An improved version of the Pamala Stanley classic.
It’s essentially the spiritual sequel to The Unnamed Avenger Minimix. It’s still as strange and for sure totally lacks direction. This time we trade cosmic luchadores and Bollywood fighters for Afro super sentais. Sort of. Enjoy.
The Unnamed Avenger Minimix 2 (right-click to save)
Kudos to Jussi and Discotruper for part of the selection. (more…)
A record played a lot at the sensory twilight zone that was the Budapest discothéque, the oddest chance ever to dance in Helsinki. Originally a failed Hungarian restaurant, the place went disco in 1977 with minimal effort – they simply got a so-so sound system and dragged out the furniture apart from a couple of random wooden chairs. No special disco lights were installed to this zero budget dance palace, or anything else resembling decoration.
Shoving the entrance fee across a table placed in the bare downstairs lobby where the doors to the toilets were, you climbed up a winding staircase and entered a world of loud music and almost inpenetrable blackness. The club was so dark your eyes had trouble adjusting and all you could do is either stay there standing until they did or try to stagger towards a single dim lightbulb flickering across the hall. On your way you’d bump into apparations shaking in the dark like lost souls trapped in some sort of hellish urban cave, announcing their existence with lit cigarettes. When you reached the only illuminated part of the shapeless smoke filled space you noticed the light came from a narrow hole in a wall, cut something like one meter high. This is what constituted a “bar” at the Budapest. On the other side in an equally dimly lit room there was a table next to the hole, with two kinds of bottles lined up: regular beer and Lonkero, a local foul tasting blue-tinged long drink mixture that has, in 2016, suddenly acquired cult status in Japan. A grim faced matron sat by the table, taking your money without a word.
You’d only hear about thirty different tracks played at the Buda, as it was known among it’s habituées, during any night as the dj favoured the longest possible records. This must have been out of necessity as the booth had one tiny blue spot of light above the decks. Romeo and Juliet, Get On The Funk Train, Watch Out For The Boogie Man, From Here To Eternity, I Love America, here was the place to fully get lost in the sound. You kept on dancing, oscillating and jerking in a state of virtual blindness, hoping your need to piss would go away.
The Buda is STILL there, under a different name and management and with more light.
Icons Florinda Bolkan, Cat Stevens and Helmut Berger photographed outside a discothéque. It can’t be Le Sept in Paris as there was no canopy to announce the club at 7 Rue St Anne, just an anonymous black door. It’s not the Voom Voom either in Juan Les Pins judging by the clothes they’re wearing as nobody went there off season. Perhaps what we’re seeing is the entrance of the famous Piper club in Rome or the Audium in Madrid?
Finally it’s here, a new record by the cosmic force behind Den Haan’s epic Gods From Outer Space album, and it’s a cause for celebration. The familiar dynamics are intact and the tone is as hedonistic as ever but the music does not loop back on itself. Strides are taken toward a new destination, somewhere resembling the Almerian region in Spain where the legendary spaghetti westerns were shot.
Three of the four tracks on my demo pressing ascend to frenzied, laser synth peaks with rolling thunder basslines, haunting melodies, moody whistling sounds and all around weirdness and toughness. Then there’s one mellow tune that pours dark, delicious tasting liquids over your naked body as you squirm with pleasure. Everything you hear presents a full manifestation of carefully constructed ideas and is executed with technical four-on-the-floor finesse.
Here’s a taster of the stuff. You’ll want it all, obviously. It’ll be available soon.
A bit like angst-ridden Rainer Werner Fassbinder melodramas in sonic form, wallowing artistically in shame, betrayal, lust and deepest possible despair.
This Sandra is of course not the Sandra of the Arabesque fame. The record was made in 1979.
Two rousing themes from legendary, long running Japanese television series スーパー戦隊シリーズ Sūpā Sentai Shirīzu, or Super Sentai series in English. The adventures of the heroic seven were produced by the equally legendary Toei studios, who shamefully later sold the concept to the Marvel Company, rubbish merchants hell-bent on reducing everyone to the intellectual level of a suburban American 13-year old boy. Naturally, the resulting new Power Rangers had none of the charm of the original.
All hail The Divine One, played by none other than Laura Gemser, and to Christan Anders who wrote and sang the theme song for the film, known as Die Todesgöttin des Liebescamps (Death Goddess of Love Camp), Divine Emanuelle or simply Love Camp. And get this: herr Anders not only also wrote and directed the whole thing, he co-stars in it as well!
The film has everything except a character actually called Emanuelle. There are frenzied dance displays to wild 70s style disco music on a Greek island, rampant nudity, endless soft core groping sessions, violence, amazing hairdos and huge amounts of totally crazed dialoque. The Divine One is a sight to behold, a flaming creature who rules the hippie members of a sex cult with an iron hand – anyone not embracing her free love ideology is subjected to vicious whippings, or bluntly put to death. And the title theme! Oscars for best soundtrack songs have been given to lesser entries, that’s for sure.
A few days ago I spotted a leaking hydraulic pipe in my car. Naturally my first reaction was that all things come to an end and my beloved magic carpet would be dead forever. Thankfully cigarettes, alcohol and happy people encouraged me to fix it. It was sort of fun to wallow in LHM-fluids under the car in order to attach a replacement pipe to the system. Now the road is open again! So, where next? Maybe to spot some castle ruins or abandoned buildings in the forest. As much as I love road tripping, I’d really really love to try cycling again (a motivation deprivation after all those years with bad knees and still bad knees). Everything is such addictive fun with bicycles. For example as a child I remember riding through the sheets. Unfortunately there’s no picture to prove it, but it did happen… maybe once, until it was forbidden as about anything that was fun. That’s why you have to settle for a still from Vera Chytilovás Ovoce stromu rajských jíme (Fruit of Paradise). Soundscape from a classic Biddu 45 played at wrong speed.