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viewing 1 To 5 of 5 items
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LP
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ARB 006LP
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$16.00
NOT IN STOCK, SPECIAL ORDER
"Gary Panter is a bad penny. If he were German, the phrase might be, schlechter pfennig, which is much less euphonimous. So it's a good thing Gary is no Kraut. But what the fuck is he? A Texan. A famous artist. A writer of songs, poetry and prose. As well as a gifted primitive musician. Thus, in this instance, bad means good, and penny means Renaissance man. Panter first burst into the public gut in the 1970s with his Jimbo strip in Slash magazine, his design work for Ralph Records, and some really goddamn ugly commercial art. A few people were also aware he was a musician, although many who discovered him through his first single - Colahaus - would deny the word actually applies to what he does. After his next record, a collaboration with the Residents entitled Tornader to the Tater, people began to take his roistering a bit more seriously. A Japanese company even let him do a gorgeous bizarro-world country-and-acid LP called Pray for Smurph. That one was so good, people started to realize - hey, he actually is a musician! Moving from L.A to Brooklyn, he eventually fell in with the evil genius, Devin Flynn, who widened Panter's aural palette and also to got him playing somewhere besides closets full of pot smoke. The duo cut a dandy album, Go Outside, then managed to corral the wildly talented Ross Goldstein into their conspiracy. The results are this new record, and brother, it is a treat. They create miniature brain-damaged nuggets ranging from fake jazz to sloth psych with a nimble touch that'll make your head squeal with pleasure. Marty Robbins might toss around in his velvet- lined grave when he hears it, but screw him. All four of your corners will bounce like crazy. Guaranteed." -- Byron Coley, Victoriaville QC 2011.
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LP
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ARB 005LP
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$17.00
NOT IN STOCK, SPECIAL ORDER
"If you know the man behind United Waters (B.K.A Brian Sullivan) from anything, you'll know him as the guitar thudder in Brooklyn's densest duo, Mouthus.... The new LP by United Waters rises and falls, slowly and organically - if you're half listening, it's a pleasant stream of organic electronics with the occasional acoustic guitar sound cutting through, perfectly lovely stuff, you could put it on anytime for anybody. But when the headphones go on and lights get dimmed, the evidence of the painstaking work that went into the composition and creation of these tracks is apparent, beautiful and stunning. The image that ran through my mind was Sullivan as a kid, late at night, staring at the black and white snow of the television in the dark - but he's seeing the secret patterns embedded in it, digital sparrows flying to nowhere through psychedelic vectors that no one else can see - or maybe listening to the radio long after the broadcast dropped off and the station stopped broadcasting, and he's able to hear the secret songs that the machines sing to one another in the night." --Peter Meehan
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ARB 004LP
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"The brand new LP by contemporary psychic blues visionaries MV & EE. The duo spent 40 days and 40 nights under the twisted trees and endless sky of the Mojave desert via a Vermont homestead, freedom and unity. That's where these songs were unformed in dreams, floating off to mingle with the collective unconscious of coyotes and rattlesnakes, before they were re-birthed as smoke signals channeled through shaky hands, an old tele, germanium transistors and a bucket brigade. We at Arbitrary Signs feel that this is the purest distillation of the MV & EE 'S P E C T R A S O U N D' to date. Embedded within the grooves of this record are 6 streams to dip into as respite from the punishing rays of the hot summer sun."
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ARB 003LP
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"As anxiety encroaches with the cold air of winter thank the stars for the whiskey/weed warmth of Compass, blanket, lantern, mojo --- it flows through you like a liquid howl of light." -- Thurston Moore
"For an out-of-it fogie like myself, it's tough to keep up with the many musical hats our boy Peter Nolan sports. There's of course The Magik Markers and then there's Lil Dusty, Spectre Flux, Spectre Folk, Folk Spectre, Cops, etc. I gotta admit I sorta lost the thread on Petes' musical output for awhile there due to the simple fact I couldn't keep up with it all. My chrome dome would literally throb with all the names and phony catalogue numbers that must accompany all these sound whims that must fly off his ginger head like bats from a belfry. Luckily, I put down the Brupenex long enough to catch up with Compass, Blanket, Lantern, Mojo, Nolans' latest expulsion under his Spectre Folk moniker. As expected, the album reeks of the musty homespun psychedelic scent that would make both Al Simones and Uncle Neil Young red as a beet. The tunes are hazy with hope and bobbing audio to spare. Seagulls or rusty bedsprings sound off in the crackly distance on one track and I get a salty taste in my mouth like I licked the third pier boardwalk in Wildwood circa '79. And check out the track 'Burning Bridge' where Petes' voice soars and wavers like a wounded dove flying to the safety of a clean cage and the awaiting name of 'Walter.' The whole thing is a gorgeous, fully conscious stumble into a self made sunset and it just reminds me of something someone never said to me 'It's not over until you declare everyone a loser and paint yourself in a corner'." -- Tony Rettman
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ARB 002LP
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2010 repress, originally released in 2008. Limited vinyl version of the most accessible Magik Markers album (CD is on Ecstatic Peace), on their very own label Arbitrary Signs. "Recorded in the cavernous dark of Echo Canyon West with producer Lee Ranaldo working the boards like a diviner, BOSS documents the Markers with a previously-unheard fidelity and orchestration. Idiosyncratic song structure and melodies interspersed with a destructive drum stomp are reminiscent of the early electrified blues of Junior Kimbrough, or the black hole rhythms of Kousokuya. In a 2005 interview in The Wire, Elisa Ambrogio said, 'I want [The Magik Markers] to concentrate on music and focus inward, to concentrate on our own language of sound.' BOSS stands as the Markers' first stab at getting to the meat of this ambition. With a mix of blues simplicity, an almost Sonny Sharrock wailing and a janky Americana punk reminiscent of Pat Place and Roky Erickson, Ambrogio avoids preciousness like a rash. On BOSS, a tent rises right out of the empty plain and we are thrust into a full-blown revival show with no audience and no lights; it is just Elisa preaching, Pete blowing Gabriel's horn, and the mad wind of the prairie blowing all around. They are each hand-screened individual works of art & very very limited."
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