JAKE CLELAND

Reprinting this thing I wrote about Rayon Moon in last week’s New Oz Music.
Around the time I was talking to a crowd at The Toff on Wednesday night about how music writers should always disclaim their personal relationships with bands, Rayon Moon, a band I’ve so gratefully come to know personally, were playing their final show across town. I first saw Rayon Moon at the Workers Club with ScotDrakula. That show changed everything for me.
I nearly didn’t make it to that show in March 2012. I was shuddering ill, but I’d put off seeing ScotDrakula for too long. At the time I didn’t think too highly of the ol’ Australian music; most of what’d been exposed I saw as shallow parody of better overseas bands, and I’d never had a moment of personal discovery with a band, except for Jack Ladder & the Dreamlanders, maybe, that’d done much to change that. That show, though…
This crow-haired dervish screaming and excoriating himself on stage; this cheeky sailor chap smirking behind his drumkit. Gene Ulmer and Aye Lips, they were. Obviously pseudonyms but thoughtfully chosen for a band so steeped in a particular aesthetic. For as often as I’ve been in Ulmer’s gleaming hulk of a car vibrating to The Stooges or Richard Hell, or bouncing around to their covers of The Ramones or Bauhaus or Cramps-borrowed riffs, they pointed me to artists like Curtis Mayfield or James Chance. The through-line is perfectly clear: whatever makes you move is in, whatever leaves you cold is out. 
And my lactic calves’ll have to forgive me, for boy did Rayon Moon make me wanna move. I’ve been coming back to something ScotDrakula’s Matt Neumann said to me a while ago when I asked him about dancing on stage: when the folks with the instruments move around, it gives the crowd permission to move around as well. Rayon Moon were one of the most permissive bands going. Not just onstage but off, too. They always eked out a space for themselves in the room, wrigglin’ and shufflin’ in sync, a performance of their own refined over hundreds of nights. Plenty of times it was more fun to watch than the band playing. 
Rayon”>Rayon”>http://rayonmoon.bandcamp.com/album/rayon-moon-ii”>Rayon Moon II by Rayon Moon
But the music, too! Spooky and psychedelic, infectiously rhythmic, sardonic, witty, and absurd. Too often they got lumped in with surf-punks and garage-rockers, and to be sure they had some of that, but what a reduction! ‘Ghostride The Whip Bareback’ is a surreal story of kidnapping and ‘Man Eating Mummy’ howls and shrieks of curses and mythology, while ‘Dennis’ lashes out at an escaped ex and ‘Greensborough Plaza’ savages smalltown conservativism. ‘It’s Not Too Bad’ sounds like a b-movie trailer, ‘The Phil Spector Wig Appreciation Society’ waxes on the concept of legacy, and the yet-unrecorded ‘Little Baby Boyfriend’ - brought to the band by recent member Annaliese Replica and developed into a new favourite - riffs on being hot for short guys. They were way too weird to fit in with most but rarely got credit for it. I remember going to a job I hated every morning a couple years ago, wearing my black and studs on the tram, listening to the Badlands/It’s Not Too Bad cassette, feeling too tough to touch.
Believe that I wouldn’t be writing this column without that show. And maybe you’re in your comfy chair thinking “Get the fuck on with the music criticism, dude. Nobody gives a fuck about you!” although I’d have to imagine you do at least a little bit, given this column’s established tendency towards the putridly diaristic. Yeah, I knew Rayon Moon. I’m the most biased Rayon Moon critic around, but no feckless fanboy; they’ve put out unexceptional tracks to be certain, although after a lot of thought I can’t say they’ve ever put out one I haven’t, on some level, liked. But besides their personal affability, it was that alchemy of pop and pulp that drew me to ‘em, both in the first place, and again and again over the past few years.
I still have the poster from that Workers Club show. The setlist, too. I’ll miss Rayon Moon, even as they move on to other projects. I owe them a lot. Thank you, Rayon Moon, for all the songs and all the shows. Thank you for teaching me how to move.
game”>game”>http://rayonmoon.bandcamp.com/album/game-of-pwns”>game of pwns by Rayon Moo

Reprinting this thing I wrote about Rayon Moon in last week’s New Oz Music.

Around the time I was talking to a crowd at The Toff on Wednesday night about how music writers should always disclaim their personal relationships with bands, Rayon Moon, a band I’ve so gratefully come to know personally, were playing their final show across town. I first saw Rayon Moon at the Workers Club with ScotDrakula. That show changed everything for me.

I nearly didn’t make it to that show in March 2012. I was shuddering ill, but I’d put off seeing ScotDrakula for too long. At the time I didn’t think too highly of the ol’ Australian music; most of what’d been exposed I saw as shallow parody of better overseas bands, and I’d never had a moment of personal discovery with a band, except for Jack Ladder & the Dreamlanders, maybe, that’d done much to change that. That show, though…

This crow-haired dervish screaming and excoriating himself on stage; this cheeky sailor chap smirking behind his drumkit. Gene Ulmer and Aye Lips, they were. Obviously pseudonyms but thoughtfully chosen for a band so steeped in a particular aesthetic. For as often as I’ve been in Ulmer’s gleaming hulk of a car vibrating to The Stooges or Richard Hell, or bouncing around to their covers of The Ramones or Bauhaus or Cramps-borrowed riffs, they pointed me to artists like Curtis Mayfield or James Chance. The through-line is perfectly clear: whatever makes you move is in, whatever leaves you cold is out. 

And my lactic calves’ll have to forgive me, for boy did Rayon Moon make me wanna move. I’ve been coming back to something ScotDrakula’s Matt Neumann said to me a while ago when I asked him about dancing on stage: when the folks with the instruments move around, it gives the crowd permission to move around as well. Rayon Moon were one of the most permissive bands going. Not just onstage but off, too. They always eked out a space for themselves in the room, wrigglin’ and shufflin’ in sync, a performance of their own refined over hundreds of nights. Plenty of times it was more fun to watch than the band playing. 

But the music, too! Spooky and psychedelic, infectiously rhythmic, sardonic, witty, and absurd. Too often they got lumped in with surf-punks and garage-rockers, and to be sure they had some of that, but what a reduction! ‘Ghostride The Whip Bareback’ is a surreal story of kidnapping and ‘Man Eating Mummy’ howls and shrieks of curses and mythology, while ‘Dennis’ lashes out at an escaped ex and ‘Greensborough Plaza’ savages smalltown conservativism. ‘It’s Not Too Bad’ sounds like a b-movie trailer, ‘The Phil Spector Wig Appreciation Society’ waxes on the concept of legacy, and the yet-unrecorded ‘Little Baby Boyfriend’ - brought to the band by recent member Annaliese Replica and developed into a new favourite - riffs on being hot for short guys. They were way too weird to fit in with most but rarely got credit for it. I remember going to a job I hated every morning a couple years ago, wearing my black and studs on the tram, listening to the Badlands/It’s Not Too Bad cassette, feeling too tough to touch.

Believe that I wouldn’t be writing this column without that show. And maybe you’re in your comfy chair thinking “Get the fuck on with the music criticism, dude. Nobody gives a fuck about you!” although I’d have to imagine you do at least a little bit, given this column’s established tendency towards the putridly diaristic. Yeah, I knew Rayon Moon. I’m the most biased Rayon Moon critic around, but no feckless fanboy; they’ve put out unexceptional tracks to be certain, although after a lot of thought I can’t say they’ve ever put out one I haven’t, on some level, liked. But besides their personal affability, it was that alchemy of pop and pulp that drew me to ‘em, both in the first place, and again and again over the past few years.

I still have the poster from that Workers Club show. The setlist, too. I’ll miss Rayon Moon, even as they move on to other projects. I owe them a lot. Thank you, Rayon Moon, for all the songs and all the shows. Thank you for teaching me how to move.

The Needle Drop's Anthony Fantano: "I didn't grow up reading reviews."

Hey uh just a quick congrats to Anthony Fantano for being interviewed by two of the greatest living music journalists, first Nardwuar and now jakec, I mean buddy lemme tell ya: that’s how you know you made it.

chucklebot:

NEW BABAGANOUJ TOUR COMING UP :)))))))))))))))
INVEST 2DAY
thank u hei-ackack

3 Melbourne shows :)

chucklebot:

NEW BABAGANOUJ TOUR COMING UP :)))))))))))))))

INVEST 2DAY

thank u hei-ackack

3 Melbourne shows :)

How to spend your sick day: transcribing interviews, procrastinating transcribing interviews by making silly photoshop teasers for said interviews.

How to spend your sick day: transcribing interviews, procrastinating transcribing interviews by making silly photoshop teasers for said interviews.

Musically speaking there are few things which match the sublimity of the mashup - although nightcore and happy hardcore remixes of songs come close - and plenty of music typists have attempted to decrypt why. Nostalgia is the hook most commonly grasped, but that only explains part of it. Besides evoking the frisson of familiarity, like good comedy, mashups work by subverting expectations, presenting the familiar in new contexts and introducing an element of surprise. There is also the delayed gratification of anticipation, the same principle which explains why the bass drop has become such a fixation in contemporary music. That feeling when you sense one song fading out, or hear another one creeping into the mix, waiting to experience the introduction of a new element into the formula, is just as important.

—Did some thinking about mashups via Neil Cicierega’s ‘Mouth Silence’. My all-time favourite writing about mashups is Puritan Blister #7 but I like this one too.

Everybody pay attention to me.

This is absolutely too much.

oh no

oh no