If you’d get one Godspunk comp to get out of your box to, I’d get this one, it’s perfect trippe material, C17th stylee. The soundtrack to digging up Silbury hill.
If you’d get one Godspunk comp to get out of your box to, I’d get this one, it’s perfect trippe material, C17th stylee. The soundtrack to digging up Silbury hill.
(Pumpf)
The seasons trundle on their inexorable course, fads, haircuts and styles of trouser come and go, but one thing is steadfast in its surety. At some point in the calendar year there will be another marvellous Godspunk compilation. What do they put in their tea in West Lancs? As ever Howl in the Typewriter keeps up his one man crusade for intelligently deranged pop; the creepy Transmitting from Earth, (with its Idiot Joy Showland casio line), Atrophy and Spider Respects Nothing will, in time, be pillars of the rock canon and will get him that in-depth Radio 4 interview with Melvin Bragg. The other Godspunk stalwarts, UNIT, give us a whoe set of different ideas from instrumentals like Final Fantasy that seem very ghostly and ‘not here’, as if the band has somehow a hologram that they can wheel out to THUMPING bedroom dance tracks like Deutschland Du Warst Als Kiond Schon Scheisse. The two tracks, Iris Watson and Mordecai Watson, however, are gloriously messy, difficult UNIT excursions, and the most itchy of their tracks.
This new comp is a dancey bugger, and MUCH more loose than some of the earlier releases. Somehow, through tracks like Dumb Robot Pilot’s Golden Age and The Large Veiny Member’s Sambucca ReVisions and Another Lizard is Born, Godspunk records have made this battery powered spaceship and they’re going on a journey to an out of town garden centre. Maybe they’ll rescusitate the old tramlines that are long hidden round the UK, and make them glow in this glorious acid-fried technicolour. Or not. You see, as well as thumping and bleeping dance/trance tracks like Nil By Nose’s Bikini Atoll Beach Party there are lots of frazzled excursions leading nowhere in particular, with more loose threads than a worn carpet. We can point to a truckload of strange things offered up by the bunch of loons in Scraps and Peawet, Dimm D3ciple, Shaun Robert, Bartles, and Royal Spud Hair. In fact the mid-section of this record can have you flat on your back. It’s utterly rudderless. This is of course a GOOD THING.
If you’d get one Godspunk comp to get out of your box to, I’d get this one, it’s perfect trippe material, C17th stylee. The soundtrack to digging up Silbury hill.