Iva Bittova stands alone in the isolated star-shaped 17th century Czech church of St John of Nepomuk, at Zelena Hora, her quavering explosive vocal and stark violin humming in the cold stone acoustics. Bittova blends ancient Eastern European folk phrasing with experimental modal improvisations and ecstatic ejaculations, an analogue gypsy Bjork, or some conservatoire star…
AXA Wealth International head of proposition Simon Willoughby on his love of stand-up comic Stewart Lee and how he wishes financial services could be more like him. Some of you may recall my chance meeting with the comedian Jimmy Carr last year, and due to my inability to retain sufficient composure when trying to engage…
It’s assumed the ’80s New Zealand lo-fi noise of bands like The Dead C reflected geographical and technological isolation. But contemporaneously, in bedrooms from Bristol to London, and within earshot of pop cultural civilization, a young Stefan Jaworzyn plugged whatever sounds he could source into cassette recorders and carved his own archipelago of clattering loops,…
33 years of Bohman’s home recording highlights and they sound like something found next to a decomposed body in a forgotten flat. At Southend and Wiesbaden he simply says what he sees, field anthropologist style, and scrambles the documents. On Screams Of Undead Earthworms he fearlessly enacts the tiny hermaphrodites’ agonies. On the inner sleeve,…
From their rural French fastness, Marylise Frecheville (free jazz percussion and torch singing), and Eric Boros (anarcho-art-punk guitar and stentorian declamations), continue to surprise. Largely sung in English, and enclosed in a 54 page cloth bound libretto, A L’Abri des Regards Indiscrets pitches reproachful psychoanalytical duets over slapped face rhythms, broken gutter blues, and anthemic…