We're Late For Class

#66 Jazz From Outer Space, Vol. 2

So it is written, that in this, the year of our Lord, we reconvened to celebrate the 4 year anniversary of "The Premiere And Final Performance Of Jazz From Outer Space" (#35), a ten minute shock to the nervous system that should have ended the possibility of any future encores. Well, this Jazz From Outer Space music has nothing to do with the first Jazz From Outer Space. We just thought we'd toss another "series," or marketable brand, up against the wall and see if it sticks. You never know, one of Johnny Depp's or Tom Hanks' daughters might tweet "those Jazz From Outer Space guys are cool," and we'll become internet sensations, able to call our own shots at the next Comic-Con... or maybe, some Westinghouse Appliance Trade Show Convention gig.

Listen

Audacious (9:11)
The Original King Heroin (8:06)
I Know (6:15)

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#65 The Insect Year

Wouldn't it be something if - for all our talk about aliens, other worlds and UFOs, etc. - we had already been invaded by beings from other planets. But they were only able to multiply enough to shift the balance of our eco-system, not take over mankind. I mean... look at the guy on the cover. He's clearly a together kinda guy, an intelligent creature, who also carries an elaborate set of built-in tools to help him analyze and survive the hostile world around him. He looks like he might even be a Commander of something. What we're putting forth is the proposition that we are already living amongst alien beings, just as shrewd and just as talented, that are ruling entire parts of the planet - whether inches under the ground, deep beneath the sea or floating in the air. One day they'll take over... that's sort of what the title track is all about. Kneel before your future leaders.

Listen

The Insect Year (Full Blown) (6:07)
Fake Skim One (3:06)
The Insect Year (Thawed) (6:26)

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#64 The Year Of The Snake

We were going to call it The Year Of The Cat. But, when the news hit the trade magazines, we got a call from Al Stewart's management threatening us with a "whazoo-sized lawsuit." Our mouthpieces talked to their mouthpieces, but nothing substantial was coming from the all night meetings, which were growing strained as the February 10th release date neared. That's when Al Stewart himself walked in, dressed in white and wearing a little too much makeup. He said he was suspicious of his lawyers' outrageous bills and decided to "drop in and see how my money's being spent." After listening to the pros and cons of the legal predicament for a few minutes, Stewart stood up and said he didn't care one way or the other about the title, but that we should keep in mind that on Feb 10th, after the new moon enters Aquarius, the Chinese Zodiac was ushering in the Year of the Snake, and we should probably consider that title instead. "The monkey is the only animal that really knows how to handle the snake," he said... cryptically. So, we followed Al's advice.

Listen

The Snake (11:52)

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#63 I'm Gonna Die... Today

Bullying can affect you in many ways. You may lose sleep or feel sick. You may want to skip school. You may even be thinking about suicide. If you are feeling hopeless or helpless or know someone that is, please call the LIFELINE at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) or, coming soon, simply dial '988'.

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I'm Gonna Die... Today (7:15)

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#62 Moon My Peers

We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like "I feel a bit light headed, maybe you should drive...." And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, and a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?" We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all this for the trip, but once you get locked in a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. - HST

Listen

Dog Killer (Evening Run) (4:24)
Moon My Peers (Composite Sketch) (8:50)
Dog Killer (4:44)

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#61 Frankenstein Tree

From that fateful day when stinking bits of slime first crawled from the sea and shouted to the cold stars, "I am man," our greatest dread has always been the knowledge of our mortality. But tonight, we shall hurl the gauntlet of science into the frightful face of death itself. Tonight, we shall ascend into the heavens. We shall mock the earthquake. We shall command the thunders, and penetrate into the very womb of impervious nature herself. For what we are about to see next, we must enter quietly into the realm of genius. Alive! It's alive! It's ALIVE!

Listen

Frankenstein Tree (Who Shall Separate) (7:52)
Dennie's Kegger (Remix) (7:34)

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#60 John Carpenter's Blue Hawaii

We've never mentioned this before, as you'll soon learn why, but Rudy insists he can travel to the future via thought transmissions. Sort of like an out-of-body experience, but out-of-mind. Anyway, on one of Rudy's recent trips (side note: he does extraordinarily well on NFL betting sites), he told us he went to see a John Carpenter movie (in 2030) called Blue Hawaii. He clued us into the plot and we concocted this live soundtrack in the hopes of sufficiently freaking out John Carpenter - once he gets around to film pre-production and does a web search. Then he'll have to consider the idea of our soundtracking the film as some kind of pre-ordained fate. Some divine intervention. Which will eat away at him like a burrowing creature from one of his movies, gnawing at his brain like a persistent unanswerable question. Either that or he'll just chuckle and let loose the hounds. Second in a series. Recorded live.

Listen

Venusian Caravan Mirage (3:09)
Theme To John Carpenter's Blue Hawaii (8:02)
Theme To John Carpenter's Blue Hawaii (Reprise): Titling Rights (4:57)

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#59 Gravitas

"Episode In Argyle, Parts I & II" is, as the title suggests, two back-to-back takes. You'll hear the end of the first take at the 5:22 mark, when we break out The Art Chord. The Art Chord is our musical "uncle." When played, it means any given player is spent, has given up, has nothing more to offer, is bowing out, etc. So, after The Art Chord was signaled we just started bashing around, you know, before wrapping everything up and, inadvertently, we started a new take. Happens all the time, actually. The Art Chord reappears at the very end of the track, and also signals the conclusion of the nearly 17-minute title track, "Gravitas #68 -3," chiming in at 16:36, just prior to going black. It's just a little two note sliding blues thing. We left them in the mixes this time just to draw attention to the gravity of the situation. Recorded live in 33 minutes.

Listen

Episode In Argyle, Parts I & II (10:11)
Outside The Opium Den (Oscar Coverage) (5:34)
Gravitas #68 -3 (16:46)

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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.