Filthy Turd/Yol - Split
Whiteness & Pinkness.
Whiteness & Pinkness #9.
2 X Recycled Cassette.
Neck Vs Throat Volume 2
Fencing Flatworm Recordings
3” CD-R. 50 copies
Filthy Turd - Everyday They Lay an Egg Down in the Ground They Are Killing Me
3” CD-R. 25 copies
Vile Plumage - Black Tar Jenny.
3” CD-R [No info]
Cassette [unintelligible] Volume Two
Filthy Turd; ‘One million priestesses high on chicken fat’
Yol; ‘euuuurgghh chicken euuurgggh chicken’
What joys, what earthly delights, two men a-wander with dictaphones. The Filthy one on a a wet and windy night out in Burslem, mid-winter, feet soaked thanks to down at heel trainers worn through to supermarket socks with days of the week printed on them. The muffled muezzin call and the destroyed Bacharach and David tunes, invocations to high street kebab sellers, indecipherable mutterings, roarings, rumblings, the sounds of pause buttons being held down on flip top cassette players, capstan a-whir and dead air, animal cries, dropped cardboard boxes full of never to be watched again videos and tape being dragged across worn playing heads. Yol with vicious scrap yards dogs, roaring traffic, empty factory sheds, beaten buckets.
You have to admire Yol’s stamina as well as his end results. A thirty minute blast of metal bashing coupled to an almost constant barrage of Tourettes like utterances, some that make sense and some that most plainly do not. Vocal tics, retching, panting, ahhing and grunting are the ying to the bucket rattling yang. At times you think Yol has fallen out with himself and is in the midst of some argument he’s trying to resolve within the confines of his own head, the bashing of his bucket acting as some kind of mediator and reassuring presence. Its a journey that takes him from disused factory to roadside verge past scrap yards with barking dogs where Yol vomits his words into a galvanized mop bucket before taking it home, cradling it in his arms and putting it to bed with one more round of fearsome blows for good measure. On the other side he cuddles up to the Filthy one; hand rung wind chimes and various cassettes that carry spoken words upon which Yol yeuuchs and grrrrs.
Both of these artists are working within the confines of the self, creating a world with the use of nothing more complicated than microphones, cassette recorders and the odd bucket. For Filthy its a mysterious world where 60’s easy listening tunes get twisted into Filthy shape, a series of gruesome Hall of Mirror visages that are corpulent, deranged, sick and damaged, an ungodly place that is forever an empty three in the morning taxi rank waiting room in a dismal Northern town. Yol’s world is like no other I know, a world where Phil Minton and Dylan Kyoukis sit around the kitchen table gargling milk, a world chock full of throat roar, verbal diarrhea, tape whir and metal bashing.
Both tapes run to thirty minutes a side with whatever was on it before [for Filthy Turd an Australian spoken book and for Yol some white noise] appearing when the racket disappears. An inspired pairing but with only 20 copies to be had I feel as if I’ve been given a glimpse of a nether world open to only the few. Fortunately for us all there’s plenty of other Filthy and Yol muck doing the rounds.
Yol reappears with Mexican guitarist Miguel courtesy of Fencing Flatworm in a tidy and beautifully designed booklet that contains [I think] Yol’s Saul Bass like pen work and what could be poems/lyrics. What it sounds like I’ve no idea as it wont play in either my Walkman or the main deck [a recurring problem I have with 3 inch CDR’s thats currently driving me to distraction - note to label owners; those pure silver three inchers I have problems with, those with a white covering play first time every time] but by all accounts its a marriage made in heaven that's already sold out everywhere and which you can read about in detail here.
As I was writing the above another Filthy package appeared, this time containing a cassette covered in liberally applied green poster paint that flaked all over my strides upon removal, and two three inch CDR’s that did play.
The Debila release sees Filthy move from his more lo-fi/nonexistent-fi delivery to a more, dare I say it, polished technique with some tracks appearing in a well produced ritual industrial mode, theres even piano, jungle insect sounds and gulp, proper editing. No denying its a Filthy Turd release though, the invocations and back street mantras are all there as are the looped TV samples and general air of what-the-fucks-happening-ness. But its like he got Eno in to produce it. Now that is weird.
Filthy joins forces with fellow Stoke-on-Trent-er Andy Jarvis to give us Vile Plumage. I sadly missed their most recent Leeds performance [and that of the re-energised Filthy offshoot The Bongoleeros] but the last live slot at the same venue remains strong; Jarvis and Turd in skull masks, a single red light bulb, Filthy pointing an accusatory finger at the assembled throng. On Black Tar Jenny we have struck tin and moaning, a shamanic ritual as passed down through generations of Northern drunks, the moaning’s of the gutter, a pulsed beat that flutters around your rapidly blinking eyes,a lull and then a three chord motif bashed out on an out of tune guitar before those staring, head swarming pulses reappear.
Which leaves me with the green painted cassette tape which is where we came in. Pretty soon the world will be filled with material like this; you’ll find them on bus seats, on the long saddle in pubs, in the pockets of your jacket, hiding behind the mince on the meat aisle, scattered along streets, in the dirt, in a puddle, in a pile of vomit, half way down a half drunk pint of tepid lager in a shit pub in Burslem at kicking out time. Its where they feel at home and where Filthy feels at home.
Whiteness & Pinkness
I'm reliably informed that the green paint tape is Urdwyg the Goldrr and that its full title is 'Cassette Psychic Volume 2'. The Filthy Turd/Yol double is available for download here
|Yol Mop Bucket|