When a band is as prolific as Wolf Eyes, it’s hard to keep up. Add in their tendency to put things out in extremely limited quantities, and you’ve got a completist’s nightmare (and an eBay vendor’s wet dream). Luckily, sometimes Wolf Eyes releases find their way back onto the market, such as their debut LP, Dread, which was reissued widely by Bulb, and the rather early Slicer cassette, pressed on CD by Aaron Dilloway’s own Hanson imprint. More recently, the infamous Fuck the Old Miami 3” CDR, originally put out by Chondritic Sound, has been revived as a one-sided LP by Important Records. Another in the Fuck… series to find reissue this year is Fuck Pete Larsen, a limited edition live LP which was released in 2002 by Bad Glue. The LP sold out quickly, only to be resuscitated, sort of, as part of Wabana’s quest to rescue bootleg LPs from the depths of unavailability.
What sets this CD apart from the other Wabana releases is that it’s not a straight reissue. The masters of the original album were declared unfit by the pressing plant, so a new, unrelated recording session was substituted in its place. The place of this recording in Wolf Eyes’ chronology is a mystery, though is seems perfectly appropriate that the album continues to be a confusing little bugger. The disc contains two untitled tracks, with no information or explanation, just those grimy jams that Wolf Eyes do so well. I’ve often had a predilection for the band’s more "official" releases, but there’s something special about the myriad of basement jams and live recordings the boys release, a feeling of being that much closer to the blood and guts of the Wolf Eyes experience. Fuck Pete Larsen opens with a half-hour sludge-a-thon; feedback, distorted groans, and mechanical expulsions writhing in a motley mass like a muddy clump of night crawlers. The mire gives way to gritty tones that echo over desolate wastelands, suddenly, a space that was teeming with sound seems lonely and unnerving. The album’s second track is a collage of sonic snippets, some recognizable as bits of more formal Wolf Eyes songs, others appearing to be live scraps woven into the larger creation, sometimes complete with conversational fragments. The album loses some momentum during its second half, but never grinds to a total halt. Fuck Pete Larsen isn’t an essential piece of the Wolf Eyes’ discography, but also doesn’t deserve to be forgotten among the band’s countless releases, so three cheers to Wabana for their efforts.
