The Month in Noise: Condom Sex and DJ Dog Dick
Condom Sex Live at Churchills
First, the bad news: winter just won't quit. It won't let go, not on your life. This means unless you actually have to spend time outdoors for some reason, you're going to be inside, watching the window panes fog up as you fume. The good news is that being benched by unseasonably brutal weather means you have no excuse not to curl up with a warm mug of cocoa and slam down as much noise as your system can (or cannot) take. Drink up, homies.
See also: The Month In Noise (February)
NOISE CUT OF THE MONTH: CONDOM SEX
The instant that you click "play" on any Condom Sex jam, you realize the name is a misnomer. This collaboration between Miami noise artists Sharlyn Evertsz and Kenichi Ohme comes across -- pun totally intended, mind -- as wet, icky, gross, resolutely bareback in nature. Distended and chaotic vocals are never not good things, and in this pair's hands those good things are shoved and elbowed into a zone of pure orgasm. It's similar to live Body/Head, only rawer, harder, with a couple stray leashes on the floor.
"Live at Churchills" suggests that Condom Sex is probably best experienced in the public sphere. Let's look at the ingredients at work here. Evertsz's reverberation-inflated vocals seem capable of anything and everything, by turns cubed, flattened, turned concave and convex, ball up tight and expand like lightning streaks. There's a dying jalopy crush of techno beats erupting every now and again. There's dark matter spewing liberally from the speakers.
Given the acoustical deficiencies inherent in most performance venues, this is a recipe for mangled bliss. What kicks it up a notch, ironically, is the audience's idiocy -- the numbskull gum flapping and idle chatter of people drinking in a bar where musicians happen to be plying their trade. The babble is at its most intense at the beginning, when, seemingly in response, Condom Sex ramps up the volume and insanity to mind-spraining levels, and the crowd is unknowingly subsumed by the swells, the no-fi din of the ineffable.
Tahnee "TAHNZZ" Udero's default groove is a shuddering electronic rumble, an obliterative cross between an earthquake, a steam frieghter's horn, and a congested AM radio swimming between signals; it's an authorial point of view that's proven reliably fertile, thus far. Given that prologue, her Born In Space EP scans as something of a departure. Worms and silverfish and ticks are stirring within that familiar burrowing brrrrrrrrrrrrr; it's chock full of ugly synth exercise scales, live wires, and other jerking elements, as if one of her ruptures broke on through to a vile cache of demons. This release comes to us via deepwhitesound, an online source from which so many great sounds flow.
NYC NOISE CASSETTE OF THE MONTH: MISTER MATTHEWS
In The Big Cleanup, a 1967 children's classic by Harvey Weiss, a mother challenges her son to sort through the rubbish in his room; he's tasked with throwing the junk he doesn't want in one cardboard box and putting the stuff he does want in another. This task sends him headlong on an insane journey of imagination and discovery that ends with our protagonist deciding to hold onto absolutely everything; every box of marbles and broken dump truck and stray length of chain has some likely purpose. My son and I have read the Big Cleanup together literally dozens of times, and it never gets old; its naif humor and inventiveness is a gift that keeps on giving.
Recent releases from Telecult Powers member Mister Matthews are not dissimilar; increasingly, his cassettes are collages, appetizer trays of sonic diversions, and 10 Cuba Libres (905 Tapes) sits snugly in this particular pocket. His medium is the modular synthesizer, and he puts it through its paces, from atonal Eastern snarl'n'blare to fork-in-socket hopscotch to scurrying, 8-bit ping-pong bang-beats that overshadow a geyser of AK-47 syllable puree to trilled ambient hush to, well, you name it. "Transporting" is an adjective I tend to overuse, but 10 Cuba Libres isn't transporting; it's very determinedly hyper-transporting, hustling the listener through a number of very distinct and oddly interconnected dimensions, spending just enough time and energy in each one of them for the listener to get a feel for the sights, sounds, and smells before shunting him or her off to some fresh, new adventure.