Blah.

Last year a local newspaper had this writing and illustration contest for teams of two. They gave you a genre to write in and a author whose writing style you had to imitate. For illustrators, they just gave you an artist to imitate. Anyway, I had to write a horror story in the style of James Joyce. I came up with this cheesy little thing but had fun writing it. Illustration by Mercedes JG, who had to rip off Van Gogh or something.


Indeed, you sometimes find yourself in an odd placement in life so to speak, dabbling in this and that here and there and thereafter, you sometimes, as mother would say, end up wandering by mistake into whatever trouble lies past some grimy street corner or alley like the one time I was surreptitiously roughed up by some ruffians while walking home from school, my beloved Doc Martens stolen, I had to walk barefoot all the way home, whereupon I was greeted by mother's worst possible humor for the loss of the footwear that father had worked so hard at the mill to earn the money for, or like the one time a friendly officer decided to crack down on the head of the protester I was assumed to be while simply making my way down the block to buy some coffee and Spanish onions, and that's really how it usually goes on: you go ahead and mind your own and suddenly realize you're caught up in a veritable whirlpool of trouble, distress, and, generally, pain of the physical and moral kind, with no end in sight and the certainty that, as they shay, 'it ain't over 'till the fat lady sings', with the fat lady being a clever metaphor -of the kind I favor, being as I am an educated gent- for the sirens of the police cars and ambulances liable to appear at any such event like that one time some crowd started gathering outside of the school and it a brawl of considerate dimensions broke out for reasons still unbeknownst to anyone and..
Anyway.
The predicament I found myself now was, even with my penchant for mischief and what I’ve come to term 'vital irregularity', peculiarly different from the usual, being that I was locked up for the night in the house up on the hill on the outskirts of town which, I shouldn't need to add but will do anyway, was abandoned and supposedly haunted by ghosts and ghouls and creepy crawling creatures of all kinds known to man's fantasies and perhaps even some unknown, why you might even run into Chtulu himself if you were to believe what the local lore had been saying since any of us had any recollection of such things, and even despite the fact that no one had ever seen or heard anything coming from there besides the odd rat crawling out of the bushes out by the front yard, it was said, however, that the house was inhabited by the ghosts of Sir Henry Wagford and his life-long wife Wilhelmina, beloved early settlers of our town which did so back in the good old days of 1893, with all that it entailed, no running water, no electricity, tuberculosis running rampant on a seasonal basis, yet it seems that the Wagfords were wonderful people of culture, prone, like many other cultured souls of the time, to the infatuation with the occult, and are rumored to have hosted in their home the visit of none other than Aleister Crowley during an American tour by Mister Great Beast himself and I can certainly imagine Henry and Wilhelmina just sitting there enjoying their tea, minding their business and Oh dear, Crowley telegraphed, he's coming over for dinner tomorrow, I hope it's perfectly fine, and old Wilma would answer But Henry baby, the servants did a full spring cleaning just yesterday, I suppose and truly hope that Great Beast business has nothing to do with him being rude and dirty and unkempt and inconsiderate, and Henry would comfort Wilma and make her feel all better about having Crowley in for the day and how He (for, in the eyes of these occult aficionados, Aleister was a man of divine importance) would most surely be helpful in their reoccurring yet unsuccessful attempts at summoning the creatures from the other side of reality, the dark, brooding, mysterious multiverse where the shoggoths and the demons and the succubus and incubus and whatnot coexisted with the ghosts and spirits of persons past, something which particularly obsessed the Wagfords who seemed to have a peculiar fantasy of flooding their house with friendly spirits to keep them company to compensate for their horrible estranged relationship with pretty much every other living soul in town who actually suspected that Wilma was in fact a man and referred to the couple as 'those satanic sodomites' and also thought that they actually had managed to fill their house up with whatever beings and lived all together in some kind of non-stop satanic sodomite escapade.
But I digress.
One in the morning and my iPod battery runs out leaving me alone with the discomforting sounds of the house, these being the constant tiptaptiptaptiptaptiptap of a innumerable number of leaky ceilings, incessant scratching coupled with what seems to be small household items tumbling down and around above me which I attribute to rats in the cellar which is certainly not a comforting thought and screeeeeeeyyeeeach goes the fence door outside, to and fro to the rhythm of the wind while I'm sitting here hating my guts for being asinine enough to let myself get talked into this and oh darn, I could so very well be sitting at home right now instead of wasting time and risking getting bit by a rat and catching god-knows-what in the process and what the hell was that, I saw something move out there in the corner oh well probably some curtain or something that the wind moved and did some funny effect with the streetlights outside except there's no windows in that corner of the room and this is starting to get rather odd I must say and there's still a few hours left until morning and OH MY GOD I certainly have seen something there and it was a woman and she was blonde and was wearing something that looked blood-stained and WHAT WAS THAT NOW? I swear I saw something out by the kitchen door and OK, OK now, it's all right it's certainly normal to be led to believe you have seen a woman in a house you believe to be haunted but this is getting out of hand I swear I have just seen a second figure and this time it's a man I'm sure, so I better get on and make a dash for the door and to hell with this stupid bet as much as I need the money and hey....when exactly was this door locked?

Stupid fucking records and shit.

More stuff. I haven't updated in forever because:
1) I couldn't be arsed (I am in no way British, nor do I intend to be, as I do not play in a 'street punk' band, but I always wanted to use that word).
2) I really did not have much to say. I understand if you operate in the punk scene where the kids ALWAYS have something meaningful and deep to say (even if its the intellectual equivalent of a spoonful of stale oatmeal spilled on a wheat field) about the state of the world, people they'd like to put in their place, or whatnot, this may come as a surprise, but I swear: some of us are dumb like that. I wish there were more of us actually, I'm sick of illiterate fucks making would-be (in kindergarden class, maybe) profound speeches about this or that everytime I try to go see some bands and get stupid. Read a book before you claim allegiance to whatever trendy progressive train of thought, dipshits.


So, anyway, here are a few reviews of new stuff I've acquired recently. Go.




BIG CRUX "Is a big funk" 7" - Anyone who knows anything about Big Crux knows they're constantly being compared to the Big Boys and the Minutemen. And anyone who knows anything about me knows I worship the former and am almost there with the latter. With this in mind, my relationship with this record could be a love story or a trainwreck. Hey look! it even has artwork by Tim Kerr, dammit!
It might be due to the fact that this is an avenue of punk rock that has not been taken by hundreds of bands yet (like say, d-beat or youth crew), but this is derivativeness at it best!: songs are energetic and fun, lyrics are engaging in style and content, and as much as it wears its influences on its sleeve (no pun intended), you never get the feeling these guys are trying too hard. As can be expected of Iron Lung Records, the record sounds, looks, and feels great, silkscreened covers included. I really hope they record more stuff, maybe a full length, I can see their songwriting growing like that. Oh yeah, some of them played in some other band or something, can't remember.





CSC "Amour et sourires" 12" - Valencia is a city in southeastern Spain, well known for being a haven for nazis and their RAC bands, some kind of drug party wonderland, and smelling weird. I would lie if I said I don't like the town. It's also the home of CSC, who are probably Spain's best-kept secret (due in no small part to the disastrous distribution this 12" has been subject to). The band features some Muerte A La Muerte alumni, but operate on a totally different level: snotty, manic KBD-styled riffage, where you can totally hear their garage/punk rock background shine through, including some dips into the unknown with weirdo movie samples played over trippy instrumental breaks and creepy solos that really bring to mind East Bay Ray's work, and while I can't quite put my finger on it, there's something (other than the obvious pre-HC82 influence on some of the riffage) that really brings to mind the early DC bands, but on a very bad acid trip and with song titles like 'Nazi pedophile'. Welcome to Valencia.




GOOD FELLAZ "4 Jams from western Africa" demo - In the summer of 2004 Marinus Van Beek left his hometown of Langedijk, Holland, to go on a pilgrimage through South Africa and look for a missing branch of his family tree. At some point during the flight, the plane went through what is known as the Uafulukua Plain, a not very well known spot of paranormal activity in the center of Congo, not unlike the Bermuda Triangle (except dryer and differently shaped), and was psychichally derailed towards the Canary Islands by virtue of an unexplained episode of mind control that took over the crew. The rest is history: we all know the story of KLM flight 762 crashing into a holiday resort in Tenerife and its resulting 'Little Twin Towers' episode. 356 dead, 1200 injured, infinite property damage. An entire island's tourist industry destroyed for years.
What is not so well known and in fact, has been kept from us by the media is that local authorities were unable to control the episodes of looting and scavenging that took over the disaster area. Impoverished locals scavenged the resort's ruins and the remains of the plane, debris and corpses were kicked aside to obtain big screen TV's, hotel safes and pairs of Nike Air Max. Among the ruins was Marinus Van Beek's corpse, trapped in a jam between two airplane seats, his iPod sticking out of his left shirt pocket. At the time, Marinus was a well known and very active member of the European hardcore scene, and his musical selection was (as is usually the case with trendy central europeans) a reflection of then current trends: groovy, big riffed, late 80s NYHC and the resulting revival evidenced by labels such as Lockin Out or Complete Control. Marinus' corpse returned to his family and was given a proper burial, but his iPod stayed in Tenerife, salvaged by some young street rat or other. And that is how Good Fellaz came to be.
This is much better than their previous demos and 7". Closing track is the handywork of Fácil-E from Muerte A La Muerte, bringin' the ruckus on this Akai MPC. Out on Super Soldier Tapes or you can listen to it online.

Fosdyk Well - "slumber and stark lots" CD

Got this one for review, and, well, as much as it sucks having to review shit you don't care much about (if at all), it's pretty cool getting to do so with stuff you actually like. "Slumber and stark lots", huh?...pretty apt title for this baby, having a bit of both driving the songs. The 'slumber' bit does not imply at all that it's a boring record, and it's presented not in a dreamy, shoegazer-ish way, but in the hazy, confused way you feel when you finally get some sleep after three sleepless days on a speed binge and somebody wakes you up halfway through the night: confusedly stumbling, disoriented in your own room, somehow scared to death for the first 15 seconds. There's a definite ambient/cinematic feel brought forward by creepy background soundscapes which contrast perfectly with the crisp, stark (there you have it) guitars and slightly declamatory vocals that build the actual songs.
Yes, the promo sheets are right and there's echoes of Rivulets or Current 93 at their least epic on here, but at the end of the day, Fosdyk Well avoid the cliché stylings of 'neo folk' or whatever and simply deliver a solid set of moody songs stretching a bit over twenty minutes (perfect length for a record for those of us chastised by low attention spans after years of 10-song 7"s), wrapped in a nice, elegant layout, which would probably rule if it was on a 12" cover instead of a CD. But then again, if the only bone you have to pick with a record is its format, then you can't really complain.

Fosdyk Well on Bandcamp
Black City Records.

Records, records, records.

So I got a few new records in the mail. And you know records are not meant to be listened to, they're meant to be blogged about and then mayyyybe flipped on eBay. So here we go. As always, no download links. I'm not your goddamn internet maid. I would also like to add some of these were PROMOS, that's right folks, I'm getting shit sent my way for free. You can do it.




Artic Flowers 7" - This band is obviously trying to capture the sounds of the old UK Anarchopunk bands that latched onto a more postpunk/goth kinda sound, and with people bringing up similarities to the Ruts, Gang Of Four, or the Au Pairs, I was really looking forward to it. I'm happy to say they have avoided the main problem that plagued these old limey bands, and most of their offspring: they were very succesful at throwing down a lot of flanging and effects and creating 'atmospheres' but totally inept at decent songwriting. Unfortunately for me, well written and all, "Neon Tombs" immediately reminded me of Spitboy and, even worse, Signal Lost, and totally ruined the rest of the record for me.




Insurgents "Fad Cash" 7" - Well, what can I say? This record (down to the cover artwork) is disgusting and filthy, the living, walking, talking image of small town boredom enhanced/subdued (sometimes it's all the same) by cheap drugs and shitty equipment. It's a sound that a trillion bands have tried to capture in recent times, but then again, most of them are not from Australia, a country known for producing bands in whichever style imaginable but constantly marked by what I can only define as an aggro weirdo vibe. Which is perfect, really. It really sounds like no particular band, but if you groove or have grooved in the past to the sounds of fine purveryors of musical garbage such as YDI, Void or The Mob (NY), you should get this.





Leather "Anchorite" 7" - Well, the last couple of years have seen a lot of bands move away from cookiecutter hardcore stylings (handbook youth crew/d-beat/80s retro/whatever exercises) and try to capture the disjointed, fucked up, hardcore sleaze of later period 'Flag, Saccharine Trust, Scratch Acid and all the usual suspects. I guess if you are like me, and were jaded on hardcore by age 19 and your enthusiasm for the genre got a new lease on life via buying a copy of 'Fucked Up & Photocopied' and discovering a lot of old, weird, and ugly hardcore bands, this is good news. As much as I can see right through a lot of these bands, and most of them reek of guys who were sucking mayor youth crew cock 18 months ago and are simply trying to latch on to a new set of clichés and style guidelines, as defined by the messageboard-born 'Mysterious Guy Hardcore' subgenre in an effort to live out their fantasies of being either a late-80s Henry Rollins or a current, better dressed Bruce Loose, which totally kills it in every which way possible, most of these bands shroud themselves in mystery (which in this day and age means having your internet presence reduced to an un-updated blog, no biggie) and if you live in third world Europe (as I do) there is very little way of finding out about them through the grapevine, so they got that shit covered by forcing you to give them the benefit of the doubt. Leather go for a nice sound like early SST channeled through late 80's Touch And Go, with all the crazy, lunge-at-your throat riffing, snaky guitar licks, and vocals that actually don't succumb to god-awful screechy screaming or pathetic attempts to sound like the guy from Pissed Jeans, but actually stay firmly rooted in slurry punk howling and yelping, I don't know, it kinda reminds me of Chris Thompson (Fury/Monorchid/etc..) at times, and that's a good thing. I'd like to see these guys record with a (slightly) cleaner, trebly sound, not Billy Anderson-clean, but Spot-clean, crunchy and warm and comfy. I like.





Máximo Volumen "Inyecciones por el bul" LP - This is the vinyl pressing of a 1987 spanish hardcore demo which I reviewed in an early entry of this blog. And that's pretty much all I can say about it. It's a nicely done reissue, with lyrics and some graphics pulled out of old zines (not an easy feat, let me tell you). It's raw, it's ugly, and it's pure nonsense at times, but if you like your hardcore raw and exotic, it's a must have. Limited to 300 copies, get in touch with Terminal Picnic Records before it's all gone.






Merchandise "Strange songs in the dark" LP - Murky production that works, decent album length, I could really see myself getting into this, and seeing how some people I trust were enthusiastic about it, I really tried but..I don't know, there's something missing here...you know 'that extra push over the cliff' that Nigel Tufnel talked about? Well that's it. They stuck to the most boring elements of shoegaze (aimless wandering amongst songs) and post punk (being bored and affected and distant as an excuse for being boring), and, I don't want to be that guy, but really, this record needs some guts, some blood, something other than jaded slackery. Pretty tepid response from yours truly. I guess I could get into this if I was depressed because the new dorm I moved to was a few blocks further away from American Apparel than the last one. Or if I was a girl.

2010 collected in lumps of spinning plastic.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, no updates ever, but I feel like my expansive fan base is used to that by now, so anybody with a problem with it can do a triple backflip and suck my throbbing gristle. I'm lazy when it comes to new records, but I managed to scrape a few selections and put together the mandatory years-end list. Here you go. No download links because I still believe in buying records.



- The Young "voyagers of legend" LP . - I reviewed this a couple of posts back, and I doubt I can top that one. So there you have it. The one thing that sucks about this record is how expensive it is, as much as it's worth every damn penny.


- Glam 7". - MRR gave this a great, wordy review. I'm a couple of steps below that intelectually, so let's just say it's just good, solid hardcore, with no gimmicks or cliché style allegiances. A turbulent mass of swirling vocals drenched in delay, fast thumping beats, and beefy guitar and bass. There's a sort of in-joke comparing Glam with dutch band Vogue, down to the (I guess, I hope) tongue-in-cheeky names. True that. But really, they are much better. And oh yeah, comparisons to Invasión are just as lazy as they are clueless.




- Deskonocidos "en la oscuridad" LP. - 'Death rock' sucks as a label, and is usually synonimous with boring sub-Christian Death crap played by dudes in vinyl suits. 'Death punk' while cooler-sounding, has been ruined forever by those norwegian bufoons that I won't name. Hence, I find myself at a strange situation where I'll actually have to describe what these guys sound like without easy/lazy tags. Basically, they've set the perfect example for how a punk lp should work: expanding the style presented on previous 7"s to suit an all-around longer record. Songs are big, catchy, well crafted, arrangement wise Vampis has reached into his bag of tricks and pulled out a grip of well-flanged delicacies to layer upon the slithery bass lines, interesting drum patterns and uh, lyrics about various forms of death and related issues, which I fully back. I know this reads like a review of the latest Panda Bear or El Guincho or whatever, but Deskonocidos keep it real with blaring spazzy vocals, and the ocassional outburst of legitmate punkness like "Alemania". It's a great punk lp to listen to again and again. The only sour point could be the Paralisis Permanente cover, but I have to say that I've been listening to that poser punk band since age 12, grown to hate them, and find this cover pretty damn listenable. It's actually pretty good.





- Muerte A La Muerte demo .- See I have a problem with Spanish hardcore. On the one hand you got the shitty bands. Shitty, shitty, shitty bands that make a shitty mess with pieces of shit they've tried to pick up from their favorite bands and got lost in translation. On the other hand, you got a raging epidemic of Napoleon complex that usually makes me want to stay away (proximity, you see). That's why MALM rule: they suck, they know, and they don't care. They'll never pose, they'll never give out tailor-made interviews full of hard talk they'll never back in the real world, they'll never make 8 shirt designs after playing one show to a dozen of their friends, and they'll probably never even learn how to play their instruments. "And I luv it". Yeah, I just quoted Young Jeezy.




- Men's Interest "More war" 7" .- This is the way the world ends: not with a bang but with a creep and a crawl and a knife to the throat.




- Costa "Morfina"/Carmona "Actitud salvaje" .- I'm reviewing these two records together because it makes sense. Not only are they buddies and both feature on each others records, but both platters share production jobs by the one and only Sendy, who manages to spit out a bunch of his trademark beats, as flashy as they are grimey and as heavy as they are arranged and subtle. Seriously, great job. I could probably listen to these as instrumental versions, but luckily, we have two monsters on the mike, telling their tales of crime, money, sex, drugs and Madridian street life with mid paced, somewhat clunky, classic sounding flows and feature a bunch of their friends on their records (Ivan Nieto, Romo, Darmo, Kunta K), providing clever verbal wordplay, punch lines and metaphores that will probably fly over a bunch of people's heads, and enrage many others. This kind of shit is somewhat new to Spanish rap and people seem to have a problem with it. Me? I just happen to like good shit.




-Swans "My father will guide me up a rope to the sky" LP .- I'm afraid of not doing this record justice and making Michael Gira want to kill me. Or even just making him want to come up and talk to me. I admit I was expecting some kind of retarded cash-in comeback or simply an Angels Of Light affair under a different name but no sir, this is a bonafide Swans record, basically expounding on all of their sonic trademarks without actually falling into the trap of being a carbon copy of their old selves and it works perfect. It crawls, it lurches, it lunges at you and aims for the throat. Gira is as imposing as ever vocally and lyrically, and the whole thing is just so massive I couldn't have thought of a better cover image. I have dreams in which this LP takes the Best Coast record and fucks it up the ass.



-Integrity "We are the end" 7" .- As much as I tried, I could never get into post-Melnick Integrity. As a matter of fact, I refused to refer to them as 'Integrity', prefering instead 'Dwid and his mariachis'. It wasn't only the line-up change, it was also the fact that those records always seemed like crappy has-been attempts at past glory for hardcore dipshits to spout half baked Process shit over while typing in messageboards. However, maybe due to a good, hearty breakfast on recording day, they got it right this time, and whatever it is Dwid sings about this time, he does so over a d-beat and blazing solos that are so over the top they're ridiculous. Stop bitching about one sided 7"s and get on this shit. Oh yeah, d/l code didn't work.




- Cult Of Youth "Filthy plumage in an open sea" 12" .- The thing about these 'neo-folk' (or whatever) outfits is that you have to admit that you somehow take seriously all the occult/mysterious/sketchy hoopla they surround themselves with. The fact that they usually spend more time working on said hoopla and their fashion choices than on music usually makes it very complicated to actually find some worthwile stuff to listen to amidst the piles upon piles of GARBAGE that make up the genre. COY seem to have their shit right on and actually make good songs (an intriguing concept in current music if there ever was one, I know). Yeah, all the imagery, the spooky voices which can be either terrifying or comical, depending on your mood, the nazi summer campfire acoustic guitars, the runes and the sigils, but there's also songwriting skills and an attencion to detail on the production and arrangements that pays off. Another thing would be the fact that, gloom notwithstanding, they have a fiery, passionate energy to their writing and playing that totally makes it. 'Eiwhaz' (oh heck, runes!) has this totally cool drum beat and snarling electric guitar that somewhat reminds us all that these types come from the same cesspool of a town that birthed Sonic Youth and Teenage Jesus & The Jerks.

Anhelo Escalante (II)

PD: I love your artwork, do you remember when you started to actually work on it? Did you look to any other artists for inspiration?

Anhelo: Well I attended the Nuevo Leon School of Visual Arts. Just for a couple of years in 2000. My family was more interested in me studying music, but I thought it was pretty stupid because I didn't want to end up playing in a shitty orchestra making 80 pesos a week, which seems pretty stupid now, since I don't even make 50 a week nowadays playing in a small indie band. There's a lot of artists, painters, musicians, and poets in my family; it's a big family, my mom has twelve siblings and my dad has eight, so I grew up in a crowd of about twenty children of all ages for whom fun meant lying down in the cold floor of my grandma's patio to draw. But back to your question, I was never good at drawing, unlike the rest of my family, I seemed to be less able, and not even college made me better, in fact it made me hate it. It wasn't until almost four years ago, I went through a very depressive state during which I locked myself up at home and drew for no reason at all other than killing time. Coffee all day and a joint, that's what made me have some confidence in art. I haven't stopped since, I love drawing and all the different methods to create images.




PD: Is it easy making a living in Mexico with a "creative" profession?

Anhelo: funny that you mention it, most of the illustrators I know were really planning on working as something else: painters, graphic or industrial designers. They work as illustrators to make a little more money. I don't know a single person who works exclusively as an illustrator, it's usually only an alternative to make a few extra bucks, and all of it being overworked. You have to work for differente employers, but I think that's pretty common anywhere.
Usually in Mexico people have two jobs: the one that feeds them, and the one that makes them happy. Most employers want somebody that can do three jobs in one, but gets paid for half of one. But I also think it's a question of attitude, if money is what you want, you just sell yourself and do it. Mexico is a country where if you want money you can just "buy it" and if you want passion you starve to death.

PD: What about the States?

Anhelo: I think that in the states if somebody wants money he can just go to school and pay attention, and if he wants passion he'll do ok. But in Mexico, a college education is either a luxury or a reward for your constant determination and effort.

PD: You just finished a book that probably no one reading this blog will ever see, want to plug it?

Anhelo: Yeah, sure. There's a small press in Mexico called Samsara, it's a small independent publisher that makes books pretty much as a labor of love; they have division called Habitación 69 where they intend to publish any kin of erotica: photography, poetry, illustration, etc.. You're right, maybe no one will see it because it will be a very limited pressing of 100, but it's not bad considering it's my first book an artist and illustrator.

The Young - Voyagers Of Legend.

I'm not really too active when it comes to seeking out current bands. Actually, I'll come across a lot of them due to friends recommending them to me, but I'll usually tire of them after 10 minutes. There's nothing wrong with the bands, it's just me. I'm old, I'm jaded. After more than ten years I have not grown tired of Black Flag or Negative Approach or Poison Idea, I can still listen to 'Age Of Quarrel' 'Forever changes' and 'Enter the Wu Tang' on a daily basis for three months straight. I guess I'm comfortable with what I like so I don't really feel the need to listen to current replays of records I love. Even bands that pipe themselves as 'creative' and 'innovative' are usually a mish-mash of a lot of good stuff that ends up sounding like shit when put together. The Young's LP 'Voyagers Of Legend' is an example of none of that, and to celebrate, I'll do the thing I hate and write a record review.

Like a lot of other current bands (that shall remain nameless), The Young build their sound on the foundations of 60s sounds sparked with a backbone of garage-y punk grunge (not Grunge). Unlike those bands, however, The Young don't seem to have any kind of retro-dress-up or 'look at me I'm weird' vibe. They just rock. And ooze. Kinda like an 18 wheeler full of lava lamps that just crashed into a south western desert rock (not Rock) formation.

I'm no musician, but writing an LP seems like tricky business.You need to balance the musical weight just right if you want it to seem like a cohesive piece of work, and not just a bunch of songs put together. In that sense, 'Voyagers of legend', just like 'Space ritual', 'Easter everywhere', or 'Youth Of America' (all pretty valid reference points if you ask me), flows perfectly from start to finish. So much, in fact, when it's over you just want to listen to it again, and again, and again, until a huge blur of desert landscapes complete with abandoned towns take over the room. Some time around then, you'll start feeling like you're stuck in a gravel pit with a quart of bourbon on your right hand, the most potent weed rolled up in your left, and no intention of leaving. Ever.

Just perfect.



The Young - 'Voyagers Of Legend' (Mexican Summer Records, 2010).