SUNLORE - S/T
The sun plays tricks on the eyes when the atmospheres just right, with fata morganas like the Crocker Mountains or the Flying Dutchman, or with sun dogs like the ones that dazzled and disoriented Robert Falcon Scott. Sunlore is like that. As soon as you think youve got a bead on what they are, they just shimmer away from you. Sunlore falls through the cracks. The LP kicks off familiarly enough, sounding like Sun Ra playing Bron-Y-Aur Stomp on a crunchy rocksichord, and then it lurches, keyboard-first, into a landscape of trailing moans and the distant clatter of ghost bongos ... parlor pianos playing melodies by Samuel Beckett ... a long parabolic samsara through some sort of hideously beautiful Sheela na Gig portal into a world lit by a black sun ... and then back out again to where you started from ... with all the fried elasticity of the first Amon D_ɬº_ɬºl record, only a REALLY solipsistic version of it ... and ... wait ... on closer inspection, that aint Uschi Obermaier out there shaking maracas in the shadow of the Berlin Wall ... its actually your own pineal gland, vibrating? take that, Stasi bitches! So there you go. You can draw a set of references to similar sonic spacery from Shock Records early days, Skullflower, Dead-fucking-C, New Blockaders, the aural magick of RRR or even Red Rhino records. However far into the name-check bush you want to go on walkabout, youll still find an empty bag of clues at the end of the moebius strip. All I can tell you about Sunlore is that they come from southeastern Pennsylvania, one of the guys works down at the airport like Little Johnny Jewel, and they have some sort of affiliation with the equally uncategorizable Heart Land. And, like Heart Land, Sunlores self-titled LP is available on Tequila Sunrise Records, one in a series of on-going collaborative co-releases with Cream of Turner Productions. Its a limited edition of 200, all with hand-made sleeves. Each sleeve, it should be mentioned, is an individual work of art involving spray paint, ball-bearings(?) and the alchemical element of fire. -Tequila Sunrise. ""...whats so goddamn enjoyable about that is figurin out exactly whats spinnin; not just on the turntable, but in theys collective noggins. First go I could conjure them all sittin around a table, reading them Walter Wegmuller tarot cards while listenin to Toiling Midgets Deadbeats. Since then Is heard sounds what resemble: the X/pressway Allstars muted rock opera on Beak Doctor, the unrecorded Hovlakin instrumental lp, Danny & The Dressmakers reinterpretin Manuel Gottschings E2-E4 & Coloured Balls snorin through Marshall stacks." - Roland Woodbe.
- Regular price $20.00