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