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No. 10 - Inheaven - s/t (Pias) Okay, a tie with Alan Vega - It ... SPEW's top 10 countdown

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(Steven J Wilson)
It’s a big, blustery sound south London’s InHeaven make. A sound sonically descended from the buzz of the late Eighties, sometimes like Jesus and Mary Chain, sometimes Nirvana, or even Smashing Pumpkins and all that shit. 

 What I mean is, you can’t imagine this particular sonic blast, given aesthetics and technology, before the late Eighties. It’s already dated, right? At least in this age of indie retro-twee and hip-hop. But that’s part of its audacity. Brazen in its’ sheer rock-is-bloody-king quality. Suck on it. 


 Julian Casablancas likes them. He released their “Regeneration” single on his Cult Records label. 
A proper RAWK band - look at them!
Little Steven likes them. He’s been blasting their bracing, horn-adorned track “Baby’s Alright” on the Underground Garage. 

 When I first heard "Baby's Alright" on the radio, I thought - wtf … is this some strange lovechild of the Small Faces and Cheap Trick? It is, sorta. And it’s also rocking to the max. Moments of dream-pop respite, like “Do You Dream,” soften the blow, but for the most part this is a blast from the hard rock past. Bassist Chloe Little and guitarist James Taylor (ha ha ha) share and trade vocals - hers an anomic purr, his Brit-pop sincere, but the guitars never lose their snarl, or the rhythm section its punch.  


If I had guilty pleasures, I suppose this could be one. But I don’t. This record is a fucking blast of fresh air at eight miles per hour on a cool, grey day. No apologies necessary.
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The people have spoken.

There is a town in Arkansas called Elaine.

(Steven J Wilson)
Elaine, Arkansas is in Phillips County, one of the poorest counties in the United States, a flat expanse of deprivation where your Google Maps won’t keep you from getting lost. Elaine is lost. It looks like a place where nothing good has happened in a very long time.  That's, at least in part, because something terrible happened there. Something a majority of Americans don't know about.  I'm educated as a historian, but I lack the imprimatur of an advanced degree. I will do my best to offer a concise history lesson.  The facts are straightforward. To escape destitution and indentured servitude, black sharecroppers in the Arkansas delta organized under the banner of the Progressive Farmers and Household Union of America. On the 30th of September 1919, a prominent, white attorney named Ulysses Bratton traveled the three hours from Little Rock to meet with the workers to discuss strategy. They met at a small church on the outskirts of Elaine at a place called Hoo...
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2019 - Six months in. These records don't suck.

(Steven J Wilson)
In the first six months of 2019, these sixty-six recordings impressed me favorably. Some of them I'll rarely listen to again. Some will become old friends. The ten in bold stand out a bit from the rest of the pack. I haven't been of a mind to write record reviews for some time now. However, if you want my spontaneous two cent's worth on any of these titles, I'll be happy to give you a quick take to affirm, bolster my support. In no particular order: 21 Savage – I am > I was Kel Assouf – Black Tenere Deerhunter – Why Hasn’t Everything Disappeared Divine Comedy – Office Politics Stella Donnelly – Beware of the Dogs Dream Syndicate – These Times Du Blonde – Lung Bread for Daddy Willie Farmer – The Man from the Hill Felice Brothers – Undress Flesheaters – I Used to be Pretty https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vppn_T5b_Lo Fontaines D.C. – Dogrel Fleshtones – Budget Buster Robert Forster – Inferno Better Oblivion Community Center – s/t B...
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Cancer Rising, Goodnight Grant, So Long Jessi

(Steven J Wilson)
A few weeks back my urologist cut something out of my bladder. A papillary carcinoma, I think it is called. One more box to tick off on my Medical History, one more reason I’ll never buy life insurance: Cancer. Oh, I’m alright. Doc’s pretty sure they “got it.” Of course, having a cam and a cutter crammed up my prick may be a little more frequent feature of my life. But, so it goes. It goes, that is, until you’re gone. Grant Hart is gone. 56, cancer. Jessi Zazu is gone. 28, cancer. I scroll through my Facebook friends – Jesus, lots of gone ones. Most gone to cancer. Devin, Greg – hell, so many. Shit’s in my family, too. My in-laws and my sister-in-law have had their battles with the stuff. My mom was lost to cancer, at 73. She’d be 100 in October. My dad followed her three years later; he was 87. He would have been 109 yesterday if he was from the Caucasus Mountains and ate lots of yogurt. Cancer? Nope. Heartbreak. It happens. Saul Bellow understood. Oh,...
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