We're Late For Class: #29 Bob Can Hear Us

#29 Bob Can Hear Us

Alright, see what you think of this one. A 22:44 live space dirge dedicated to our long-suffering neighbor, Bob. It could be worse. This improv was originally over 40 minutes long. Recorded live, along with The Jim Morrison Seance Tapes (#30)

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Bob Can Hear Us (22:44)

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LOSSLESS

22 comments:

Anonymous2:06 PM
How about putting up the 40 minutes and letting us decide?
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We're Late For Class5:02 PM
Hey, WE can't even get through the 40 minute version.
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Anonymous5:21 PM
Is Jeff saying that he actually listened to the entire 22 minutes and he wants to hear ANOTHER 40 minutes? That's not right.
-Rudy
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We're Late For Class5:22 PM
Rudester,
How come you never sign in?
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Anonymous5:23 PM
I always write my comment before signing in and then I don't bother.
-Rudy
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Anonymous10:06 PM
Hi people & Rudy,

Yes I listened to it, then had family over, then responded. I listen to almost all of the WLFC releases and granted this isn't Swastika Girls or The Heavenly Music Corporation by Mr.'s Fripp and Eno but I love plodding long moody themes. I will put it on my IPod with my other WLFC and give it a proper listen next time I am waiting for my wife while she is in the shops.

Jeff
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We're Late For Class12:11 PM
You the man, Jeff. But be careful... mixing our stuff with the wife's shopping could prove fatal. You heart could simply stop from the lack of stimuli. One of our friends said we sounded like Manassas. We we're surprised, until we realized she said "molasses." But, on a positive note, we'll be using your adjective, "plodding," in our future press releases. We'll have even more of it next week, with The Jim Morrison Seance Tapes (from the same sessions). Thanks for listening.
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Anonymous8:56 PM
You're welcomer, I meant plodding in the best meaning of the word.
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Anonymous12:37 PM
i'm away for a couple of weeks and all hell breaks loose - 8 comments! what in hell's name is going on. 8 comments. you're going global if you all stick together as a team.by the way which one is class?
scav
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We're Late For Class7:46 PM
Yeah... we we're steering a little too close to "Careful With That Ax, Eugene" with this one, weren't we Scav?
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Anonymous9:10 PM
Guys, don't pick on my fav PF track. Well that any anything that came before DSoTM. First time I heard this track I was stoned in the basement in the dark and when the scream happened, well you can see why I remember it so vividly.
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We're Late For Class11:28 PM
The EXACT same thing happened to us.
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Anonymous7:01 PM
if your gonna steer to close to something then make it something good.thoroughly enjyed it and i'm looking forward to the jim morrison seance tapes.
be carefree with that axe
scav
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We're Late For Class8:43 PM
Thanks for listening Scav.
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Anonymous10:49 PM
Cool, sultry, slinking - could be the OST for a postmodern detective neo-noir film. Die-licious.
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We're Late For Class12:33 AM
Thanks rev... actually, we tried the postmodern detective neo-noir stuff on #11. We kind of lacked a big band though. Thanks for listening.
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NØ6:24 PM
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Now I got'em all.
Hehhehhehhehheh!!
Now I'm ploddin'(in the best meanin' of the wurd).
Yeah, baby, ploddin'
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We're Late For Class12:49 PM
No's hitting the wall. Sounds like he's trippin'. FOLLOW THE VOICE, NO... FOLLOW THE VOICE.
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Anonymous9:57 AM
Ahhh, this track is so hypnotic, i stop what i'm doing, stand still, listen for some minutes and drift with it. Wish it was still 40 minutes. This track could never be too long, I'd like a twelve hour version i can put on in the morning and leave playing all day. Thankyou W.L.F.C.
Omlette
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We're Late For Class10:06 AM
Great to hear, thanks. If you like this kind of stuff, make sure you check out #30 The Jim Morrison Seance Tapes, they were recorded at the same sessions as Bob Can Hear Us. There's even an instrumental version of the seance, in case you can't deal with that lout, Morrison.
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We're Late For Class9:37 AM
Also, thanks for the first comment on this track in two years.
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mick5511:41 PM
Dazed and Confused played Over Under Sideways Down at Schloss Nörvenich.

Near the end Peter Frampton begs to use a Framptone talk box and Symarip
gives him a Skinhead Moonstomp for being too '70s even for the retro crowd.
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PRESS THANKS...

Thanks to the late, great Fred Dellar at MOJO Magazine for mentioning Art Jackson's Atrocity AND We're Late For Class in two separate "Ask Fred" columns, where he called the Atrocity's Gout a "fine, percussion-fuelled, invigorating free-for-all," and also saying, "we at Ask Fred are glad WLFC exist." Thanks Fred!

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Many thanks to Jeff Fitzgerald over at Psychedelic Waves for including Art Jackson's Atrocity in his list of Top 30 Albums of 2019, calling Tribute To Sun Ra... "Some great, exploratory, tripped out Sun Ra inspired free jazz," and "a terrific album." Needless to say, we're shocked. Since we never sent the guy a dime. Thanks Jeff.

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Thanks to Roz Milner for the two interview/articles posted at Bearded Gentlemen Music, "Solving the Mystery of Art Jackson Atrocity’s Gout," and the most recent, "With His Back To The Crowd: Art Jackson’s Atrocity’s Live In Europe - Lost Live Jazz Recording."

We collectively appreciate the creative interest and the well-groomed ink.

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Thanks to It's Psychedelic Baby Magazine for the article, "Maybe It’s Time To Take Art Jackson’s Atrocity Seriously." Maybe.

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AN ACTUAL RECORD REVIEW...

ART JACKSON'S ATROCITY

Gout

(Unreleased 1974 Promo On Columbia Records)

Reviewed by Joe Kenney @

Julian Cope Presents Head Heritage

If, like me, your favorite era of Miles Davis is his electric era, specifically the 1973-1975 years in which Pete Cosey was his guitarist, then you’ve probably wondered why that super-fantastic lineup of his never cut an album together, after Miles decided to retire in late 1975. I mean, they were the greatest group in history, with Pete Cosey’s phenomenal, psychedelic guitar (the man was beyond Hendrix, that’s all there is to it), Reggie Lucas’ wah-wah’d grounding rhythm guitar, Michael Henderson’s dub-like basslines…hell, I can’t go through all of them, but if you know them, you love them. But if you’ve ever wondered what an album by this super group sans Miles would sound like, well my friends, I give you Gout, by Art Jackson’s Atrocity.

Only thing is, you’ll have to hunt the blogs for it. Recorded in 1974, the album was cut as a promo by Columbia, who then went on to drop both the group and the album, which is unreleased to this day. “The horror…the horror…” No one’s sure why (info is slim to none on this group and album), but most rumors have to do with Art Jackson’s drug abuse. In any case, the album has perfect sound quality – the only source is the promo LP, of course, and it sounds phenomenal.

The Miles connection surfaces again: Art Jackson was a twenty year-old guitarist whom Miles Davis himself recommended to Columbia records. Apparently Davis even funded the recording of the album. The Atrocity was put together around Jackson, an 11-member collective of hard-rockin’, psychedelia-lovin’, jazz-playin’ motherfuckers (two saxophonists, four drummers, two keyboardists, a guy on reeds, a guy on bass, a guy on “effects”), none of whom I’ve ever heard of (much like Art Jackson himself).

The five long tracks on Gout center around Jackson’s guitar, and the kid is Pete Cosey reborn; the stuff on here sounds almost identical to what Cosey was performing on the Agharta and Pangaea albums. That same sort of fucked-up, psychedelic distortion which goes from raging and chaotic one moment to spaced-out drones the next, the strange tunings, the works. Only thing is, unlike Cosey, Jackson’s not above playing a power chord or three, so the album packs a definite metal-rock punch. I mean, it’s fantastic, the whole thing.

The superbly-named “Shaft In Afghanistan” opens the album. Jackson’s guitar is on super-fucked mode, sounding like a cyclic tone. The rhythm section lays down a menacing, throbbing track, which Jackson and the sax & reeds proceed to riff over. Jackson soon leaves the actual “song” to the others, instead riffing and roaring with all manner of guitar sounds across the track. He’s everywhere, from wah-wah to thick distortion to cosmic fuzz. Things cool down three minutes in, but it’s only a fake-out; the track comes right back in. Jackson funks it up on wah-wah, with studio-tricked handclaps providing additional percussion. There's all sorts of electronic gimmickry on the album; this isn’t just some quickly recorded demo. This eventually calms down again into a sort of funky ambience – but it’s just another fake-out! The track rips right back up, the drums so superbly recorded (and no doubt closely-miked) that they seem to pound within the caverns of your skull.

“Arabian Fabian” (another great title!) comes in with total menace, until a faux-lite jazz tune pops up. Funky, proto-drum’n’bass drum kit and sax. But this soon becomes something altogether un-lite. Echoed murk creeps across the track, eerie wails, treated reeds, and dubbed-out sax bleats. Those close-up drums kick in and we’re in an altogether heavier, funkier groove. The first half of the track belongs to the Atrocity, with Jackson throwing in brief fills and licks on his mutated guitar. Things collapse into psychedelic ambience at the five-minute mark; free jazz with plinking guitar and tapped cymbal. But ominous guitar fuzz hovers in the distance, a starving wolf preparing to attack. John Carpenter keyboards arise and give the track even more of a horror-movie feel. But it’s a ruse; the piano takes over, playing a melancholy melody as the other instruments recede into the murk. This doesn’t last. Those ultra-loud drums kick the shit out of you again, jumping out of nowhere, and suddenly we’re into the strangest of strange: ambient free jazz with heavy metal drums. The track eventually wears itself out, descending back into the murk from whence it came.

“Available Bush” sounds like some early ‘90s industrial mash, with in-your-face drums and ripping and roaring Ministry-esque guitar. The track throbs on an off-kilter funk grove, Jackson heading the proceedings with the twists and turns of his guitar. The sax plays a faux-Middle Eastern counter-melody to his blasts and blares. The bassist throws in a few snake-like fills of his own, but his instrument sounds anemic compared to Jackson’s acidic distortion. This one humps along for seven minutes which quickly pass by, never establishing anything beyond that off-kilter groove, but never suffering for it.

“Tomato Reign” is the epic of the album, 16+ minutes of cosmic echo and free jazz. It crawls out of the murk in the opening moments, ethereal and disjointed fills from the assembled players. Things continue in this dubbed-out vein for a few minutes; nothing on the level of the Taj Mahal Travelers, but close…along the lines of the last half of Miles’ 1975 shows, when Cosey et al would let it all hang out in improvisatory bouts of experimental noise and abstraction. Pounding, tribal drums which pop out and then disappear. Bleated sax fills which float across the sound spectrum. Even animalistic grunts, growls, and screams from the group. This culminates in ultra-fucked guitar from Jackson, sounding again like some cyclic tone from hell, and then someone (a group member? a sample from some obscure film?) states in the calmest tones, “Fuck her. Let her rot.” A few more minutes of banging, echoed drums and bleating, mournful fills from the sax, and that’s it: the freest noise-skronk ever comes to a close.

“Let’s go!,” someone yells, and we’re straight into the pounding, pissed-off proto-metal of the title track, “Gout.” This is the rock version of the preceding track, another rhythmless excursion into all things free, only packing a wallop in the guitar distortion and overall menace. It pounds and snarls for six minutes, never finding a groove, preferring to live in its own sonic hellhole of chaotic din. Finally it builds to a climax of sorts, with a few final bashes on the drum kit, and the record’s over.

To be fair, you can see why Columbia refused to release this. Gout is the type of album you’d only find on some free jazz label or, if it was recorded today, some ultra-hip indie label. But Columbia in the mid-1970s? Releasing this groundless swell of jazz-metal ambience? Hard to believe. But those master tapes are out there, somewhere, as is the full story of what exactly happened to Art Jackson and his Atrocity. In the meantime, we can only listen to their one recorded album, and wonder.