Video :: Divorce :: Aids of Space

          
I have no idea what the fuck I'm hearing... it's like someone giving me a wet willy with a napalm-soaked finger.  Well-meaning, but entirely violent and corrosive.  Glasgow label Clan Destine has shepherded a number of regional artists and labels, one being Night School Records, home to Divorce (and Julia Holter, for balance).  Divorce just released their self-titled LP last week, and listening to it is similar to being accused of killing an entire family of Ewoks.  Full of "how could you?" and "you are the reason the galaxy is shit," alongside a fucking lumberyard of buzz-saws.  Watch this video then look me in the eye and tell me you didn't see the future.

Review :: The KVB :: Always Then

I'm a little behind on gettin' behind. Gotta slow down just to show up.  Slapping on mud to get back that feeling of clean.  The KVB are back with a brand new mission. Compared to the even burn dealt out by their first Clan Destine release, Always Then stands out as bolder, stronger, more unified, with memorable hooks that sink way down into your flesh. The guitar is towering. The synths, magisterial. A forty minute-long crown of thorns.

The KVB :: Here It Comes

"Here It Comes" will probably turn out to be the most played track of the year on my Last.fm account, and I feel like it's the most immediate selling point on the album. It's got the grave-gaze going for it, a sound I've been chasing in my dreams. It's midnight driving music for the hit-and-run crowd.

The icing on the cake has to be the seriously fuzzed out cover of Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" that sounds more like the prelude to a night of solo vomitcore with your best friend, the bottle of bleach.

Head over to Clan Destine Records to pick up a copy on vinyl today. Move like a motherfucker and you may just be lucky enough to get one of the limited white vinyl represses.

Video time. Go:

Gott-damn, I just wanna throw a vicious throat punch into Garrison Keillor so hard. Think he'd sue?

Review :: The KVB :: Subjection/Subordination

From the UK's Clan Destine Records comes a new tape release for the KVB. Short for Klaus von Barrel. As in barrel of whiskey, double-barrel shotgun, barrel over the falls.

On first listen you're going to pigeonhole this band all wrong. Pu-pu-puh-please let me tell you about your mistake. First thing's first: you gotta dig into the psych, man. Don't think of it as black nail polish disco. Consider the drums, the photon blasting synth sound. This is speed metal for the toxic waste crowd, sludgecore for treadmills. Songs like "Burning World" and "Slow Death" owe more to Wooden Shjips than they do to, I don't know, pick some band that looks like the Cure but sounds like Men at Work. Klaus brings the burning grooves the way that soothes that itch. The one where you find yourself at work and you just gotta jump outta yer skin if you don't shadowbox your way to the greatest fire-able offense story the water cooler ever told. About to freakout, my man? Slut up to the Klaus. You know you like to wear your pants tight for a reason, am I right?

You want my opinion? I say these guys belong on Thrill Jockey if they come stateside (aka the correct side). Which isn't to say that Clan Destine hasn't done right by these guys. The label that's also a second home to Ela Orleans is one to watch with your ears open wide enough to see your brain.

So, yeah, bandcamp's been treating us well these days. Too bad you can't buy a shot and a beer for a computer. The tape's limited to 100 copies cause that's how you keep em begging for more. And good luck converting the change in your pocket into pounds if you want to pick up a copy. Guess you gotta better chance of making your cursor click play down below for all of zero dollars.

I wish I had the right setup to be able to slow these tracks down to a gurgle. Is it possible to improve your listening experience by sprawling limp on the floor and groaning? Cause I'm giving it a try. Gotta swutt it out. Swutt! Spelled with two t's cause that's what's upp.