Michel Chion - new CD and concert in Paris
Sorry for the ad but I think it may interest some of you...
Michel Chion is one of the most famous French musique concrète
composer, among Pierre Henry, Bernard Parmegiani or Luc Ferrari to
name a few.
Brocoli is proud to release his concrete melodrama "Tu", based both on
the spoken scenes of Mozart's "The Magic Flute" and on verses from
French poet Robert Desnos. Composed in 1977 and reworked in 1996, it
is now available for the first time on record for Mozart Year 2006!
The CD comes with a beautiful packaging on cardboard, which includes
the full libretto on tracing paper.
Release date is october 9th (distribution : Cod&S (Belgium, France),
Metamkine (Europe), Ear/Rational (US)).
You can preorder it now from Brocoli's webstore, and receive it on
your mailbox on the day of its release:
- preorder the CD for 15 postage included;
- preorder the digital edition for 10 : you'll get the complete album
in pristine CD quality (AAC LOSSLESS, FLAC or MP3 320kbs formats, just
ask) as a file archive the day of its release
Go there :
For those of you who speak French, there's a teaser available on
and a very interesting interview of Michel Chion who talks about the
making of "Tu"
Furthermore, Michel Chion will be in concert on October 5th, 8pm for
the Brocoli festival, at the following venue in Paris : l'OPA, 5 rue
Biscornet, Paris 12ème (metro station: Bastille). Entrance is free.
Other fellow musicians will play : Rainier Lericolais, Minizza, David
Fenech, Pierre-Yves Macé, Daniel Palomo Vinuesa and Pascal Dalmasso,
More info at http://www.brocoli.org and http://www.michelchion.com
All the best,
Geoffroy for Brocoli
- 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