Volcanic Tongue Catalogue

Mouthus/Cousins of Reggae

Olde English Spelling Bee OESB-06


Limited edition of 500 split LPs complete with unique individually hand-painted/silk-screened sleeves and glossy full-colour insert. Cousins Of Reggae follow-up their killer Our Mouth CD with a side of post Harry Pussy avant garage scorch that's listed as “History And Prehistory Of Hudson's Bay In Five Parts” and reads like a massively updated rundown of variously torched scum/noise strategies as applied to skateboarding-carrying avant gardists with a penchant for the slackest aleatoric metal. Unbelievable. Mouthus side is just phenomenally dozed, two huge sqouching roars of marshmallow-heavy damage that work hiccupping hillbilly rhythms into the kind of ferocious wall-of-mong previously erected by committed actionists like Hijokaidan, Hasil Adkins and Royal Trux. Too much. Highest possible recommendation.

Bigger Throws

Our Mouth


Three track from this New York free/rock/noise unit who work with Double Leopards as part of the White Rock cabal. This one is on their own label and matches sick high-end guitar destruction with No Wave muscle, repeato oil-drum/cardboard box percussion and some totally bombed fidelity. A few bones noisier than the EP record, think Cro-Magnon tackling Interstellar Space. Now drool. Yr a winner! Edition of 200.

Sister Vibration

Our Mouth #9


LP from Mouthus that might be their most devolved circumnavigation of rock from to date. The guitars are impossibly impacted, muffled sandpaper huffs that move in tectonic slugs while the drums shrug between boings of tone-pad squelch, electrified steel-band ceremonials and primitively executed power stomps. This kinda profound retro-futurist refusal lines em up with a buncha modernists like Chrome, TG and even live Mars but there’s something in the distant, hiccupping vocals and the generally manhandled atmosphere that sounds like a more drug-degraded take on the kinda hillbilly scorch that Alpo-era Cheater Slicks occasionally delivered on. If you like yr rock gasoline-damaged to the point of almost-intelligible, stick out your cans. Limited edition of 500 copies in art sleeves released on the group’s own private press imprint.

Follow This House

Important Records Imprec-121


Major new Mouthus album peaks at a whole new level of barbarous sludge with what sounds like a fleet of electric razors burying steel raptors in six feet of concrete while the Angus MacLise Orkestra play pre-Lapsarian Morse codes on a handbuilt steel drum containers and whole choirs of ghosts sing madrigals somewhere just over the horizon. There's a beautifully lapsed, primitive rock feel to much of the atmosphere - the way guitar lines appear like silvery hallucinations fading in and out of corporeal reality from track to track - that reminds me of the weird non-hierarchical instrumental mix of early NZ bombs like Trash, Dead C or Dadamah. Either way, this is another supremely devolved rock set from these crudest of cousins.

Eskimo King
Satellite Decisions

Our Mouth #18


New self-released solo album from Brian of Mouthus featuring some acoustic led thunder ballads that sound as if they are played with the last stumps of his fingers through to hurricane force post-Industrial blues jams that cross the malevolent occult power of mid-period Swans with laminal arrangements of fuzz and drone.


No Fun NFP-18


“Industrial Psych Rock from Brooklyn troglodytes of heaviness. Twice the volume, twice the destruction, twice the machinery, twice the head ache of psychedelic industrial joy! Play it at whatever speed you want. Limited to 350 copies.” – NF.

Eskimo King + Sky Juice
Bad Lieutenant

Our Mouth #22


Great fuzz-encrusted monolith guitar duel from these two solo basement/psych units, Brian Sullivan of Mouthus’s Eskimo King and Zac Davis of Lambsbread’s Sky Juice persona. This is heavy gravity guitar oblivion the whole way, with what sounds like the first power chord from The Stooges’ “Little Doll” obliterated with a combination of slowly imploding wah-wah gnosis and malformed power-chord epics. Second track sounds like a fleet of motorbikes fitted with tremolo arms. Classic stoned guitar.


Ecstatic Peace E#34C


New album on Ecstatic Peace from the duo of Brian Sullivan and Nate Nelson. This is the EP follow-up to their amazing Loam album, a record that seemed to devour several decades of rock primitivism. This one is even more mangled but somehow less rock-specific, with Sullivan’s guitar now sounding like a massive Industrial keyboard (you know, the sound that Pete Cosey, John McLaughlin, Gary Smith and Keiji Haino sometimes approximate, like Hermann Nitsch’s organ work, just huge gridlocked clusters of protesting overtones that contain so much activity that it almost feels as if they’re completely motionless) and Nelson’s drums sounding even squeakier and punkier. What the fuck are they thinking? No one sounds like Mouthus: the way they compact and explode so much of what went before, regurgitating it into slabs of dense, demolished sound, seems closer to the whole concept of ‘Industrial’ music than almost anyone else I can think of.

Chaw Mank
Volume 1

Our Mouth #8


Chaw Mank is Brian Sullivan, guitarist and vocalist with Mouthus in the company of the Sightings duo. Volume 1 presents a muscular spin on established Mouthus stop-motion murk strategies with spools of rusty repeat blown to flesh by some devastating rock damage. Highly recommended.

EU Tour Singularity

Our Mouth No Cat


Limited edition tour collage/mash-up from the duo of Brian Sullivan and Nate Nelson. This one is even more out of focus and malformed than the corpus of their back catalogue, with vague thunder clouds and fucked-up electro percussion floating the ghost of Alan Vega through sheet metal memories of the TG 24 cassette box.

Beer Damage
Hobo On The Face Of Music

Our Mouth #26


Privately-released LP on the Mouthus imprint by the new duo of Brian Sullivan (Mouthus) and Pete Swanson (Yellow Swans et al): Beer Damage has some of the all-devouring bull-dozing ferocity of Mouthus proper but it’s all wrapped up in a grid-locked, endlessly accruing drone style that sounds like a particularly wheezy Alastair Galbraith power-bowing a series of barbed wire sculptures while Martin Rev triggers pugilistic beats in the background. Or imagine Cyborg-era Klaus Schulze re-visioning his music to take in broken hi-fi equipment, domestic appliances and warped backwards tape F/X in the Prick Decay basement. This is dense, hypnotic, primitively-rendered drone music with an obsessive tape-juddering aspect that is uniquely brain-mangling and that touches on a bunch of confusing totems, from the delicate/spectral miniatures of Go Hirano to the twonked loop work of Deux Filles and the Industrial gravity of Henry & Hazel Slaughter.