New Zealand; a world truly pushed apart from all of it's surroundings. A plush, green, piece of land shooting out of the southwestern region of Australia that has more in common with Easter Island then it does Las Vegas, NV. A land so far south, the clouds look red on a clear day (not an actual fact, by the way) and the people dance about in sweatboxes without a (very literal) care in the Universe to some of this planet's best musical offerings.
This pretentious gibberish that I'm shitting out of my brain has a function to serve, believe it or not:
GET PEOPLE AWARE OF GENIUS RECORDS. ESPECIALLY FROM NEW ZEALAND AND AUSTRALIA.
Goddamn, there are so many GREAT bands from New Zealand. The Dead C, the Verlaines, the Clean, Sharpie Crows, just to name a few. Ever copped an actual Flying Nun release? No? I thought so. And you know what? You probably never will. But, the great thing about free-noise and all of it's followers is that the demand for re-releases are in effect...and the Gods of understanding are here and before us.
The Dead C, for instance, one of the greatest noise bands to ever make records, is having their plush material re-pressed and gate-folded with previously unreleased recordings by the wonderful label Silt Breeze. This is all going some where, so follow me down these stairs.
The Dead C is 1/3 Michael Morley.
This man is an enigmatic figure; a man proven capable of spilling completely-sincere sadness out of a feedbacked cabinet while escorting his carefully chosen words across the street and into a windowless van. A man that turned the T-Rex song "Children of the Revolution" into a negative mess (all in a good way, of course). A man so far removed from the strings of coffee and cigarettes that he has come full circle only to represent those who truly don't understand:
You, myself, your dog, that cat that springs from the bricks and into a bush, tires turning into a flip on a freeway, the moon watching silently, tape decks looping on accident, grandma's food steaming to the ceiling, rocks on a lake bed....
Point being, none of us truly will "get" this record I'm on about. But, as we all know, speculation is not only key, but essential to helping make sense of something we otherwise would smile and shrug off as being too far gone in our lives.
So, I'll keep this shit short and I'll do this in the only way I know how to; song by song breakdown:
GATE "REPUBLIC OF SADNESS"
FOREVER - Picture Alan Vega in the beginning stages of an acid overdose, laying on the ground in fetal position covering his face with ripped black gloves on. He's about to cry but choking back the tears. There is a microphone placed right in front of him and it's just within range of his voice. He croons what he feels and thinks is happening to him at that particular moment in time. Now, picture Martin Rev in the corner tripping just as hard, but in a state of melancholic contention. He's pressing keys like Mozart on heroin. There's a high-hat time making sense of the sadness similar to Tony William's drumming on "In a Silent Way". The mood wheeled by is one of tired anger and lazy beauty.
ALL - An oceanic synth being played with feathered hands that are quickly interrupted by a suitcase recording of first-line-drummer-boy that is to carry the track. The feeling of blue and clear air are introduced to a passenger ride along a California freeway at full volume. Michael's vocal melodies are as creepy as they are unintelligible. Bass is introduced, submerged and then discarded in clear time of it's arrival. Riding out to the sound of flagged hearses driving by through the eyes of a tired child spectator.
DESERT - How? Why? What the fuck? As much as I tried to leave the Daft Punk comparison out of this review, it's unavoidable here. What I also tried to steer away from as is how I can very much picture Ian Curtis killing himself to this track just as much as anything off of "the Idiot". But,staying on down that road, Daft Punk is undeniably kin to this particular track. The blocked-amp-funk-wahed guitar gives way to late Joy Division synth. Simple back beats keep the song in perspective while a cupped microphone is given vocal treatment that would make Iggy shed a tear of joy. In sync, but out of place, is the only way to describe the late key melodies that blanket Michael's guitar. A dusted feedback cover the sharded instrumentals that once existed beautifully.
WILDERNESS - Epic ( I fucking hate that word) electro opening to a driving new-age-ish beat with what I think is a didgeridoo churning away in the background. Reverbed vocals drench the song with a very particular lack of gusto, and I'm sure it's done on purpose. Have you ever waken up at four in the morning to buy some questionable substances with friends? Well, if you have, I'm sure this song will make the perfect soundtrack; blaring through your shitty S-10 speakers while you are on your way to North Las Vegas. This is a song of an adventurous air. It ends just as quickly as it begins....unfortunately.
FREAK - Wasting no time, the whirlwind drum machine comes swagging through with a vigor that can only be brought with some kind of bite. And LORD, does it bite. This song bursts into the kind of electro genius that you'd love to bump on the Jersey Shore just to watch the guidos run from the board walk in horror only to drown themselves in the Atlantic ocean. Ain't NOONE dancing to this but weathered and affected punks drunk on life.....and alcohol. A great track that is long lost without it's best friend, the strobe light. But don't get me wrong, this ain't techno. Oooooooooooh no. These instrumentals and vocals are made the way only a New Zealander-isolationist punk rocker can comprehend. I tried, and you will too, but we'll never match it.
TREES - The most beautiful riff I've heard so far this year. A guitar forcing an unrelenting feedback off of it's melody like a protective significant other, the song carries upward toward a note that we all wait for but only hear in our minds. The room for auditory hallucinations is plentiful here. The whistles of the keys ring just below the fat of an over distorted drum. It gives me the very same feeling it does when flying over international waters, looking down at the random islands below. Seeing the cane fields being purposely burnt to shit while the smoke rises to the skies like the Twin Towers' misplaced ash. it feels like a crime to fly over something so majestic and "pretty". Such is the way of life, and the cosmic pitty. Such is the way of the distorted guitar and keys that fade out in a fashion that would make Kevin Shields cry double time. When it all comes back around, this record amplifies it's beauty when the silence gets re-introduced.
Oh yea, this record is available for order at all Zia locations. Hell, it's where I copped mine. Do yourself a favor and snag this LP before they become ridiculously expensive Ebay fodder for noise-nerds 10 years down the road.
