We're Late For Class

#56 The Trouser Variations 45

"The Trouser Variations" is a levels check recording. Just when everything is first plugged in and ready to go. Then it all starts. The guitars duel like alien overlords and it's all properly mixed later. This is actually takes one and two. Takes three through five weren't as "inspired" and are now in the leftovers bin. "Riding With Don Quixote's Brother-In-Law" is a highly conceptual non-fiction piece, largely about hanging in the desert on peyote. The ever present background noise comes from the desert itself. You'd be surprised how noisy that place is on drugs. You can hear Al Quixote doing his tour guide thing in the background. Notice how the whole jam seems to teeter right on the brink of everything breaking down, almost from the very start.

Listen

A - The Trouser Variations (7:52)
B - Riding With Don Quixote's Brother-In-Law (6:09)

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#55 The Last Countdown 45

We had an elaborate story prepared for "The Last Countdown," recalling our days as an opening act, and one night in particular with Screamin' Jay Hawkins. The police were called, but since we were minors at the time our collective records have since been expunged. There are details, but no one reads this anyway, so why bother? We revisited our demo making past with "Tomorrow In March (Jim Carroll Dropped By)." What days those were - before we decided to go strictly live and unrehearsed - when guys like Jim Carroll would drop by and regale us with his perspective. Digitally, anyway. The hallucinational chasers helped a bit, too.

Listen

A - The Last Countdown (6:45)
B - Tomorrow In March (Jim Carroll Dropped By) (4:23)

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Another fun video from our pal, Capo. Mucho thanks.

#54 Metal Machine Music 45

Metal Machine Music, Parts V & VI were originally part of a longer live session in Mark's basement. The plan was to do two, 16 minute takes and create the missing 3rd LP of Metal Machine Music, but even we couldn't stand it after awhile, so it's a sure bet you won't be able to stand it either. Instead, we re-considered the idea's commercial viability and called it a 45 instead. Good luck.

Listen

A - Metal Machine Music, Part V (5:24)
B - Metal Machine Music, Part VI (7:40)

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#53 I Wanna Be Your Man 45

Most people aren’t aware that Lennon & McCartney's "I Wanna Be Your Man" is actually a re-write of an old blues tune of the same name. “Blind somebody” recorded it in the early 1950s, and collectors know of a few records out there that have survived. A sure clue that it's not a Lennon/McCartney original is illustrated by how seriously John & Paul treated the song. For a larf, they pawned it off on The Rolling Stones (theories abound that it was a blatant attempt to derail their career). But, Lennon & McCartney ended up laughing even louder at the bank when the Stones accidentally had their first hit single with it. Then... they gave the song to Ringo to sing - a sure sign of something, to be sure. But because copyright laws were so loose in the 1960s, "I Wanna Be Your Man" has long been considered just another old, co-opted blues tune that got ‘borrowed’ and goosed-up by a band of upper-poppin' punks with a Merseyside beat. Hey, they were kids, what did they know? So, we stripped the song back to its original Mississippi blues roots, then gave it to David Barratt, from The Beatles Compete On Ukulele, who edited it and added some blues uke. The first version is our original mono master, and the flip is Dave's edited & dubbed version. This is why we don't do vocals. Consider yourself warned.

Listen

A - I Wanna Be Your Man (Mono Master) (3:04)
B - I Wanna Be Your Man (Edited/Dubbed By David Barratt) (2:43)

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#52 Clash On Broadway 45

Green Day's on Broadway. How much would you have lost on that bet? So... this is from our Clash On Broadway Original Cast Soundtrack, which doesn't actually exist. Truth is, the idea is thinly stretched even as a 45. It's the rags-to-riches story of a gang of hard workin' British punks, finally making it to The Big Apple... and Broadway. But, having to sell their souls in the process. "Clash On Broadway (Revolutionary Go-Go Dance Club Scene Rehearsal)" also doubles as the flashy dance number that every successful Broadway show must have to fill seats. The rest of the show will write itself, one day. The flip side is a mind-numbing Faustian romp captured live in Mark's basement. It was originally created to sell to the military - to blast at high decibels at troublemakers holed up in hideouts or embassies. But, it was deemed too toxic for our own troops to handle and administer. We're still trying to get a government contract, since the music industry doesn't offer any good ones anymore.

Listen

A - Clash On Broadway (Revolutionary Go-Go Dance Club Scene Rehearsal) (2:30)
B - Thunderpud (Live At Mark's) (6:59)

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#51 Dark Side Of The Shrooms

Journal, dated 6/13: The Kings of Monotony. Diminishing Returns. Drug specific sessions are interesting. A few strangers on this one. Why is everyone chuckling so much? Justification. Notice time. Here's what we did with ours. This sounds like a soundtrack to an East Berlin spaghetti western. Guess we've lost our charm. #50 only had one comment... and it was an ad. First one here will probably be a complaint. Time to go commercial? Start sucking up and playing the game? How about a faux gatefold cover, instead? Download for free or just give a listen. Recorded live.

Listen

The Air In Another Country (Soundtrack To An East Berlin Spaghetti Western) (11:00)
Swimming With Sharks (5:12)
Him Tome (4:32)

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Big thanks to Capo (aka OmletteDaggle) for the cool vid & kind words.

#50 THEM!

Imagine a superior race of insect beings taking over the Earth. From another world, perhaps, or, more likely, a gruesome result of the atomic experiments of the '40's and '50's. It began with biologically impossible ants, but the mutation and advanced intelligence quickly spread to other insects, including everything from flies to dung beetles. What will happen? Chaos? Peace? Extinction? Interspecies love? Guess it's up to you... and you... and you! Recorded live.

Listen

Wind/Attack #11 (0:59)
Twin Towers (6:40)
THEM! (2:37)
Screw You (4:45)
Muy Legs (Tempo) (4:34)
Interspecies Love (& The Ghost Of Carlos Santana's Conga Player)(4:24)

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Thanks to Capo (aka OmletteDaggle) for the muy cool video.

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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.