Perpetual Sloth
 John Thill

I’m not entirely certain whether this column will make it into the Cassette Gods zine, mainly because I have become an abysmal slacker. But dude, it was tax day, doggy…I even thought I was gonna get a North Carolina refund, so I did taxes for that state too. Waste of time bro, even though half my wages from last year were earned there. But let’s talk about the Carolinas anyway. Well, first of all, the musical landscape there is pretty dull, dominated by power pop Superchunkiness and fake-ass bluegrass leather patch wearing shit. Oh, and then there’s the NC noise scene, mainly centered in Chapel Hill. Fuck that shit. Give me LA set times any day. How many times did I sit through a 45 minute set of some art bro playing a broken mixer just so they could say they opened for Growing or Coughs. Life Goal = Accomplished. Better start your drone crew now and catch that wave too. Nonetheless, the Carolinas produced a few interesting tapes that I happened to hear, mainly by people working in utter isolation. The first is an absolute classic that needs to be mentioned for the sake of a demonstration of how thorough and appropriate a cassette release can be. Charlie McAlister has been in some weird land of his own making out in the silt soil of the South Carolina coast for well over a decade. For many years he lived in Charleston, now he calls the small town of Georgetown his home. The tape Turn of the Century Photograph of C. McAlister released by Unread in 1998 is a gem of the large McAlister back catalog. This record is one of the best examples of the weird untrained pop vibe that McAlister is capable of. You get songs about the civil war, bog men, women’s hair and footballs flying through autumn sky. The instrumentation is ramshackle and the delivery is utterly bizarre. I could say he’s like a backwoodsy Daniel Johnston, but that’s kind of insulting isn’t it? Especially for a man who has really forged his own path, with buckets, banjos and a unique vision of the world around him. Also from the Cakalakas is feltbattery, a one man loop and drone project from a guy living on the cheap in Hillsborough, NC – which is basically a nowhere zone out in a rural part of Orange Co. This release titled III: Nagas is a a collection of long form textural pieces, i.e. music produced with what sounds like sticks, stones, and you know, the bones of the innocent. There’s a lot of looping and build, gentle instrumentation using strings of various types. Side A is a good dusky, lo-fi trip through record static, found sound and air. But Side B is where this tape really excels. “Vitriol” is a beautiful drift formed from film projector, drip and guitar flutter. This particular tape was issued by Family Death Soundsystem, which I believe is feltbattery’s in-house label. Ok, but really now, back to California, where things are really kicking. Yes, the rumor is true, there are actually people who live in Bakersfield. Though, they are constantly moving to LA and San Francisco. I think that’s maybe where this tape by Family Coat derives its name from. San Francisco Death is short, to the point and immensely effective. These dudes previously played in bands like Noir/Sheerness and Swimsuit Rights, but Family Coat really brings it with keyboard primitivism, bell swells, clash and clang forming what is an urgent pulse. Then there’s like a crazy drum circle piece, then some tape thrash squelch. Good weird shit. It’s self-released. Finally let’s mention some home doggies. The Whitman/Watching Him Die split on Not Not Fun was truly amazing, complete aberrant freak shit. So, I know these dudes and one lives, quite literally, in a hole in Hollywood, the other lives in a bizarre pirate themed post-war tract home in Pomona. Makes no fucking sense. Whitman is a folk noise scattershot weird blast. Watching Him Die is the thickest most raging noise the west coast has to offer. The WHD side is one of the Witscher brothers who have played in infamous crews such as Rainbow Blanket, Men Who Can’t Love, and as of late Deep Jew. This record moves from beautiful to harsh within instants and is a great fit for those who like noise that thinks beyond its genre limitations. Dope as fuck doggy sauce.