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  • kris_abplanalp
    Oct 4, 2006
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      out now through the usual distros:

      "TONGUE-TIED & STAID" 7"
      Imagine if the Edgar Broughton Band spent their formative years in a
      crack house on the bayou swamping out the rock in desperate need of a
      shot of penicillin. Now exit that doorpass and enter again: peak to
      peak of Mainliner, Psychosexual RnB, Eric Dolphy-Gagaku, William S.
      Burroughs ghost writing a straight line diatribe for a vertiginous
      Howlin Wolf and Tony Joe White's wah bleaching on the beach with a
      Sassquatch. While Sapat's forthcoming LP/CD on Siltbreeze is a bong
      shot of dusty sunlight vitamin C enveloper rays, this 7" single is a
      quarantined crater of wasabi soup strainer knock your dick in the
      dirt dixie raunch. Spins at 33rpm and clocks in at nearly 15
      minutes! Features members of various Kentucky head units: Valley of
      Ashes, Virgin Eye Blood Brothers, Kark, Phantom Family Halo, Crappy
      Nightmareville, The Web, Son of Earth, etc.

      JACKWACKER LP "...things from inside the body"
      release date: November 1st

      Fucking Hoosiers. We brought you Jim Jones, Michael Jackson, Axel
      Rose, David Lee Roth, Rahsaan Roland Kirk's hot-shot of dope,
      America's widest spread infestation of the Ku Klux Klan and a bunch
      of flat land covered with republicans, bibles, corn and soy beans.
      Though even in shithole towns exceptions abound and often the bubbles
      amongst the bleakest territories are the most potent. We could
      jabber on about exiles like Phill Niblock, jump way back to Gennett
      Records, cull the vineyards for the lost White Noise recordings of
      the late 70's, cross-examine Xenakis' various teaching assistants at
      I.U., draw a family tree connecting MX-80 Sound and John Cougar
      Mellencamp to the same branch or suss out the collective Hoosier
      psychic-retribution following the night both DNA and William S.
      Burroughs shared stages in Bloomington... but the wax winged frisbee
      from the dead that we have HERE is the last nail in the wheezing
      coffin of INDIANA PUNK ROCK.

      13 years after the fact, JACKWACKER's recorded remains have finally
      been excavated for your ears and I'll be damned if they are not as
      vital as ever, proving to be the final chapter of the story told by
      MX-80 Sound, Dancing Cigarettes, The Gizmo's, Dow Jones & the
      Industrials, Panics, the Red Snerts comp and of course, the Belgian
      Waffles! What we also have here is one of very few early 90's groups
      that could keep their blowtorch ablaze between the shitstorm of their
      contemporaries HARRY PUSSY and MONOSHOCK. If Harry Pussy stoned the
      blues and Monoshock winged the Hawk with a hiss, then Jackwacker lit
      up a diesel-doused NO-WAVE with a couple hits of speed a la throned &
      one arm left gropin for some shit tickets danglin on a wire hanger in
      a drafty busted out skyroof like a wabber-jawed fish out of water
      with an under-bite, flapp-flossin the gills of it's tail betwixt the
      holes in your head. They strapped on Nikola Telsa ear goggles and
      ropped some towers while everyone gawked at the planes.

      Jackwacker crawled out of the bleak bubble of early 90's Bloomington
      followed by a short lived relocation to Madison, Wisconsin, where
      they soon dissolved. Thriving briefly as outsiders of the Midwest No-
      Wave hula bahloo, they shared bills amongst folks like Couch,
      Duotron, the Scissor Girls, The Flying Luttenbachers, To Live and
      Shave in L.A., Zerobot and Lake of Dracula. This scene often relied
      on theatrics and the lion's share of its sound artifacts are not up
      to snuff but thankfully Jackwacker ain't like that. Elijah Prichett
      sang and played a guitar strung with 3 bass strings and 3 guitar
      strings. Rob Stockwell played drums. Both grew up as musicians with
      serious chops honed in the classical and jazz world. This physical
      endurance/precision/memory can't be hidden with JACKWACKER but they
      both had the HEAD, HEART and BALLS to stear clear of flacid
      progressive rock virtuoso noodling or incidental rote-ranting
      bullshit and INSTEAD created the perfect juxtaposition of fryin' an
      egg on your g-spot primal ID and know-how intention/control; plainly
      speaking they just fucking rock. Of the handful of people that cared
      about the Harry Pussy sound sphere back in the day, there is now a
      bus load of handfuls aping their sound into a retrograde orbit.
      Let's correct the mis-readings, go back to the source, tap the well
      and realign, post-haste.

      press on the Sapat single:

      "My god, what skronk! These Louisville freaks twist a frightening
      romp of free jazz, Beefheart, Texas weird punk, Hendrix guitar squall
      and funkadelia. The sum of all those words is some brain rattling
      noise which will slick down your hair and send you twitching with joy.
      Cued my pal The Flower Vato on to this lil bundle of joy and he went
      all soft on me, begging for another taste. If there was such a thing
      as sideshow music, Sapat would be writing its rules."
      --Scott Soriano/S-S Records www.s-srecords.com

      "This collective of Kentucky cornballs are part of the next wave of
      Siltbreeze Records signees, and to my ears they fit in perfectly –
      which is to say nowhere else. Imagine the 1978 CHILD MOLESTERS with
      access to shorted-out & far-gone primitive keyboards, during a little
      extracurricular jammin' in the practice space whilst shrooming – at
      least that's the vision I get during the three tracks. "Krackhaus
      Blooze" starts out like a psychedelic road hog with exploding guitar
      everywhere, then gets a little jazzbo and Beefheartian from there.
      The rest of the record then goes more "free" from that point, in the
      sense that the ascending heaven-climbing clatter of the STOOGES' "LA
      Blues" was "free". A creepy dirty-uncle vocalist sort of weighs in
      from time to time, but you're never really sure what he's going on
      about. I like it, I just don't wanna marry it yet."
      ---Agony Shorthand (Jay Hinman of Superdope Magazine)

      "Great new fuzz freak ep from this Kentucky band who mix
      Beefheartian vocals, bleated sax meander 'n' skronk, with a very
      heavy, ear grabbing wall of guitar noise and fuzz. Inspired, and as
      original as new rock gets in 2006."
      --Karl Ikola (Anopholese Records)

      "For the sake of tryin to spike this morning w/a dose of vinegar, I
      gotta admit my wonderment as to why the horns 'n hardwires from the
      Louisville collective (sometimes) known as the Black Velvet Fuckere
      seem so distant. On the surface they possess all the killer b's
      (beards, ballcaps, banjos) to step onto the tarmac for a New Weird
      America space launch, but yet somehow-thankfully-they have not bought
      into the illusion/delusion of folding into space that seems
      predominate with niche bands & bozo's whose zipcodes begin with 0, 1
      or 9. Also, they don't seem to reap the perks of the heavy petting &
      finger-banging from the virtual Shaddam Corrino's or Guild
      Navigator's so prevalent on the (coastal) hipster "scene". Landlocked
      & Midwestern, they have a smattering of homemade money (i.e. tapes,
      cdr's) in circulation, but it pales in comparison to most of their
      less disciplined, unfocused contemporaries. Rightly or wrongly, I
      think these BVF folks have to actually work for a living, you know,
      hold down jobs, punch a clock, live off a paycheck. Sure, it kills
      the Sunday late night jams & makes tourin virtually impossible, but I
      can think of worse things (livin on the street for one). However, the
      upside is havin the cash to plonk down for "real" product, like the
      Valley of The Ashes triple lp, the Uncle Jim & Phantom Family Halo
      album's & this new 7" from Sapat.
      Now when I seen Sapat sometime last yr, they was playin in the sauna
      room of a converted gymnasium in Maysville, KY for a KTGA benefit
      (Kentucky Tobacco Growers Association). Like I said, the "part" look
      they had down (part Hatfield, part McCoy) & the lineup was as an
      octet-just like some of them outfits hailin outta MA or NYC-& when
      they commenced to playin it was focused & intense. Never did the
      action "peak" so's one of'em could destroy a set of drums'n then
      dance in a fit of spontaneous"free interpretation", nor were there
      any members crawlin outta the audience to caterwaul into a mike like
      a raccoon w/a yeast infection. They harnessed some serious kosmiche
      energy w/o any noticable trace of irony or aspiration for inner
      circle acceptance. It was simply what they did & they hammered it
      like John Henry. And now here comes this 7" & it too features the
      octet lineup but it don't evoke the same fresh water Can flavor that
      I recall from suddenly last summer. Rather, this seems more like what
      I imagine a jammy time at Indica Gallery might've sounded like when
      Zapple artist's congregated for a meet 'n greet. Hint's of Elephant's
      Memory, Plastic Ono & Brute Force abound. The waft of patchouli,
      incense & hashish is palpable. Barry Miles might not agree, but fuck
      him, Hippie ain't no real way to go through life. It is artifice, an
      embodiment of the modern instinct which is basically a license to
      glut & suck. Rousseau said something like "it is difficult to think
      nobly when one thinks only of earning a living." Ya hear me? Sapat,
      however, are in the throes of Arcadian splendor; their scene
      unspoiled, their music-golden. I know....anything is possible & if I
      ever see a hoglist bearin their name, full've bogus homebake swag ala
      Acid Mother's Temple (among others) I'll know they packed it in, but
      right now, they are nestled firmly in the hand of the creator. And
      since I'm all about the here & now, that suits me to a T.
      --"Law Is The Ultimate Science".....Tom Lax
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