Whilst the majority of people working in my industry have spent the past few years wailing like banshees over the effect of digital media on record sales, I think it poses a much greater danger to our rich culture than just the dissapearance of a vinyl from the shelves of HMV. I of course refer to the effect of the internet on the grumble industry and how with every concievable fetish and perversion just a google search away, the top shelves of our nation’s corner shops are under direct and immediate threat.
Feminists may argue that the ease of access and increasingly hardcore nature of internet porn (gosh, let’s just see our blog stats go through the roof as a million sweaty palmed onanists click through to us) is wrecking the male psyche, already a fairly fragile and easily led thing I’d say. Personally I’m much more concerned about the irreplacable loss of two important rights of pubescent rites of passage. That first nervous dry balled attempt at buying a jazz mag and that most beautiful moment of any adolescent’s life, stumbling across a bag of discarded grumble in the woods. In one go both the agony and ecstacy of youth and something that men have bonded over through countless generations, potentially lost to us for ever.
Anyway not that it takes much but the reason my mind has wandered off into regions flesh toned today is because a rather fine MP3 entitled Playboy dropped onto my virtual mat the other day courtesy of those fine people at Domino Records. Not, I should add, that the esteemed indie have decided to move into the skin trade rather they’ve made available a new track by mercurial electronica odd job Max Tundra to give his new album a bit of boost, a track that is of course a cover of one of Hot Chip‘s early singles (which sadly has actually nothing to do with America’s finest tits and ass periodical).
One of those chaps whose been around seemingly forever and it feels like has probably never got quite as much acclaim as he should have. His only release for Warp back in 1998, ‘Children At Play‘, was (and still is) one of my favourite weirdbeat records, a furiously fun bricolage of playfully skewed melodies and warped drum n bass. Seriously, it’s ace, go and check it out on Bleep now.
Anyway his new album, Parallax Error Beheads You, is out now (if you hurry you may still snag a special soup can edition) and manages to both sound like it was made by a man far too clever for his own good but who also knows how to have a laugh, an all too rare combination in that scene these days. A virtuoso of making brain fryingly intricate music out of what sounds like the dying gasps of a ZX Spectrum, he also has a handy knack for pop which saves it from just being something for moody teenage Aphex Twin fans to whack off to YouPorn too. All in all well worth blowing your beans on.