Wet Taxis - Donny + Marie/Polio Baby/Riso Riso/Max And Peter Marmite Jar
A four-song medley, crudely assembled on what sounds like a twin cassette deck. The “punkest” of the tracks on this record, it begins with sped-up Peter Gunn-inspired riffing, ends with a mess of guitar noise, and has something to offend everyone in-between. At this stage the band is the Knuckey brothers with renowned tape fucker Garry Bradbury.
Mindless Delta Children - Go Go Dancer PVC Apron
Plink-plonk synths, distorted vocals, synthetic screeches and radio static. Catchy, yet sombre enough to ruin your holiday. Severed Heads fans may recognise echoes of Hawaii/Torso/97 Cigarettes from Terse's first vinyl offering, the Ear Bitten split LP with Rhythmyx Chymx.
Agent Orange - The Uncle Song
Discordant, lo-fi, floor tom-heavy post-punk, recorded ("in the toilet LIVE") over an old Sex Pistols cassette (a neat little Easter egg in the intro). Post-punk, indeed.
Rhoborhythmaticons - Knife + Fork
Nonsensical tape manipulation augmented with more bleepy synths, distorted vocals, and a lyrical allusion to Severed Heads.
Inserts available here, here, here, and here.
For those inclined to do so, there is an agonising number of Terse label cassettes to track down (including the Mysterious Kitchens and One Stop Shopping comps). But for those with short attention spans, this is arguably the document of early-'80s Sydney DIY. As far as we know (yes, that's quite far), neither the proposed reissue of this EP mentioned above, nor the 1981 sample ever eventuated.
Addendum: 4 May 2011
Steve, a regular contributor to the comments section, has kindly scanned his Terse Sample inserts and made them available to other interested readers. Besides the printed page with band info and other nonsense (the Pope really gets around), the magazine clippings and other ephemera are of course unique to each copy. Thanks, Steve!
3 comments:
They got their grill-fat boogie, their grill-fat punk, their grill-fat glitter, and they even got grill-fats been proggin'. This is the first time I've ever heard GRILL-FAT Avant-Garde DIN(do it=noise!).
Usually not having songs, no matter the energy and noisemakers, winds up forgettable and meaningless. I'm cynical about making noise on tape as an end to itself, rather than a lesson in how to make better ones on "real" records. (Doing it as a safety in case Peter Laughner dies is also cool.)
While the song titles and band names seem conceptual window dressing, and the cover seems pretty non-committal, this little gem you dug up here acts as proxy for the a whole sub-scene. Rather than the twee as fuck "Little Bands" film student vibe, this is more like a solo record by the mental patient half of SPK. It's more than just sounds; one can imagine a story taking place.
Like, it's about one guy getting pissed at the drummer downstairs drowning out the Donny and Marie Show, so his tourettes acts up, and claps eyes on a guitar gone unplayed since his days worshipping the Birdman. He feels something he hasn't felt in years (a wet taxi . . . downunder means throbbing gristle).
Soloing ecstatically while marching from room to room in his apartment complex, giving unwanted medical advice, shooting sparks from his hat of tin foil, showing off his erection to everyone, and winding up at the door of the synth-pop duo the flat below. ("Agent Orange" is possibly a clue to his feeling toward their usual sound). Treacly mates they may be, but our hero is in such an inspired state that he winds up improving their new song by pounding on the door and squeaking balloon animals through the mailslot. Finally, the drummer and keyboardist figure if you can't beat him, join him, in their case by going spontaneously barking mad. The three begin the fourth movement of the record walking down, down, down the rickety stairs of their prehistoric tenement building to the basement, which is a makeshift eternal hell for dishonest piano tuners. There they rest, with a can of sterno and thousands of empty liquor bottles to sweat and gather the liquor to fuel their dreams of starting a record company (the meaning of knife and fork, possibly; also I noted this section has a distinct resemblance to Kohntarkhoz, the fourth album by French space-jazz opera-rockers, suggesting a similar creative genesis.
Anyway, I've been waiting eagerly for someone to do a blog like this, there's a lot still unheard. I'm glad you're gonna cover the good stuff and not get stuck on one subculture; Australia's probably got more gold to give up than anywhere else right now. Allow me to make a few requests: the Sunday Painters 7" with "Let's Get Modern", "Car Crash", and the long one that's kinda like EEs "Natural Situation" as done by real goth kids (all I ever had by them and it was on a tape and I losted it); Black Chrome "Australia's Dead", Henry Vhynl, Clint Small (all look tempting from Henry's list), the Proles, the Barons 7" on Doublethink, the Skunks, the '78 1st take on "Animal World" . . . and as many crazed male barband takes on "Women in Uniform" as I hope exist. I'll do me best to spread the word around, you guys have already done a great job.
They got their grill-fat boogie, their grill-fat punk, their grill-fat glitter, but this is the first time I've seen Avant D.I.Noise soak thru the wrapper. No wonder they packaged it like a toilet glove. I'm not that into the Little Band scene; I don't like how to some people noisy chaos is supposed to feel twee as fucking bubblegum. So while I knew Sparkle would rule hardcore I was wary of this one.
While the song titles and band names seem conceptual window dressing, and the cover seems pretty non-committal, this little gem you dug up here acts as proxy for the a whole sub-scene. Rather than "Little Bands" film student vibe, this is like a solo record by the mental patient half of SPK. One can imagine a story taking place (2nd listen, here goes):
Like, it's about one guy getting pissed at the drummer downstairs drowning out the Donny and Marie Show, so his tourettes acts up, and claps eyes on a guitar gone unplayed since his days worshipping the Birdman. He feels something he hasn't felt in years (a wet taxi dmeans a throbbing gristle).
Soloing ecstatically while marching room to room in his apartment complex, giving unwanted medical advice, shooting sparks out his foil-wrapped cranium tin, he winds up at the door of the synth-pop duo one flat below. ("Agent Orange": possibly a clue to his feels when hearing them). Treacle they are, but our hero is inspired and actually improves things by pounding the door nonstop and squeaking balloon animals. Finally, they figure if you can't beat him, join him. The trio of future Tersemen begin the fourth movement of the 7" walking down, down, down the rickety stairs of their prehistoric tenement building, making music to ward off the ghosts. The basement is makeshift landfill for alcoholics -- and, an eternal hell for dishonest piano tuners. There, with a can of sterno and thousands of empty liquor bottles to sweat, they recycle the gallons of liquid courage they'll subsist from till their radical vision is on vinyl. (the meaning of knife and fork, possibly; also I noted this section has a distinct resemblance to Kohntarkhoz, the fourth album by French space-jazz opera-rockers, suggesting a similar creative genesis.
Wow, they said I'd never publish it. It was too long, they said. So I cut it down. Still too long. I edited it again, and find . . . the damn computer actually DID publish them. Well, meant every word, cowboys.
BC Miller
of PDX legend
and magmagoblin@gmail.com
Post a Comment