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While Lost At Sea endeavors to write about a great deal of the music it receives, there are hundreds of releases that slip through the cracks - things too strange, too transient or (yes) too bad to earn a full review. EPs, CD singles and 7" records are particularly hard to deal with because there are so many of them - and they are so small - that they often get lost in the shuffle. This sometimes means that deserving music released in non-album form is not reaching the people who might enjoy it most.
In an attempt to rectify this situation and to save give some of this music its due, Lost At Sea occasionally dredges through the bins of EPs and singles to weed out a select few for comment.
This is a special edition of EPMD I'd like to call EPSF. It's a collection of EP's coming to you straight out of the Sucker Free. If you don't like it, Andre Nickatina will straight blast you.
Continental - What Was Gained From What Was Lost (U-Dot Music)
My friend moved across the country today and I already miss her. I didn't see her all that often in the past few months, but I used to tease her when I would talk to her, explaining that it was the possibility that we might run into each other that kept me going. We would go a month without any contact and pick up right where we left off the next time we hung out. She was one of the raddest people I've ever known and I will forever be kicking myself that I didn't try harder to keep her in my life.
Even though I'm sad to see her go, I am also happy that she is tenaciously chasing down her dream. I am also jealous that she was the one who finally had enough courage to uproot herself so completely. I would love it if she wound back up on the West Coast, but that would mean that things didn't quite work out for her, so I tried not to look too dejected and wished her the best of luck.
I put on What Was Gained From What Was Lost and I'm still sad, but it makes me feel a little better.
Vulgar Pigeons - Burning Episode (Deepsend Records)
I'm pretty sure the only place these guys play in SF is The Pound. The Pound is a non-descript building surrounded by high fences and industrial wasteland. Not accessible by public transportation, it is an oasis of Metal amidst a desert of decay and deterioration. The place has the hardest bookings I have ever seen at one venue. Night after night, the bands run the gamut from Metal to Hardcore to Hardcore Metal. If a band replaces any letter in their logo with a pentagram, they will surely be playing here when touring through SF. Vulgar Pigeons have the word vulgar in their name, play grind-core music, and tour with Cattle Decapitation. Yikes.
Each Other - S/T (Birds Go South Records)
After listening to this CD for a couple of minutes I had a huge headache. To be fair, it might have had more to do with all of the Fighting Cock whiskey I was drinking. Or the jackhammering going on outside my window. Why do construction workers have to start so early in the morning? Anyway, I took a huge swig and finished the bottle of Cock, got out of bed, and turned the volume down on the stereo. Figuring that I was up and I might as well do something about the aforementioned headache, I grabbed a handful of Vicodin and downed them with a swig from the ¾ empty tallboy of beer that was sitting on my nightstand. Getting ready for work, I had difficulty putting my arms through the sleeves of my crossing guard uniform. I grabbed my stop sign and headed out to the elementary school, deciding that if any of the kids gave me shit this morning I was going to push them into the street. Fucking kids.
The Mother Hips - Red Tandy (Camera Records)
During my short-lived tenure as manager for my dipshit roommate's band, I managed to secure them a spot opening up for the Mother Hips. Believing they were the second coming of Wilco, but actually sounding more like a second-rate String Cheese Incident, the roommate's band was ecstatic. Liking neither band on the bill, I was convinced into going by the promise of drink tickets and dinner. Long story short, the only amusement came from watching a friend get hammered and try to make out with everything she set her eyes on, including a chair. I fell asleep during one the Mother Hips' four encores, and I received nary a thanks from my roommate. Well, the Mother Hips went on hiatus for a while and now they are back. I'm sure some people are creaming their hemp bellbottoms over this EP. Go nuts, hippies.
Dream Art Science - Hydrogen Burning (self released)
I will readily admit that in this column I am an asshole (Just this column? Who am I kidding?), prone to making sarcastic jokes at the expense of others. But when you get shit like this in the mail, it just kind of comes easy. With their busy hemp and incense selling on the corner of Haight and Ashbury, I have no idea where the musicians of Dream Art Science found the time to record this. Oh man, the CD booklet comes with planetary charts and Egyptian Hieroglyphics and has a bunch of shit about photon domination and supersonic turbulation, the latter of which Microsoft Word confirms is not a real word. The music is exactly what you would expect- Enya meets a casio keyboard after smoking a phat bong load. Fuck, this thing might as well come with a pot brownie and a degree from Humboldt State. I had to turn this off before I inexplicably started shrooming.
Dove Yellow Swans - Live During War Crimes (Release The Bats Records)
About six years ago, while visiting before I made the permanent move to SF, a friend and I were supposed to interview Fat Mike and Lars Fredrickson at the Warped Tour for a FatWreckChords affiliated website. The interviews never materialized and my friend and I split and saw the Fleshies at Mission Records instead, which was about a million times more punk rock than the Warped Tour. Afterwards, my friend's friend picked us up and we went back to his warehouse space in Oakland. Sitting in a bare concrete room, half-drunk, and not really sure where I was, my friend's friend proceeded to play me Black Dice for the first time and I proceeded to think that I was going to be brutally murdered in a bare concrete room in a warehouse space in Oakland, half-drunk and not really sure where I was. If it would have been Dove Yellow Swans playing instead of Black Dice, the outcome would have been the same.
Living in San Francisco does not make me cool.
An aspiring global adventurer who cut his teeth on the sandy beaches and dirty bitches of Southern California, Kevin Alfoldy now spends his non-vacation days in Brooklyn, New York, where he occasionally finds the time to rub the crust out of his eyes long enough to contribute reviews and feature articles for LAS. A longtime staff member, Kevin also captains the tattered, often half-sunk raft of EPmd, our irregular column of EP reviews.
See other articles by Kevin Alfoldy.
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