Starving Weirdos, Plague Lounge, Pipe(s), Psychic Fare and Alpha Information
CLASSY PRINTED DISC HOUSED IN SHRUNKEN DVD-STYLE CASE, EDITION OF 250
DAMAGED RESTROOMS BRINGS YOU SO MUCH MORE
Freshly sprung from their geodesic treehouse HQ here in the wilds of Humboldt County, the good folks at Damaged Restrooms have finally loosed a collection of subterranean jams upon the world (and little does the world realize what they're in for).
'Bout time I'd say, as the free-noise scene here behind the Redwood Curtain has been percolating on the down-low for some time, since the mid-nineties or before. The atmosphere out here on the edge of the grid is a little more amenable to experimentation, and unlike like some of those annoying cold shoulder hipster scenes in the the Big City, there's a friendlier, looser vibe here, everyone knows each other, lots of house shows. But don't let that fool you into thinking
these folks are just a bunch of empty-headed hippies with shit-eating grins. They'd really still rather fuck brains than massage them.
The late great Plague Lounge were the OG's of noise in these parts in the early nineties. A gig opening for Deerhoof back in the day led to the release of a criminally unappreciated slab of vinyl called "The Wicker Image", which fused their love of Fushitsusha and Dead C with their own fucked up out in orbit aesthetic.
But long before the Plague Lounge's guitar player wandered off to parts unknown to woodshed on John Fahey and practice his crooning, the other 2/3rds of the band epiphinated as a formation known as Psychic Fare, which if anything was even more radical than their predecessor. Recently, their original tapes were salvaged, rejiggered and transmogrified into the sandpaper sides herewithin that owe a debt to Chrome, but still do their own singular thing, a hard-edged psychedelia with spikes.
The highly mysterious one-man band Alpha Information thrives on an unearthly krautrock tip (think Manuel Gottsching's Ash Ra Temple with beats). The result is something that effortlessly loops and bends minds (it'll melt them too if you aren't careful). If you like the sounds, just wait 'til you see the afterburn images that'll be psychically imprinted in your cortex. Go ahead and follow AI down the wormhole, you'll be just fine.
The Starving Weirdos' massive peaking minimalist drone crescendos have blown minds from here to Tokyo. Over the last few years they've also provided a major stop on the underground railroad hereabouts, hosting free groups such as Sunburned Hand of the Man, No Neck Blues Band and Jackie O Motherfucker in intimate mutant sushi parties. Weirdo archivist Bruce jokingly dubbed their sound "floorcore", but let's just say that the Weirdos sweet din is akin to blissfully incinerating 'neath a Saturn V rocket thrust as it escapes gravity's chains on its way to the greater cosmos.
The Pipe(s) of the Doctor of Witchcraft are the latest aggregation to fuck with sound and sanity here in the green zone. Unlike some of the others here they've bravely taken their weirdness to the general public in actual rock venues.They obviously dig acid damaged folk like Skip Spence and Comus, but can go toe-to-toe with the atonal when necessary and skuzz out with the best of 'em.
As we surf the spiraling decline of King George's reign of tyranny, let us raise our glasses of pulque high to the heavens and thank Zeus for the blasts that these various bands of lunatics have perpetrated on a constipated society, delivering a vital energy music for today.
As Weirdo Brian would say, they are, in a word, RAD.
-- Yaj Gozreh, High Reverend of the Church of Bigfoot, Scientist, June 2008