#Fiona Kitschin

[spilladabalia]

The Drones - I'm Here Now

[petnews2day]

Tropical Fuck Storm's Fiona Kitschin Battling Breast Cancer

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/NPbEB

Tropical Fuck Storm's Fiona Kitschin Battling Breast Cancer

Tropical Fuck Storm bassist and founding member Fiona Kitschin has been diagnosed with stage three breast cancer, the band has revealed in a statement. The necessary treatment means TFS has been forced to cancel their US tour, which was slated to begin later this month. “We’ve hit a bump in the road here at TFS […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/NPbEB #ReptileNews

[sinceileftyoublog]

Springtime Interview: The Filthy Three

BY JORDAN MAINZER

When I call Gareth Liddiard from his home in Central Victoria in the bush, I ask him whether the other band members will be joining us. He says no and starts naming where all of the band members of Tropical Fuck Storm live, before being reminded by a muffled voice (presumably TFS/The Drones bandmate Fiona Kitschin) that this interview is for his new band Springtime, a supergroup with Dirty Three/Xylouris White drummer Jim White and The Necks keyboardist Chris Abrahams. Indeed, historically, Liddiard has been active as all hell, and the forced isolation and lack of income brought upon by a global pandemic made him want to do something--anything. During a brief period of respite between Australia’s intense COVID lockdowns, he reached out to White, who usually lives in Brooklyn but had come back to Melbourne since the pandemic started. The two noise experimentalists jammed and played some shows, eventually deciding they needed another element; enter Abrahams. A couple shows and two weeks later, their self-titled debut was finished, eventually released late last year via Joyful Noise.

Springtime sports the same simultaneous improvisational intensity yet carefully building grooves of each band members’ main project(s). Opener “Will To Power” begins with Abrahams’ pounding piano and White’s off-beat hi hats that sound like they’re being sucked into another dimension, Liddiard’s disgustingly scratchy blues guitar and nasal, echoing vocal yelps giving the tune a disorienting freneticism. “The Island”, an improvised song, combines chopped, gospel-toned Hammond organ with crackling guitar and pattering drums, building up to a steady chug before retreating to a slow burn. There are a couple covers--traditional Irish folk ballad “She Moved Through The Fair” and Will Oldham’s “West Palm Beach”--as well as two collaborations with Liddiard’s uncle, poet Ian Duhig, who provided words that the band adapted into songs. And closer “The Killing Of The Village Idiot” is the band’s blistering political attack, what’s become a bit of a tradition for Liddiard’s bands. About Australian special forces who killed civilians in Afghanistan, it boasts spindly desert blues riffing and Liddiard’s desperate shouts over instrumentation that eventually crashes and burns, a fitting end to the song and album in general.

Read my conversation with Liddiard about the album below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: How did this band start?

Gareth Liddiard: I met Chris because The Triffids were doing reformation gigs, and I was singing for them. Chris was playing piano. With Jim, I’ve known Jim since the 1990s. I used to be a lighting guy and a roadie. A jack of all trades. When he was doing Dirty Three gigs, I would be this annoying 19 year old asking him all sorts of stupid shit. Through the 2000s, our old band The Drones would play a lot with Dirty Three, at All Tomorrows Parties, London, and Rome. All over the place.

Jim usually lives in Brooklyn, because he does a lot of work in the States. He came back to Melbourne when the pandemic hit and kind of stuck here. He and I were not doing very much sitting around going broke, so whenever there was a window between lockdowns, we would book a gig, the two of us together so we could make a bit of money and have a bit of fun. We wanted to add a third person to fill out more space and carry a bit of the load, so I thought, “What about Chris?” I think Jim had met Chris, but not much. We approached Chris, and he was down. Nobody had much to do. [laughs]

SILY: Even though Jim hadn’t met Chris, was he a big Necks fan?

GL: Oh yeah. Chris has played with everyone, really. Midnight Oil, Laughing Clowns. Me and Jim’s main bands are semi-improvisational, but there’s a song structure. Chris and The Necks don’t have any song structure. It’s pretty wild.

SILY: You’d think Chris and Jim would be better friends, but not everybody can be super connected and friends with everyone.

GL: That’s it.

SILY: Did you play shows as a trio before recording?

GL: We did and had a two-week window in May. We rehearsed for one week in Melbourne and then [did] two gigs and a warmup in Melbourne, and we came up to my place in the bush and recorded in 5 days. Two weeks from nothing to an album.

SILY: Did you write the lyrics and involve your uncle during that time, too?

GL: Yeah. That was the main reason I brought my uncle in. I’d always had him in the back of my head as someone who could save me from a situation like that [where I had to write lyrics quickly.] He collaborates with a lot of Irish musicians, because he’s Irish and English, first generation Irish. He’s pretty connected. Irish folk, but on the arty side. He has some weird poetry that’s like, “What the fuck’s going on here?” but some that has a proper meter where you could pick up a guitar and sing it. He sent a bunch of stuff, but we only ended up doing two.

SILY: Had any of the three of you worked like that before, with someone outside the band contributing lyrics?

GL: It didn’t matter that much, because [the words] were ready to go. It was almost like, “Let’s throw some chords on this and see what happens.” The meter of the lyrics, their structure held everything together. We didn’t really do a bridge, we just did, “I’ll sing this, and in this part, I’ll do whatever, and then we’ll sing this.”

SILY: Why did you decide to adapt “She Moved Through The Fair”?

GL: I had been thinking about doing it. It’s got a good chord progression, and you can change the voicing of the chords. It had been an idea in my head for about a year, but I had never gotten around to it. At the end with Jim and Chris and the mad scramble for material, I thought, “Well, fuck, let’s just do it.” It’s a fucking amazing song. It also tied in with my uncle’s Irishness. Australia’s like America or the UK where it is a big mix of those Anglo types, Irish, Scottish, Welsh.

SILY: At one point--and I don’t know whether this is intentional--but I thought about someone moving through an outdoor fair, and the instruments started to sound like bugs. Was that what you were going for?

GL: In a way. Me and Jim aren’t jazz musicians, per se--we come from a more punk rock thing. We will try to do a bit of Alice Coltrane, which is where that buggy sound comes from. Chris can do anything. It naturally came out like that. In a lot of ways, Chris led the fray, and me and Jim would then sort of dig into our history of listening. Our Spotify playlists. Pulling out bits and bobs that would work from different artists.

SILY: When was the first time any of you had come across “West Palm Beach”? Were you all big Will Oldham fans?

GL: Jim’s played with Will a bunch, on some of his albums, and toured with him a lot backing him up, and Will’s supported The Dirty Three all over the place. I don’t know whether Chris got into Palace. I’m the youngest, so when I was 21, stuff like that, Bill Callahan, Palace Music, Silver Jews was out. I got heavily into it all. I just really loved that song. It’s the most mysterious and the one that hit me the hardest. When I suggested that, it was a bit of common ground between me and Jim. A good way to get things started. Because I listened to that early on, it’s easy for me to sing a lot of Will Oldham’s stuff, the same way I’ve ripped off a lot of Jim’s stuff. [laughs]

SILY: "The Killing Of The Village Idiot” seems like a departure from how you’ve handled political songs in the past. There wasn’t as much dark humor as normal. Can you talk about your approach in handling that topic?

GL: That’s something that’s been on the boil for a while. We had a friend who was a photographer and journalist who lived in Kabul. He had always been inviting us to come to show us this US drone base. We and another friend who was a journalist were going to go hang out and have the shit scared out of us. It didn’t happen because of the pandemic. Andrew, the journalist in Afghanistan, was always pushing me to write a song about it. I was always like, “I don’t fucking know.” [laughs] He wrote an article about the special forces guys, the small minority of them misbehaving and killing civilians. So I half wrote the song for Andrew, and half to just write about what’s out there. We’ve had death threats for other songs in the past, so I’ll probably get a few great ones for this one. I know a few special forces guys, so it’ll be interesting to hear what they say. I’m not trashing special forces, I’m trashing people who break the fucking Geneva Conventions.

SILY: What songs have you gotten death threats for in the past?

GL: There’s a song from The Drones called “Taman Shud” which trashes a whole bunch of things Australians hold dear. You can dance to it, but it made a lot of pundits, Tucker Carlson-types in Australia, outraged. It got a lot of publicity, and because of that, we got a lot of trolls and all that shit. It never comes to anything, because they’re just sitting at home on their keyboards telling you they’re gonna kill you.

SILY: How did you get David Yow to write liner notes for this album?

GL: Jim’s known David for longer than us. When The Dirty Three first went to the States, Dave was at their first show in L.A. and invited them to his house. The same thing happened to us in the 2000s. The Drones were playing somewhere in Los Angeles, and Dave showed up. Every time we went back, we’d get Mexican with him, or get fucked up, go do karaoke or something. We’ve known him for years. Neither of his had talked to him for a long time, so we got in touch to have him write the thing. He’s a good guy.

SILY: What’s the inspiration behind the band name?

GL: I don’t know. We just needed one. We had a big list. They were all really jokey. One was The Fountain of Old Age. Jim, being as connected as he is--he seems to know everyone, he’s played with everyone from Cat Power to Bill Callahan--sent texts to all these amazing people and asked them to vote on all of our silly names. Springtime got the most upvotes. We’re a really indecisive band, we’ve discovered. We can’t even decide where to get dinner. We had a gig booked at the Sydney Opera House before we’d played together or had a name. [laughs]

SILY: Does that indecisiveness ever make its way into the music?

GL: That’s the thing with the music. It’s the only time we’re ever making decisions. Every time we start a song, it’s different. We had the particular songs that ended up on the record in the rehearsals, but they ended up sounding so different. It’s a real drag we only got to play two shows. I want to be at the fucking point where we play 50. Any band, you play your first 10 shows, you’re getting into it, but once you hit 50, you’re fucking Led Zeppelin. Such a drag, this pandemic.

SILY: Before releasing the album, you released a live recording of a song not on the album, “Penumbra”. Are you going to record “Penumbra” if you haven’t already?

GL: We did a ton of stuff. We have way more material [than the album]. But we wanted to pare it down because of its freeform, avant-garde nature. One way to give it an extra dose of structure is base it around an LP, 22 minutes a side. But I think we recorded about four hours. There’s still shitloads.

SILY: Are you going to release that material or other versions of the rehearsals?

GL: I think we’ll get back together when we can and try to do more stuff, sift through what we’ve done previously to see if we can finish it off. We want to do more because we had a great time making it all. We gelled quite well and played together really well. Compared to something like Tropical Fuck Storm or The Drones, it’s a pleasure to me to really improvise totally freeform. I’ll sing my verse, but after that, I don’t even know what fucking key it’s gonna be. Just noodle about, see where it goes. Everything else is reasonably structured, and that gets boring.

SILY: What’s the story behind the album art?

GL: [laughs] We needed album art, and thought, “What are we gonna fucking do?” We suggested a bunch of artists to each other, and there were good ideas, but nothing stuck. You’ve got to find album art that somehow works with the music, obviously, but also gives it a different dimension. Fiona was looking on Instagram and saw [the painting that would end up being the cover]. It’s just some lady who paints for a hobby. We wrote to her and asked to use it for an album cover. She thought she was getting trolled or that someone was teasing her about her art. [laughs] It took a lot of convincing we were legit. Eventually, she was like, “Wow, I can’t believe you want to use it!” It’s great. It’s a beautiful painting. It has a really great energy. It offsets the music. The music is so fucked up and kind of dark.

SILY: Did this woman have any idea who any of you were or like the kind of music you made?

GL: Um, no. She didn’t know. She had no idea. [laughs] It’s pretty funny. She didn’t even charge us. We were like, “We’ll give you some money.” You gotta pay for that shit. She was like, “No.” We insisted. She was just happy someone would use her art. She was really sweet.

SILY: Was she Australian?

GL: She was. We didn’t know her. It just worked out like that. She could have been from anywhere.

SILY: Anything else next for the band or for you?

GL: Jim’s gotta go to the states to record with somebody, and once he gets back in February, we’re gonna work on more Springtime stuff. And then we’ll probably tour in Australia. It’ll be easier to do stuff, because we’ll have that--depression’s the wrong word--but that horrible fucking pandemic funk that everyone’s had where it feels like you’re walking through mud. Once we get back together, we’ll start generating tons of material and tour as much as we can. Jim’s always off with somebody or other.

SILY: Do you think that sort of wading through mud feeling helps you creatively make this kind of music?

GL: No, it’s more of a hindrance, but you just adapt. If there’s one thing humans are good at, it’s adapting to fucked situations. I think we’ll have more spring in our step and more energy. Melbourne’s had the longest lockdown in the world, and Sydney is not far behind. You just can’t fathom getting out of bed in the morning. It’s a weird situation. It’s not the blitz, it’s not war, it’s not a tsunami. It’s an invisible disaster, and you kind of start wondering, “Why the fuck are we doing this?”

[suchaflurryflurry]

favorite lyrics from 2019 albums i like ↳ braindrops // tropical fuck storm

[rexilla]

their only purpose is to disagree and do it publicly, amen they’re always going for the coup de grâce they think they’re gonna fuck a movie star but all paths lead to nowhere and it all adds up to nothing

[zaphmann]

In Memory of John Peel Show 211001 Podcast & Playlist

In Memory of John Peel Show 211001 Podcast & Playlist

Marina Herlop “It’s the busiest time of year in music and this show is doing the leg-work to bring you the best of outsider music” https://radiopublic.com/in-memory-of-john-peel-show-6nVPd6/ >> the best new music, independent of the industry system – back this show on patreon Paypal to zaph@zaphmann.com heard in over 90 countries via independent stations (RSS)Pod-Subscribe for free here or…

[matthias-songbook]

Tropical Fuck Storm : “Un hit ? On n’attend que ça !”

Lors de son dernier passage à Paris le 17 novembre dernier, la tornade Tropical Fuck Storm a raflé la petite salle du Badaboum pour un concert mouvementé. Rolling Stone s’est faufilé pendant l’accalmie pour partir à la rencontre des quatre membres du groupe le plus sauvage d’Australie. Entretien

Bâti sur les cendres des Drones, le projet Tropical Fuck Storm ne porte que trop bien son nom : si de tempête il s’agit bel et bien, celle-ci est sonore, enjambant les frontières entre rock indé, metal et noise tel le nuage radioactif de Tchernobyl. Formé par Gareth Liddiard (chant, guitare), Fiona Kitschin (basse), Erica Dunn (guitare) et Lauren Hammel (batterie), le groupe vient de publier un second album aussi bordélique que le premier, tout aussi touchant de sauvagerie et de sincérité.

Un disque que le quatuor venait présenter au public parisien du Badaboum, à deux pas de Bastille, le 17 novembre dernier. Une chance pour Rolling Stone d’assister au concert, mais aussi et surtout de percer le mystère Tropical Fuck Storm au plus près de ses quatre géniteurs, en plein œil du cyclone.

Tranquillement installés en loges, Gareth et Lauren attendent le retour de Fiona et Erica de la laverie, alors que le groupe arrivait à court de vêtements propres – les petits tracas de la tournée, pense-t-on. Cinq bières décapsulées et un “cheers!” général plus tard, nous voilà déjà à tenter vainement de cadrer l’ouragan : qu’est-ce que c’est exactement, la musique de Tropical Fuck Storm ? “Quand les gens te parlent d’influence, tu finis par en accumuler tellement, que définir les choses n’a plus trop de sens, nous explique Gareth, dans un anglais australien qu’on a, à certains moments, du mal à suivre. Quand t’as 10 ans et que tu te lances, t’as écouté trois groupes, donc forcément, c’est plus facile à présenter !” Nous voilà à nous agripper aux branches dès les premiers instants. Bien heureusement, les quatre musiciens, tempétueux, demeurent avant tout très sympathiques (“On est le groupe le plus gentil du monde” – nul doute là-dessus), n’hésitant pas pour autant à balancer, amusés, à propos de quelques collègues de leur mère patrie, l’Australie. “Il y a dix ans, ils (les gens, ndlr) écoutaient Jet, ou Wolfmother, tous ces trucs chiants… Donc c’est plutôt positif, ça veut dire qu’il y a de l’espoir” explique Gareth.

“Certains disent qu’on fait de l’art-punk, et je trouve ça très drôle – qu’est-ce que ça veut dire, putain ?” demande en rigolant Erica. Sûrement pas grand chose ; car il est vrai que la musique de Tropical Fuck Storm développe sa propre idiosyncrasie, ne se range pas dans les cases que nous (particulièrement en France) tenterions de lui imposer. “Une sorte de fail pop !” lance alors Fiona, qui détend définitivement l’atmosphère. “Ce qui se passe avec ce groupe, c’est qu’on a tous décidé de bousculer nos habitudes – quoiqu’on décide d’essayer, on se dit que c’est cool, qu’on tente...” explique alors plus en détail Erica. Car pour Tropical Fuck Storm, “toutes les méthodes sont bonnes” ajoute Gareth. Il poursuit : “On préfère se dire ça, plutôt que d’essayer de se conformer à des genres préexistants.” On ne les comprend que trop bien.

Mais la musique (en particulier la pop, qui s’auto-référence à l’infini) ne sort pas de nulle part. Et si Tropical Fuck Storm développe la sienne en toute indépendance, les racines du groupe ont forcément eu une incidence sur ce joyeux bordel. “Nick Cave a bien entendu été une influence pour moi, tout comme Radio Birdman, The Saints, mais aussi plein d’autres groupes plus modestes, dont les noms m’échappent, et dont personne n’a jamais entendu parler” évoque Gareth. Plus tard, il parlera aussi de Jimi Hendrix ou du Pet Sounds des Beach Boys – “un putain de chef-d’œuvre, accrocheur et magnifique”, le laissant encore pensif rien qu’en le citant.

C’est grâce à cette liberté dans l’approche et dans le style que Tropical Fuck Storm s’affranchit des barrières imaginaires de la pop. Lors de l’élaboration de Braindrops, son second album, le groupe achève une toute nouvelle bande-originale pour le film No Country for Old Men des frères Coen – “Certaines rythmiques sont issues de la B.O. (…). On avait quelques trucs en stock, dont des accords aussi.” Les quatre musiciens avaient même travaillé sur des reprises, dont une de… Missy Elliott ! “On l’a faite juste parce qu’on s’est dit qu’un groupe de rock ne devrait jamais reprendre Missy Elliott !” s’esclaffe Gareth.

Non au “no future”

Tropical Fuck Storm, un groupe sans message ? Loin de là. “La politique s’immisce toujours” commente Gareth, avant qu’Erica n’ajoute : “La vie est politique, en fait !” “Une chanson ne va jamais parler que d’une chose, aborder un seul thème. C’est un peu comme une nouvelle, relance le leader. Voilà comment je conçois une chanson. C’est une sorte de diorama. Avec de l’herbe, des petits moutons, un bar...” De quoi alimenter l’éternel débat sur le rôle de la musique et de l’art au sein d’une société, de leur façon de mettre en scène ses beautés et ses travers. Le non-message, c’est le message – après tout, c’est à des punks australiens que nous avons à faire. Une méthode qui balaye également la question des thématiques abordées dans la musique de Tropical Fuck Storm, notamment avec l’écriture de Gareth, plus sage qu’il n’y paraît. “J’arrive dans ma quarantaine, et je me sentirais un peu con de raconter les mêmes conneries que quand j’avais 24 ans” témoigne-t-il sur un ton plus sérieux.

Toujours plus surprenant dans ses intentions, Tropical Fuck Storm se situe à l’opposé du spectre “no future” de l’imagerie punk. Car oui, le groupe envisage son avenir, et le fait sans détour : “Y avait un type, à Prague – ou à Varsovie, je sais plus… Il nous a dit ‘Vous ne voulez pas devenir un one hit wonder, vous valez mieux que ça, pas vrai ?’ alors que… si, carrément ! On n’attend que ça !” Vers un troisième album en tête de gondole à la Fnac ? Avec Tropical Fuck Storm, rien n’est moins sûr.

[stan-fm]

Tropical Fuck Storm - A Laughing Death In Meatspace

Sounds like?

Dense heavy psychedelic punk

Moods

Protesting

Thoughts

Distinct heavy rock with astute protest lyrics. Perhaps too dense for regular listening, I appreciate what's happening here. It's groovy and biting with a passion that's executed well.

More Info

https://www.discogs.com/Tropical-Fuck-Storm-A-Laughing-Death-In-Meatspace-/release/12457187

Listen!

Youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYWHjfVtoSM

Spotify

[thepermanentrainpress]

CONCERT REVIEW: KING GIZZARD AND THE LIZARD WIZARD W/ TFS RECORDS AT THE COMMODORE BALLROOM - OCTOBER 9TH, 2017

It was a truly intensive and psychedelic Monday night. Hailing all the way from Melbourne, Australia, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard were supported by opening group and fellow Melbourne residents TFS Records. It was a loud, heart-pumping, wowing set; a cacophonic symphony of industrial punk. Gareth Liddiard and Fiona Kitschin shared vocal duties, and Fiona’s voice was particularly impressive – her backup really carried the set. A lot of heavy bass and drone effect was used to really amp the pulsing, especially towards the end. This group was more intensive and hard musically than King Gizzard, and I think they’d be absolutely incredible in a small club venue. I can only imagine how much the noise would pound through your body then. I hope they return to Vancouver for a headlining show!

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard’s live sets are just as wild as their band name. These guys really know how to utilize their instruments to create a funky and unique sound. They’ve got two drummers, most likely due to many complex time signatures. Then there were the amazing projections. In fact, to me the most interesting part of the show was the visuals. Projected behind the group at all times were trippy psychedelic images and lights that never seemed to repeat or grow dull. Many stage visuals at other shows seem to fade into the background, but these images were colourful and full of variety enough to keep being engaging. This was the most interesting light show I’ve ever seen at a venue the size of the Commodore. It always complimented the music in colour and tempo – I imagine it required a lot of planning and sync, and the end result was truly something artistic. The lights helped me appreciate the art of the music being performed live.

Perhaps no better sign of the band’s welcome in Vancouver could be found than when the singer said towards the end, perhaps in jest: “If you’re going to smoke a doobie at this show, you gotta share with us.” In response, several bags of weed and joints were thrown on stage by the audience, and multiple members on stage smoked a joint. I’ve seen a lot of audience members smoking at shows, but this was the most I’ve ever seen a band do while performing. What else could be expected from a group called King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard?

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard sets are one pumping and weird song after another. There wasn’t a lot of banter, nor did there need to be. They appropriately played a lot of songs from the 2017 release Murder of the Universe, as this was the tour of the same name. There’s a lot of ground and albums to cover in their sets – the group has released eleven albums since 2012. 21 songs in total were packed into around an hour and a half, with no encores. The vast majority of the audience stuck around for 10-15 minutes after the show cheering for something, but eventually the house lights came on and it wasn’t meant to be. There’s no doubt that amazing performance deserved an encore and the cheers it resulted in. That said, I’ve never been a fan of planned encores – by nature, encores aren’t supposed to be. This group broke the trend, and what we saw was satisfying enough.

I can’t wait to see what’s next from King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard in their seemingly never-ending album releases – and what their next tour is like.

Written by: Cazzy Lewchuk Photographed by: Timothy Nguyen

[innovacancy]

Tropical Fuck Storm Great Scott, Allston, MA 19 September 2019

It's arguable you can hear the exact moment that the idea for Tropical Fuck Storm was birthed inside Drones frontman Gareth Liddiard's head. After I See Seaweed, the Drones' now-penultimate record which brought that band's history of languid blues-rock to a head with massive epics about Russian space dogs and Roger Waters-esque suicide ballads, Liddiard was aching for some creative freedom, to strike out in a new direction. He'd make one more album with that band, Feelin' Kinda Free, which ably lived up to its name and saw the band moving with a new energy and swagger. At the conceptual head of that album is the song 'Taman Shud', the first single released therefrom, well before FKF was announced in full. It was something wholly new for longtime Drones listeners – the song moved like a hip-hop track, with Liddard's vocals to match; though the bouncing beat was constructed from the same guitars that had previously rang out across Drones tracks, they were now short and angular strikes in unpredictable patterns.

This one song, more than anything else, presaged the arrival of Tropical Fuck Storm: Liddiard's latest project and a foray into something new. Liddiard has always moved from strength to strength within the Australian music community, and TFS is only the latest in a storied career that includes not only The Drones, but a powerful catalog of solo music.  Alongside Drones bassist and partner Fiona Kitschin, Liddiard has recruited an all-female backing band rounded out by guitarist and synth player Erica Dunn and Lauren Hammel, from Aussie bands Mod Con and High Tension, respectively. And while the band’s roots are firmly planted down under, following an American tour with indie titans Modest Mouse, the demand for the titular Fuck Storm to crash on US shores reached a fever pitch, with the band selling out Allston’s Great Scott nightclub.

In keeping with its explicit name, TFS is a band that, moreso than ever, faces head-on the disastrous, shapeshifting world around us. Their first record, A Laughing Death in Meatspace, featured truly chaotic arrangements that made 'Taman Shud' seem almost tame, not the least of which was 'Soft Power', which begins with a slight at the current U.S. President, portrayed as a nuclear-armed oompa-loompa. Meatspace, named for the designation given by techies to the physical world (as opposed to cyberspace), was still the centerpiece of the band’s set at Great Scott, but their latest record, the stunning Braindrops, seeped through and found Gaz and company stretching their psychedelic arrangements out over more space than ever before. In a way, it’s almost as if the band has circled back to look at The Drones from a new angle. The slow crawl of ‘Paradise’ and loquacious narration from Liddiard hearkens back to the days of Havilah highlight ‘Locust’ or even something further back from Wait Long by the River…. But just two minutes in, the track starts to take on distorted qualities, the guitars getting fuzzier and Kitschin and Dunn coming in on backing vocals that sound like they’re coming in from a far-off plane of existence. Hammel’s unpredictable drums segue the track back into submission to ready for the next cycle, before Liddiard leads the track off a cliff into a wailing barrage of guitar shredding. And that’s just the first track of the record – though when they play it live, they use it to end their set, that onslaught augmented by Liddiard kneeling on the floor and using his effects pedals as their own instrument, giving his guitar the occasional strum and then warping its lingering sound endlessly.

Liddiard spends a decent amount of time down there wringing monstrous noises from his pedals during the show, providing a sea in which everything else can drown and meld as the rising seas threaten to do to us all. Elsewhere, Dunn takes lead vocals on ‘Who’s My Eugene?’, and with Kitschin as support leads a sparse, airy, moody track that uses Beach Boy Brian Wilson’s abusive therapist as a framework in which Dunn explores her own anxieties. It’s easy to get intoxicated simply by the effortless groove of the song, but Braindrops’ undulations and Meatspace’s raw power and experimentation have always been merely the tip of the band’s creative iceberg. No matter who’s behind the pen for any particular track, TFS always rewards the most attentive listeners with lyrics unsettling, bold, and on the bleeding edge of a bleeding world.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Tropical Fuck Storm Album Review: A Laughing Death in Meatspace

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The word “meatspace” is a crude, derogatory term Silicon Valley uses to refer to the physical realm. Tropical Fuck Storm, featuring The Drones' Gareth Liddiard and Fiona Kitschin, High Tension's Lauren Hammel, and Harmony/Palm Springs' Erica Dunn, turn the term on itself. Technology, they argue, is, too, merely physical--and that’s precisely what makes it dangerous. “I used to worry one day they’d have feelings too / But these days I’m more worried that that is not true,” Liddiard sings on “The Future of History”, the intellectual centerpiece to TFS’ debut album A Laughing Death in Meatspace. When you take emotion out of the factor, “the turkeys vote for Christmas.” People vote for their own death. We allow ourselves to be gas-lit by a phone for the sake of convenience.

Tropical Fuck Storm combine the stream-of-consciousness absurdity and social critiques of Future and the Left with the blues punk intensity of Grinderman and The Dirty Three, a fitting juxtaposition of thought and aesthetic that’s perfect for Liddiard’s shouted ruminations on society. Often, he’s got Kitschin and Dunn to back him up with his accusations; the power of a softer voice saying the same things is undeniable through its diversity. On the skronking “Antimatter Animal”, they chide politicians that put on a nice face yet vouch for destructive policies, chanting, “Your politics ain’t nothing but a fond fuck you!” Kitschin reminds me of Regine Chassagne on “Soft Power”, the calming confidence behind Liddiard’s chaotic spitfire lyrics.

On Meatspace, nobody is safe; even well-meaning businessmen receive similar fire: “FYI, a POV don’t make an NGO,” they sing on “Chameleon Paint”. Dunn’s sharp riffs combined with Kitschin’s lurking bass and Hammel’s steady drums provide the backbone for a catchy refrain: “Who’s screwing who, what, where, how? *(Wow!)* / Power gets let off every time.” It’s a little topsy-turvy, a lot like the final line in Burn After Reading (“What did we learn, Palmer? / I don't know, sir. / I don't fuckin' know either. I guess we learned not to do it again.”), especially considering that Liddiard introduces the track with a caveat (”These are only my impressions / All of which are false.”) While at first it seems like a cop out, in context of the album, it’s an apt metaphor for technology and social media, as truth and fact becomes increasingly distilled.

This haze is actually best represented by a rare instrumental track. “Shellfish Toxin”, in reference to the paralytic toxin the CIA used to torture in the late 60s, combines warbling, off-kilter synths, sounds of seagulls, sci-fi zooms, echoing snare hits, and syncopated vocals. It’s actually the album’s emotional centerpiece because it makes you feel empathetic and crazy. Because if you’ve somehow managed to escape the past couple years without feeling like the world is slipping from your fingers, Tropical Fuck Storm will do the trick.

7.6/10

A Laughing Death in Meatspace by TFS

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Soft Power / Tropical Fuck Storm

Comprised of members of The Drones and High Tension, new Aussie outfit Tropical Fuck Storm commands a whirlwind of psych-infused art punk, delivered with a kick to the teeth only Gareth Liddiard – The Drones infamous founding member - could muster.

Soft Power is the latest single from the supergroup, dripping with grimy distortion and sporadic guitar bends. A simple yet hard-hitting kick drum and snare beat trudges through the verses, giving way to a cacophony of cymbals at the chorus. Here, Fiona Kitschin’s almost childlike vocals form the antithesis to Liddiard’s guttural groans, comparable to the strident playfulness of Alexis Krauss (frontwoman of fellow noise-rockers Sleigh Bells.)

The combination of a phrase of frantic guitar picking and raucous cymbal hits in the third verse brings the chaos of Soft Power to a peak; and then everything is suddenly stripped away. We’re left with ominous ambience and a twisted music box-like melody, allowing Liddiard’s gratingly sardonic lyrics to shine through: “The downside is we’re all about to get royally fucked/The upside is we’re all about to get screwed.” As the song draws to a close, he leaves us with a deliciously unsettling mantra – “Scarecrow I’m gonna miss you most” – a lyric that will stay with you long after you hit stop.