Francis Harold and the Holograms

Blown out, detuned and lysergically vertiginous - Francis Harold and the Holograms was the other thing I took a chance on at Reckless yesterday and it has to be the farthest thing I could have discovered from Angel Olsen.  

Hozac put their first full length and the called it "by far the most brutal and unsettling Hozac release to date," and I have to trust their self examination because this third and final record feels truly diseased.  It is just utter madness.  I don't think I will ever fully trust that I know what speed it should be played at.    

It could be a the soundtrack to a trippy cult snuff film.  When the clerk handed me the vinyl to inspect, I was startled to see this drawing of a wolf and a lamb staring back at me.  "Maybe I should take this as a warning and be a little more scared," I joked.  

Turns out the joke was on me.  This is truly dark and dangerous noise and if I start to listen to this often then I fear for my sanity.   Francis Harold is the wolf, you are the lamb.  Do not expect to be spared. 

 

Video Disease Records says that the group willfully destroyed their equipment as they recorded this.  

Perhaps that is good for the safety of us all.  

Do you think you can handle it? 

Well a link to a free download can be found HERE. 

Angel Olsen

I feel like an angel was guiding my hand yesterday when I purchased this record but I suppose the effusive four address label Reckless review should get some of the initial credit.   

"Some have described Angel's music as haunting, others as uniquely natural, but whatever the individual's take on her songs may be - they command the listener's attention." 

The winsome yet mysterious album cover probably deserves kudos as well. 

And then there is the title - Strange Cacti - surely a wink and a nod to Billie Holiday?

Well I am thankful for all the forces at work as well as for being receptive to them because I am now under happily beaming in Angel Olsen's raw and powerful light.  

Her website tells me she lives in Chicago.  Now I feel truly blessed.  

Here are two videos - neither one of these songs are on the record I just bought.  They are on the records that I will soon buy. 

Do yourself a favor and don't click below unless you really have the time to listen.  Early morning or late at night would probably work best.  They are plaintive yet ephemeral.  Stark and simple lullabyes that will alternately uplift or crush your heart. 

Angel Olsen - Tiniest Seed (Official Video) from Randy Sterling Hunter on Vimeo.

GAWD DA-HAM!  Maybe I should have told you listen to her without watching the video.  Even her beauty is starkly haunting.


Angel Olsen - Sweet Dreams (Official Video) from Randy Sterling Hunter on Vimeo.

Strange Cacti has been re-released on Bathetic.  Initially it was self-released on cassette.  This partly explains the first point of comparison my memory banks gave me was when I was just destroyed by my first listen is to Edith Frost's first demo which was later released as an EP.   But in actuality they both have that refined ache to them.  They both come of as real folk and ghostly blues at the same time.

Angel Olsen - I wonder of she would ever consider doing a record with Zola Jesus?  

Whatever she does next, I will be paying attention. 

After the Flood Part III

If you didn't get carried under, there is only one thing to do after a flood: rebuild. 

So it was kind of fitting that last Saturday was Record Store Day; a day where stores are flooded with new releases.  Some are crass cash grabs and some are cool collectibles.  What falls into which category is probably a matter of taste. 

Participating record stores are also flooded with people.  While waiting outside Dusty Groove with G$ we were handed a one sheet instructing us on proper RSD decorum.  Apparently pushing, shoving and grabbing stuff out of other people's hands was not going to be tolerated. 

The nice folks at Dusty Groove also had a cart with coffee and bagels.  Since I had lit out of the house at 6 am with nary a morsel to eat in order to get in line and freeze my toes off, I was very grateful.  

"You may have just saved my life today," I jested with the record store employee pushing the cart. 

"Your wallet won't be saying that in about forty minutes" he deadpanned back. 

Now I won't get off on a tangent about the sadomasochistic nature of RSD on the more music obsessive among us, I imagine junkies occasionally get together to trash talk their dealers too.  

But suffice it to say, the deck was stacked against us.  We were poor humble music lovers desperate to get in from the cold.  We had no idea what lay in wait for us but we had a feeling that whatever it was, it was going to be overpriced and we would buy it anyway. 

But something happened while this motley crew of strangers hung outside, we got to talking and so once we were finally inside we knew a little bit of what others were looking for.  The spirit was hopeful.  We started to help each other out in our personal quests.  

I snagged a copy of the Big Star release for my friend who was twenty people behind me in line because I spoke aloud, "Anyone see the Big Star record?" and someone handed it to me.   G$ spotted that Pink Floyd 7 inch and looked around for the dude that wanted it.  

Things were looking good that we would get many of our heart's desires - a stark contrast to RSD of recent years past.   As G$ and I were leaving we got a call from SD - despite a cold he was heading into the fray, en route to Dusty Groove.  

I told SD the general layout of where to look for his treasure and wished him well.   We were on our way to the Numero Group pop up store where my favorite score of the day awaited me...

A set of ten cassette tapes?  Yes, that is right and yes I am surprised as you are.  More on that tomorrow.  

After The Flood Part II

So this is only partly my story to tell because I was one of the lucky ones.  This one goes out to my man SD because my basement didn't get flooded this time.     

But I have been there.  I have had to throw out records, cds, comic books, concert posters.  And whatever is salvaged still gets boxed away for a time during restoration.  You are a collector that is instantly devoid of a collection.  

It is a moment that makes you sick - sick over looking at your ruined collection and, for me at least, it made me sick to truly recognize how much emotional power these items hold over you. 

There are all these other people that care about you and know you and they ask about the carpet and the furniture and THE DRYWALL.  Who the fuck cares about these things when there are dead and mortally wounded records strewn about? 

Serenity is truly a fleeting thing at this moment.  SD, I am here for you and I look forward to the next time we can listen to music together.   

*****

BTW: I did a google image search for water damaged albums and couldn't really find any and I think it is obvious why - no one wants to nail down for posterity what garish shape their waterlogged copy of Band of Gypsys was in right before throwing it into an industrial strength garbage bag.

But I did find this cool article about some rare Roy Eldridge records that were damaged in Hurricane Sandy.  The restoration effort meant that they had to continuously pour water on the records as they were playing one last time to lift the music off.      

  

After the Flood Part I

If you were anywhere near Chicago last Wednesday then you know how the late afternoon sky flipped a switch to night, shrouded itself in fog and then initiated an all night marathon of rain. 

It all started as I was a block away from the highway.  When I finally hit the on ramp, an old mixtape playing in my deck delivered "After The Flood" by Talk Talk. 

The synchronicity was eerily beautiful. This epic track with its unique feedback squall made the lightning and waves of descending water not only bearable but joyous.   

It took me close to two hours to get home that night; I rewound this song and played it three times to preserve my sanity. 

That very same night I wrote a blog post but neglected to save my work as I wrote.  An errant keystroke as I neared the end caused the whole entry to be wiped out instantly.  

"Aw, fuck it."  I was too tired to start over.  I was grasping for something about how the storm reminded me of the lasting power of this record.  It had been elusive anyway, I rationalized that all my faithful readers were well aware of this album's sway. 

In retrospect I realize that the real message was in that keyboard snag which resulted in loss.  That feedback squall was a flood, not rain.  

I was being warned but I mistook it as a comfort.  I trundled off to bed and slept while streets became rivers. 

*******

Laughing Stock was the Talk Talk's fifth and final album but it was my introduction.  I recently found an article on its creation and mythology that is worth checking out.  

Sweet & Low

In 1996 I rented Swimming With Sharks from the local video store.  I laughed so hard that tears streamed down my face as l doubled over, clutching my gut. 

It also hit way to close to home.  I completely identified with Frank Whaley's character. "I need to find another job," I told Trocc as the credits rolled. 

So last week I am standing in line at the drugstore and I spy a DVD copy atop the disheveled bargain cut out bin.  "This Is A Special Edition You Schmuck!" the slipcase informed me, while bearing a $3.99 price tag that Buddy Ackerman's ego would NEVER tolerate. 

I am quite looking forward to dipping into the bevy of the special features of this DVD. 

If you haven't seen it and you are fan of Kevin Spacey roles where he gets to let his Napoleonic beast off the chain then check these two clips out and then put Swimming With Sharks in your Netflix queue.

  
Age is a weird thing when you can look back at the hard times with a sense of accomplishment.  It didn't kill me.  I survived. 

Today I am back at that same workplace.  Thankfully there are no egomaniacal tyrants above me.  

But my current boss lacks imagination and conviction.  This is a problem because our business happens to be changing the world. 

For the moment I am sticking it out, trying to inspire courage and confront skepticism.  I need to give myself a deadline to this effort - I am getting too old to feel like I am simply surviving at my job.  

Freckled faced disco sprite with a british accent

Chloe Howl = Instantly smitten




I feel bad that I don't know how to get the ummlauts over the O. 

 

If you go to her website right now you can download these two songs and one other for FREE!