Kinski - Don't Climb On and Take the Holy Water
(Strange Attractors)
No, those aren't the titles of the A- and B-sides of their latest single, but the curiously surreal offering from Kinski's guitarists (Chris Martin, Matthew Reid-Schwartz, and bassist Lucy Atkinson) masquerading under their Herzog alter-ego. Now this isn't the first collection of live, improvisational jams to hit the streets (Abunai!'s Round Wound comes immediately to mind), and we all know how they can often deteriorate into a non-stop orgy of self-indulgent guitar wankery or electronic noodling, but (like Abunai!), Seattle's psychedelic juggernaut (mostly) avoids the pitfalls by keeping the experiments to a minimum and focusing on their strengths - the live performance setting.
The opening drone, "Never Compete With Small Girls" is a heavy-lidded nodder that's perfectly suited to fans of Stars of the Lid and Windy & Carl, and makes a fine addition to that "Music To Fall Asleep To" mix tape you've been assembling over the years. But it's the album's massive half-hour centerpiece ("The Misprint in The Gutenberg Print Shop") that everyone will be talking about in hushed whispers of reverential awe. Recorded live at the I-Spy club in Seattle, it's tempting to toss about names like Pink Floyd and titles like "Echoes," Careful With That Axe, Eugene" and "Astronomy Domine" after a first, cursory listening. But on subsequent listens, closer analysis reveals strands of Grimble Grumble's brilliant (head)space rock classic, "Future: The Only Point of Entry" as well as elements of the quieter moments from Acid Mothers Temple (with whom Kinski recently shared a split LP).
A slowly rising behemoth of electronics from Atkinson's (JX-3P) and Martin's (JP-8000) Roland synths and oscillator, and Schwartz' particularly subtle flute work flutter out of your speakers and gently cascade down the melting walls of your psyche. After ten minutes of Buddha-like communion with your inner being, a soft, gently reflective middle section floats around the room on the back of Martin's simple, repetitive guitar riff. At 18 minutes, you can hear a pin drop in the room (remember, this is a LIVE recording!), as the audience, obviously stunned into catatonic oblivion, has all but taken leave of their corporeal transports and their collective (sub)conscious hangs in the room like the sweet smoke of success: ahhh, Nirvana! (The state, not the group...duh!)
But wait! We still have ten minutes to go! And it's here that Schwartz' flute wafts into the room, commingling with the collective buzz and welcoming all comers to a magic carpet ride to the stars. The saddest part is, judging from the audience response at the end, it sounds like there were only about a half dozen people in the room that night. So kudos to Chris Schofield and Strange Attractors for capturing this moment in time and preserving it for the edification of future generations to come. In sharp contrast, the next two pieces ("Crepes the Cheap" and "Bulky Knit Cheerleader Sweater") are, as their titles suggest, weird instrumentals...little more than experimental collages of musique concrete filtered through a myriad of effects that probably only the most adventurous fans of the genre's inventor, Pierre Schaeffer, will listen to more than once. And the closer ("There's Nothing Sexy About Time") is an exercise in futility as we strain to hear the barely audible musical rumblings. However, it's the half-hour mindfuck that is the album's selling point, and it's strong enough to make it appeal to more than just the casual Kinski completist.
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