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Acrid Lactations

Aura Mirror Come Fickle, Anachronous Law and Manner (cassette, 44 minutes)

Now sold out.

Some words on this album from our man in the North East, the yen an anny, Joe Murray (Posset):

"It’s two jammy cosmonauts that make up las lactancias acre; Susan Fitzpatrick & Stuart Arnot, direct from jazzhole central - Glasgow.  Making the swinging singing scene for a few years this couple of McWitches & Claypoles engage in the bad touch just for you. 

And so it begins ... Hot pipes get browned off with mouth-gas like the world’s tootingest brass band for starters, leading directly into a Capuchin Heimlich situation with soft brown dates shooting slowly out twin glossy throats. The groans of a rust-encrusted seal playing a brine-swollen concertina are coupled with blustery backwards blowing raising a fair old foamy sea spiral.

The world of field recordings shouldn’t go without mention as parts of this (17 mins in on side one) sound like a secret taping of The Art Ensemble of Chicago clocking off, changing into baggy pants and dialling out for pizza.  Hot Potato Daddio!  Side two takes the recording deeper underground with a bassier offering of cloven coven dealings accompanied by dappy percussion from the sort of teapot you find in cheap seaside B&Bs.  Then it all gets more knotted and complex.  A very male noise, usually reserved for the solitary cubicle, squirts around a more repetitive pattern of pre-speech mouthings that sound strangely like Kraftwerk without electricity.  Bringing on a series of wet sips and slappings the jazz blowing continues like an overheated dog, all raspy panting and jowly shudder - stand well clear or get flecked with meaty spit! But the lactations are not just about the sounds man ... any joker can make armpit farts and crack eggy noise-guffs.  It’s about the placement, the balance and the context.  No wild ‘skeeve’ or ‘fasss’ or ‘vooom’ is introduced without careful planning and consideration.  If you ever watched Planet of the Apes (the ‘70’s original not the re-make doofus) you’ll be prepared for this parallel universe sound of ram’s horns, discordant organs, burning charcoal and lashings of mouth-cavity reverb.  But who is responsible for bursting this particular acrid boil all over you?  Why, it’s the Singing Knives Records Company of course.  Vibrating with pleasure they are launching this particular disc to you with accuracy and love."

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