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Mess Folk This is Mess Folk (Self Released) Sydney, NS ::web/sounds:: |
From the vaguely fluorescent Aaron Levin:
File-under: cassettes blaring from Master Blaster‘s tape-deck while executing a ’64 impala drive-by. So get your leather chaps, crawl on the hood of your mom’s minivan and run drive. Mess Folk has grown into a fierce teenager fighting against Canada’s industrial wasteland (read: Sydney) and unleashing their terrifying Salmagundi of adjective-garbage in the process. It’s scary, chaotic, brutal, and extremely poppy. Every song an anthem for derelict dogs, chimney sweepers, knitting factory women, P.O.Ws, Trotskyists, and any victim of industrial pillaging. This is Mess Folk is the ugly side of capitalism; the underbelly of mutant-punk; the smegmatic 9mm pocket-protecting vomit gun. It’s nine songs of unfuckwittable pain and anguish; an anthemic veneration for the depressed and lonely; the product of a forgotten city, time, and existence. On the East coast everything is missing. But we have this tape. Twelve songs. Every one of them a winner. I told my friend Jazzowita the other day: “the new Mess Folk cassette is good.” He agreed.
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Mess Folk- You’re Too Pretty (I Wanna Kill You)
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Arron Untitled (Self Released) Sudbury, BC ::web/sounds:: |
There are pockets of exciting, creative energies hidden all over Canada. I can’t find them all, so credit for this discovery goes to Jenni from Illfit Outfit. She e-mailed me to the effect of “I like your blog. There is this guy that makes great music in his basement.” Fairly typical story I thought, until I landed on his myspace page and was immediately wooed by the triumvirate of bursting lo-fi pop, sensitive-and-sweet basement loner folk, and scattered noisescapes. A few convincing MySpace messages later and I get a CD in the mail that (very quickly) peels my wig back (to use the parlance of mid-90s rap gangstery). Aaron Read, performing under Arron, has a sweet, boyish, and endearing voice suited well for his combination of frenetic pop lonertude and campfire folk. Lyrically, he crafts narratives and hooks with a psychedelic edge, keeping us immersed in his own personal snow-globe. It’s the kind of CD I expect to come from Calgary, an artifact left in the wake of bands like Women and Hunter-Gatherer; thankfully, these streams of ingenious melodies seem to pop up everywhere.
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