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andyzax.bsky.social
Music producer. Adjective deployer. Cultural gerontologist.
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My favorite actor ever since I saw him in The Poseidon Adventure when I was seven. He made good movies better; he made bad movies watchable; he made masterpieces even masterpiecier. If you haven’t seen him in Nicolas Roeg’s Eureka yet (you probably haven’t), put that one on your “to do” list.

I’ve been privileged to hear portions of this over the years, and there were times when I thought “he’s never going to finish obsessing over the fucking thing,” but—mirabile dictu!—the debut album from @dimorphodons.bsky.social, an astonishing piece of contemporary psychedelia, is here at last:

Decades before Boards of Canada and Four Tet and Ghost Box and the word “hauntology,” Mike Batt made this conceptual masterpiece of trad arr. proto-folktronic melancholia, copies of which are still lurking in thrift stores and charity shops. Grab one if you see it.

Roedelius’s “90,” three hours of unreleased work from his tape archive, is a godsend: immersive late-night deep listening capable of making the world seem (fractionally) less horrendous. It’s also, in these vinyl-centric times, an eloquent reminder that some music is best appreciated via CD.

This 1961 industrial film about the joys of concrete masonry contains some of the most gorgeous midcentury modern imagery you will ever see. It’s also full of hope and excitement and anticipation for a future that never arrived, so prepare to feel kind of depressed afterwards.

“And peace be in your team losing/ And in your dustbin that blew away”

Reacher gets it.

Today in delusional Discogs sellers. (Identifying info redacted because I’m nice.)

“I never really got into punk, but these days all I listen to is The Police and Oingo Boingo and The Boomtown Rats and Tennessee Ernie Ford.”

“I never really got into punk, but these days all I listen to is The Police and Oingo Boingo and The Boomtown Rats and Tennessee Ernie Ford.”

Every time I play the third Mandrake Memorial album, I think: if the band had been half as good at songwriting as they were at soundmaking, this LP would be regarded as a classic rather than just a curio. But the Milton Glaser-designed turntable art piece that came with it never disappoints.

The first new music from Death In Vegas in seven years: ominous, furtive, bad-vibey, relentless; a perfect soundtrack for 2025.

There’s already no shortage of reasons to want to never leave the house again, but another one just landed. #CDfriday

The first new music from Death In Vegas in seven years: ominous, furtive, bad-vibey, relentless; a perfect soundtrack for 2025.

Look, I understand that everything is meaningless now, but really: this guy was always a subpar chancer who owed his entire career to Dick Clark and a song that Hank Ballard wrote and did better.