Articles by Jared Dix
Gentle but still epic, ‘Stygian Bough – Volume 1’ is not crushing so much as it is meditative. It looks to a path beyond loss, a journey to light and acceptance.
It has been most thoughtfully compiled and programmed so that its strange cargo of rejects contrast and complement one another as part of a remarkable whole. Rare is the compilation that pulls this off so effectively.
An effective blast of muscular, chaotic hardcore dragged through the noise rock mud.
Intended as an odds ‘n’ sods release for fans and completists, 10:20 nonetheless offers a strange and persuasive career overview, entry via the side door into the stunning catalogue of one of our most unique and brilliant bands.
A leisurely paced set of fuzzy modular synth jams, All Things Being Equal sees Pete Kember in greater command of his personal analogue orchestra than ever before.
It’s a fine and entertaining book, capturing something of Lunch’s powerful impact and a wider sense of a New York underground long gone.
A claustrophobic, urban march. Like pacing the city’s filthy grid while lost in your own thoughts.
The bands have enough but not too much in common, they’d definitely make a good live triple bill. If I were still a young and reckless kid I’d be all over this.
Flight of Ideas is a colourful, hyperkinetic rush of sound and ideas, another heart racing jolt to the synapses.
Graveyard grunge, gong epics and lyrical cut ups. It’s almost enough to give you faith in the future.
Like a lot of other bands, Lancaster’s day-glo, punk rock sweethearts The Lovely Eggs should be out on tour right now, rattling along the nation’s highways playing their astoundingly fine new record I AM MORON for adoring crowds of half cut malcontents …
Irma Vep’s fourth album Embarrassed Landscape is a beguiling mystery, a rich tumble of lyrical opacity and musical spontaneity.
The foundational myth of choice and the industrial manufacture of desire. The Lovely Eggs burn through a fistful of hallucinatory shopping lists shouting that the Emperor has no clothes. It’s an old song but it could hardly be more timely.
Rowland S Howard’s solo masterpiece gets overdue reissue.
Scramblers is an irresistible cheap hit, bag of cans and stupid dance moves in the kitchen, groove. I guess it’s a kind of love it or hate it type situation. I love it!
This is exactly the sort of stuff for which this venue is perfect. Deep listening music that taps into the same meditative qualities as the building . . . Here in a space that already encourages stillness, in your own shut-off little pew, you can drift away with it.
An inevitable consequence of the collaborative creative community that swirls around The Body, Sightless Pit is a tastily seditious inversion of the rock power trio.
Masters of a wide range of tried and tested techniques, working busily in the garage on their opaque but beguiling collages. We might ponder where they get the motivation but can’t help but be charmed by the results.
There’s a similar playfulness in reworking rock moves as Pigsx7; but if Pigs dig in to a particular groove and ride it, Michael are more erratic – like Pigs’ weird and intense brother who doesn’t go out much. Imagine that.
It hasn’t made me a better person yet but if nothing else it’s impressed on me that I really need to read Doran’s book.
Abandoning any links to the pastoral for some kind of speculative psychogeology, the sound is grey and cold and implacable. By which I mean that, yeah, somehow it does sound like glaciation.