On the Van Wyck Expressway with A Giant Dog

From the 
You're Commuting 
All Over Me 
papers, 

Wednesday 5/16/12: 

I suppose my fellow traffic choked southbound Van Wyck travelers are also cursing the reek of civilization's doom,  as rightly they should.  We all have places to  be, but here we is. Stuck! At best we're moving 10 mph, and everyone's late.  So I won't be the first or last to thank the Apple Corporation of Cupertino for delivering this magic device that holds, at present, 8679 links to serenity now. The mother ship holds 80,544 more and the internets, infinity! (Apologies to the underpaid and overworked of Suzhou, China.)

So who will save the world this morning? The Groundhogs? The Mighty Groundhogs? Nah, this ain't 200 Pound Underground. It's the southbound Van Wyck now, and now is A Giant Dog. We first got cozy with A Giant Dog via the piercing girl group siren skag of "The Grand" on 12XU's Casual Victim Pile II, a swooping, delirious and deceptively wicked velvet crush of harmony and swagger, all in 2 minutes and 46 seconds. Delish! As has come to be expected, 12XU continues to provide a crucial portal into the lux interior of the Austin metro area's most worthwhile practitioners of the combustible sonic arts.  Now, we know what you're thinking. A cursory tour through LOLOTD and it's easy to conclude we're just shills for the 12XU hobbyist behemoth.  We've gushed about the 12XU roster and associated alums for decades, so, perhaps it is true. But as someone older than us once said, what's good is great, so they got me in a corner. Oh no no no!

But this A Giant Dog,  hubba hubba. Today's rain and concrete drag allowed for two complete flights through Fight, and we are smitten - smoted! - by the sustained pow of their crunchy fever lix, tight tyrannosaurus action and, in yet another improbable cosmic confluence, great rocknroll songsterism - just like Literature, the Golden Boys, Flesh Lights, Kingdom of Suicide Lovers, Dead Space, Harlem, Dikes of Holland, et al.  A Giant Dog are as inspired and teetering as the New York Dolls circa '73, stoked on barbed wire girl group harmonies and  wrapped in strummin' mental rifferama. You best believe we're in luv  L-U-V.

But please do not mistake the notion that A Giant Dog  dabbles in some retronaut posturing.  It ain't so. References to past purveyors of the devil's music is our particular take on the underlying cauldron that lends form to A Giant Dog's version of dirty deeds done dirt cheap.   60tz girl groups, surf scales and trash punk all sound like they're burning unchecked through this trio's amps.  And yea, we know they have the same gender configuration of Cruddy. Maybe we're making too much of a perceived  Hullabaloo (the tv show) influence; perhaps A Giant Dog don't even know they're doing it! Hear us out: We dare anyone to deny the barely contained primal tension sparking  from the best of the classic girl groups, you know, the Crystals, the Ronettes, the Shangi-Las, et al.  Encounters with these golden era gems at the diner, supermarket or mom's 80th birthday party are rare snatches of  lust and depth from an otherwise sanitized landscape of popular culture. Yet they maintain their subliminal wallop, even when standing on line at the bank.  We hear that very same element in A Giant Dog. Barely containable, which is thrilling. Which is great rock music.

In fact, Fight is so good, we're only slightly annoyed anymore that their label, Tic Tac Totally, didn't even send us the record after our shopping cart checked out a combo package that included the OBN IIIs record and a grab bag surprise called "a package of slime" or some such. We now figure the slime part is this: TTT takes our  money and doesn't send the records.  Now, it is possible that the creepy guy on the first floor of our building just might've absconded with the package, but hey, everything else has managed to get through, even the Kim Phuc record (although we must admit, it was missing a download  code).  More troubling to our cultured countenance, howevs, is that our emails to TTT go unanswered. Desperate pleas, unheaded.  Now that's just plain rude.

To further blemish this rave up for A Giant Dog, we continue: Whenever record hounds take our money and fail to deliver, we can't help but furrow our brows in cursed protest and ruminate about the fall of Circuit Records back when, cuz, you know,  skag heaven is in the alley behind the 7-11.  See, we're reduced to name calling, evil eyeing and rumor mongering.  Guess we're still pissed!  Well, we'll deal with TTT later and since we're forgiving types, maybe we'll have to allow for the possibility that the package is just delayed four months.  The USPS is having a hard time these days. But maybe TTT is so inundated with requests for A Giant Dog's Fight, they've buckled under the demand and have not the person power to honor our contract.  A Giant Dog's power is so riveting, it should be the only explanation; would that it should and could be true.

Suffice to say, A Giant Dog transcends. Yea, we were forced to finally procure the music via ruthless contemporary connects, but so be it.  A Giant Dog has our money already and if they don't, someone should pay TTT a visit.  In any case, we here at LOLOTD wholly endorse incessant rewinds of Fight whether one is trapped in a car or contending for the living room air guitar championship. The one/two knock out of "Too Metal"/"Dog Collar Blues" is as insanely great as Blasted Canyons' "Lasers Vs. Lizards"/"Ice Cream Man."  A visit to NYC in a trifecta of A Giant Dog, Call Of The Wild and the Flesh Lights, should the latter ever cleave themselves away from the June 2012 nipple of the Hives, would be swell.  Whether or not that ever comes to pass, we say to A Giant Dog (in full Kicks mag jive argot):  NYC oldsters and dragsters dig your hunch!

A GIANT DOG

on and off and on again

Mike Watt/Byron Coley/J + Murph/John Petkovic 

54 secondz of "L.A. Blues" 

at Watt's Book Release Signing 

5/2/12

LITERATURE in NYC with the ZOLTARS and ZARJAZ: Vessels of the heart!

Four months later and LITERATURE's Arab Spring remains 2012's sharpest cut so far. Who else writes paeans to aperture speeds as unfussy and elegant as this? 24 minutes of minty fresh and it’s done – crisp and to the point. 

We here at LOLOTD share our enthusiasm with the peoples of NYC, but the peoples, many of them stare blankly. Some, they complain about that name. Oy, that name. Given the nanoseconds available to hold anyone's tension these days, a name like LITERATURE perhaps fails to ignite upon first contact. Try convincing your neighbor in the yellowing Fetus Productions t-shirt that LITERATURE or A GIANT DOG or TUNABUNNY are as good as their names are dry. Ain’t easy. Kind of like how it used to be for WIRE, we suppose, but look at those guys now. Then again, maybe this LITERATURE is more shrewd than we know. The advantage of word as name is, of course, the potential to eschew previous associations and stamp their own splendid imprint. Can't do that with a name like IOWA BEEF EXPERIENCE.  So, given LITERATURE's way around a push up bra, it's possible they'll imbue their chosen designation with the potency of the ages and the cheap headlines will plague us indefinitely. Fer instance, check this lead in from the April 2032 edition of MOJO:  "12XU reissuing classic LITERATURE". LOLITF! (i.e.,  Laugh Out Loud In The Future).

Ahem. Anyway, enough about that. Arab Spring is excellent.  We said on 1/2/12: 

Who pulled the shades up?

Literature’s manic minute and fifty-nine second “Manmade Man” was an obvious nugget on Casual Victim Pile II - a compilation that should be rechristened Nuggets anyway - but in no way did it hint at the wowfully delicious filtering of sunny available on Arab Spring. I’ve owned this music – can’t say record, cuz it was downloaded from their bandcamp page – for about what, twelve hours?  Three full plays since the start of January 2^nd 2012, the first round concluded before I even reached the Grand Central Parkway/L.I.E. interchange, and I can’t help but spill in an attempt to share; I’m almost giddy. Could be reaction formation, because not everyone gets the privilege of enjoying a great sun drenched January day listening to whatever the fuck they want. In fact, this guy over at the Morton Report profiled Literature on 12/29/11 and wrote, “Literature is a band with a good future if they can but get their music into your hands.” No, Mr. Morton, Literature is now.  Who knows about the future?  We all suffer and while Literature’s music won’t necessarily forestall it, there’s a chance it will make good days even brighter.

It’s a privilege to laze in Literature’s unfettered vessels of the heart and if a comparison fits, the one I’m coming up with is Orange Juice filtered through Harlem, with a dash of those Magic Kids even.  Apparently they have a 2009 record that possibly sounds like Arab Spring, who knows.  But despite this being released on 12/21/11, it’s not going on the 2011 list. I’m saving it for 2012. Literature – if you make it to NYC, I know some geezers who’ll be waiting.

And so NYC, we wait no longer. LITERATURE are finally here this weekend of 4/21/22 and sharing a classy bill at Cake Shop, courtesy of What’s Yr Rupture, with the ZOLTARS, whose great new album is up on bandcamp. As for the Zoltars, their new one is a dizzying  tap of haunting into the realm of spiritual dislocation. ZARJAZZ -  a reputable force in tronic circles - are headlining.

(4/22/12 at Shea Stadium too)

Forging unforeseen connections between Grouper at the Guggi versus Secret Project Robot, income distribution in NYC and Nipsey Russell

As denizens of Manhattan's Upper East Side, we here at Left of Left of the Dial are painfully aware that nothing valuable happens in these parts outside of the Fifth Ave Museum mafia. Sure, we stumbled across a tribute to Václav Havel at the Consulate General of the Czech Republic at 72nd and 1st on 3/30/12, and were pleasantly surprised to soak in mannered sets from Ivan Kral and some of the Patti Smith band, the Fugs' Ed Sanders, an original member of Plastic People of the Universe with accompanying video from the late 6Tz, David Soldier, Jonathan Kane and assorted poets and essayists. We missed Lou Reed, though. It was free, however, and that rarely happens 'round here! So until the apocalypse drives rents southward, bracingly worthwhile entertainment from live humans on the UES results solely from locals egging Gossip Girl location shoots. 

Okay, okay, enough about me.  There is one other occasional source of good vibes on the UES -  the aforementioned establishments of REALLY EXPENSIVE AND IMPORTANT ART (REAIA). Periodically, REAIA curators steal a peak at their interns' iPods and suddenly, there's a performance series from worthy practitioners of the combustible sonic arts, the likes of whom we here at LOLOTD really dig.  We fondly recall one July 2009 Friday evening at the Whitney, courtesy of Titus Andronicus. While we're not necessarily big fans, we sure felt the heightened tension TA capably wrought when, during the Dan Graham retrospective, throngs of kidz blitzkrieg bopped such a frenzy in the concrete basement (right next to the gift shop, adjacent to the really big glass window) that management became unglued and knew not how to handle it. Surely Dan Graham is some kind of diabolical whiz to've convinced the Whitney to green light that event.  

As for Friday 4/13/12, the Guggenheim, as part of the John Chamberlain: Choices  exhibition, presents presented Julianna Barwick and Grouper. The following week it's Cold Cave and on 5/10/12 Thirwell scrapes foetus with Zola Jesus. Damn if that doesn't rhyme. You never know when the Nipsey Russell in you will strike. Here's some Nipsey from an episode of Match Game '74: 

In this terrible recession

When our businesses will not thrive

Give us our social security now

And we'll work at 65!

Ahem. Anyway, as we were about to share, LOLOTD  is pleased that such worthwhile practitioners of the combustible sonic arts as Julianna Barwick, Liz Harris, et al are being recognized for their idiosyncratic awzumness and that it is indeed happening within the boundaries of the UES. Having said that, damn if $27 plus credit card fees isn't a bit much. Now, should that $ end up in the pockets of these performers, then rejoice.  We contacted the Guggenheim to ascertain the route of the money trail, but unsurprisingly, their response was that it was none of our goddamnfuckin'  bizness. The nurve. So we're conflicted, as usual. On the one hand, we're complaining that nothing ever happens 'round here and then, when it does, we're all excuses. To add insult, the Guggenheim is probably a great setting to bask in this sort of element, what with the audience being all hushed and rerspectful. This would be in stark contrast to the last time we saw Grouper, at the horrible Public Assembly in November 2011 with hundreds of lunks blathering on during her set and dubstep creeping through the walls of the adjacent room. 

So, after all the hand wringing, we say, go see these artists at the Guggenheim!  They deserve the $ to match the marquee. However, we also suggest a ready made alternative for Liz Harris, should you be so inclined.  

It was recently announced that Liz Harris will be one of three dee jays spinning for Secret Project Robot's 4/14/12 BBQ Fundraiser and garden growing thing. SPR is located at 389 Melrose in Bushwick, Brooklyn, which is in New York City, about as demographically far away from the UES as can be imagined. In fact, according to the 2010 census - as probably somewhat misreported at Wikipedia - the Guggenheim's 10128 zip code (along with surrounding zips) is believed to contain the highest concentration of wealth in the world.  In contrast, SPR's 11237 zip is the seventh most impoverished community in NYC, according to the NYC Center for Economic Opportunity's 2010 data. 

If you're going to spend $27 on Liz Harris, then, why not consider doing so at Secret Project Robot? Let SPR's proprietor Rachel Nelson make you a mint mojita, tip her handsomely, and drop some $ at the restaurants around the corner on Irving Ave. Everyone wins! And the Guggenheim?  They'll be fine, trust us.  Did we mention that Mayo Thompson will be performing at the Whitney with the Red Krayola and The Familiar Ugly on 4/13/12 and 4/14/12?

Next episode: We compare the art at 389 Melrose in Bushwick with the art at 389 Melrose in Los Angeles, which may or may not exist.

A Time Before This: ATPJR on WPRB 7-24-91

While LOLOTD prepares hundreds of sides from 1986-1991 for release, we foreshadow the ATPJR klangraum of 1992-2008. 

get it here

By July 24, 1991, ATPJR's transformation was nearly complete. The evidence? Gaze thusly: once cherished scumbait and underground rock appears all but eclipsed and, despite Joe Carducci’s cautions, folk forms, radiant fire music, noise and associated anti-rock conceits are in the ascendant. On the Vertical Records front, it was goodbye Cop Shoot Cop, Royal Trux and Sebadoh and hello Suckdog, Caroliner and Merzbow…and Squirmbo, natch. 


The International Pop Underground Convention is one month away, and we are all informed that this is the year punk breaks.  I decline to attend, even though the party is about to launch. What better time to disembark? Gaze thusly twice: The only contemporary (as in 1991ish) rock in the first 45 minutes of this set is from Dutch weirds LUL, in stark contrast to the 1987-1990 sets posted elsewhere on Left of Left of the Dial. 


And so, despite perfunctory overtures toward union with the zeitgeist as I hang in there for a while, my self-imposed exile from this great rock music continued apace, sustained with passionate detours into noise, hillbilly, beard, fire, disco, house and that other garage until…early 2009!  

"Now so,

Now you know.

Here and now,

They come and go."

The real treat here, though, is an unadulterated air check from Trash Flow Radio's Ken Katkin, minting a midsummer guide for the independent thinker ("indie" as yet to be established as the default term for the denizens of different), as he muscles in on my air time.

"Affection is out, affectation is in."

A Time Before This: 

ATPJR on WPRB 

7-24-91

Air check gaffes are listed

 after the jump.

• KEN KATKIN Back announcing MUDHONEY/ FLIPPER/ MISSISSlPPI FRED MCDOWELL
• uncertain as to why Ken is referring to me as Jim Romeo

• KEN KATKIN On the "ins" and "outs" of July 1991
• ATPJR  Heinie Manush hello, Katkin goodbye

• ALICE SHIELDS  "The Transformation of Ani" (edit) Columbia-Princeton Electronic Music Center Tenth Anniversary [LP box] (CRI - 1972)

• ATPJR Heinie Manush Air Check [with Alice Shields bed]

• MEMPHIS MINNIE "My Strange Man" (1936) Hoodoo Lady 1936-1937 cd (Columbia - 1991)

• BARBIE GAYE "My Boy Lollypop" (1956) Black Rock 'N' Roll, Volume 2 LP (Savage Kick, UK -1988)

• BLIND JOE TAGGART "God's Gonna Separate The Wheat..." (1927) Negro Religious Music - Sanctified Singers, Part 1 LP (Arhoolie - 1969)

• DEREK BAILEY/GEORGE LEWIS/JOHN ZORN  "The Warning Track" Yankees  LP (Celluloid - 1983)

• ATPJR Enos Slaughter Air Check [following Lewis/Bailey/Zorn]

• GONG "The Pothead Pixies" Flying Teapot - Radio Gnome Invisible, Part 1 LP (Virgin, UK - 1973)

• KRYSTAL KLEAR & the BUELLS "Like, Latin/Synapse" Ready for the 90's LP (K2B2 - 1980)

• some HUTU MUSICIANS "Take Me Back To Mabayi" (early 1960s) Music From Burundi  LP (Nonesuch - 1974)

• JANDEK  "Think About Your Lady" One Foot in the North LP (Corwood - 1991)

• Hutu Musicians  "Bernadette II" (edit) (early 1960s) Music From Burundi  LP (Nonesuch - 1974)

• ATPJR ATPJR Air check [with Hutu bed]

• the CONTROLLERS "Killer Queers" "Neutron Bomb"/"Killer Queers" 7" (What? - 1978)

• ATPJR Brief  aircheck with WFMU trash talk

• LUL "Stiff Chicken" Autolocation LP + 12" (Eksakt, Holland - 1989)

After the Jump

Uhs and hmmms On this episode, ATPJR's embarrassing air checks include the following: 

• My initial attempt at on air cleverness ("Jim Romeo has been killed. Heinie Manush is taking over") falls flat.

• Erroneous dismissal of Gong during a tentative prog moment.

• Inexplicably pronouncing Jandek as Jaaaaandek.  Only I laughed.

• Find the others and win an Easter egg!

Brian Turner delivers two candidates for best song ever

If you're at all connected with any of the mersh pimped on these pages, then you've wondered, no doubt, about the best song ever. As if some absolute rendering of anything actually exists, in a civilization defined by bounded points of light at every nano turn, one's got to wonder, right? Well, we here at LOLOTD would like to share our delight that WFMU's Brian Turner, he of "found audio detritus," unwittingly or not, proffered two candidates for such a designation on his 4/3/12 broadcast. No, not the Primitive Calculators' "Pumping Ugly Muscle", although we understand the misapprehension. No, we're talking the MOOVERS' "Someone to Fulfill My Needs" and THIN LIZZY's "Whiskey In The Jar". 

While greatness is available in all strains of the combustible sonic arts, transcendence is rare. Via methodical analysis, we've narrowed the essential components of transcendent greatness in song to their fundamental necessaries (and yes, tactful redundancy is one of the characteristics). Beyond the sweep of themes involving love and loss, the exquisitely rendered collective idiosyncrasies of a band in full flower, and the need for a damn good song, there must be longing on the verge  - the essential ingredient. 

Both of these songs can barely contain the universal bittersweet. For the Moovers, it's the pathetic yearn of a man who has so much to give, but is relentlessly spurned until he can contain it not longer. Chicken scratch guitar and deep deep burns, abetted by razor snare rolls, bring it home.  Thin Lizzy's version of the whiskey tale sparks memories of my father, ten years gone now, with "Whack for my daddy-o, Whack for my daddy-o, There's whiskey in the jar-o." I'm not sure what these lines mean, but as Phil's voice cracks, tears invariably fill my eyes. Eric Bell's riffs seal it. 

So there you have it. Two candidates for the best song ever. As for the Brian Turner radio program, while he champions the devilish, the skronk and the wave, he always returns to longing on the verge. It's why his show stands the test of time. He's a man's man, after all, and he endures. We all do. Sometimes the best we can do is channel it with the bards.

Nice live sets on the 4/3/12 episode by the Twerps and feedtime too.

"I never had a love to call my own

I've been a lonely, lonely man since the day that I was born 

So here I stand with open arms

Waiting on your loving charms 

Cuz baby, I need someone to fulfill my needs 

(someone to fulfill my needs)

And baby, baby, I (I-I-I) neeeeeed you."

Brian Turner show on WFMU 4/3/12

the Moovers "Someone To Fulfill My Needs" (1967) Eccentric Soul: The Deep City Label (Numero - 2006)

Thin Lizzy "Whiskey In The Jar"/"Black Boys On The Corner" 7" (Decca, UK -1972) 

Beggars can't be choosers with the choice to survive

At LOLOTD, we abhor violence toward women. 

We do, however, endorse vengeful women apparitions, denim vests, leather vests and the Flesh Eaters.

Me shavin' razor's cold, and it stings

Now that Marc Bolan, Ronnie James Dio and Davy Jones are gone, the Awesome Short Guys Club (aka  Randy Newman Haters) - of which I've been a member since 1986 - is seeking applicants to fill quorum requirements and pursue club biz. This primarily involves pushing you taller freaks out of the way at shows with more than 75 people and devising heels that add inches, yet don't look ridiculous. (Keep in mind we kicked Danzig out years ago, for obvious reasons).  The surviving members (me, Prince, Malcolm & Angus Young and that guy from XRay Eyeballs) wish to express our condolences to Davy Jones' fam and fans.  

Yea, Jones' showbiz hack inclinations made an awkward fit with this ersatz collective. It brings to mind Byron Coley's description of Steve Shelley (no giant himself) upon replacing Bob Bert in Sonic Youth in'85 (and I paraphrase): "He looks about as comfortable as a worm in a colostomy bag." Watching Jones in the linked video, one must admit he seems out of place. But nevertheless, the guy did what short guys gotta do: persevere. Me shavin' razor's cold, and it stings.

SCREAMING URGE demystified at Straight to Video

So I've been staring at this Screaming Urge comp (Impulse Control - The Complete Recordings 1980-1981 on Hyped2Death) on my shelf for months, thinking, you know, I should probably listen to that one day. I think the same thing about all those Chuck Warner comps. Heck, I think that about just about everything on these shelves. Anyway, this recent thinking about Screaming Urge coincided with an excellent overview/interview posted over at Straight To Video by the mysterious R. Kellie, which outlines the nascent Columbus scene and moves me that much closer to a Screaming Urge listening party. And, there's a "Homework" video that answers the question of what my next Halloween costume will be.

comp seems to have been discontinued at H2D 

fusetron may have some though

PINK FAIRIES live 1973

This exists.

A Wicked Company, Valentine's Day seating: TECHNICOLOR TEETH: Teenage Pagans (2012)

Well, this is an unexpected treat! Did you know that we here at LOLOTD  passed on the initial run of gaze gaze, cuz once You’re Living All Over Me is imprinted, there ain't no room for pretend? It appears, howevuh, that Technicolor Teeth have just enuff distance between gazeluh and the unblinking now to've convincingly reconfigured the stuzz in their own gaudy festoon and so, we’re rethinking our position. But that's for later. At the moment - and let me be clear - we are dazzled by the gaudy arrogance in which these Wisconsin shark fucks plunder feedback, echo and verse via the soft white underbelly of mid 90eez toss off civilization. That is, we love it. It’s almost as good as the Negro Spirituals. And for $5, that’s a damn good deal. 

Help some brothers out

ANTIETAM and ELEVENTH DREAM DAY visited upon us in 2011

ANTIETAM Tenth Life (Carrot Top - 2011)

ELEVENTH DREAM DAY Riot Now! (Thrill Jockey - 2011)

RICK RIZZO & TARA KEY Double Star (Thrill Jockey - 2011)

The Antietam/Eleventh Dream Day bundle starts at 1069 Bardstown Road, a tale laid out in loving detail on Noise Pollution’s unbeatable Bold Beginnings: An Incomplete Collection Of Louisville Punk 1978-1983 comp. For this is a story about Kentucky, and as Abraham Lincoln realized, “I hope to have God on my side, but I must have Kentucky." He must have also known that art damaged combustion is not confined to Ohio alone.  

As the story goes, Tara Key emerged in 1978 from the University of Louisville’s library, amped up a Gretsch and was electrocuted instantly. Not only was she not fried, but the surge bestowed the gift of steel wire elocution, and she spoke to atoms. It was a gift. A union of atypical neighborhood punx and local academic droppies transforms the local weirds into admirers of the Hampton Grease Band via the Nedelkoff family barn in southern Indiana. By the time Janet Bean shows up in Skull of Glee four years later, there’s egg drop soup, Rick Rizzo’s eyeliner and love, Halifax style. Grease splatters and the 1069 circle is unbroken.

That grease splatter swells in the music of 1069 alum. The palpable distinction between American treasures Antietam and Eleventh Dream Day and contemporary NPR heartland constructions like the Hold Steady and the National and Arcade Fire - who I don't believe actually exist and were only invented by NPR to give Soundcheck's Jon Schaefer something to wrinkle his eyebrows to - is that our heroes are knee deep in the stench of art damage. This lends even their most accessible strumming - stuff you could play your grandmother - an electrifying and moody depth that’s an inch removed from a heart full of napalm. Antietam and Eleventh Dream Day may bear a superficial similarity to indie rock - blech! What an unlovable nom de puke - but the Byrds are not the launch point, no. The pole position for Tara Key and Rick Rizzo is tethered to Ron Asheton, Glen Buxton, Danny Whitten and early Glenn Phillips. Thirty years on from their 1069 launch point, what remains is some reliably combustible rock action. 

So I aim my arrows right at you

Tara Key is the premier rock guitarist of her generation. She's a wicked southern rock maestro stitching zen twang into punk demon invocation with élan. How many can pull that off in a tenth life? No slight on Tim Harris or Josh Madell; it’s just natural for a guitar player with TK's gift to garner gapes and awe. But, this is a band after all, so let us praise the explosiveness of the unit. 2007’s Opus Mixtum may be their Music To Eat, but Tenth Life is, well, the great record made after Music To Eat, which Hampton Grease Band never made anyway. Antietam has made that record. Tara, Tim and Josh have been playing together for 20 years, at least, and it seems they can churn out their peculiar paeans to southern desire at will. Tim’s ability to foreground fish wire lines while Tara haunts the space inside, all the while peeling it back, with Josh playing it just right, occasionally leaves me with a chill in the best way possible. It’s a treasure. When "Better Man” hits that first dip – so I aim my arrows right at you – I catch my breath. Such a rush sometimes comes about while immersed in the first Come record, so do with that what you will.

You think it all starts with you, 

begins and ends with what you do

But anthems? Rick Rizzo’s handle on classic antheming causes wonder, as in, “I wonder, have I heard these implausibly great hymns somewhere else?” But no, he’s just tapping the source, the archetypal grit that makes the best rock music so ominously potent and simultaneously jarring - moving, really - ruminating on it, yet pressing forward. The internet tells the story of a man who just plugs away at his guitar behind a desk after work, year after year, compiling these moments of inspirational lift, then a downward turn, a pensive pause and always coupled with glowingly combative chording. I confess, Rizzo's songs speak to the conflicted 45 year old in me, the guy who connects with the drunken potency of daze long ago when Prairie School Freakout ripped asunder; yet I don't care to be absurd either, cuz those times are long gone and I know what's coming. There's resolve in the best bands of this generation, those who've struck that intuitive balance, not forsaking what they do so well while pushing boundaries within their chosen form. It's a righteous operandi, cuz the way the Stones and their cohort unraveled after they hit their forties was pitiful. Riot Now! may be Eleventh Dream Day’s most bracing anthology of anthemic tuneage yet. Each one of these rippers is classic rock wrung anew. Janet Beveridge Bean’s evocative counterpoint haunts all but a few of these beauties and the slow burners, “That’s What’s Coming” and “Away With Words” are exquisite. Rizzo continues to harvest that desperate Crazy Horse squall like nobody's biz.

So naturally, Rizzo and Key loop back to 1069 via Double Star, their second Thrill Jockey tally in twelve years, a gorgeous slice of timeless reflection wrought in instrumental sweets, with rusty noise excursions and an eye on the horizon.   Is there a more fitting soundtrack - dare I use that word – to the blur of the passing fields and woods down Route 130 south of New Brunswick?  These pieces evoke that kind imagery, or alternately, sitting on your porch during the humid summer morn as interest flags in those Fahey turtles lumbering sideways across the lawn. You think you’re in the clear, but keep an eye out all the same. That’s the art damaged napalm oozing, ready to spark, even during the ostensible calm of these sweets. Keep an eye out.

My own arc takes me away from these two bands around 1993 or so, losing touch after embracing them with a convert’s zeal during their initial runs. Having forsaken Antietam since their residency at the old Knit and the Spiral and other shuttered spots long gone, I was totally unaware they’d continued to issue such vital contributions to the American rock canon. Likewise, Eleventh Dream Day, who seem to’ve enjoyed a somewhat higher profile across the years, despite the usual assortment of disappointments and then some. That’s documented elsewhere though.  Blink and you'll miss it, I guess. Apologies to both bands for my van winkle and lack of support when it might have counted.

On the other hand and as penance for my oversight, I now annoy everyone with accounts of how great these bands still are, sounding just like another incipient middle age indie rock dad standing down on Metropolitan and Havermeyer in a Sunn 0))) t-shirt. But forget whatever those guys are talking about.  My Antietam/EDD blather is where it's at and may just win over a few hearts, even though I couldn’t tell a Wilco from a Jayhawk and fuck that stuff anyway. Good taste is timeless!

RHYTON LP (Thrill Jockey - 2012)

I've no business using the phrase come correct, but that's exactly what the USPS did this February afternoon when it delivered the Rhyton lp, just in time for the decompression required following our progeny's early morning ice hockey game in the north Jersey hinterland.  That's right, we here at LOLOTD take care of live humans and will be subjecting them to these unexpectedly avant prog dirges for much of the late winter. 

I've only had one pass through Rhyton so far, but if those Igra Staklenih Perli sides are buried deep in the basement stacks and dearly missed, then this is just the ticket. Is there anything David Charles Shuford can not do (in unison here with Spencer Herbst and Jimy SeiTang)?

Thrill Jockey has what you need 

“Stone Colored”