Donut Oil

(Chocolate Monk - choc.518) CDR $8.00

When Ali Robertson witnessed Seymour Glass tell Joe “Posset” Murray that he was the “only guy in the UK whose writing is worth a damn,” Robertson knew exactly who he was going to rope in for a future journalistic favor. Clearly, the Yankee behemoth knows which side of his scone is buttered. Nothing happens without fealty to the institutions of butchery and bakery, after all. “Sprinkle, crinkle, pit of mud, how I wonder who’s yer fud.” So began the silent incantation that protected the lesser half of Usurper and the decrepit 1/40th of Bren’t Lewiis Ensemble in their completion of this magenta-cloud hallucination. From what, one might ask. Hard to say, as they overcame all obstacles and nefarious phenomena seen and unseen attempting to keep them from their appointed sounds. Emboldened by bullshit sorcery, the reckless pair of hobbits dove into a shared dreamstate, thrashed around inside pink cubes for a while, where disembodied voices and conveyor belts stacked high with body parts and vegan substitutes ensorcelled and nauseated, and slid back out with nary a grease stain on their Brunello Cucinelli perforated, suede-panelled, cashmere gloves. That’s all we know. Rest assured, friend, Robertson and Glass have packed all 48 minutes of this disc with primo slurps, throttled puckers, fairytale calisthenics, fading electronics, tape manipulation, intimate congress with inanimate objects, naïve instrument prowess, and the finest crackle that can be derived from stale peat loaves. Edition of 60


Midlife Pandemics

(Chocolate Monk - choc.495) CDR $6.75

As worrying times might be leading to welts of mind and soul, Edinburgh based Khnaisser & Robertson invite you to rest your eyes and dream. Presenting two audio flashcards of meager movements and top-drawer wee letter improvisations. Dullards might call it non-music, but the smart money is on “tunes for goons.” According to the duo’s official statement, “Firas puts nae garlic in his hummus and it turns out that’s great. It’s buttery like the sort that you’d spread on yr paws to show you the way hame fae yrs to theirs to the park to the loch to the woods, for a pish, to the dirt, build a ganghut and back to yrs fr yr daily bread with a smile. And it was all just round the corner waiting for ye all this time! Ali is ready to eat.”