Last week’s summer sloth has been somewhat redeemed through spirited in-shop DIY / flatpack assembly that truth be told, isn’t all that impressive or exciting but if we don’t tell you who THE FUCK are we gonna tell?

We’ve got a nice shelf of BOOKS on sale now, we’ll get them all up on the website pronto but come by the shop for a gander. Also worth getting off your deckchair for, we’ve put out another DOD of mixed-up second hand business. Mostly post-punk / 80s experimental business, some posh noise LPs and some other lumped and lauded nuggets. Good shit within!

ALSO we are staying open late tonight, Friday 5th July, having drinks and nurturing sun burns from 6pm till 2330 or so - music from mates Elle, Claire, Gonz and Conrad. Summer will be gone before we know it folks! 

Crazy stuff finally arriving from all over the globe this week. All you tape crackers are especially blessed - with some micro-edition cassettes of mega-clout pulling in…


Stop what you're doing! C60 reissue of Left Odours, an extremely rare solo album/compilation of strange, sardonic, demolished folk/DIY from NZ crackpot-visionary Brent Hayward in his Smelly Feet guise, featuring an array of otherwise unreleased material. 

If you're familiar with Hayward it's most likely via The Kiwi Animal (a duo with Julie Cooper), whose beautiful, austere, experimental folkways are venerated round ours, or maybe his stint in Wellington punk outfit Shoes This High (exhumed/championed decades later by Siltbreeze). Smelly Feet, whose main recorded output consisted of three self-released singles all put out in '81, has a more whimsical, private, provisional feel, songs cohering and unravelling when you least expect, but still high on the pop narcotic - think Pip Proud, Bing Selfish, Alastair Galbraith in songwriter mode, Itchy Bugger...all the good stuff! You'll quickly have your own favourites, but take it from us, 'Cadillac', 'Fashion Street' and the oddly poignant 'Pass Me The Rubbish Bag I Want To Be Sick' are bona fide goatfucking genius. 

"Smelly Feet is coming to your town soon. Smelly Feet is a person/band Brent - formerly with Shoes This High. Smelly Feet is travelling the country selling his self-produced single; with the hand battered, fold out, xerox and felt tip cover. This record stinks, metaphorically speaking- of course! Images of death and decay, festured [sic] toes and bloated bodies sloth rampantly over the landscape of ambient untuned guitar on the main course - O.H.M.S.

“I asked Smelly Feet about his guitar turning, thinking he might have swapped the strings around. What really happened was ‘I couldn’t tune the guitar in the studio at the time, and I didn’t want them thinking I was a jerk so I just played it anyway.’

“Smelly Feet is trying to do what hasn’t been done and not copying what is happening in the UK or the US, ike so many other bands. The single is sombre and depressive but his new songs are more humorous.

“‘Its easy to say everything is fucked, and point the finger, but sooner or later you have to look at yourself. You don’t have to stay in the same hole, you can always crawl to another.’”

Edition of 50 tapes, including newsprint inlay and a xerox of the inkie article quoted above, and now sold out at source… seriously, don't miss this stinkin' slice of sweet, scabrous, sub-underground pop nirvana!!!

STAUBGOLD | LP | £19.99

Finally available again - Steve Beresford and David Toop’s inimitable, emphatically dubwise, deep-sea-diving masterpiece, Danger In Paradise. I always think of DIP as a reggae album, but for all its thiiiick basslines and reverbs, in essence it’s a bizarre hybrid of exotica, art-pop and jazz (Lol Coxhill lends his sax appeal to readings of Sun Ra’s ‘Interplanetary Music’ and ‘We Travel The Spaceways’), all collaged and smeared together by Beresford and an uncredited David 'Flying Lizards' Cunningham’s ingenious tape and synthesiser treatments. It’s all over the place, but it hangs together perfectly, whether nailing Vivien Goldman/Brenda Ray-ish bedsit pop (the sleepy-eyed but swaggering, Dawn Roberts-sung opener ‘My Other Body’) or, on the mighty ‘Sea Hunt’, sounding Lee Perry tearing chunks out of The Shadows. Originally released on tape by Touch in '84, it was issued on vinyl for the first time in 2012 by Staubgold, and quickly went out of print...dankes all-round for this spick n span '19 re-press. 

INFANT TREE | CS | £6.99

New decaying kosmische spools from the bedroom of local seer Brume... Marble-rattling, synth stabbing works-for-industry Exhaust Trails takes us on a more melodic slant than previous MB haunts. Maybe melodic isn’t the right word, but it’s as if the NYC ambient school (K. Leimer / Marc Barreca etc) took a field trip across the pond and got dusted down in all the car-fart and truck-belch of central London. For all the playful, pathfinder synthesis that takes the lead, there’s a sorta agoraphobic atmosphere that hangs thick in the air throughout the whole 40 minutes or so, with delay units commanding and contorting an array of bric-a-brac powered sound design in the background. A real development of an already singular sound. To have such quality music / art so humbly documented and disseminated is rare these days, and properly exciting. 

Psycho electronic whirlwind rescued from 1976 - Horacio Vaggione and Eduardo Polonio’s maiden voyage before becoming seasoned synth nutters ( Vaggione’s “La Maquina De Cantar” and Polonio’s “Acacia La Mañana” WELL worth a gander).

In perfect cadence with the bustling, blossoming coral reef sleeve, “Viaje” is a vivid, glistening electronic ecosystem that could go head to head with all of the we-are-not-worthy astral synth spooling of all the other finest Creel Pone’d gear (Jack Tamul / Jean Hoyoux / Michael Lobel ++) that evolves with an impulsive, at times aggressive balance of improvisation / composition.

The three long-form pieces see melodies rapidly sprouting and developing in the spaces between the sprawling synthesiser tones, like plants amidst the fissures in a rock, the sonic void rapidly overflowing to shattering what anyone would think to be the limitations of the sonic spectrum!

I guess in that sense it has the properties of a noise record, all the dense, electronic landscaping and psychedelia that escalates into climactic studio pile-ups (easy lads!!) subsiding and leaving you with more space than you ever knew existed, like you’ve just realised you are trapped in a cave that is the size of the earth. Help!!

Nowt banal or bearded about this planet crashing summer scrambler. MENTAL.


Lush, poetical, high-romantic interfusings of mind and landscape from Tom James Scott (piano), Andrew Chalk (arrangements) and new foil Ecka Mordecai (cello). Mordecai’s plangent strings bring a whole new energy and colour-palette to Chalk/Scott’s well-trodden ethereal terrain, both reinforcing and revitalising it, and while there’s shortage of the wise ambient passivity we expect from and adore in all Faraway Press offerings, there are also moves towards more of a muscular, quicksilver chamber-trio dynamic - see ’Butterflies’, with Mordecai’s volatile bowed tones crescendoing across a backdrop of lush lunar synth drones and carefully portioned minor-key chords. Where in the past Chalk and Scott have typically favoured amorphous, almost vaporous compositional structures, and an emotional inscrutability that sometimes borders on constipation(!), Circaea’s pieces are relatively open, expressive, and not averse to linear narrative - a track like ‘Mirages’, for instance, combines brooding atmosphere with subtle rhythmic momentum/uplift in a manner that is positively cinematic. But not too cinematic, don’t worry…a sense of mystery and deep English reserve still prevails.

Cut ups of 80s/90s Bristol Pirate Radio broadcast, amazing snapshots that capture the spirit of the city through advertisements, phone-ins, hip hop, jungle, dancehall, house, dub + + ....SO good. 

“Smithies is the one - the place you have to come, the steak is nice, the chicken is nice, it’s Jamaican spice - down at Smithies! 126 Cheltenham Road, Telephone 241452”

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