February 18, 2013


Fuzzweed was recorded in Spectrasound, a recording technique that works in the same way that the new digital TV does, with its six Channel 36es and eight 42s, some in HD, but not constrained by plasma, or a tube, three dimensions. All the channels surf themselves, sometimes all at once, which makes it sound more chaotic than it is. The fact is, I can play this album when my wife is sitting on the couch, writing, at least side one, and I’ll probably play it tonight when our gay friends come over, a couple hours into the evening, after we smoke.

Side two, on the other hand, is a sidle-along song with three sidelong subsongs, the first being a distant folk song about a Poor Boy, with pretty singing and a slide guitar, and the voice sounds like it’s coming from far away and a long time ago, like from a long-gone lady in a daguerreotype, and a bass lumbers in and there’s a strong electric-guitar strum, and it resonates for a very long time, and we’re off, floating; clouds of snare drums beneath pedal steel plumes, and the sound of birds, and another strum, a poundsome thrust, knobs turned way up, thunder, and everything opens up: waves of drumroll, Ironman growling and bearing his lower teeth, feedback and lots of it, all stretching, the jazz and the acid rock and the dark energy that holds them both in place, all of it expanding, and it’s A Long Way from Home; but ol' Neil steps out from between two giant Marshall stacks, kicks away a whole state way down south, kicks away the whole South, stomps a president down, makes room for a raga, some nice mellow-microtonal Environments, and we fade out through a copse of wooden-skin drums, and there’s a point in the middle of all that where my wife clears her throat and says, Can you really write to this?

The record comes out on the 19th, and if you pre-order and toss in an extra $2.50, they’ll send you pro-press CD of a MV+EE live set built fantasy-style from their friend-filled run at the now-dead Zebulon.

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