Two new vertical tone ascensions from Campbell Kneale’s post-Birchville Cat Motel project, with a particularly barbaric ecstatic noise/death edge. Edition of 500 copies.

Ferocious new project from Campbell Kneale (Birchville Cat Motel/Our Love Will Destroy The World et al) on his own private Don’t Fuck With Magic imprint in an edition of only 100 copies. TMPLS takes the torrential aspect of the early Broken Flag sound and rewires it w/a psychoactive post-drone appeal, creating cacophonous barbed wire symphonies that threaten to re-wire your brain while speaking in tongues of pure thunder. Hard to think of anyone that can make such a brutal attack seem so euphoric and oddly musical, with all sorts of tormented spectra inhabiting relentlessly overdriven clouds of steel tone in a way that balances a controlled compositional feel with the instant satori of all-improvised power-tone ascensions. Listened to at the correct volume this one ranks alongside Metal Machine Music as one of the essential formulations of form out of freedom and is a massively addictive spin. Campbell Kneale’s half-hour still beats your life. “Annihilating Harsh Noise Walls (TM) that find their inspirational core in traditional Chinese waterfall paintings. Sorry kids, no prostitute-murdering, throat-slitting, rape-porn to be found here... TMPLS would rather pretend it doesn’t happen. Tones so chunky and micro-detailed you can drive monstertrucks through the pockets of air between the godalmighty cRRRRRunch. Speaker destroying blankness of asteroid-like heaviosity that tunes me in to a plain so high I only have Sherpas and goats for company. Oh yeah... it’s pronounced 'Temples'...Y'geddit?” – DFWM. Recommended!

New release on Campbell Kneale’s private Don’t Fuck With magic imprint in an edition of only 100 copies: dreamteam collaboration that pits Campbell Kneale’s current vehicle for maximal transmigratory bliss with Jan Anderzen’s Kemialliset Ystavat satellite Tomutonttu. This side is totally spooked, starting off in a weird whispering grass/forest of spirits style that’s somewhere between the great Paivansade LP on Eclipse and the early Keiji Haino compositions on the Soul’s True Love before breaking into a back-and-forth ghost fog-horn exchange that could almost be the titanic specters of Don Dietrich and Jim Sauter straddling the Golden Gate Bridge. This plays out as one long track though it does consist of several separate conceptions and the later pieces mutate into a kind of alien cosmo drone that combines Anderzen’s goofily psychedelic keyboard work with sobbing arcs of choral rainbows, expertly channeled tape work and the sound of punctured speakers broadcasting from Venus. This is hip! Full colour wallets. 

Massive, monolithic set of minimal percussion drone from Campbell Kneale (Birchville Cat Motel/Our Love Will Destroy The World) and Ellen Rodda on Kneale’s own label in an edition of only 50 copies. Using nothing but two cymbals, the duo orchestrate deep sea dooms and funereal bells, at first operating at the very extremes of silence, then moving in great basso arcs that recall the orchestral construction of Thomas Koner’s arctic gong work or the intro to the first Black Sabbath album extended ala Harry Pussy’s Lets Build A Pussy. As the percussion accrues Industrial detail it starts to sound closer to Organums’s classic Birds’ Wings Were Glued To Their Bodies And Their Feet Froze To The Ground. No one does nada-minimalism with such blank bloody mindedness as Campbell Kneale. “Admittedly, the idea of a band solely consisting of 'two cymbal players and no overdubs' doesn’t sound like anyone’s idea of a good time. However the deeply narcoleptic overtures deftly carved out of solid walls of live bo-ooo-ooo-m by Campbell Kneale and Ellen Rodda should really come with some kinda 'money-back-guarantee' to reset all your dials for timespace transportation. Free of cumbersome electronics of any kind, Ming almost  slips beneath the very idea of music altogether aligning itself more with thunder heard from afar... looming, booming, nocturnal ruptures, that by contrast make you more aware of the warmth and cosiness of your own bed. The most frail vibrations become music of unspeakable beauty and patient, patient, minimalism. A great emptiness. Bong O))).” – DFWM.