experience with Portishead in the past but always thought their tracks sounded a bit too much like Xanax-popping James Bond theme songs that are prevented from nodding off with repeated slaps by a cruel snare druminatrix.

However, Third completely broke out of this box. And thank the Lord Above.

This is what I envision when this disc drops and the lights dim.

I stand in a greyish-green, abandoned amusement park which lies dormant in the middle of rolling countryside.  Nothing fancy, no big rollercoasters or log flumes–just a lonely carousel, a spinning swing, and a popcorn cart sitting derelict upon the side of a cobblestoned walkway. A thick, greasy film covers everything. Countless years have passed since the park’s seen any people. Now, the only visitor is the constant, frigid wind. It’s silent, bleak, and ever-so-lonely.

Suddenly, everything in the park springs to life.  The carousel, with its faded pine fauna, begins to spin wildly.  The giant swing whirls with rusted chains entangled in a dangerous waltz.  It’s a terrible clash of sight and sound from which an ominous hum seeps. Sickly notes emerge in D Minor to give the  attractions newfound voices in a ghostly chorus.

There’s a tug on my leg.  At my feet stands a tiny doll with wooden hands, glass eyes and a paisley-printed dress. She grinds furiously to the throbbing sound.  The feeling to punt her like it’s fourth and thirty is quelled as she speaks in a shrill, hollow voice. “Hello, sir. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a strapping buck like you. Will you be my kissing friend?”

Her ruby lips look warm, very warm. And I oblige as she tugs my hand all the way to the crawl space under the carousel.

Kissing turns to necking.  Necking turns to petting. Petting turns to coitus. Coitus leads to baby. And of course a man and doll must marry once she’s with child. The Parish would be in an uproar if it were otherwise.

In a flash it’s 10 years later and I’ve fathered a litter of doll babies who’ve overrun the park and cater to my every need.  It’s not easy to keep the townsfolk at bay, with their pitchforks and torches and whatnot, but I’d do anything to protect my tinderbox family. They are so a tiny and their lips are so, so warm.

You are the softest Daddy I know!

What it boils down to is that this album creeps me the fuck out…in exactly the right way.

>>>Click here to download Third at 320 kbps from vinyl

The following video uses “Plastic” from this album.

Tracklist

A1 Silence 5:01
Cello – Charlotte Nicholls
Voice [Spoken Intro] – Claudio Campos
A2 Hunter 3:59
A3 Nylon Smile 3:20
B1 The Rip 4:31
Bassoon – Wendy Bertram
B2 Plastic 3:31
Clarinet – Team Brick
B3 We Carry On 6:28
C1 Deep Water 1:33
Vocals [Additional] – Ben Salisbury , David Poore , Somerfield Workers Choir, The , Team Brick
C2 Machine Gun 4:46
C3 Small 6:47
D1 Magic Doors 3:32
Electric Piano [Rhodes] – John Baggott
Hurdy Gurdy – Stu Barker
Saxophone – Will Gregory
D2 Threads 5:48
Bass – Jim Barr
Cello – Charlotte Nicholls
Drums – Clive Deamer
Guitar – Beth Gibbons
Saxophone – Will Gregory