Falling Back In Fields of Tape
 Britt Brown
 

TOP 10 TAPES FOR JAMMING WHEN IT’S STILL HOT IN DECEMBER (aka “INDIAN SUMMER” JAMS) 

Thought I’d try my hand at a straightforward “topical”-style list for this column, cause they always say you should “write what you know.” You know? And right now in my personal sphere I’m wearing a t-shirt, squinting in the sunshine, and trying to figure out what Xmas gifts to buy various family members. For a lotta the planet, that’s probably an odd combo. Cause holiday season elsewhere is usually congruent with slate-grey skies, freezing wind, and 8 layers of wool clothing. But not in our hood, obviously. So here’s some tapes we dig throwin’ in the deck during 80 degree Decembers and all that. Maybe this is sort of too abstract a theme but oh well, it’s too late now, deal with it. 

1. PINCHERS “MASS OUT” (REAL AUTHENTIC SOUND)
Really random semi-shitty mid-80s dancehall-y album by a shortlived “big band” that reggae rad dogs Sly & Robbie masterminded for a while. The production’s kinda clean but still cheap-sounding, with lots of stuttery drum machine click-clacks, bouncy feel-good piano, and lyrics about pots of coffee, the Grammys, and how Christian chicks are weird. It was recorded in Kingston but it’s not that dubby or anything, it just has this pleasantly bland and sunny vibe that kinda works, as if this music could have been (and was) made by any one of several hundred different Jamaican groups across the decade, and you the listener just coincidentally HAPPEN to be listening to THIS PARTICULAR slushpile of songs. It’s more just “music,” rather than “a specific band,” like something that’d be playing on a radio in a movie: groovy but innocuous. Not sure if that makes any sense, but neither does the cover art: a really sly-looking RUN DMC-style youth with a massive gold chain around his neck, leaning against a pink-and-blue wall. Also: what the fuck does “mass out” mean? 

2. HEATSICK “TOTAL AFTERNOON SUNDAE” (ALCOHOLIC NARCOLEPSY)
Loved this tape for a long time, holds a lotta good times inside its spools. It sounds like laying back on a hillside in the sun in front of a lake or some waves, half-drunk or maybe just sleepy, and just closing yr eyes and letting the world swim in your head. Exquisitely woozy. The loops and revolving fogs of electronics are recorded at this perfect pitch where they don’t come across as artificial or even manmade in the slightest, it’s just a kaleidoscopic vision of some otherworldly organic organism,  breathing and floating in a stunning weightless moment (kinda like when they first catch sight of those translucent alien creature things in The Abyss, they’re just spellbound, like “Whaaaaaaaaat….”). This thing could be a thousand hours long, that’d be fine.  

3. HUMAN SEXUAL RESPONSE “FIGURE 14” (PASSPORT)
What is UP with this band?? I grabbed this tape at a garage sale about 8 years ago solely based on the name and it took me at least half a decade to even wrap my head around how amazing they are at being deadpan dumb. Wacky-as-shit lyrics sung with a trembling glam delivery and total sincerity (“time-warp at the Anne Frank museum/you write postcards and you see ‘em/Anne’s in the attic by her skylight/she’s wondering if her breasts are growing right”) over strangely serious ponderous 80s rock (in places the guitars remind me of that chiming style Blue Oyster Cult were so obsessed with). It’s Music As Playground, that meta-irony where every song sounds like it’s actually parodying the very form it’s taking (rock, ballad, radio pop, etc). In short, they’re kind of like the poor man’s Sparks. Which, in case you were wondering, is a good thing. Five seconds of internet research reveals that HSR were a beloved late 70s Boston band who never got as famous as people thought they would. From my nice 20/20 hindsight spot here in 2008, I can say that I personally am not surprised AT ALL. But the goofily peppy back-up vocals, warped pop verses and bridges, and song titles like “Dick And Jane” and “What Does Sex Mean To Me?” do make for an appealing afternoon curveball to throw on once in a blue moon.  

4. THE SNEEZES “EASTER BARF” (MIDDLE SCHOOL DOGS)
The most Platonically perfect distillation of Teen-Boredom-As-Reason-To-Be-Insanely-Fucking-Siked since, like, The Ramones or something (if they were actually teens instead of middle-aged art schmoozers). This sweet central Texan trio only existed for a couple of cursed years (rough tours, name/personnel changes, etc) before saying FUCK IT and going on to other things, but Easter Barf stands as a awesome artifact from the Sneezy salad days. Honestly, everything about this CS rules: it’s short as shit (5 songs in about 8 minutes – plus it’s only 1-sided), it was “recorded in a storage unit, 2005,” the cover has a drawing of a kid with glasses throwing up surrounded by bacon and eggs, a cupcake, a donut, a piece of pizza, and some upside-down crosses. Also: the lyrics cover all the classic teen punk subjects: weed (“Big Weed Mountain Revival”), blood (“Nerdy Blood;” lyrics: “gonna get my pants stolen/gonna get my neck broken”), vowels (“Vowel Jam”), and Satan (“Passion Of The Satan”). Radly wild chaotic dumb/genius punk garbage, lost in the barf bag of history. 

5. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE VOL. 1 “S/T” (no label) 
Our friend Sam edits together these weird blissed-out vignettes of shimmering underwater psych babble and gives them each a totally different name and packages them in awful photocopies of pages ripped from school books and this is our favorite one we’ve gotten our mits on so far. It sounds like the inside of Ecco The Dolphin ‘s brain, warbling sparkling endlessness, luminous blue loops swaying invisibly, magical animal consciousness. Mysterious and murky but also uplifting and enlightened. Have no idea what the hell instruments are making all the tripped bubble FX and dream-sequence washes but it doesn’t matter, the adventure’s a metaphor or something, you can go wherever you want with this shit. 

6. U.S. GIRLS “FOUND ON THE GROUND b/w ST. JUDE BOYS CHOIR” (HARDSCRABBLE AMATEURS)
Megan’s U.S. Girls set-up is deeply simple but in all the best ways: one loop, one microphone. She’s like a DJ, really. Except covered in silt and blasted out of a really rusty bad PA. This uber-brief (I think it’s 3 minutes, all told) cassingle came out pretty recently but I already love it like I’ve had it for years. I dig how straightforward the A side hit is, just a skipping little melody that she sing-songs along with through a cavern of reverb. Elementary school kids could jump-rope to this jam, easy.  The B is a little more “experimental,” buzzing organ-style notes hovering above the ground while she sings voicelessly up into the rafters. Still rules though, nice gospel-drone for when yr feeling reverent. Cassingles are perfect for perfect weather: play it, flip it, then flip it again or move on with yr life, the sun is shining, don’t waste the whole day, get out there and soak it in while yr still semi-young! 

7. JONATHAN RICHMAN & THE MODERN LOVERS “MODERN LOVERS LIVE” (BESERKLEY)
SPEAKING OF elementary school kids, here’s their king crooner himself. No one else out there attempts to speak the language of 7-year-olds more eloquently than J Richman, and nowhere is this vibe more totally apparent than on his live recordings. He’s so sunshiney and smiley it’s like a fucking Raffi concert. Every song feels like he’s teaching babies how to count or something, the intellect level of the lyrics stays resolutely in the “Under 10” bracket. And sometimes when I’m in a good mood and life feels ok I get a kick outta throwing one of the few live Jonathan tapes I own on, and this one serves that purpose swell. “Ice Cream Man” is a joke, sung from the perspective of kindergarten innocence, it makes you feel like “what’s a PROBLEM? Never heard that word before!” And “Morning Of Our Lives” would not be AT ALL out of place played over a segment of Sesame Street (the moral is “listen to your heart;” radical, I know). This shit is like weird regression drugs. 

8. THOMAS MAPFUMO & BLACKS UNLIMITED “CHIMURENGA VARIETIES” (GRAMMA)
Stumbled upon this weird Zimbabwean groover at a thrift store in a random strip mall in Florida and picked it up solely based on how epic Thomas M looks on the cover (long-ass dreads, with a face like a hundred year old grumpy African politician). But the songs are strange and great too, Big T mumbles a lot and leads a really killer backing vocal girl group, the way the voices mesh is awesome and hypnotic and the rhythms just flitter along jumpy but steady, no verse, no chorus, all jittery Afro-dance. He sings strictly in Zimbabweanese (if that’s a language?), so who knows what he’s talking about, but it sounds like the overall gist is “life is complex but wonderful, don’t worry, be happy, etc” and musically he states a good case. Also: only a complete badass names their backing band Blacks Unlimited. 

9. DUCKTAILS “II”  (FUTURE SOUND RECORDINGS)
This one might be a little obvious but Matt’s clearly a master at sunny skies beach romanticism and his talent for conjuring imaginary “warm breeze & palm trees” bike ride instrumentals hit its apex on this little self-released gem. 30 minutes of concise groovy drum machine beats and pleasantly hypnotic wah-wah guitar gesturing where every song sounds like it’s the magical pop-bliss crescendo playing over the end fade-out make-out/embrace scene of a really charming rom-com starring 2 lovable offbeat indie types. I’m realizing that maybe makes it sound like this would suck, but it totally doesn’t at all.  

10. BOBB BRUNO “WHITE LOVERS DREAM HOUSE” (ARBOR)
We’ll always be biased when it comes to Bobb’s stuff but so what. This ’07 CS is one of the more lush, lost, and dreamily lonesome EPs B’s put out in recent memory, and it kindles that nice flame of fictional nostalgia quite well. Tender childhood blankets of amplifier warmth coat twinkling distant flashes of electricity, an assured drum machine rhythm marches you somewhere safe and familiar, guitar melodies lap against your legs. An ideal soundtrack for falling asleep in the backseat of your parent’s car on a long nighttime drive: you don’t know where yr going, but it couldn’t be bad. And it’s not.