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Old music: Captain Beefheart "“ My Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains - Source: The Guardian Music Blog Listening to, say, Dachau Blues, Pachuco Cadaver or Neon Meate Dream of a Octafish on Captain Beefheart 's surreal 1969 masterpiece Trout Mask Replica would hardly incline you to bracket Don van Vliet with the great balladeers.
mattin: exquisite corpse - Source: Cows Are Just Food detourn yourself! this shrieks. debord's like a fucking spectre hanging over me just now. letterists got a fist in my ass working me like a ventriloquists dummy. yup mattins' back. reductionally, indulging the destructive/restrictive rockist impulses of billy bao with a spewy fervour not seen since"¦ okay not the last billy bao record (urban disease) but certainly may08.
see, unpredictability's what i dig about mattin. urban disease was so beautifully unlike a billy bao record, defined by silence, lacking words. exquisite corpse is baoist in all but name. unredeconstructed rawk, spittle-flecked and foam-mouthed. lyrics that read like marxist/situationist pamphlets. and all wrapped up in a muss of violent concept.
this is a record as much about rock music as capitalism. putting the exquisite corpse as game aside, taking the words at face value, we're looking at the bloated airbrushed near-zombie nonfuckerry of rock and roll as an artistic force, we're looking at the (kinda) free market as ouroboros, devouring it's own dead flesh. both theories impotent, like leatherface wildly swinging that huge dick chainsaw at thin air; the realisation a way of life's coming to a(n) (un)climactic end. which makes this record such a goddam joy. fulla wild messy pep. an epinephrine shot to yr head/heart/gut/cock/cunt/feet. all the corporeal zones music should kick you in.
mattin and his savage chinese whisperers hack unsighted at the cadaver of rock and roll, blind men performing an autopsy on pre-post-bust-capitalism. a ten track three year old prescience of the carry-on-as-normal weekend at bernies school of economics. none of this fichtean dialectic and oppositional psychopathology would matter a tinker's cuss if it wasn't glued to to such (im)perfect, uncut (in every sense of the word) bash and clatter, if it was done with a fair bit of dry, dry panache.
it started, in proper contrarian style, with mattin's lyrics and voice. followed by kevin failure's guitar and
Thee Oh Sees:
Castlemania - Source: Prefix Magazine "It don't feel too good to be/ Dead to the 21st century" are the very first words you hear on Castlemania 's leading track, "I Need Seed." It's an odd little ditty written from the point of view of a cadaver who's hoping to be home to new germinating plants.