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LP
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FTR 171LP
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Egg, Eggs present Little Sickie: First Signs of Infection. "The A-side is a live recording of a very special Turners Falls performance, at which singer David Russell literally 'called it in' on Skype. Many audience members remarked how much more relaxing (not to mention relaxed) the band seemed without Mr. Russell in their midst. And that may or may not be, but this here is definite sonic evidence that the band played real well without David's physical hectoring. Lauri McNamara also calls in her electronic rinkery, but the rest of 'em - Ted, Scott, Sophie, Jen and Brett - provide a wiggling backdrop of nudist/dada minimalism. Shorn of all clothes, the four played in semi-darkness on an array of gadgets that would have made James Bond green with envy. None of the devices can actually be named here, since patents on all of them are pending, but you can hear their beauty. A sprong here, a plonk there, and above it all - a withering dither. The flip was recorded at the old Feeding Tube store with Olivia, Sophie, Scott, Ted and David, all fully dressed, and playing like they were a circle of overwound mechanical toys. What's it like being ready to pop? Just give this a spin and you'll know more than you ever dreamed possible. And that's what they call Little Sickie." -- Byron Coley (2016)
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LP
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FTR 137LP
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The doors to the clown car open once again, and we are faced with a new release by Egg Eggs. David Russell's stream-of-vom lyrical inventions are as crafty as always, and Vanessa Brewster's vocals provide a nice balance to them on the first side's suite, "Dairy Farm Days." Balance and contrast on the flip, "Inside the Mountains" is provided by Klyd Watkins (of Poetry Out Loud fame) and Jenifer Gelineau's reborn-hillbilly fiddle. The contrast between these approaches emphasizes the theoretical hook of this album's construction. Just as The School (1972) LP by People's Victory Orchestra And Chorus was broken into the Boy's Side and the Girls' Side, so Taste of Sundress has its fluidity defined by the Mason-Dixon Line. Indeed, the first side is a session of Northern origin and texture, recorded in Massachusetts by Justin Pizzoferrato, featuring such doughty Yankees as John Moloney and Sam Gas Can. The Southern side was done in the Nashville area with Bob and Klyd Watkins at the helm. And the difference between them is palpable, if not as easily pegged as it might be. The reason for this form-smudge is the constant irreality provided by Mr. Russell's always stunning vocalese. Singing about cows and clowns for the North and about caves and crisis for the South, David's philosophical stance generally appears as an engine of nada, and the music everyone creates in reaction to this flows like black bubbly lava. There are no slaves on this record. And the price of their freedom is your cost to bear. Edition of 200.
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LP
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FTR 073LP
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Despite Matt Krefting's resistance to all things fruity, there is little doubt that these friendly non-mineral, non-animal products of nature have the capacity to flush poisons through our internal trails far better than 'most anything else. Especially eggs. Still, it is an egg that remains Dave "Mr. E. Candy" Russell's muse as he fumbles his way through a vocal universe that is collapsing around his French ears. Something like a cross between Crocus Behemoth, Little Lulu and Colonel Bruce Hampton, Russell is on fire here, his vocals emerging from fruit-caked lips as though they were pearls shot from the buttocks of an all-seeing vizier. What Russell does exactly is hard to say, but its slow-kid, sing-song quality is bizarrely captivating. And the band here is a goddamn all-star Valley ensemble -- Tim Sheldon, Andy Crespo, Brett Robinson, Ted Lee, Vanessa Brewster, John Moloney, Jack Callahan, Ian St. George and special guests -- Matt Valentine, Jeff Hartford, Conrad Capistran and Lisette Lopez. Recorded over the last couple of years in various places around Western Massachusetts, it makes a strong case for Egg Eggs as the most discordian combo in this part of the universe. The comparison your brain will keep returning to is the Hampton Grease Band, updated to shine stylishly in a post-noise-rock milieu. It shares the same mix of brilliance, annoyingness and sheer what-the-fuckery as Music To Eat. And that ain't hay. Nor is it fruit. Hurray!
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