Smokey Emery - ‘Quartz’ EP

If you look closely at the artwork for Smokey Emery‘s most recent EP Quartz, you’ll see that it is a collage made up of images from various terrible disasters. Plane crashes, car wrecks, fires—is that a volcano? And yet with all of that carnage, it’s still pleasing to look at in the way that Daniel Hipolito has arranged it. That sort of attention to detail speaks to the EP itself, a collection of ambient drone pieces made up of carefully selected loops, samples, and recordings that have then been constructed into gorgeous sound collages of their own. The first time I listened to the EP on proper headphones, it swallowed me up. Daniel has established a sound that is cavernous yet claustrophobic and is lonely as it is timeless. Like lost transmissions being emitted from some long abandoned hotel, if you listen closely you can hear snatches of the music these samples used to be. It’s a haunting experience, but one that is totally entrancing. I reached out to Daniel to see what he had to say about the EP. Here’s what he responded with:

Smokey Emery is an ongoing and evolving music project since 1993. I use tape machines to record and manipulate both performed and found sound. The EP was recorded by my friend Guy Taylor at his home studio here in Austin, live to computer. Jon (from Silent Land Time Machine, Lumens. and Amasa*Gana) was nice enough to release it as a vinyl. The ‘Quartz’ EP is a companion to a yet-unreleased LP ‘Quartz And Decay’, which contains the remaining movements of the piece. Quartz is the second most common mineral in the crust of the planet Earth and is piezoelectric. It releases a charge under pressure and is essential to electronics as we know them. Around central Texas you can find it everywhere: in the dirt, at the edges of roads, paths, parking lots. There are theories of magnetic atmospheric resonance dubbed the ‘Violet Crown’ regarding the area, supposedly connected to the large amount of quartz in the area, said to influence the vivid coloring and qualities of the dusk and dawn.

The Quartz EP is available both digitally as well as on 7″ vinyl from Austin label Indian Queen Records.

Guest Post: An American Miscreant In London

Jeanette Wall, founder of The Miscreant and Miscreant Records, spent the past fall semester studying abroad in London. I kept hearing about all the crazy adventures she was finding herself caught up in and so I asked her if she’d be interested cataloging some of these experiences for PORTALS. The resulting piece is stuck somewhere between journal and playlist and is just as charming as Jeanette herself.

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My life in London was one of expanding horizons, countless trips to Rough Trade, Union Jacks, and everything else you’d expect from a study abroad. You learn some from school, but more from the world around you. You learn that though the national language is English, there is still a language barrier, the night buses rarely ever take you anywhere, and some of the most comforting places in the world can be in your own backyard. You learn that you’ve seen but a microcosm of the world and its history, no matter where you hail from. You learn the difference between music you’ve never heard and music you’ve never really listened to. You learn how to adapt; you learn the nearest places to buy cigarettes.

Namely, you learn the importance of reflection. My friends who studied with me kept journals, be they on our internships, blogs for our families to read, little post-it notes that we’ve since lost in the clutter. My logs took the form of playlists—songs I listened to at work, songs I sent back home, songs about the things I missed, songs about the places I discovered, and so on. Though I recognize how much of my life has been like this up until this point, being in such a different environment forces you to take inventory of these songs more thoroughly. They’re breadcrumbs in a new place where you’re sure to get lost.

And so here they are, some little parts of my life that I hold on to, for I either learned from them or laugh at them or cherish what they represent. Here are a few short love letters to the songs that marked my adventures in England, the motherland, a pin in the map.

“Kathy’s Song” — Simon & Garfunkel

“And from the shelter of my mind

Through the window of my eyes

I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets

To England where my heart lies”

The weeks before my Virgin Atlantic flight were marked with the beginning of an ill-advised, untimely romance. This spilled over into a few, fair months of postcards from various art museums, phone calls at the most ungodly hours, and occasional Skype sessions that I found ever so frustrating. All of the meaningful things I would think of to say in our time apart were lost on me as soon as I heard his voice. Incidentally, I was also often reminded of Pearl And The Beard’s “Sweetness”, Jeremy singing, “We see the exact same sunrise / On different sides, sides of the morn.” Time has a cruel way of keeping people apart just as effectively as oceans.

As I sat on the airplane, sending my final goodbye texts to this boy, I turned on “Kathy’s Song”. We had haphazardly aligned the significance of the lyrics to our dire circumstances. I felt like I was Kathy and he was Paul. It was bittersweet in every sense of the word. I thought it would work out. I think I gave myself every reason to believe in a star-crossed romance, destined to beat the distance.

But alas, I was wrong. Somewhere along the line, the Atlantic Ocean got a little too wide. Though the months until my return were few, they were too many, or maybe we were too much for each other, going through too much change. That’s as much as you can usually infer from things like that.

It hurt, though. It was hard to be in a new country, starting a new chapter of my life, and already mourning the end of a relatively new love affair. But I wasn’t about to let this cloudy defeat ruin my love for Simon and/or Garfunkel. I was sure to listen to “Kathy’s Song” whenever I could, making new memories with it to try and disassociate it’s connection with my romantic failure. I had it on while walking around the National Portrait Gallery, eating lunch in Leicester Square, on every tube ride. I still can’t quite shake the connection, though. That’s the funny thing about songs: they hardly ever act as rubber when you need them to—memories adhere to them like glue.

“Dead Oaks” — Now, Now

One of my all-time favorite bands, Now Now, was scheduled to play a gig at the Enterprise. Me and a few of my fellow travelers booked tickets as soon as we could. My first concert in London may have been in an unfamiliar venue, but it was with a band I had seen many times before. I stood, waiting for my clan at the bar. I looked over to the staircase momentarily, calculating when I should try and go up to the stage. As I did, Cacie, Brad and Jess all walked down together. Much like if my brain had completely shut off, and my limbs had taken siege of my whole body, I got up and walked over to them.

“Uh, hey, Cacie! Uh, I’m Jeanette—I, uh, met you guys in Syracuse? I messaged you on MySpace once. I’m here in London!” were quite literally the words that came out of my mouth. Despite my desperate verbiage, she was kind and said hello back. You see, I wrote about this band for my high school’s newspaper (hence the MySpace messaging), I interviewed them for my college’s radio station, and so on. I took every opportunity to tell people about them. They make music I feel like I grew up with. I feel as though this band shaped so much of my life, and, if nothing else, they made me realize how powerful music can be.

When they walked away, I gracelessly fumbled up the stairs. A girl, a bit younger, followed me. She mentioned she had seen me talking to them, and asked if I knew them. I explained that I was just a longtime fan, longertime geek. We got to talking, and she explained that she had traveled a couple hours into London from a suburb to attend the show, even though no one would come with her. I invited her to hang out with me and my friends when they arrived. We talked throughout the night, and we made sure to get front row for their set. It’s always nice to meet a fellow fangirl.

After the show, I walked up to them with my new friend to take her picture with the band. Off the cuff, I mention the magazine I run, The Miscreant. I made a joke about them being on the cover. Well, not so much a joke, but an admission of my dream. They perked up a bit, and agreed. I was tickled! And a few weeks later, we release issue 29, featuring Now Now. Lizzy said something after the fact, and it hit me hard. She commented how this was five years in the making. It made me realize how all of these little instances though my life have been connected.

“Laura” — Bat For Lashes

Imagine Trey Songz singing along to Soundgarden. Just try to imagine it. Well, folks, it happened. And I witnessed it.

My friend, Karen, messaged me one Wednesday, frantic, beckoning me to come to a taping of “Later… With Jools Holland.” An old friend from school had landed a production job on set at the show, and had offered her a last minute invitation. If there was a show for a music lover to be an audience member on, it was definitely Jools Holland. The host has been showcasing ahead-of-the-curve talent for the better part of the past couple decades, from the Cranberries to Katy Perry. So, naturally, I took Karen up on the opportunity to be her plus one to the taping.

The night had many familiar faces, including Two Door Cinema Club. They performed a couple of the songs off their new record. Then, Jools interviewed Chris Cornell. Right in front of us. Karen and I are in the shot pretty much the entire interview. It was just like Rex Manning Day—this guy who had soundtracked my ’90s was chatting about album artwork right in front of me, celebrating his band’s first record in fifteen years. And when he performed, one of the other guests, Trey Songz, was grooving and singing along. I guess he got a preview copy of the record. Who would have thought it!

But the most memorable part of the evening was Bat For Lashes’ stunning performance. After Natasha sang “Laura,” she wiped away tears. This song was clearly very important to her, and witnessing her performing it live was obviously an incredibly moving experience. Such an emotional song can be hard to embody on live television. But she did it unlike anything I had ever seen.

Some experiences are just as meaningful as they look on television.

“Headstone” — Djerv

I don’t know a lot about metal; I’ll be the first to admit this. I also lack an honest understanding of the music itself. It’s never been a genre I have heavily connected with. But I lived with two people who loved metal—I mean LOVE. My flatmates Ben and Sam are the two most avid metal fans that I know. These two were not just my roomies, but they were my teachers. Both young men taught me more about this genre in a few months than I could ever had known to learn. When they would go back and forth about their favorite eras and subgenres, I would sit quietly and soak it all in. Though I may not understand this music, I know it’s important. I know it means a lot of things to a lot of people.

Because they were such avid fans, a regular activity in our household was tuning into a program on a station deep in the recesses of our cable package called Metal TUUNE. The show featured music videos from all metal subgenres and time periods, though usually focusing on a given bands’ more recent work. Sam would reminisce about older albums, and examine the band’s progression. Ben would share stories about some of the groups’ band members raising hell in his home state of New Jersey.

One particularly intense night of programming, Metal TUUNE introduced us to a band called Djerv. Their music video immediately caught my eye, resembling a frame from Sin City. The video featured a punky lead singer, with growling pop vocals, floating angrily over a troop of zombies (A flock? A gander? A herd?). And I loved it. I likened her to P!nk, saying she was my gateway into the world of metal. The boys nodded in agreement. I assume they were either laughing at me or afraid that mocking this would deter my interest. But I genuinely enjoyed it.

Currently, I’m looking for a way stream Metal TUUNE online, in order to properly continue my education. I also hope to have Ben and Sam make me a few mixtapes.

“Girlfriend” — Michael Jackson

About midway through my stay in London, I helped out with a product launch for TDK. My friend Shawn and I were assigned to several tasks at the event, but primarily found ourselves on coat check duty. Though it was by no means the most glamorous post to be holding, we were taking jackets and backpacks from many of London’s premier journalists and—excuse the semantics—tastemakers. It was quite a sight! Not to mention the playlist was quite excellent—I heard Michael Jackson’s “Girlfriend,” and was dancing as I placed parkas on hangers. Say what one might about Britain, they know how to make a party playlist. I almost started weeping when I heard “This Must Be The Place,” very arguably the greatest song ever written.

Occasionally, I would go around and pick up drinks for Shawn and I, whilst scooting about to all of the bathrooms to make sure they were well stocked and clean. The lines outside the loo, at any event serving free alcohol, were stretching by the middle of the evening. The venue manager even turned to me at one point, saying, “Well, I never thought I’d have to wait in line to go to the bathroom in my own establishment.” I was going around more and more frequently to make sure everything was looking tiptop.

The bathroom in the entrance of the venue was especially busy. At one point, I was waiting in line just to have a look around, extra toilet paper rolls and trash can liner in hand. When it was my turn to go, a scruffy, flushed gentleman came up behind me. I was being beckoned back to the coat check, so I had to act quickly. I assured the man who just walked up that I would only be a minute, just needed to change the bin liner.

“Jesus, what is this? Whatever. Go ahead,” he bellyached. As I rearranged the bathroom, he spoke to someone near by, saying some not-so-nice things about me. Fair enough, if you’re going to gripe, gripe away. As I exited the “loo,” the man slipped behind me and slammed the door. When he left the bathroom, he stormed straight for the exit.

“That guy who just left —,” Shawn started.

“Oh yeah, I know, I really got him flustered cleaning the toilets. No patience at all.”

“Jeanette, that was Damon Albarn.”

“Oh.”

And so it came that I pissed off Damon Albarn over a bin liner. I just clenched my teeth, and continued dancing to Michael Jackson meekly. That’s all you can really do in times like that. Dance, and try to forget.

“You’re the One That I Want” — Olivia Newton-John & John Travolta

If you ever find yourself with some pounds burning a hole in your pocket and a hankering for a ridiculous night out in London, may I suggest partaking in the Camden Pub Crawl. You’ll find yourself at a myriad of strange bars in one of the less-than-classy neighborhoods in this historic city. One weekend, a large group of us decided it was the only appropriate activity for a group of expatriates to enjoy on a Saturday evening. All of the pubs were slight mockeries of themselves, all relatively bland establishments with few discerning features. But they gave us many drink tickets, so no one was complaining.

When walking from one bar to the next, I found myself chatting with one of my fellow crawlers. I could hardly understand his thick northern accent, but he seemed nice all the same. He did not protest when I made fun of his false Movember mustache. He just said something resembling, “she quy ee laugh, iss one!” He guessed I was Canadian. He chuckles when I said I was American.

Upon entering the next bar, he eagerly took my drink order. I guess he was really interested in continuing our discussion of where he could find Indiana on a map, and what it was REALLY like there. He told me his name was Adam, as he delivered a bubbling vodka tonic. After a breath of lackluster conversation, he asked where my where I had misplaced my poppy. You see, in England, they celebrate their Remembrance Day by cladding everything from coats, taxis, to front doors, in poppies. They represent the field where many of their soldiers were killed in World War I. He backed up towards the bar, plucked something from a basket on the end, then turned around to present a red, plastic poppy and pin. Like a proper gentleman he pinned it on the shoulder of my dress, quite carefully I might add. He went on to explain that he and his friends were members of the Royal British Army, and he was a guard at Buckingham Palace. In response to my skepticism, he gladly pulled up a photo of him, standing with his red uniform and large, furry hat.

“I even seen the Queen’s corgis once!” I was all ears, not unlike one of those adorable little animals.

When we went to the next bar, we were greeted by drink tickets and one of the oddest DJs I have ever seen outside of an AFV wedding tape. This scraggly blonde boy insisted on playing what he imagined was the Great American Songbook. And the crowd loved every minute of it, screaming along to such respectable exports as “Sweet Home Alabama” and “Jack And Diane.” Adam and I had since lost our respective clans, and I had settled in to a steady rhythm of benign chatting. He was sweet, and exclaimed in excitement over this particular bar’s soundtrack. We scuffled to the turntables to examine the DJs set up. Laid before our disheveled, musically homogeneous friend, were stacks upon stacks of CD-Rs, album titles and band names scribbled on each in Sharpie.

“There!” Adam pointed and yelled towards a particular selection. I beamed. In green Sharpie ink, one CD read, “GREASE SOUNDTRACK FOR GOOD TIME.”

“Yes,” was as much response as I could muster through my grin. Without a second thought, my military friend leaned over and commanded the DJ. The DJ was ecstatic by the request, and promised it would be on next. For the rest of the evening, we danced and sang along. As the script had said, it was certainly a good time. When Adam so courteously walked me back to my flat, I sang, “you’re the one that I want,” and he called back, “Oooh ooh ooooooh!”

“& It Was U” — How To Dress Well

My good friend Dan of Prison Art Tapes gave me a lot of advice when I went to London, having spent a semester in the same program just a couple years before. He told me which record stores to go to, and which to avoid. But the most important introduction gave to me in London was not to Sister Ray, but to a young man named Jānis. The two had met when Dan had studied there, and Jānis had just moved to London from Latvia.

They bumped into one another and started a conversation at a Crystal Castles concert, something straight out of a film to be made ten years from now, no doubt. When Dan left the country at the end of his study abroad, he left Jānis his printer and his guitar. They’ve remained in contact ever since.

One fateful morning, Dan decided it was high time that I connect with his star-crossed friend. After a few months of missed connections, I had the opportunity to put Janis on the guestlist for a gig organized by Converse at the 100 Club. When he arrived, we walked around a bit—I showed him a record store I had found a copy of There Goes Rhymin’ Simon. We quizzed each other on our favorite albums, finding little similar ground. But what little our record collections had in common, we more than made up for in similar passion. Though our interests lie largely in different genres, we look for the same things. Dan Croll and his band were the second act to go on at the 100 Club that night. Neither of us had listen to them at length, but we both gave hats off to the groovy bass player.

Jānis is tall, and spent the night leaning down so I could whisper bad jokes in his ear. He would occasionally lean over to ask me if I had heard of a band before. I had heard of none of them, though I desperately wanted to know of every reference he made. But there was no sense in being embarrassed about our ignorance of each other’s mental musical libraries. Instead we just made up silly dances, irritating the stiff upper lip of the English audience.

After the show, we were nowhere ready to let the night end. We meandered around the shops on Oxford Street. These tourist-driven outlets hold everything from an astonishingly large variety of watch key chains sporting the Playboy Bunny to ever color of knock-off Doc Martens. They’re the kind of stores that stock the kind of suits used in the costuming of movies like Borat. Jānis and I entered several of these stores, and tried on faux fur hats. He translated the Russian maps of the city. I mused on pictures of One Direction.

Soon, we left to find some other trouble. For a while, we walked around the edge of SoHo, failing at any attempt to think of something constructive to partake in. It was then that we uncovered our commonality. I mentioned a blog post Dan had once written about How To Dress Well, and before I could even mock the falsetto, Jānis was snapping his fingers. “You don’t have to worry,” he began to sing. We talked about how sad the song was, how hard it can be to want to wait around for another person who you care about. I realized that, though we came from entirely different backgrounds and experiences, this song had come to mean something so important to both of us.

Weeks later, Jānis and I went to see James Blake perform a DJ set at a warehouse in Hackney Wick. At around 5 AM, we found ourselves on the top deck of a bus headed back to Central London. We shared headphones, and I unsuccessfully fought off sleep. As I slipped in and out of my slumber, “& It Was U” came on. I leaned a bit onto my friend’s shoulder, looking out on the street from the front window of the bus. It was one of the few times that I really, truly felt at home in London.

“Perfect Day” — Lou Reed

My favorite class I took while in London was British Film. The professor was an elegant woman, I assume a former actress or something of the like. She would float about the classroom like a flower petal, speaking in her wonderfully-enunciated British accent.

And she chose an array of films for the course, from Skyfall to If. She lent me a copy of Control, and I watched it in tears in the student lounge before the next class. She would entertain me after class, discussing The Wicker Man and Peeping Tom just as readily as Atonement.

I looked forward to every Thursday because of this class. No matter what lay in the week ahead, I could always count on an excellent film and an engaging discussion afterward. The best were when she took us out to the theater to see films at the Curzon. We even got a chance to see Great Expectations as a class. It was like a breath of fresh air every week.

For my final paper for the class, I chose to write about Trainspotting. It was a film I found interesting because its surface content continues to be so heavily dissected, though nobody really bothers to dive into the possibilities behind it. There is so much unexplored thematic territory in this film. Also, of course, it has a bitchin’ soundtrack.

One of the most iconic scenes in the film, and one of the most iconic scenes in film soundtracking, is when Renton goes to meet with “Mother Superior.” Lou Reed’s ballad “Perfect Day” is used to overlay Ewan McGregor’s overdose. “Perfect Day” is an ironic romanticizing of Reed’s own use of heroin. Renton’s overdose sends him sinking into the ground in another of the film’s beautifully executed partings with reality. He is literally digging his own grave through another relapse. Paraphrasing scripture, “You’re going to reap just what you sow,” warns Reed, as Renton is thrown into a cab, again given the choice to live or die.

The film, to me, serves as a reminder that as humans, we are forced to make choices in life. And choosing nothing is a choice in and of itself. Though I don’t ever plan on picking up the needle, or getting involved in anything of the like for that matter, this moral is a nice reminder as I prepare to make a bunch of choices in my life.

Also, really bitchin’ soundtrack.

“Here We Go” — Christopher Owens

Christopher Owens debuted his solo album to London during a two-night feature at a church just behind the Tottenham Court Road Underground station, St. Giles in the Fields. Flatmate Ben and I uncovered a reservoir of unsold tickets a few days before the show and snatched them up. It would be the last show we attended in London, and nothing seemed quite as fitting. The closing of one chapter would be marked by the introduction to the next.

The night of the second show Christopher played at St. Giles, my friends and I spread out among the church. In typical fangirl fashion, I took my position in the second pew back from the stage, seated by a man with a film camera hidden in his backpack. I waited patiently, excited to hear these songs that I knew would resonate with me no matter what the content. Something about an artist so honest never fails to pluck at my tender heartstrings.

In perfect Chris Owens fashion, he and his band took the stage and with the mildest of hellos, and then immediately carried into “Lysandre’s Theme.” This riff served as the motif for the album, which he played straight through as the evening’s set. I felt as if I was being taken through a storybook, the flute solo bringing back memories of a childhood soundtrack. Lysandre is a cathartic look back on a single relationship that the former Girls’ frontman endured at the beginning of his music career. The intimate setting of the church served as a perfect backdrop for such a heart-wrenching tale. His words like biblical allegories, heeding the gravity of true love in a young person’s life. Though years had passed since the nights that he sang of, the longing in his voice dripped into a puddle on the floor. There was no banter from the newly solo artist. And when the album was through, the band went in to several cover songs. These ranged from “The Boxer” to “Don’t Think Twice.” Each song seemed to convey similar themes that existed in the new songs he had just performed. It was thrilling and heartbreaking. The music relieved me, as I allowed myself to ruminate on the discouraging romantic encounter that had started off my journey to London.

There was a vase full of white roses by Christopher’s post on the stage. When he was finished with the closing cover song, he threw the roses out to the audience members in the front pews. My heart leaped as he cast one in my direction. As I held it in my hand, I was reminded that when one door closes, another is sure to open.

“Bartender” — T-Pain

Thanks to my loving, adventurous parents, I had the truly unique opportunity to spend Christmas In London. We planned several activates to make sure we made the most out of my final week there. One such expedition was a tour bus trip to Stonehenge, Bath, and Stratford-upon-Avon. It was a delightful jaunt through the Cotswolds. We spent a great deal of time riding on the bus from one location to another. My parents, still suffering from a bit of jet lag, spent the majority of the bus rides next to each other, snoozing. I sat next to them in a seat by myself by the window.

I was beginning to worry about leaving. I had but a few days left, and I was starting the find myself regretting not visiting the Victoria & Albert Museum nearly as much as I would have liked, not making enough of an effort to travel, and so on. I had spent an uncomfortable amount of the semester adjusting and adapting. Had this been time wasted? What opportunities did I miss? What exhibits did I ignore in the National Gallery? Who were the folks who I should have spent more time with? If I had to do it over, what would I do differently?

In situations such as this, I find it best to just push those feelings away. There’s rarely ever any reasoning the mind of a weary traveler, especially one as young as I am. There is an art to putting yourself in a different place and finding pleasantries to dote on to escape overthinking. I think this is where I’ve really come to find the power of music. As I sat, filled with panic and regret, one song came on, and immediately beckoned me away from discomfort. When “Bartender” shuffled its way through my earbuds, I found shelter in T-Pain’s reassuring, auto-pitched “ohs” and “ahs.” I closed my eyes. I sat, smiling like an idiot, thinking about dancing in my kitchen back in Syracuse whilst making dinner. I thought about middle school winter formals. I thought about long drives to Ithaca, Dayton, and Little Rock. Even if I had missed out on a couple of unique chances to wreak havoc on London, there were plenty of memories to continue making back in the USA. I wouldn’t be missing out on anything.

The bus I sat on may have been taking me from Jane Austen’s summer home to William Shakespeare’s birthplace, but it was T-Pain who stripped me of my worry and regret. Believe it or not I could not imagine a better soundtrack for this departing journey.

Anunziata / Ghost In Salad Split CS

A few short months ago Anunziata (Matt Jugenheimer of Sore Eros) and Ghost In Salad (Jeff Johnson of Hunnie Bunnies) released this limited edition split cassette. Unfortunately it slipped past my radar until Matt shot me a copy of the tape this past week. Side A contains one single, 16-minute experimental track from Anunziata. It’s a meandering noise-drone beast that is in a constant state of flux with Matt throwing everything but that kitchen sink into it. One minute you’ll be lulled by a syncopated guitar strumming and the next the universe is crashing down around your ears in a burst of metallic feedback. Ghost In Salad takes a similarly noisy route for his side of the tape, but he prefers to break it up into more bite-size chunks. He also gives his tracks a little more help in the way of conventionality, but they’re still crunching, lumbering mutants of noise.

After hearing what Jeff had to say about the two sides I found that nothing comes close to his descriptions:

Anunziata: Basment 8-track recordings.

Hold on for a skewed space cruise with bright lights and cosmic flames. Pull over at a galactic rest stop for a siesta and the hallucinations begin. Remember to put on those dark shades. Think. Believe. The journey is yours.

Ghost In Salad: Tape experiments and 4 track recordings.

Collage in the land of harsh air guitar slams and bathroom shower serenades and remember to visit the planetary bounce houses of space deities. In this journey there are scrambles of drone and lost alien communication but you finally make it home.

Double Double Whammy Announces Cassette Club

New York label/certified PORTALS pal Double Double Whammy have announced their brand new Cassette Club. Check out the official statement from label head Dave Benton and then stream the inaugural Cassette Club compilation below.

DDW/Mt Home Cassette Club 2013

Pre-orders for our 2013 Cassette Club are finally up! Only $30 to get in on the fun. Subscribers should expect to receive one tape every other month for the year of 2013, each with 12 unreleased tracks from your favorite Double Double Whammy friends and family members. Packaging will be handmade and designed by Mt. Home, with a newsletter from both of us! Purchase a subscription here. These tape compilations will not be available anywhere else, so don’t miss out!

Our club this year features the following artists:

Matt Van Asselt (The Act of Estimating as Worthless)
Bad Cello
Boy Crush (High Pop)
Colin Alexander (Spook Houses)
Rinong (Speedy Ortiz / Roomrunner)
QUARTERBACKS
Little Big League
Whatever, Dad
Cameron Wisch (Zona Mexicana, Porches)
Adir L.C.
Ben Smith (LVL UP)
Trace Mountains (Spook Houses)

Math the Band - “Brand New Physics” (Official Video)

If you’ve yet to have your coffee (or various caffeinated beverage) this morning, then you might want to hold off until after you watch this clip lest your brain explode through your eyes. Providence, Rhode Island duo Math the Band make tunes that seem a bit like if Andrew W.K. (whom the band recently toured with) and Atom and His Package had a music baby and then if you fed that baby nothing but NES cartridges.

The band just released their latest album GET REAL! and have undertaken the task of shooting an original video for each of the album’s tracks. We’re pleased to premiere the video for the track “Brand New Physics”. Check out the humorous clip above and then stream the infectious album via their Bandcamp below.