PLEAURE-DRENCHING IMPROVERS - THE RURAL POOR (Fenland Hi-Brow, FH-B 032 (CD) 2003)
Sitting No. 1
Yeah, it seems like they should be all sheddy, but there’s an acoustic of empty Sunday-wife arena here – the fading nous lemon squash, a favourite. And the dreadful reconjuring of misogynist graffiti by some proud upper-nazi.
The lads have assembled a standard line-up for this visit to the edge: Drezzy is housing his open ornithol, arpeggiating temporality, of course; Sonny starts out cottaging the barn, only to agricate the roofing the master had strictly instructed NOT to be used unless under severe section.
The silences are deep, like ghastly revelation, mouthing horrid facts your parents still deny. Who is your parents? How did they come to form their wicked collusion in the face of it all? Don’t correct me, smiling, you sour frock.
THF DRENCHING is distinctly more birdy on this session, while the PLZA harks more sternly to the industrial ur-purpose of her kit. More Elvin than Max, you gate? The birds are trapped in the technology, yet speak to bondage of endless possibility found in first nature. Birds generally manage to riff tirelessly on the intangibility, the absolute ungraspability of freedom. And love. And drugs. Cartoon warblering, palette-slapped guitarring. “Stop the guitarring!” Says the drums which come in on bricks and action-man farm essentials. The guitarring is excellent, so shit: no strings.
Sitting No. 2
… has it all to do. Drenno’s announcement is sardonic: libido plays backwards. He gets music stuck between his teeth now: great. Of course, you know what he’s telling you: arabs are popularly perceived as unnecessary, even by the reasonable (“reasonable people: Ram of Dusk”): your renaissance perspective still has the cards it wants. Ken Bigley disappeared to Iraq, leaving his catalogue wife in retail-storage, while he deferred all responsibility to they he gathered at go. According to a British love of freedom he is worth half-a-miilion Iraqi children any day.
The Rural Poor is hard as a brick, these days, an album luridly terse, with no lies to prefabricate. DRZA’s birds are watched by the fish, schenkled out of air-where, bumming to trance.
You can buy this album, and others like it, from www.fenlandhibrow.co.uk
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