WTF 2012 year end multi-album-review

The GoodLuck Boys - ChinPunKanPun


Artist: The GoodLuck Boys

WTF album: ChinPunKanPun

Tags: wtf experimental psychedelic

WTF Quality: Ritualistic World Freak Punk Experimental Psychedelic Avant Folk MUSIC

Lifespan: 2010

Country: Japan



The GoodLuck Boys have long held a mysterious fascination for me - in the same manner as the Marie Celeste, or Jack the Ripper - you think that finally you are going to catch up with them, hold them to account, reveal the secret; but all that remains of their ghostly presence is a half-consumed meal, or an intestinal yard-sale.

Conspiracy theorists of the future may try to put this album down to the work of a medically frustrated proto-surgeon from a well-to-do family, or convince you that a badly gaffer-taped weather balloon is responsible; but I stand firmly on the Grassy Knoll, cross-hairs aligned, shouting "Duck, Jackie!" at anyone who dares dismiss this gem of a record as alien intervention.

Those of you who are allergic to jazz may experience a slight flaking of the skin; those with a similar reaction to Ritualistic Folk may have to endure an exfoliated limb or two; but this album is much more than the mere sum of it's genres. The strings and threads of its constantly evolving and interweaving sound-ideas lead you meandering from mountain to jungle, from city to water-closet with such ease and freedom that you never tire of the travel. There are flights of fancy, tunnels of love, and the bowels of brave beasts. The title describes the monster far better than I can. It is ChinPunKanPun.

Neither do the track titles fail - "Tiny Caravan" is difficult to stop and bends to the will of windspeed and direction; "Rewind" is a puzzling 8-track Moebius Strip of a thing; "Rainbow Mist Contraption" is a many-hued Luddite's nightmare; "WetBack-Tongue" is moist and raspy but has a sense of taste; "PuzzleSolving BackGroundMusic" being the fifth track begins with a corresponding number of beats in a bar, then dissolves into a watery soup. "The Case of the Six-Sided Comb" irritates your head, gets tangled, but all is smoothed out in the end; and "Turning Back"...well I think you'll see - but perhaps the best effect is gained by just running the tracks pell-mell, one to the next, for the ultimate in comfort and sonic luxury. Screw what it means, and enjoy the ride. Mother.

The Highlights?

The solid and supportive bass-playing of Jun Nishida; the Accordion (driven by Sammy Lilly) that never loses it's folk feel despite all the odds; lip-blistering sax work from Jerry Gordon; Tom Copson Jr.'s beautifully reined-back guitar; the list goes on...

The GoodLuck Boys are purported to have their "artistic differences" - I find no evidence of it in this album; these tracks would only be possible with hours of tortured teamwork, and no particular ego comes to the fore. This appears to me to be a "Band" in the truest sense of the word, and capitalized to boot. It's also rare to come across such sparkling production in the world of wtf music - thanks to the more than competent engineering of Naoto Araki and the mixing ears of Marcus Staniec and Sammy Lilly.

The final gasp of the historically blurred sleeve-notes, runs thus:-

"Perhaps the release of "ChinPunKanPun" will bring the band back together as a full unit again to play a few more live shows."

I fucking hope so. I really do.

ettuspadix Random Music Marathon album


tracks are in random order. No track numbers assigned. Album art was made using random method: pull random scrap paper out of bag of random scrap paper, blindly point to random word on paper, google image search the word, download random image from search, randomly cut pieces from that image and paste to make a new image.

Here is the list of artists who submitted to the marathon and the track titles:

Example: randomgenerator v3.2
Randomized recursive reintegration
generic interview doze off
Randrone 2

Caught In The Middle Of There and Between
4 Players / Play Your Instrument / Non-Musical

Hymnopedie for Eris
now and then...
Testing, testing...
goodNIGHT, children
nineteen to the dozen
login error

L for

Trying to Pleazle the Weazle.

Wooden Toy Set - Recording Three
Wooden Toy Set - Recording Two
Wooden Toy Set - Recording One

Wild Plants

Robot Beings Meet The World, Part Zero

So thanks to the participants and enjoy the random sounds. Big thanks to bosbeetle especially for the inspiration for this marathon and the wonderful pd randomgenerator programs. Super random cool shit!


Hado Navarro - childoid in surrealienland

Artist: Hado Navarro

WTF Album: childoid in surrealienland

Country: Argentina

Timeline: 2012 -

WTF Quality: Heavily manipulated samples that don't sound like samples, except when they do

Tags: experimental, sound art, collage, noise, surreal


In tribute to this surrealien piece of WTF expression, the following comments will attempt to not only verbalize the nature, structure, form, and emotional content of the music, but if and where possible, some clues or hints into something that might not be visible immediately... maybe not exactly any kind of coherent meaning, but perhaps some sort of vision, or link to a realm that is not this ... The music itself, being the contorted fractured non-entinity that it is, guides me as such.

resurrection's requiem

we open in a heavy sheen of magnetic aura
a breathy, hard sliding glow of spectral flare, solid and steady, gradual glides and inflections within the meta-stasis
ending in a pulse,
regular periodic buzzing clicks.
Welcome back?
Goodbye home?

dictatorship of the children

tyewriters, incessantly pounding, resonating within a small steel box, from the side, from above, in a flow of water, through a tangle of wires, a thousand metallic claws hammering down on computerized machinery
ending with a collage of video games, voices, 8bit spaceships and nintendo
those fucking kids will get what they want.

immortals kamikazes war

frantic activity, one bot in a room, downloading, switching, gobbling waves, input, transmitting, computing, booting, hacking, receiving, re-launching, redirecting traffic, searching and logging, traveling through some corridors, drains, flipping switches, attack, launch, prepare, liquid metal sounds with a few spotted incoming receptions from the airwaves, cutting through styrofoam to achieve the desired shape to fit the key to the next passage. Unendingly dying and returning, one voice, sometimes two, texture overlap with static frequency, high overtones and reverberant decay, tube flush, a hollow explosion and tattered broken remnants, all too many wires and electrical shorts, dancing particles in a processor spinning blades, no harmony ever reached, continual destruction but never apocalyptic
finally, a vision of supremacy, an anthem to the great leaders of mayhem and the infinite destroyers

psychophonic echolocation

a whisper. crumbled into a digital howl where the sample is crushed and grated, shredded, mashed, chopped and sliced, ground to bits, sawed in pieces, duplicated and lent to further grinding. The title is again a clue. Someone is spitting out a message, a wave of information into the ether, awaiting the bounce back from the far side, a one way communication mapping the shape of the void with a caustic hiss, a burbling purr, many voices, one voice, not heard through the ears but lapped by the tongue. Further down the line it's getting more desperate, struggling, at last pondersome and nonchalant.

Age of time paradox

continuing in the vein of "psychophonic echolocation," jumbled voice samples sear through the static. This time, it is possible to hear the transition from "sample recognized as voice" into "electric garble" and further into "completely abstract claws scratching computerized machinery." Still the rhythm, cadence, and flow of a drone of voiced human chatter can be recognized, and these dystopian automatonic beings that emerge in the parallel world that emerges gradually develop a language clearly distinguishable by the end of the piece as not so far from where we came from.


a true to real sample of rain and thunder recorded from within a room, without much ado into the leaky breaker room glitch surveillance system phenomena. I may be enticed to think that this frozen sand splitting is in the rhythm of raindrops pattering from the gutter onto the patio. Or I may as well accept that I am now lost in a surreal landscape, frozen, with no idea where this crunching silence that surrounds me is from or what substance it's composed of. Here Hado Navarro is now penetrating subtle far-end hard to reach realms of the fractalized synapse-mind of wtf imagination trajectories. The funny feeling that grips me is that with a few tiny adjustments to the tone of this, what ever kind of noise you would call it is, I feel like I'm right there on the floor, inside the machine, or a little animal or spirit visitor right there with the musical creator, creeping around wires or into catacomb micro-passageways. With a few more tweaks, I'm lost again, or just no longer conscious that what is happening to me is really sound at all... as with all tracts of time it ends ...

I feel like I'm waiting for something now. Because although casual listening of this album is encouraged, with headphones on and feeling the thrust of the music to this point, and knowing the title of this one, there must be some kind of surreal gag, an unveiling, or at any rate the expectation of something unexpected. Not in a bombastic left-field carpet pulled from under my feet kind of way, but ... something unexpressably delicate or occult, something visible but lacking substance.
Again I feel like robot aliens are talking to me, futilely. Is this the surrealienland's mantra of elusive inanity?
Yet it does harken me back into the beginning of time, when words had weight much like a stone lifted from the earth has weight. When sounds were forms, when life was pure impulse only, no convolution, plasma in a hermetic receptacle unbound by motion of time. It's like the echo of that. I don't feel particularly close to human-ness at this point, but I know I've not escaped it.

We leave on a train.

Rewix eyervitnhg

Fuck yeah! Destroy! Break it! Don't even think about it.

wait. Huh? Petri dish?


Cat! . . . (Or ...?)

Never mind. No thought. When you reach the unique fathom of inter-reality as presented in the Surrealienland, in is sometimes out, and never is usually always, but from and until meet at the cusp of extreme and stillness. Many textures enter and retreat, you at the point of stasis will internalize come and go as sometimes motion, sometimes rest, or stasis within activity and the immobility of dance. Voices will call and earthly sounds will fall and enter your awareness. Draped over this is the stained glass of heavy sample manipulation and ultimately a sign pointing to the question, WTF is this?


WTFReview: Rotate The Completor - Completed Rotations Of The...

Artist: Rotate The Completor

WTF Album: Completed Rotations Of The...

Country: New Zealand

Timeline: 2008 - ???

WTF Quality: Over-The-Top Vocal Accent, Silly Childish Lyrics, Infectious Herky-Jerky Dancing, Quirky Blending of Styles

Tags: Outsider, Lo-Fi, Busker, Singer-Songwriter, Folk, Savant-Garde



Contest Announcement!


Here are the rules for the contest: Create WTF outsider musician personas along with an album's worth of music that stays consistent with your character's fictional qualities.
Everything from her/his/it's physical image to recording style.
Keep your project a secret from the world and shop it around the internet and see who buys into it.
In one years time we'll reveal our made-up characters here at WTFMusic and see who got the most reviews from weirdo experimental online zines and communities.

I'll share with you my brain-storming notes on one of my possible make-believe outsider musician characters:

Like every genre of music the outsider genre has it's rules one must abide by in order to be accepted as a true full-fledged Outsider. As Irwin Chusid, the authority on all things outsider music, put it - true outsiders lack self-awareness of their musical absurdities and retardednesses.

So, with that mind mind, I think I'll start with my "If The Residents Took Acid With . . ." grab bag. Let me just reach my hand down into this bag full of deranged on-the-fringe lunatic CDs and randomly pull one out. Oh - who's it gonna be? Shooby Taylor? Sondra Prill? Or maybe Tiny Tim? Ah! And will you look at this! Hasil Adkins - the psychobilly grandfather himself! The first element of establishing the sound is set. If The Residents Took Acid With Hasil Adkins. Maybe they even bought the acid from Captian Beefheart at The Shaggs' farm.

Ok, so now I should consider the instrumentation. And that should be easy considering how we randomly arrived with ol' Hasil in the equation. One-man band all the way! Nothing says outsider more than a mysterious man playing deranged songs on the street corner all by his lonesome self. With a junked-up guitar strapped around his shoulder, a shattered mini drum kit scattered around his feet and a microphone propped up to his dirty bearded mouth. And with that we have part of his WTF legacy down. Yes - the eccentric lunatic busking on the streets, annoying most who pass by and lifting up smiles from the curious. And what better part of the world to busk in than New Zealand? All the way down there at the bottom of the world where the sun don't shine and most of the population are half human half sheep. Oh gee whiz - this character is coming together nicely! I just know I'm gonna win the contest - I just know it!


Yes a reclusive man who is his only fan. One of self doubt and creative passion. Is he mentally challenged, strung out on drugs, beaten up from the evils of the world only to be left with his own spun collection of songs that just don't fit in this universe or any other? It's best to keep these answers hidden for we wouldn't want to release that important mystic that surrounds every good outsider.
But my outsider character is different. He posses a unique blend of musical chops to justify his "art." He doesn't just strum his out-of-tune guitar in a depressed drone-like fashion like Jandek. No way. His guitar riffs are damn catchy with touches of childlike whim. Every song packed to the rim with WTF hooks around every corner. His songs could almost sound like jingles to children's toy commercials played inside old faded B-movies. Like many an outsider he possess a sense of humor with some kind of off-center charm of innocence. It would be easy to imagine surreal images of kid's drawings while listening to his music. Why - maybe I can even use that as an idea for his album cover. Which can only be obtained through a secret process that is described by word of mouth. If one attempts to ask him personally for an album he'll probably even say "No," in a demanding but shy voice when asked for a recording of his music. Always keeping himself at a distance from the rest of humanity. That is so outsider of him to do. The titles of his songs will be nothing but the track numbers. His lyrics are absurd yet simple and almost cute. Sung in an unrecognizable over-the-top accent. Which is a top priority for any off-the-wall crazy outsider musician. Can you think of one singing outsider musician who doesn't sing with an unhinged accent?
And the recordings! What about the recordings? Ah yes - all directions are pointing us to the ever popular lo-fi approach. For he is a backyard artist. A junkyard musician! I'm sure he has never even owned a computer in his life. I'll just say that he records his material on mini-cassette tapes with the machine placed in a rusty old tin can and thrown in the chimney he while performs the songs in his garage. When finished he'll just slop it all together as a song compilation with tunes dropping in and out, tape speeds occasionally bending to and fro and hiss everywhere. Ready to go - warts, burn-marks and all.

With these ideas down now all I have to do it write some music that sticks to the above brainstorming ideas and I'm ready to go!

Now I must go out and find me a cult following.


How much further outside would I have to go until I'm back inside?

Thank you for reading THE best Rotate The Completor review EVER . . .

To purchase the album please visit:

To listen to a few of his songs first check out:

- onionpalac

Quinnth - Blues & Vomit

Artist: Quinnth

WTF album: Blues & Vomit

Country: USA

Timeline: 2011 -

WTF Quality: Cosmic Echoes of Toxic Acid Fluids

Tags: Space, Blues, Psychedelic, Noise, Vomit



Come Hither My Trolly Lizards and Gaze at the Grift of Grolean Graft Before Thee. We shall Forthwith Journey Beyond the Blues of Vale into the Murky Swamps Beyond and into the Lunar-Sphere. On a Trip We Go, Field and Farrow, Glade of Gronth, Wheel and Barrow, Cleft of Chain, Rizzle Drickets, Plot, Stomp.

Upon yon Hills Betwixt Here and Our End Flock the Brittle Twigs of Kismet and a Lonely One it May be. As the Flame of Sun Crests Down 'neath Our Sunken Trove Set Foot Now Pace and Trail, Our Twindling Hours Brought Cold and Breeze. Come Fiddling Amongst the Blues and Vomit.

Behold The Many Shades! Light Breaches The Void, Quickening to Split the Spectrum of Sky that is Above and also Between. Alast a Clutching of the Gut Contribbles and Grapples the Ills, the Murken-Glomp, the Woe, the Pangs, the Shuddering, the Rot, The Blues. Shiver we Thither we Wind thon Scales our Way will Narrow but Pace Ne'er Haste with Deftness of Toe.

Forsooth and Swig a Shake from here Flask, Filled to Brim with Bad Moonshine. A Pause. A Croon to such Crackling Thornbushes. The Wind Creaks:

* Raeiy-zopp . . Raeiy -zopp *

* Raiy- Zain Siss-Tuss"

* Raeiy-zopp . . Raeiy -zopp *

* Raiy- Zain Siss-Tuss"

Stray Way, Crumbling Remains, Rust, Grain, Splinter, Wood, Shards, Ghost Footprints on Pavement Brittle the Next Stop in Chill Behind the Crackhouse these Three Heart Bleeding Cravens have Spread Filth Plastic Tin Ash Fuel in a Debris. Circle A, Demon Skull, Goat Wing Cross Marked Thorns Skittering Crawling Prints and Stank Full to a Thrave of Carcass Jool, Remnance as Membrants of the Ecstasy Flicked out in Moments' Fury, Hope Bereft along Avalanche of Defeat by Trust Thrust Inner and Down, the Path of Lonely Stalwart, Beleven to the Neglected Crust of Throil.

Piss what Remains of the Gist of the Previous Fix and O'er Graves 'tween Crux and Canyon, Quicken Thru The Pass.

Avast Lay Yer Rest, Lean an Arm Against Truss that Smacks Face. Chase-ed by Flickering Chimeras Gypsy Moths Spray and Wind Gusting from Nostril of Swine Mongrel Five, No Further is there Refuge Alay. Alas No More Within From Which To Summon A Straight-eyed View To Level the Field or Evade Prey. Inescapable Pounding on Temples, Crash Knees to Grip Earth for Drunken Vomit, a Classic Track from the Album of Quinnth. Stand, a Graying Scape, Spectrels Dash yet Skither Wayward Nonce.

The Final, the Circumverate, Reculituary, Pennissimal, Aveximual, Slush, The End of the Line. You're Doomed.

Quinnth Hath Bestowed On Earth Such Grazen Sludges of Psyche-Spew of Aged Mule-Yoghurt Browned and Fermented Beyond the Limits of Palatability to Pass Backwards no such Several Minutes from Whence it Entereth the Sacred System of Tactile Oils and Nerves. Lest it Ne'er Cease to Radioactively Decay, Sever Thee Now to Yon Download Link.



The Greg Olsen Experience - Galore in the Place of the Dog

Artist: The Greg Olsen Experience

WTF album: Galore in the Place of the Dog

Country: USA

Timeline: 2008 -

WTF Quality: Ode to dogs full of scatological pop incoherence

Tags: Dogs, funk, jazz, techno, metal, hip hop, country, rock, indie, cut-up, emo, dogs



Finally, an album dedicated entirely to dogs!


Only naturally would this seem such a natural thing. Which begs the question, why are so many of man's crude attempts at song filled with sappy lyrics about women, and so few about his true best friends? With fierce dedication and rigor, dog stands by the side of man, and man enjoys the presence of dog. What is it about them we love so much? What is it about us that inspires their deepest affections and devotion? I don't know myself, but this music says it in so many different ways.


Drink a beer and relax to this album, dudes. It's full of so many things that don't make sense, intentional mistakes and bizarre mixing choices. So full of over the top juxtapositions and overlappings of different styles of music, mysterious voices uttering sweet nothings about dogs, a plethora of instruments from the world of known music, technical virtuosity, pop hooks and riffs, and arrangements that are either haphazard or carefully crafted to sound maximally random. Lots of dog barking samples too.


Despite the analog nature of dog's respiratory and central nervous systems, the sound of this album is decidedly digital. Which is of course a choice made by the humans involved here. I often can't tell if the instruments are real or MIDI, but then again, why the hell would a dog ever give a fuck if something was analog or digital, sequenced and overdubbed or live-recorded? Especially when quite possibly all this music just sounds like a wash of static from a dog's ears' perspective. But that is something we will never truly know objectively. Anyhow most likely all the dog cares about is treats and a scratch between the ears now again, maybe a good run in the park and something to chase.


Celebrate Fido!

I hope you all can enjoy the fun of listening to this music, not knowing where it's going, wondering what it has to do with dogs (oh, so much! probably), and wondering if something is a sample, a digital sequence, or a live band playing. It's easy to listen to cause you don't have to download it, you can just listen from the link above. Or you can download and listen endlessly on your mp3 thingy if you want. Get a dose of jazz funk prog rock dogs hyper glitch cheesy pop techno mish-mash arrangement metal country high-speed woof!

Then remember to roll in the grass, chase a few deer, howl at the moon, whine that you're hungry, beg for scraps, lick your butt, pant heavily, and dig with reckless abandon.

- Jeemobon

Strawberry Complexity – This Is Pop Music


WTF Album: Strawberry Complexity – This Is Pop Music


Artist: DeFuncArt

Country: Ireland/UK

Timeline: 2010 -

WTF Quality: High, but see sidenote @Track 03.

Tags: found-sound, rape, jump-cut, string quartet, sampled, anger, granularity


This album declaims, in it's title, to be the definition of that mythical beast we all know and hate; the apparently universally loathed "pop music". But this turns out to be a very personal rage against the machine, fraught with difficulties of interpretation. This guy finds pop music offensive on many (possibly all) levels, and tackles it with an unprecedented venom. Surprisingly, though, his weapon of choice seems to be the switch labeled OFF. Instead of going for the obviously exposed jugular, he waits until it's on a Life Support System, and takes his time gnawing through the pipes and lines that feed it. A much crueller demise.

01 - Tik Tok


First Dr. DeFuncArt has nibbled through the saline drip. Rigor mortis has already set in; decomposition is well advanced. In essence this is a set of variations on a theme; three passes through some kind of granular processor(?) - the first gradually (so gradually!) faded in, then left to fester at full volume. A strangle hold is applied. The next, where filters are gently applied - fundamentals, harmonics, noise particles all jostling for supremacy but none getting the upper hand. Another more violent choking. The third pass has more aggressive filtering, topped off with a final gasp of agonized intensity. Before you know it, this (over) 14 minute track has passed away.

02 - Can't You See What I See?


Getting his teeth into the optic nerve, now. The lives passing before these glassy eyes include:-

*Lady Gaga - Love Game
*The Winstons - Amen, Brother
*Black Eyed Peas - I Gotta Feeling
*Pink - Get This Party Started
*Taylor Swift - Love Story
*Justin Timberlake - Cry Me a River
*Gwen Stefani - Hollaback Girl
*Britney Spears - If You Seek Amy
*t.A.T.u. - All the Things She Said
*Britney Spears - Toxic
*Rihanna - Umbrella
*'Solo' from Manic Street Preacher's cover of Umbrella

This is "rape", but a step further. This is a necrophiliac armed with a quart of Rohipnol.

03 - Just Dance

img which he goes for the air-line, and starves the brain. On the face of it, it's just a string quartet arrangement of the original song; but that's already denied it any chance to breathe through it's lyrics. The instruments are of course samples, lacking the vital oxygen of dynamics and articulation - or even any natural rhythmic give and take. This one is a well-embalmed cadaver, just waiting to play at it's own funeral.
[sidenote] As a standalone, this track is not WTF at all – in the context it's as WTF as F.

04 - Since You've Been Gone


The Doctor holds up two X-rays here, saying “This is a picture of a healthy kidney. Now let’s take a look at YOUR kidney...”. I think you can probably guess by now which has the diseased nephrons.

*Kelly Clarkson - Since You've Been Gone
*Music Rank by ryno13333
*Krzysztof Penderecki - Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima
*Iannis Xenakis - Jonchies
*Iannis Xenakis - Nomos Alpha

05 La Forêt Blanche


"Original lyrics from Evanescence's Haunted, My Last Breath, Tourniquet and Snow White Queen.
Chord progession is inpsired from My Last Breath."

Here's the Frankenstein part...and for my money it's pretty the cemetery for a few bits and pieces, stick 'em together, and see what crawls out of the desecrated hole. Exhumation 101; and the Circle of Death is complete.

Closure: As you can see, this package is thoughtfully provided with individual artwork for each track, each one a bastardization or conglomeration of the elements of the “original”. This provides a clue as to what DeFuncArt is trying to achieve here – a thorough autopsy followed by a wallowing formaldehyde bath for the entrails. I recommend this album if you ever get a bit ticked off with the “pop music/hype/culture/industry/machine”. It just goes to show that there's always someone angrier at it than you.


[WTF Review] Os Almeida - O Chamado de Cthulhucas (The Call of Cthulhucas) / The PSR-38 Sessions

[WTF Review] Os Almeida - O Chamado de Cthulhucas (The Call of Cthulhucas) / The PSR-38 Sessions
Double Review

Aritst: Os Almeida

WTF album: O Chamado de Cthulhucas (The Call of Cthulhucas)

Tags: Lo-Fi, Folk, Noise, Satanic

WTF Quality: Purest sickest shit telling the life story of LFC, WTF legend and sovereign ruler of All.

Lifespan: 2008 -

Country: Brazil



I am LFC
I am Lucas Fucking Crazy
This is my life.

it is Poetry of ecstatic sickness.
Fucked Sickness Beyond Experience.
He becomes me and I him, through this metamorphic transformation in the sound pair-a-dice.

I am all consuming.

the snake



Born from the infinite pure glowing blue. The pool of tranquil azure is the void from which I commence. Out of the blissful trance within the refraction of the sun and the water and the sky, I emerge. I scream electric static in your ears and at the celestial guitar harmonies. Os Almeida begin to utter my tale.
Never satisfied I seek fulfillment like a child sucking at the tit, that's how I fucking feel. Until I shit rivers of milk and prematurely ejaculate a yellow flood of baby-spum at age 0.5. When it's done with me I start to feel the whiplash, like something is not right, to exceed is to incur pain on myself, too much is too much, any further and I drown in my own lust-fluids, I become what made me, the effervescent span of tranquil serenity. I drown it with abrasive noise. Unreasonable, unthinking, intuitive, primordial spum. It is not enough.

A Criatura Anatomicamente Impossivel

Pounding. Expended. Exhausted. In need of rest. In neutral. In fear. Drive is in reverse. Steady. Pulse. I am alive. And through all that. The throbbing gloom pulsating through this music is my black blood.
Look at what I have become as I assume my metamorphosized adult form. I betray all beauties and ideals and hope. I have turned against my creator and seek only depravation of body and spirit. At this point in my life I am ready to take action.
Still craving food and drink and chemicals in the brain. Escape. The deafening silence, I ROAR. ENOUGH OF THIS! DEFILE!!!!!

A Noruega Paulista

My friends the Almeidas have accurately depicted me, down to the last testicle hair. A thick thumping bass drives the crackling madness in my head. I am a scourge, I am evil, I am sick, I stand against all that is righteous and holy, I desecrate all that is sacred, I shit on you and myself, I love hate, I hate love, and I've had enough of this terrestrial space of flesh and grunt. Muck and Scum are merely not enough, the nauseating smell of boiling flesh and bone fumes are my next natural step.

Descida ao Inferno (ft. LFC)

I am LFC. Hear my voice. Whiskey. Tobacco. Various hard drugs of shady origin. Ugliness is the highest. I'm sure if you listen to this album, your journey will be different from mine, as I am the almighty LFC and you are an insignificant speck of shit hanging onto a flimsy anal hair. I reign over all in the sickest of shit. It is honestly the sickest of shit to ever grace the bowels of mankind and demonkind alike.

Pesquisa Antropologica

You want a love song? For you, my interesting sex story. Lyrics translation below. So tell me about your fantasies; are they anything like this? Just a few simple guitar chords, some tape hiss, melodica, and Portuguese lyrics, and of course the fascinating electronic toys that burn my erections to full throb.

O Chamado de Cthulhucas

And to suck it all off, my favorite party song. Oh love! Oh powerful joy! Mourn life! Celebrate dismemberment! Celebrate abortion! Celebrate the destruction of this Earth! Mourn the closing of this album! Celbrate LFC! For I represent the fucked up-ness in ALL!


-Jeemobon (Via invocation of LFC)

From Richard Almeida:
everyone must know more about the life of the great LFC. So here are the lyrics translated into English by the songwriters themselves.

+QD+ (abbreviation for "more than too much"

The boy dreams too much
when he took off the mask
was himself
who was behind

the boy drinks too much
when he poured the burning water
was himself
Who is distilled behind

the guy knows what he does
when he took off his pants
was himself
who became behind

the boys gets laid too much
when he ejaculated semen
was himself
who became pregnant behind


a claustrophobic space of pure cracked concrete
moldy floors and walls of sadness
the drain of a sink rusty filthy left
a creature whose geometry defies nature

twenty-three angles between the tentacles
less solid consistency to creamy
facilitated the passage of something so big
that instead of mouth had green suckers

some say that the sound made by the creature
denounced the lack of soul in something so appalling
because, instead of voice or anything approaching human
what was heard was a deafening hiss

and even today, many years later
there is no way of knowing what was that sound
if they were screaming or wailing, in pain or pleasure
because certain stories are better not being told

PAULISTA NORWAY ("paulista" = located in the estate of Sao Paulo)

In the village dominated by seafood
once existed a pagan kingdom
in attacks in the current Christian reality
churches are desecrated with graffiti

and the ink's fire still burns
in memory of those who witnessed
a can in hand and two fingers making horns
from the hairy who resigned god

the eighth level of the flaming underground
lucifer watched the action with mannerism
and indeed, it was the devil himself
who called 911 and reported the vandalism

what no one could even imagine
that on that small village would born
suddenly, without blinking
the Antichrist who would descend to Hell



"Sex?" Asks the monster with a thousand faces
"In the section on teen age education" responds
the 60 years old librarian.
"Sex?" Insists the monster with a thousand erections
"I leave here at 6," says the widowed librarian

I'm so horny for you mam
Making love will be groovy

And then they go down to the ninth level, and a forró happens (forró: traditional brazilian northeast music ball)
Tens of thousands of elderly women with flaming nipples dance
The Monster copulates with all, through its thousand sexual organs
While the librarian shakes in jealousy and murderous rage

The widow's glasses fog up and break
At the same time she drops her grocery bags into the ground
Boxes of cake dough and tubes of vaselin jelly are spread
The monster gives 500 winks in one eye and smiles


Tem cabra que passa a régua, tem cabra que risca o chão (this verse absolutelly doesn't come across with nothing in english... but this would give a vague idea: "there are cowboys who get laid, there are cowboys who get fights")
There are matchmaker women, there are women who don't say no
And without excusing himself, he cut off the head
of the old librarian woman and oddly enough
Her chopped-off head still showed naughtiness.

With the blood gushing out and black eyes rolling
The whole tongue out, three seconds choking
But it was long enough for the Devil to intervene
Trying to defend the honor of the widow who would give birth
to another Devil's child for this world to destroy

While cleaning his teeth with the aborted fetus
Into the deeps of the underworld he was teleported
To checkout his bill, without a chance pay later
With the owner of Hell, no Savior can help you:
Accepted the knife fight, took off his shirt and went to battle

After a long battle with Satan himself
He escaped from Hell and never looked back
He kept crushing the Demon's head
And with cowboy boots he galloped
To prove to the world who was ruling.

Right above the Hell there is a vast ocean
And he got his sea horse galloping
Loud rang his trumpet to warn the planet
I tell you this, my friend: the world is gonna end
Now it's all fucked... Cthlhucas rises from the sea!

WTF album: The PSR-38 Sessions

Tags: Lo-Fi, Lo-Tech, MoR, Easy Listening, Funny. Very, very funny.

WTF Quality: Just a very strange thing to do. Done for the sheer hell of it. A piece of Low Budget Brilliance.


It was never going to be a fair fight.

A bunch of lowly primates against the massed troglodytes of the mighty Yamaha Corporation?

Os Almeidas have taken upon themselves here a worthy and noble task; to invade the enemy from within, to infect the host and let the virus spread from the micro chip to the processor, thence to the very brain of the beast; then to watch it tumble, humbled before the marauding horde.

The PSR-38 is an evil piece of kit. The "samba" button alone has been scientifically proven to use ten times more energy than any other rhythm. This monster is not a friend to the environment. Os Almeidas, our hirsute Superheroes, have set out to prove that it can be tamed, and bent to the will of a skilled operative. Mission accomplished.

1./ Beber Pinga e Legal (Portugese:-Drinking Rum is Legal/Spanish:-Dick and Legal Drinking)
Oily lounge-lizard shuffle with some frankly dangerous vocals recorded without a safety net. Plus lunatic solos clearly under the influence of one of the more fortified wines of the region.

2./ Eu Devia Ter me Casado (Portugese:- I Should Have Married/Spanish:- I Married and Deviated)
Heavy Metal is up for treatment next. The PSR-38 handles this magnificently, with the aid of some frenzied guitar work that never quite musters the enthusiasm to melt your face. Splendidly done; the ending is a treat.

3./ A Velha Jovem Guarda (The New Old Guard)
A spunky little blues, with manic "trumpet" interjections and some cheeky BV's, this chunters along nicely, but fear not! It then develops into a freaky "surf's up" solo; again, the ending is a doozy.

4./ Perdido, Nos te Amamos (Lost, We are in Love)
Back to the Baroque here, which is deftly juxtaposed with an anti-social guitar solo. Delicious.

5./ Pereira E um Cara Batuta (A Pear and a Man-Wand)
...which frames off the suite beautifully. Well, it does; that - no more, no less.

Although they are few in number, these pithy, witty, refreshing little sorbets are deceptively simple, deeply witty and darkly offensive all at one and the same time. Their brevity is testament to their humour and compactness. To flirt with so many styles, then to take them all home and bed them, is a tribute to the carefully cloaked skills of an unparalleled guerrilla force. To extract depth from an intellectually stunted instrument with the mental agility of a small soap-dish, is a tour de force greatly to be admired.

It was never going to be a fair fight.

A bunch of lowly primates against the massed troglodytes of the mighty Yamaha Corporation?

My money's on the guerrillas, every time.


Richard There - If the World Calls, Please Leave a Message

Artist: Richard There

WTF Album: If the World Calls, Please Leave a Message

Tags: Singer/Songwriter, Outsider, Spoken-Word, Dark, Rock

WTF Quality: Accent, Demented Poetry & Lyrics, Childish

Lifespan: 2008 -

Country: There



After a lengthy hiatus from writing record reviews I'm returning with a handful of very special records.
To start we have the much anticipated new Richard There album produced by Richard Almeida.
Anyone already use to his lo-fi bedroom approach to recording will be in for a big surprise.
While the majority of the vocals keep the unique grainy recorded sound he has done in the past the music itself is well executed and recorded, along with special effects, soundscapes, SFX, and many other various ear-candy surprises.

In reviewing this album I got help from a friend of mine from back in the states. I thought he could help supply opposing thoughts on this as he hates, and I mean really fucking HATES, anything out of the ordinary in music.
I had no doubts that he would give opposite opinions against mine.
I did this because after I reviewed each individual song I realized that it was all too positive. I was licking Richard There's asshole - up and down.
I love this damn album to death and my words reflected that too much that I couldn't take all the sunshine praise and decided to give this review a black and white make-over.
So, I emailed my friend and asked him to say a few words about each song of the album.
My attempt at creating a duel first reactions review.
Later I edited a few parts to shorten things between us.
My friend may seem a bit harsh here but I know Richard and his fans can take it. And in the end, after reading his words, I learned to appreciate this music even more.

Ladies and gentlemen of the WTFMusic world - it is my great pleasure to introduce you to the man himself - who insists that I'm wasting my time with WTFMusic and thinks it is all a big joke for people with nothing better to do: Mr. James Jeffery!

Hello fine people of WTFMUSIC.ORG!
I look forward to say a few words about each song from Richard There's new album "If the world calls, please leave a message."
I have never heard of this Richard There guy before but Marcus (onionpalac) asked me this favor and I'm more than happy to abide.
I can only imagine what I'm in for. God, I hope this isn't THAT painful on my ears.
Let's get it on!

1. If you want to say something
OP: A surprising introduction to the album. Already I feel that this is going to be something different than what I'm used to from Mr. There. Perhaps some kind of concept album?
JJ: Nothing too offensive yet. Just a quick answering machine recording introduction gimmick. I've heard this done a lot on many rap albums. Is this gonna be some kind of experimental crazy rap thing?

2. Everyday
OP: Time for story time around the fire with Richard! It's the simplicity in songs like this that gives comfort and charm to the music here. This story is a loop in itself and peaks at the moment of the subjects inspiration. It'S good to hear Richard's voice again singing new material that I know I will return to again and continue to enjoy. It's just so warm and comforting!
JJ: Whoa accent! That was a funny surprise! Not as weird as I'd thought it would be. Boring as all hell though. A repeating guitar figure accompanying a story about some bored guy who gets a flash of realization that he's a procrastinator. Most likely the same thing will happen again the next day. And the next. And the next. Like the repeating guitar. Okay. Next song please.

3. I don’t know what you mean
OP: Patterns? The world is calling. Messages are being left. Is there a mystery to unravel here?
JJ: Okay, another answering machine skit. "I don’t know what you mean when you say hi (high?)" How high are you Richard?

4. Call you friend
OP: Instant classic! A genuine playful and colorful creative tune about friendship with children as guest vocalists. It has that Wild Man Fischer spontaneous quality with the ever present Daniel Johnston innocence. Love it!
JJ: Sooooo, this is what I was afraid of. My wife walked in during this tune. She asked why I was listening to children records and accused me of doing drugs. Thanks for that Richard and Marcus. And really, anyone can make shit like this and many people already have. My only question is why?

5. Silence Train
OP: Nice production with the SFX and musical atmosphere to help support the words. Richard has great delivery in his text here and his voice seeps deep into the underlying sounds around him. Very easily drawn in and captivated. I can imagine that this would be great live. Perhaps we need to organize a Richard Show performed on a train?
JJ: A holocaust train perhaps? That was my first guess at least. This one is not so strange or bad either. I can't imagine wanting to listen to it again. Again the story goes nowhere.

6. Now I’m fucked
OP: I dig the "fucked" pronunciation. Not much else to say. Nice transition into the next track and keeping with the theme.
JJ: Fuck-ed? Yes Richard. Yes you are fuck-ED! No argument there.

7. Sand in my mouth
OP: A delicate sounding Richard delivering a loose message of someone somewhere losing something - being shot down. Brings variety to the set so far. Short enough to be valid. Really digging the way this album is unfolding.
JJ: This is what Bob Dylan would sound like if he came from a third world country. Enough said. The song's already over.

8. Robots
OP: What is this? A very unexpected side of Mr. There. Wonderful sci-fi soundscapes. A vocoder laced Richard untangles the age old question: what came first - the robots or the humans? Richard seems to be taking on all kinds of characters these days.
JJ: Oh come on! What's the point of this? To see what your voice sounds like disguised as a robot? More boring shit. How are people supposed to enjoy this on repeated listens? Really.

9. Joke
OP: This might be the first stand-up Dadaist joke I've ever heard . . .
JJ: So now I know that not only is Richard There not a musician but also not a comedian as well.

10. Listening to my breath
OP: Words of despair filled with questions and the lacking of confidence mixed with optimism. Themes I love to hear Richard talk and sing about. At first I was disappointed at the 1:52 mark. That build up. "See how it builds up like Linkin' Park?" (Lame Zappa reference - sorry). But trusting Richard's judgement over mine I went back and listened to the track a few more times. The way it ends is what justifies it for me. Not taking itself too seriously.
JJ: English pronunciation problems aside, and perhaps some people see that as part of the art (?), this is not such a bad tune. It's trying at least. And it almost does something until it just stops and dies.

11. Find my way
OP: Huh?
JJ: What?

12. The same
OP: I wonder if this was improvised. Almost like Alexander "Skip" Spence or Bill Clint in it's candid approach. Something rarely put down on record. Many people could never pull this kind of thing off but Richard does it with his honest and deep story-telling technique.
JJ: Someone get that rambling stoned hippy off stage. This is a family oriented coffee house you know! And man is that voice getting annoying. Sounds like you had some tough luck in your life Richard, huh? Yeah, don't we all. This is the worse so far. Especially when you go off on Velvet Underground.

13. Happy Birthday
OP: A warm introduction for the next song.
JJ: Is the Richard he's addressing here Richard There? Is this a song to himself? And this raises another question. Just how old is Richard There?

14. Doesn’t matter much
OP: Another instant classic from the coasts of There! A life full of sin is the only life worth living. Adding voices onto of pre-recorded material is always a plus in my book. Especially when it pulls the possibilities of weirdness. Possibly the best closing song to any album ever!

15. If you are there
OP: Is this real? Are you talking to Richard Almeida? I'd always answer the phone if you called man.
JJ: Yeah, I'd ignore your phone calls too Richard.

Final thoughts:
OP: It's the personality that always pulls me into Richard There's world. The candid honesty, creative playfulness, witty experimentation, delivery of stories, twisted gloom vs. bright hope - this all makes up the world known as There. Where Richard lives and is happy to come and take anyone along who wishes to get out of their own routine of serious adult business and everyday chores of typical logic and life. With the EP "Who touched my bones?" I felt as if I was in the same room with Richard and he was telling me all these little stories. With this new album I feel as if he is taking me on a guided tour by flying carpet and introducing me to various characters and tales of feelings and memories. Each turn drastically different than the next. It's a special thing when an artist can keep their personally attached yet create drastically different backgrounds to express themselves in. A very well rounded and coherent record of WTF proportions and thoughtful playful exuberances. Thanks for the journey Richard!
JJ: Listening to this album is like falling down a hole in MySpace music hell. Where everyone and their stoned mothers are experimenting with all the music software they pirated off the internet. The creators call it weird and experimental but how can it be either if it's being done all over the world everyday over and over again? Pop star sensationalist Kanye West is more weird and experimental than this. Lady Ga Ga is at least spending the money needed to try out new technology with top producers on her albums. And both play with the media in ways that haven't been thought up yet. Using the public as part of the art the way politicians do but in a more creative fashion. That's fucking experimental. Not this shit. I'm sorry Ricard There. I'm sure you're a nice guy but your music goes nowhere, at least for me. It was alright writing words about this music but I assure you that I will not return to it.

Please comment and let us know who you agree with more. Me, onionapalac, or James Jeffery, also known as JJ here.
I think I know the verdict.
While JJ may be harsh with his words on commenting on Richard's music it brings into perspective how "outsiders of the outside" view our music. Something that is very interesting to me.
How should we deal with these people? Should we even consider dealing with them? Is it important? Should we only talk to ourselves and people like us? Only making friends with those who we can fully relate to?
To tell you the truth - I'm more concerned with those who are unfamiliar or those who refuse to accept this kind of music than with those who already embrace it.
What do you think?

DOWNLOAD the album HERE:

- OnionPalac

Happy Fucking Birthday compilation album


We received 10 entries for this marathon and it's a WTFM birthday delight, thanks to all who participated:

Phooey - Happe Birthday
zipperhacker - HapiBerzdej
onionpalac - Three Cheers For WTFM!!!!!
ettuspadix - Sorry I'm Late
Bloopy - sleep
cutworm - seed frags
richardalmeida - Parabéns pra Você
jeemobon - meets the angel of death
ettuspadix - Only the Juggler Stayed to the Bitter End

download it here:

International Email Audio Art Project