No summer is complete without a wistful, yearning, dub-tinged pop crush designed to accompany the sun as it sets and, if you're lucky, rises again next morning. We haven't found one yet this year, but remain open to offers. In the meantime, Undressed In Dresden by The Hundred In The Hands from 2009, which introduces 1980s synth sounds to red-eyed dreampop in a smoothie bar by the coast and lets the pair of them just hang out and, y'know, see what happens next...
With the summer solstice revving up above us this evening, full instructions for a ritual purging below.
Next, a grisly little tale from forgotten psych-folk terranauts Comus, released in 1971. In Greek mythology, Comus was the god of nocturnal revelry, mockery, heavy drinking and all round rock 'n' roll excess. Diana, the subject of this story, was the Roman goddess of chastity. When they met, as Hart To Hart had it, it was murder. By a strange coincidence, a quote from John Milton's interpretation of the Comus myth opens one of our favourite novels, Joseph Conrad's 'Victory' from 1915, which describes the general impossibility of not getting involved in things you'd hoped to avoid: "Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, and airy tongues that syllable men's names on sands and shores and desert wildernesses."
Bright blessings, and so forth...
After a hard day spent picking things up, moving them around, putting them down, then picking them back up again and carefully returning them to their original location, we like nothing more than to crack open a tin of own-brand beans and enjoy the space-free space rock of 65daysofstatic. Helpfully, they are giving away a sort of sampler EP, including their collaboration with Robert Smith, over on their Soundcloud page, right here.
Occasionally, the god of charity shops still smiles on curious consumers. I made a mental note about a year ago to check out Peaking Lights, who do this woozy, dub-soaked, lo-fi, dreampop thing, distantly reminiscent of a band called Laika, but mostly like waking up in a hot tent by the sea and discovering that your first thought is of a nursery rhyme you haven't heard for 30 years. This weekend Marie Curie obliges us with their excellent album 936, as well as a potent compilation of muscular cosmic disco called, well, Kosmiche Disco.
While we're on this sort of trip, here come Forest Swords. These guys were new to me pre-ATP, where I didn't actually see them anyway. The slow, dub-begotten grind with those endlessly repetitive, broken guitar lines twanging off into infinity suggests Adrian Sherwood remixing a melted version of the Get Carter theme on a fire-damaged record player that can't quite make it up to 33. Scorn might be involved.I like to imagine that this was made by red-eyed men in chemical suits in a bunker beneath the Nevada desert. In fact I think they come from the Wirral. Whatever. Eerie broadcasts transmitted through contaminated aether.
Lastly, Lucifer lands on Lancashire and takes the shape of Demdike Stare: suffocating drones, failed experiments with circuit boards, melody-free abstractions which may or not be recordings of foghorns and trancey eastern chants. Occult in the literal sense - concealed or obscured from view - and probably several others besides.
Some important information reaches us from 1972.
Addendum: this was posted before Jon Lord was recalled for duty elsewhere. Weirdly, on the day of his death but unaware of the fact, we picked up Deepest Purple for a quid and a third in Sainsburys. It still rocks like like a mofo, if anyone asks.