Video :: CCTV Channel Surfing :: Mattress (aka Rex Marshall)

No, I'd never fucking heard of this guy. But the loose, cat blood scrawl on the floor beside my bed augured his coming. I write my dream diary in cat blood, so what? I bet you write yours with a Sharpie, downchuh, ya prissy fop?

Dirty Beaches covered the desolate "El Dorado" by Mattress at a recent Blackcat meltdown (and at other stops along the tour) and you would never guess how faithful he was being to the original. As mind-opening as the Dirty Beaches live set turned out to be, I realized that I'd have to chase this one to the root. Dismiss all the reverberations of Suicide and Roy Orbison and burrow my hands into the synth-loosened soil.

So without further fucking around, let's swivel our super awesome, spaceage Herman Miller chairs toward the CCTV. Now shut your eyes, little girl. Shut um and let's to see what we can see:

The opener from Low Blows:


Mattress :: El Dorado


Mattress :: Roll Roll Roll



From the Portland Mercury:
It wasn't mere '80s nostalgia that drew Marshall to synths. The groundwork of his appreciation for Gary Numan and Suicide was laid by his love of author J.G. Ballard, the sci-fi bard of synth-pop. Ballard spoke to Marshall's own pangs of future shock. "I'm overwhelmed by the pace culture's moving in," Marshall says with another chortle. "There no longer seems to be a zeitgeist. Or there are 1,000 tiny zeitgeists."

The Reservations (Rex Marshall's post-Mattress project) :: Live Forever


Mattress :: Bad Times
http://www.dirtybeaches.blogspot.com/


From Analog Beach (the Dirty Beaches blog):
Had the pleasure of finally meeting Rex tonight in Portland, AKA Mattress, AKA Reservations. Who was a huge influence on the conception of early Dirty Beaches back in 2006 after I saw him perform at Cagibi in Montreal all alone on a stage, crooning. Armed with tape machine back up tracks, pedals, and other machinery, he rocks the mic like a shadow dancer in the night. Incredible voice.

Mattress @ the Pink Room playing God knows what:


Mattress :: Pollution @ the Lafayette Footbridge:

From videographer's description:
On June 23rd Mattress brought his gritty, uncontrolled moves and electronic music to the railroad footbridge on 20th and Lafayette in Southeast Portland to perform his song “Pollution.” This turned into the craziest setup of any episode yet after the generator failed to start. We ended up powering the whole shoot (computer, mixer, amp, tape player and microphone) off of electricity from a car cigarette adapter. Our crack team of sound engineers — Matt Huiskamp, James Jacobsen and Clemeth Abercrombie deserve some recognition for their electronic miracle-making that day.

Mattress @ Burgerville (2 songs):



From Dusted Magazine writer's blog, Still Single:
There’s a little bit of sleaziness to the whole thing, like it could slip into some seedy, non-existent cocktail lounge or the middle of a Ween record, that really helps you notice that Marshall has written real songs and is not just dicking around with spontaneous, uninspired notions.

Now aren't you glad you let daddy have the remote?

Feature :: Guest Post :: Echo & the Bunnymen

Today's post was written by Mt. P's very own Duke de la Roach Fuck-O (toldja i could spell that shit).

When I was starting high school cable television came to town in the form of a telephone call to my parents telling them that our family had been the first selected in our town of 24,000 to get wired for cable, if only they could be there on a certain day. A minor rebellion broke out amongst the teens in the family when we were told that the cable company was told to come another day and that we would not be the first. That rebellion was bloodily suppressed.

But get it we did, a few days later and with it came something known as mtv. Back then it was not the home of teen soaps, game shows about tv, spring break marathons or anything else. It was music video after music video with only commercials and breaks for the vjs.. These were J.J. “Triple J” Jackson, Nina Blackwood, Mark Goodman, Alan Hunter, and the mainspring of cool, Martha Quinn. And since there were few american bands doing videos, we were treated to the best of the british in the early 1980s with a smattering of near-independents, such as DEVO.

The music and look—spiky hair, synth, it was nothing like rock radio—if you liked it, you were on the outs, baby. Like it I did, though, through multiple trips to the aptly named rave-on musuc in the neighboring suburb, the source of anything worth having in life.

And the suburbs were the only existence we knew. Life was like John Hughes film, Hughes was basically filming the lives of the million-teen occupied-collar counties of chicago. It was like the movies were made about me, my friends, and enemies.

And those bands on mtv? I loved them all, Joy Division, New Order, the Cure, and most importantly, Echo and the Bunnymen. They got me on to the high school radio station, got me into life and music.

Echo and the Bunnymen originally consisted of a store-bought cassette tape of Crocodiles, which ran past the play head of a yellow “Sports” walkman, and into my unbelieving ears. These three-chord charlies with the jarring guitar, the bouncy, wry lyrics suggesting immediate disaster and pain, why they were high school personified. They completely understood my isolation, my need for the girls to notice me, my need to be something other than the two poses offered by midwest whitebread high school existence. Maybe they didn’t know it, being, you know, british and all, but they got me straight on. But you have to give a band credit when they have the cojones to call their fourth album “the greatest album ever made” without batting an eye.

Echo has lost some members to motorcycle accidents and attrition, but the core is there, McCullogh’s cigarette-soaked voice and Will Sergeant’s jangly single-coiled soaking wet reverbed-out delay. You’d either be a fool or plain broke to miss them.

Kelley Stoltz :: I Don't Get That

Echo & the Bunnymen play tonight at 9:30 Club. Kelley Stoltz opens. Werd is few tickets remain for what could be an easy way to relive the vomit-spattered nightmare that was your pretty pretty prom night.

Review :: Psychotronic Wiretap :: King Tuff

Brattleboro, VT's Kyle Thomas aka King Tuff spreads himself way too thin. Between this project, Witch, Happy Birthday, Feathers and who knows what else, he seems to be in a state of perpetual distraction, and it's a fucking tragedy that King Tuff has only released one record. He serves us mashed potatoes, fried okra, and cornbread, but all I really want is the meatloaf. To tease us, he's offered up some leftovers here, like a cold meatloaf sandwich where the grease has turned the color of mother of pearl. Iridescent and chalky, fairly bland until you let the bacteria on your tongue break it down into a fatty syrup that coats your insides. "Hands" is a re-recording of an old demo from the Mind Blow CDR, dating back to the early 2000's. Dig the choked-up garage guitar. Dig the slap-back nasal commands. Dig the vaguely muppetesque background vocals. The brilliant Scion AV has kindly included the track in its garage 7" series, along with Austin's Hex Dispensers. It's good to know that King Tuff is still cooking, but it's time for a new entree. Liver delivery.

Hands

Review :: Psychotronic Wiretap :: Washed Out

Let's talk about me for a minute. More specifically, let's talk about my funeral. It's inevitable, unless of course I'm completely forgotten and perish face down in a flooded ditch on the side of the road, which seems comfortably natural to me. But, if I were to die and some assembly claimed my body upon their lazy Sunday afternoon with nothing else to do, I guarantee they'd find a mixtape somewhere on my corpse. You know why? It's because I keep a tape labeled "Songs I'd Like Played At My Funeral" in my pocket every day. That's how morbid I am. I don't want an epitaph scribbled into my headstone... I want a goddamn iPod docking station with my Funeral Mix forever glued into my grave.

Washed Out already holds a place in this mix to end all mixes, and this cut from the forthcoming LP Within and Without (July 12 on Sub Pop) is a strong contender. If by the off-chance there's a lofty heaven, and the further unlikelihood that I make it there, this is the sound of the clouds breaking. Cheesy enough? Try spending a day in my shoes.


Washed Out :: Eyes Be Closed

News :: Upcoming Releases :: May

5/10
The Antlers :: Burst Apart [Frenchkiss]
Liturgy: Aesthetica [Thrill Jockey]
Mountains: Air Museum [Thrill Jockey]
Blank Dogs: Collected by Itself: 2006-2009 [Captured Tracks]
Tyler, the Creator: Goblin [XL]
Wild Beasts: Smother [Domino]
Family Portrait: Family Portrait [Underwater Peoples]
Psychedelic Horseshit: Laced [FatCat]

5/17
Jay Reatard: Teenage Hate/Fuck Elvis Here's the Reatards [reissue] [Goner]
Thee Oh Sees: Castlemania [In The Red]
Weekend: End Times 7" [Slumberland]
Gold-Bears: Are You Falling in Love? [Slumberland]

Kid Congo & the Pink Monkey Birds: Gorilla Rose [In the Red]

5/24
Boris: Heavy Rocks and Attention Please [Sargent House]
White Denim: D [Downtown]
Friendly Fires: Pala [XL]

5/31
Shabazz Palaces: Black Up [Sub Pop]

Video :: Remote Viewing :: Craft Spells

Craft Spells

"You Should Close the Door"

Idle Labor

Captured Tracks

Features :: Machine Dream Spring Mix 2011

Gotta whole other soul in my pocket bought cheap from A-number-one vato down Shepherd Alley near Chinatown. And when I gave him my money, before the migration of spirits went down, he leaned close or askt me to lean in close. And I heard him whisper, and I strained to hear. Between ambo sirens and a faraway lady too late awake, waiting for her something other to come home through the door, I could make out these spare words: lay your woes at my feet...cup your hands before me...seek in me as you would seek in yourself...prayers will be allayed, answers delayed.

Gotta hole in my soul and so I'd feed that mole with all you see before you: A-number-one hundred post and a Machined Ream mixtape. Talking in tongues aside, I have to say I came out of this one feeling a whole lot better about the state of new music these days, like I'd been cleansed, my mind bored to a certain size.

I see fists. Feel like a fight?

Tracklist:

01. Sweatmother (Tobacco)
02. It's a Nightmare (Apache Dropout)
03. No Summr4U (oOoOO)
04. Dinner (Blood Orange)
05. Harsh Realm (Widowspeak)
06. Sister Ray (Woven Bones)
07. Quantum Leap (John Maus)
08. Hashshashin (Lumerians)
09. Neon Kids (Cosmonauts)
10. an echo from the hosts that profess infinitum (Shabazz Palaces)
11. Les Neuf Soeurs (Mode Moderne)
12. Fractured Light (Weird Magic)
13. Casual Diamond (Sleep ∞ Over)
14. Sunsetter (Ghost Wave)
15. Gonna Listen to T-Rex (Burnt Ones)
16. I Want More Than Blood (Xander Harris)

Play, download, delete, do what you got to do.

MDtape 02 by machinedream

News :: We Can See the Future :: The Peelies

Oh, shit, it's an all-girl band. What are they doing here?  Well, I was walking out the door, and my head felt bare, so I headed back in and went for my top hat. I'll be damned, the Peelies popped out like a quintet of magic mutherfucking rabbits.

That's not a true story. I don't wear rabbits. Just when I could imagine folks approaching me at the totally rad parties I go to, saying things to me like:

"You seem like someone who's really plugged in." To which my best answer would have to be: "It's cause I'm the plug, man." A short cry from saying "I hate myself. Now that you're here, help me justify my boredom-induced solipsism, you bottom feeder." Not to hit too close to talking about the 2007 Tom Sizemore movie, a damn good year for the S'more Man.

Back to the tunes: These ladies have got the dry, surf garage down. How dry? So dry I feel like putting their tape on and taking a vermouth bath. Or maybe I'll bathe in tape and pour vermouth on my record player. Jesus Christ, I guess this is the day I sit around dealing with what can never be. Suppose you stop standing around with an empty cup, staring at me: would you be able to refill and make another round, try to find someone who didn't sound like they despise you as much as they despise themselves?

And just when you think the Quebecoiselles got the garage rock vibe on lock, they hit the francophone button and go full speed. Don't stop me: I'm making magic here. My words are goddamn original scripture.

If you like music, and you like it when music comes to your hometown, drop five bucks on the band's album from--wait, what?--one fucking year ago. Guess I'll trade in those psychic pasties for a big ass bottle of Jay Dub. Thought I hadda talent for this type uh thing. Guess my parents were high when they told me I'd be a suck-sess. Guess I'll just kick back and say fuuuck iiiiiiiiitt.

By the way: don't click on the top hat link unless you deal well with sensory overload. Also, it's not a bad idea to kill an hour on a Sunday google-mathing the phrase "psychic pasties." Boy or girl--just sayin...

News :: Upcoming Shows :: May

5/6: Yuck/Tame Impala @ Black Cat [SOLD OUT]

5/7: Apache Dropout @ Comet Ping Pong

5/9: Dirty Beaches @ Black Cat

5/10: Phosphorescent @ Red Palace
         Trail of Dead/Surfer Blood @ Rock and Roll Hotel [SOLD OUT]

5/11: Echo & the Bunnymen @ 9:30 Club

5/13: Adventure @ Subterranean A

5/14: Reverend Horton Heat @ 9:30 Club

5/19: Tune-Yards @ Red Palace

5/26: The Death Set @ Red Palace

5/27: Quintron and Miss Pussycat @ Red Palace

5/30: Times New Viking/The Babies @ Black Cat