We're Late For Class

#31 Transmissions Vol. 2: The LSD Sessions

More random transmissions from the void, this one with a theme... The LSD Sessions, though, we're not saying why. We will say that we thought each of these improvisational jams were about 30 minutes long. For optimum enjoyment, we're advising drug use, though local authorities may frown on the practice.

Listen

67 (4:23)
Closing Ceremonies (At The Beastie Boys' House) (5:27)
Buttery Hog Mosh (8:49)

Free 320
LOSSLESS

#30 The Jim Morrison Seance Tapes

We're not sure how the idea hatched but we know the concept doesn't need much of a set up... it's a live space improvisation during a Jim Morrison seance. Why not!? It's cheaper than a living singer (classified ads, lodging, alcohol) and besides... you know how lead singers are to deal with. Since Bono isn't dead yet, we thought, who better than poet/philosopher/comedian Jim Morrison? And so you don't think this is just something we slapped together with old recordings and ProTools, listen for yourself as the engineer asks Jim for the "post-death stuff... the stuff without copyrights." For those that don't buy the premise, we've included a bonus, 14-minute instrumental mix (minus Jim) from when it was called "Message From Fornax" for a few hours. In the end, Jimbo was fun, even if he did sound like he was drunk in Paris. It went smoother than our Screamin' Jay Hawkins seance, anyway.

Listen

The Jim Morrison Seance Tapes (13:57)
Message From Fornax (Pre-JMST Instrumental) (14:02)

Free 320
LOSSLESS

#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)

Listen

Bob Can Hear Us (22:44)

Free 320
LOSSLESS

#28 Transmissions Vol. 1

The first in a series, probably. "Sequel To The Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet" started out as a nod to Frank Zappa's Freak Out, but halfway through the 11 minutes turned into a Hawkwind jam. We didn't expect that. So, we went full bore Hawkwind on "Wind Of The Hawk." The inspiration being us previously being accidentally inspired to sound like Hawkwind. Seemed like a good enough excuse. Speaking of Zappa, that's actually Frank excusing himself to take a piss at the beginning of "Glenn Miller's Luggage Is Missing, Too." It's a never before heard snippet we managed to acquire (don't ask how), making this a "must have" for Frank Zappa collectors out there. Yet another Creative Accountants idea for expanding our fan base. The song itself (with overdubbed vocals) is a spoof of Andy Mackay's similarly named tune from his '70's rock opera, Rock Follies, with an unlikely musical debt to an old Mothers of Invention tune. Yet another 20 minutes of pointless improvisation, recorded live. Except for the dubbed vocals.

Listen

Sequel To The Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet (11:00)
Wind Of The Hawk (4:20)
Glenn Miller's Luggage Is Missing, Too (5:31)

Free 320
LOSSLESS

#27 Caravan Psoriasis

We'd never heard of anyone doing a rock opera before (that's, Iraq opera), so here's one. It's a coming-of-age story about a boy named Thommi, who is drawn to experience the big city by a pirate radio broadcast of a Muhammad Ali fight ("Ali Ali"). Thommi sets off (against the wishes of his well-to-do parents) and enters the desert in search of, well... a plot. Pretty much his only source of wisdom and guidance is the ghost of Carlos Santana. But, since Carlos is still alive, we'll need to wait a while to secure the rights. For "The Grim Ride Home," all the young troupe has for diversion is a book of old German folklore. They hope it's porn, but their Deutsch is a little rusty, if you catch our drift. Like any good iRock opera, the concept of Caravan Psoriasis is vague enough to thematically fit any lingering childhood issues of your own - with a timely, Iraqi twist to help reach a few more consumer demographic groups. Thanks to Professor Wole for the poetry and to JZ for the clip. 24 minutes of action, reaction & interaction. Recorded live. Here's our 8x10 promo photo.

Listen

Ali Ali (4:57)
Caravan Psoriasis Pt 1 (4:12)
Caravan Psoriasis Pt 2 (7:48)
The Grim Ride Home (6:56)

Free 320
LOSSLESS

#26 Candy Stripers

The accountants are telling us we need to sex up our act if we're going to "move units." They still don't get it. But in the spirit of cooperation, here's the new, jazzed up, ready to sell out version of We're Late For Class. Spit-shined and open for suggestion. Actually, all we did was concoct a snappy new cover. Just like Warrant would have done... new cover, same old shit. Another 20 minutes of random noise that was made up on the spot. "Candy Stripers & The 10:50 That Followed" seems kind of self-explanatory, but then, we were there. It's subtitled The Voice Box Sessions. While "Heroine Sheik (MySpace Remix)" is a rim job we've remodeled from our first release, primed for the so-called (now irrelevant) new millennial crowd. Maybe we're the ones that don't get it.

Listen

Candy Stripers & The 10:50 That Followed (14:10)
Heroine Sheik (MySpace Remix) (5:44)

Free 320
LOSSLESS

#25 Right Back Where We Began

"So don't you try to equate liquor to marijuana, mister, not with me. You may be able to sell that jazz to another pothead, but not to somebody who holds some kid's head while he vomits and wretches on a curbstone at 4 in the morning. And when his legs get enough starch into them so he can stand up and empty his pockets, you can bet he'll have a stick or two of marijuana. And you can double your money he'll turn up a sugar cube or a cap or two. So don't you con me with your mind expansion slop. I deal with kids every day. I try to clean up the mess that people like you make out of 'em. I'm the expert here, you're not." - Joe Friday

Dragnet 1967 & 1968 are popular DVDs around here. Sure, the show's outdated drug episodes are good for a sure laugh, but Dragnet was also unafraid to voice the opposition's arguments. As in The Prophet, where a Timothy Leary-type drug guru named Brother William gives it back to Friday & Gannon as good as he gets it. His hippie dreamscape made it into our latest live tape, "And We're Right Back Where We Began." The Meat Beetles are thinking along the same lines. They borrowed our "Humbucker (Short Version)," from #12 John Carpenter's King Heroin, and dubbed some "squiggly noises" & similarly themed source material, calling it "Just Say Know." It's here and there.

Listen

And We're Right Back Where We Began (6:46)
Just Say Know (2:43) - We're Late For Class/The Meat Beetles

Free 320
LOSSLESS

Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)

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!

---------------------------------------------------

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.

---------------------------------------------------

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.

---------------------------------------------------

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

---------------------------------------------------

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.