Two Dogs – Songs from the Traschan (EVEREST RECORDS ER LP 111) – what a cover, eh? Seems like our two merry pranksters are shooting for a rap album vibe, something from the bling era of about 25 years ago, except doing it in a pretty post-ironic and decidedly European manner. This is the duo of Joke Lanz, famed mayhem merchant of Switzerland of Sudden Infant fame and the radical art group Schimpfluch-Gruppe, acting out here with his vocals and turntabling, while Beat Keller of Gunfireorchestra adds obnoxious stinky guitars and annoying feedback. You could, I suppose, almost mistake this for a species of avant-rap malarkey, although there are so many left turns and unexpected dips in the service that let us know their experimental leanings, with the expected byways into absurdity, incoherence, and dark comedy. The two parts of ‘Currency Exchange’ almost work as a satire on the perils of late capitalism, although the second half of that suite is marred by some corny anti-American shpiel that falls very flat. Lanz is capable of wreaking true devastation among the ranks of The Enemy, but on this one he’s not even exerting himself. At their best, this ad-hoc pair has found an exciting working method that allows them to breed clunky cross-rhythms, abrasive noise, and Dada-style gibberish into a bewildering froth of insanity. Their shopping list of names (perhaps intended as influences) is a bit of a gaffe, but where else are you going to find Jean-Luc Godard on the same page as Captain Beefheart, Hendrix, and Rene Magritte? Well, not on the grooves of this album as it happens, but there’s still a few fruits and nuggets of inspiration to be savoured. (06/09/2023)
Burning Motherfuckers – An Ki (HÆRVERK INDUSTRIER HÆ032) – what a cover, eh? Close-up photograph of this Oslo rockin’ duo ensures we miss no detail of their handsome fizzogs, with every eyebrow hair and detail of facial stubble lovingly lit and lensed in perfect focus as they make plain their sheer love of life through raucous laughter and intimate smooching. This “in your face” mode might be what Øystein Monsen and Thomas Eggum are striving to convey – strenuously – with their take on modern rock and roll, made with just drums, bass guitar, and vocal yawps. What comes across is a frantic and slightly alarmed tone, both in the voice and the frenetic playing, as though both players were intent on driving into a brick wall at 200 MPH, grinning through clenched teeth and with a bottle of Jack Daniels in easy reach of their trembling fingers. Not every cut has this manic intensity, but when they attempt a ballad ‘Unless It’s Trees’ it’s enough to make a hundred SST label-collectors duck for cover. Remainder of album, especially the long title track and ‘Lost It’, strive very hard for MC5-styled excess and ecstatic transport, but the pair can’t seem to negotiate their way of their own self-made straitjacket of limited noise, and eventually the thuds and the hammers simply create a numbing sensation in the lower extremities. Rather than allowing us to soar with the eagles, An Ki simply encases our legs in a tub of cement. For all their flailing, BMF can’t seem to reach a moment of release, much like a dry straining erection belonging to a man determined to bring his bored partner to orgasm, however long it takes. I have some of the same reservations as I do with Norwegian free jazz and its enforced “outness”; too much extrovert personality, not enough art. (06/09/2023)