As the weather grows colder, I find myself breaking out the minimal bleak-pop more and more, and this fits the menu perfectly. Happy Corners is the new project of Victor (Venezuela) and Maeve (Argentina), their songs beautiful in their melancholy simplicity. ‘Honey Echoes’ is my favorite, an aching waltz through the crisp leaves of love-struck psychosis. They’re expecting to release an EP in March; in the meantime let this flesh out your Autumn playlists.
R. Stevie Moore, your mutant children are beautiful. Superstar & Star has to be the discovery of the month. At least. I know next to nothing about this guy but he’s from the shitty town I grew up in and he’s got the same vibe as Tonetta and that’s aces in my book. VHS mental funktronic music that you can buy from him personally at his Youtube channel or website. Truly special.
Denver’s Colin Ward has released an insane amount of stuff under his alphabets moniker, but he’s about to get mad exclusive with his output. Future major releases are planned to be released only on Laserpalace, so enjoy the big freebies while you can! Here’s a special preview of two new tracks, a combination of glitchy twerked-up electronics and manipulated pop vocals. Sexy/heavy as only Colin can do it.
Oh hey. It’s me, The Cool Bro. Finally back in Brooklyn and enjoying basically everything. USA #1. One of my main menu choices right now is the mutant sounds of LA’s Pet Sex (Rex) (formerly Marfa & Ne-af,) two of my favorite Cali people who I’ve been wanting music from for a while now. Pure weirdo pop, syntho-monsterchistic jams to get the mental blood flowing down neurodemonic pathways. Heavy petting.
Anyone in LA will know the name Fancy Space People, but those of us in other climes are just beginning to get a clue. Their psychedelic immensity is due in part to the fact that they’re made up of some of LA’s Weirdo Cognesceti. Names like Nora Keyes and Don Bolles shouldn’t be new to anyone, but then there’s artist/musician Emily Blong of My Velcroe and graphic artist Brian Bamps too. This is something that screams ‘quality mutation’, and they have the music to back it up too. Check out this beautiful track (about one of my fave subjects, natch!) and preview/purchase two more at their bandcamp page.
Two teenage boys from South Africa. Words that don’t necessarily conjure up the phrase ‘sub-tribal elevator music from hell’ but then Le Elbow are full of mysteries. Almost no web presence, and each bit of information I can find seems to contradict the last. Are they 8bit horror movie scorers churning out Excite-Bike rallies down Dead Man’s Curve? Are they witch house so lo-fi that even ghosts struggle to hear them? Are they primitivists who snuck into suburbia to steal a theremin? Why is the elbow the most painful place to get hit? How many licks does it take to lick her like a lollipop? Lil’ Wayne may never know.
The thing that draws me to witch house is not necessarily the dark aspects of it, or even my love of screw and juke, but rather the appreciation of pop music on a warped level. This tendency to reconstruct Top 40 hits and old R&B into mindbenders works on several levels: it satisfies my love of pop (something that grows as I age, more ‘Bobblehead’ than ‘Beachy Head’ these days but growing up is dying) and soothes my inner mutant at the same time. So it goes with Pregnancy Pact, one of the newer ritvalists on the scene. Here we have a complete breakdown of the Ace Of Bass song ‘Dancer In A Daydream’, turning the Swedish ’90s sensations into harbingers of doom and ecstasy. The video is even more disturbing; not only is it a showcase of the effects of a life of candy-tripping (sweaty gropez seems a bit unchill on dancefloor, RavePrism is for everyone not just couples >:( sheesh), but can you imagine have your dad come with you to a rave?? Boom, now you’re the lamest d00d at the party. Scary stuff indeed.
I love starting my weekend with something throbbingly beautiful, and London’s Meddicine is the perfect prescription. Short and violent slabs of industrialized post-punk noise provide the jagged backdrop to composer Monikka’s distorted vocals, echoes of old and new colliding into a body-bruising beauty. Take Tovey’s advice: swallow it. No spoonful of sugar needed.
Just in case you forgot this wasn’t a blog dedicated strictly to witch house, I bring you the one-woman lo-fiisms of Ant Parade. Hailing from the god-forsaken hole that is Florida (one-time resident so I know what I’m talking about) Brigid represents the duality of how this sort of thing usually goes. She’ll lure you into a false sense of security with sweet melodies and lovely words and then shatter your nerves with ghost-vocals over noisy clanks and hiss. Beautiful and frightening stuff.
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