WHITEHOUSE "ERECTOR" (Very Friendly/Susan Lawly)

One of the most "baseline" Whitehouse releases i've yet heard. I find it difficult to accept that so many people found this music so assaulting back in the day- content-wise, yes, i can certainly see how all the descriptions of degrading sexual practices and explorations of the paedophiliac mindset in the Sotos era could unnerve people (it even causes me some discomfort sometimes, and i've read a lot of Sotos' books!)- but from a musical standpoint, this isn't what i'd term "harsh" at all. Maybe at this point in my listening preferences i'm pretty jaded and only the most extreme releases will suffice, but either way "Erector" is a very relaxing, near ambient listen.

Other Whitehouse albums have dealt in more abrasive sounds, certainly, and this was an earlier effort and reflective of the band's experimentation in the process of finding their true voice. So the derivation from the idea of classic power electronics isn't that jarring, just curious. Even the runtime is tame by noise standards- only 24 minutes. This is easily digestible in every respect and probably one of Whitehouse's most interesting efforts sonically. I would suggest this to people who are a little too nervous to dove into the genre of noise, or maybe for those whose only touchstones thus far are Merzbow and Prurient (nothing against either artist, obviously- i like much work from both.) "Erector" hums along steadily with low bass throbs and a few whines of white static flung across the top-kind of like splashing thin lines of hot neon paint over a pitch black canvas. Bennett's usually hysterical vocals (one of Whitehouse's best features, truly) are roped in a bit here as well, as he treats them with some sort of weird flanging/phasining/chorus effect that renders them all warbly and watery. You can barely tell what he's saying, aside from screaming the titles of the songs (and it does get a little creepy listening to him scream "Shitfun!" over and over while toilet noises hover in the background) although i doubt it makes much difference; we're just supposed to accept that we're in a darker place now and whatever happens is going to fuck with us somehow, some way. And again, maybe that was part of the intent here. Perhaps "Erector" was supposed to be a little more restrained, a little less oppressive, a little more dynamic. Whitehouse has always been an extremely intelligent project, despite what detractors may have you believe. There's a refinement to the punishment, a style to the torture. It's not music so much as it is art that exists as sound. In that regard there's still no one who comes close.

RIPPIKOULU "MUSTA SEREMONIA" (Svart Records)

A perfect death metal album, lost in obscurity and shrouded in the mists of time. Svart Records has given this occult gem a breathtaking reissue on a gorgeous gatefold LP preserving the astonishing, heroic artwork along with a clearish gray slab of vinyl.

Rippikoulu were a Finnish entity recording in the early 90's and left behind only two works, this and an earlier demo which regrettably has not yet seen reissue. The quality on display here is such, however, that even were this the only thing the band ever did it would still earn them a place in death metal Valhalla. This is death metal the way it was meant to sound-all huge, tar-soaked ultra-compressed guitars, goopy farting bass, drums that sound like they were recorded in an isolation chamber and super-low, guttural batrachian vocals that sound like they're coming from under six feet of moist earth. "Musta Seremonia" is reminiscent of the best of the genre and deserves a place alongside such undisputed classics as Entombed's "Left Hand Path," Konkhra's "Sexual Affective Disorder" and Illdisposed's "Four Depressive Seasons." This was Nordic death metal taken to the highest peak, the perfect distillation of Bathory's later period heathen-fetishizing and Black Sabbath's perfection of the head-nodding groove. Rippikoulu are simply bludgeoning and all of today's death metal revivalism seems like weak, worthless shit when stacked up against this masterpiece.

Over the last few days i've wondered what else i could add to this review. Upon deeper reflection i have decided to leave it where it is. The statement has been made, other reviews have lamented the waning of death metal as a genre. This is is an outstanding, necessary piece of extreme metal art. Highest recommendation.

NO BALLS "COME CLEAN" (Permanent Records)

That rabbit looks pretty innocent but he will fucking rip your goddamn throat out, shit in the hole and pound you one in the eyes with his hind feet for good measure before he scampers off to fool someone else. Such is the trick of No Balls, a somewhat pointless but ultra-devastating Brainbombs side project. It's pointless in the fact that it sounds pretty much exactly like the Brainbombs except it's a little heavier with less saxophone and fewer vocals. Pretty much what you've got, then, is an instrumental slab of crushing blown out in the red pulverizing repetitive monotony.

Debating the merits of this band's existence aside, "Come Clean" is a monster of an album, an epic thunderclap of guitar primitivism and brutal, raged-filled misanthropy turned outward and made into music. This is total hate. Brainbombs are at least a little bit funny; they'd have to be to get away with the ridiculous lyrical shit they do. No Balls aren't funny at all. They're just out to destroy. Maybe writing lyrics was too much of an investment, a time-sucker that was getting in the way of the room clearing that No Balls must certainly be capable of. Seriously, listening to this through the headphones is like a sledgehammer bashing against your temple over and over until your head becomes a bloody mess of pulp and viscera. It doesn't let up, ever. I can't imagine what this would be like live-i just know i need to be there if they come anywhere near me. Every song is one riff driven into the ground, with more and more scuzz and noise piled on top until each track reaches its saturation point and collapses in on itself. There's no derivation nor variety, just one skull-cracking riff after another and a shitload of anger turned into sheets of gorgeous, shrieking noise.

If you dig the Brainbombs then you need this. If you're into Circle's heavier moments or Whitehouse's instrumental tracks then this is going to be your new heavenspace. I like all those things so No Balls is a winner for me. I could extrapolate on things further but there's just no need. It is what it is and nothing more-pure fucking audio hate. Grid your mind into mush and embrace the filth.

ACID MOTHERS TEMPLE "IN O TO INFINITY" (Important Records)

I'm surprised i haven't burned out on AMT yet; none of their records have been super mind blowing (although a couple have been much HEAVIER, which i like) as of late but none have been terrible either and for whatever reason i keep thinking of them as a solid and reliable unit; the Slayer of psychedelia, maybe. This marks perhaps the 110th or so album by these guys i own (no shit) and it's one of their better recent efforts. "In O to Infinity" sees the return of original vocalist and musey chanteuse Cotton Casino on one track and is something of a return to cosmic form, the album itself being a continuation, or sequel, if you like, of their previous cover of Terry Riley's minimalist masterwork "In C."

Made up of four spacey sojourns, "In O to Infinity" is a mellower AMT affair, dominated by the usual run of galactic bloop sounds splattered across an ocean of simple revved up one-chord guitar ragers. Kawabata seems toned down a bit more than usual; there are very few damage solos (if any?) here and almost none of the super blown out guitar destruction that made AMT famous so many years ago. Instead we get a lunar landscape of icy voiding space echoes, a wintry wall of fuzzy white shimmer noise and static, a sort of missive from the outer reaches of the galaxy, a message from way way beyond to massage your poor exhausted 21st century brain.

This is easily AMT on autopilot and to go even further i don't see any of these pieces as any sort coda to "In C." They're just four songs by a gifted band of sonic cosmonauts deciding to go in a hyper-minimalist direction; calling them Riley derivations and marketing the record as such was probably an after the fact decision. Much too has been made of Miss Casino's return to the ensemble here but her role is not an up-front one at all-instead her vocals are just another background noise amidst a thick foggy swirl of them. I don't know if she's back in the commune again (it wouldn't be a bad thing since Kawabata seems to be having a hell of a time finding a decent replacement for her) but if she's going to be on future endeavours i'd like to see her taking up a little more sonic space. The old Cotton was as close to a frontwoman as AMT was ever going to have and she was super fun to watch live. When she left, the unit definitely suffered a little.

"In O to Infinity" isn't a necessary purchase-your AMT collection isn't going to suffer with its absence and since it's on Important it'll be around for awhile if you're on the fence-but it is a good one, a nice 73 minute mind melter to throw on in the dark, or maybe in a room lit by lava lamps or blacklights. Probably the blacklights since it's, you know...spacey.

GREG GINN "GETTING EVEN" (Cruz)

Greg Ginn's first post-Black Flag release was a furious slab of rock and roll revisionism combined with hardcore aesthetics, further devolving the ideas he had strived so hard to incorporate into Black Flag's latter-period albums while at the same time showcasing his growing confidence as a one-of-a-kind guitarist capable of considerable avant-garde six-string abuse heavily indebted to simple blues progressions and regressions. "Getting Even" tears through 14 songs in 30 minutes, all backed by a Ginn himself on bass and a drum machine without any loss of power, instead providing something of an "industrial" feel to the record, a mechanical rhythm section capable of producing the sounds Ginn had sought to spotlight in Black Flag. The guitar was always meant to be the focal point and on "Getting Even" (how eerily appropriate a name is that?) there's nothing else that captures your attention-this is Greg's show, 100%, and if you don't like it or can't understand it then fuck you, you were never supposed to be here anyway.

What's most interesting to me concerning Greg Ginn is how the interest in purer rock and roll guitar forms began to manifest itself as the recordings advanced. Rather than improve as a guitarist across his recorded tenure Ginn sought to devolve, to explore the outer fringes via an appearance of decaying ability, a regression into anti-learning where the only thing that improved was speed. On certain Black Flag tracks ("Bastard in Love," "Slip it In," "The Bars") there was an acknowledgement of rock and roll diction as well as an interpretation of it but on others ("Can't Decide," "The Process of Weeding Out") there was an outright rejection of it, a hatred for form or structure or phrasing that manifested itself in the guise of totally whacked out meandering solos more reminiscent of free jazz or psychedelia. Whether Ginn was aware of this at the time or was simply going all out is a matter of debate; not in question is the awesome display of passionate talent in his guitar playing. He's been considerably underrated as a soloist.

"Getting Even" did not seek to establish Ginn as a new sort of guitar hero. While there was certainly a shitload of amazing axe-slinging across its short runtime it was more of an encapsulation of his contributions to the hardcore idealism. It serves more as a "fuck you" to the idea of Black Flag as an institution as well as the idea that Black Flag was the work of a group as opposed to an individual. All the philosophies of Black Flag exist within the walls of "Getting Even." It's not difficult to imagine any of these tracks as BF songs that could have been. Ginn's vocals, however, while not ineffective, lack the charisma or force of someone like Keith Morris or Henry Rollins. Morris in particular could have screamed the shit out of these songs, most being anti-authority rants or superficial explorations of the idea of self-worth. There's an incredible pessimism to "Getting Even" that comes across beautifully, an unbridled rage and seething anger that brims to surface as the album grinds on.

Ginn would never be more focused than this. Later solo efforts began to hone in on instrumental prowess (or the idea of it) or overwhelming volume as opposed to concise song-driven statements. The guitar playing here is exemplary and the bastardization of simple rock and roll was never more ripping and awesome than on ferocious tracks like "Kill Burn Fluff," "You Drive Me Crazy," and "Torn." Similarly Ginn ripped through the notion of hardcore on anti-authority devastators "Pig MF" and "Yes Officer." And his sense of humour was shown to be firmly intact on album opener "I've Changed," which may as well have read as a instigation effort towards the Black Flag faithful who would see Ginn crucified before buy one of his solo records.

Greg Ginn is one my favorite guitarists and someone i've taken an immense amount of inspiration from throughout my own career as a guitarist. To call "Getting Even" anything less than a masterpiece would be selling it short. This is punk rock ferocity and DIY idealism fused together in a caduceus of integrity. This is the template; this is a vision. Whatever Ginn chose to explore afterwards this record is still there. Don't ignore it.

DODSFERD/MORTOVATIS "UNTIL YOUR WORLD GO DOWN" (Moribund Cult)

What the fuck is this? I like Dodsferd a lot but this is an astonishing throw away from such an excellent project. Dodsferd tracks normally run between 7-15 minutes but here they turn in two "unreleased" studio tracks about three minutes each and one live track hitting about five minutes. The live track i'll find no fault with as Dodsferd's relentless approach would pretty much wreak hell on any human drummer expected to keep it up for 10 minutes, but the studio tracks are just an embarrassment. Should have just kept those in the vault, seriously, as they do nothing to further the Dodsferd recorded legacy and in honest regard come across as nothing more than mere black metal sketches extremely derivative of early Darkthrone. There's no identity to Dodsferd's approach here, no mark of individuality, just a general feeling that as long as there's some Dodsferd in the can it might as well see release. I'm saddened to see such a misstep from an artist whose work has only grown on me with each successive release-normally Dodsferd are an awesome band, probably one of Greece's absolute best black metal entities, but here the material is just beyond sub-par.

Mortovatis's track, on the other hand, is fucking mind-blowing, and seems to be the reason for this split's existence. Maybe Moribund just wanted to release something by these guys; i certainly can't blame them but why not just make it an EP? Mortovatis are an entirely new band with nothing released prior that i am aware of; their track here is a 25 minute piece of crushing psychedelic black metal that completely fucking DETROYS. Ridiculously repetitive and riddled with an endless whine of scorching feedback, this song just drags on and on and on until you're beyond reduced and ready to submit to any sort of new riff no matter how good or bad it might be. Flattening in the best possible way, an astounding approach redolent of masters like Burzum and Trist but also possessed by the spirit of drugged out ancient head-nodders like Neu! and Skullflower. An impressive amalgamation of black metal urgency and noisy psyched-out devastating bliss, definitely a band to stay abreast of.

If Moribund meant to fuck with people's heads, then they've certainly succeeded. If they thought for one iota that these Dodsferd tracks were a worthy side of a split then they were sorely mistaken. I love the idea of splits where the bands are at odds with one another, and had these been exemplary Dodsferd tracks i would rate this record a lot higher. As is, it's still awesome based on Mortovatis's contribution alone-i'd say get this fucker if you want to get zoned into the fucking ground-but it falls a little short of the quality i would expect from such an excellent known band and established label.

MONARCH! "MER MORTE" (Crucial Blast)

It feels like i've been waiting for this one forever. About a year and a half ago this came out as a ridiculously expensive vinyl release on Spain's Throne Records, and i passed on it as it was way out of my budget at the time ( i had just thrown down for their super swank vinyl edition of Grief's masterful "Come To Grief" and was tapped out financially.) Luckily, Crucial Blast announced about the same time that they'd be handling the CD version so no worries- i'd have it soon enough. Fast forward to 2010 and it's finally here (what took so long?) and is pretty much exactly what i expected, with a slight laconic twist.

Monarch! are a french doom metal band fronted by an extremely petite female vocalist named Emilie, who also owns her own clothing line that creates uber-cute small, tight shirts for little rocker girls. They're kind of like the "Hello Kitty" of doom metal, if you can conceive it, but they're also one of the most agonized, pulverizing doom units working in the genre. Monarch! are fucking SLOW, so slow that their songs are little more than accentuated power chords bludgeoned out between listless, hanging boughs of feedback. Emilie's vocals alternate (sometimes seemingly without focus) between girlish petting whispers and throat-shredding banshee wails, both methods being equally effective at scaring the shit out of you.

"Mer Morte" is one 35 minute track, a total wreck of a song that goes nowhere at a glacial pace and only begins to move at about 20 minutes in. It's business as usual for Monarch! but this track stands a bit apart from their catalogue in that it's way more subdued and features more of the aforementioned "whisper" vocals, creating a weird disassociated feel, like you're listening to some sort of beyond-death transmission, like someone from the other side is trying to get in and your consciousness is the door. The wall of electricity is the conduit, the small, frantic hushed vocals the message. What Emilie is trying to say is beyond me as the lyrics are in french but its totally absorbing from the first second. Few doom bands can do this glacial style well and still remain interesting and gripping (Khanate are really the only other i can think of who go this slow) and it's to Monarch's credit that they're able to so utterly transfix me with what's normally an incredibly abrasive, oppressive subgenre. "Mer Morte" ends with about two minutes of Emilie's isolated crooning, a near empty, almost sad kind of personal choir. You want to think it's "pretty" but you know it isn't. There's something wrong through all of it; if only you knew what. Totally unnerving uneasy listening. Recommended.