R. STEVIE MOORE “Kaffeeklatsch” C90 (OJC Recordings)

Alright you outsiders, gather round, and listen to story of the great R. Stevie Moore’s reissue of “Kaffeeklatsch.” See, this here C90 was originally a 2xC90 from 1984 that featured a bunch of extra live shit that was pretty OK when you get down to it. But the The Man intercepted the 2xC90 in transit to OJC Recordings and lopped half of it off. Before The Man could finish the job, OJC Recordings snatched what it could from The Man’s greasy mitts and released the tape in its current form, a single C90.

The Man.

The Man was watching, and because this was 1984, the magical year when dystopia reigned both in our imaginations and in our real lives. The Man couldn’t handle so much extra R. Stevie Moore. But we can handle The Man.

OJC only made 50 copies of this before the masters exploded in the tape deck. Fearing sabotage, the label went into hiding and has been there ever since, dropping their releases clandestinely from various and never-repeating locations. But we still get them, we still hear them, and we rise up with raised fists.

All this is to say that this is quintessential period R. Stevie Moore, and there is no shortage of excellent tunes on “Kaffeeklatsch.” Pump it at loud volumes, and don’t ever let anyone tell you what to do. Especially…

…The Man.

R. Stevie Moore

OJC Recordings


--Ryan

R.M. GELLIN “Cutest Boy in Town” C50 (OJC Recordings)

Rigel Magellan, yes? OFK.

This is the love album, R.M. Gellin style. Sounds like our boy Rigel’s been huffing glue with the Ween boys these days instead of dropping acid and going to planetariums like he used to do, or some junk. This is a strangely welcome development, one I didn’t expect. Gellin (we’ll go with that) carries the torch of romance on “Cutest Boy in Town,” dropping pitch-fucked odes to … stuff? People? Crab chips surely. Neil Young, amazingly. Truly, “Only Neil Can Break Your Heart,” to that tune! Everybody on board this band(old station)wagon.

These seventeen fantastic songs lurch from a clearly demented mind, touching on cuteness, bugs babies, fire, and terrible, terrible Bogle wine. Built from the wiry wreckage of squeamish synthesizers, “Cutest Boy in Town” squirms and jiggles its way into your earholes until you’re unable to shake it – you can’t get it out of your head. The singsong melodies and drippy textures coat your brain and cause fuzzy mold to grow there, which sprouts crystals that multiply and poke into all the nodes and receptors and crap you’ve got floating around in that skull of yours. Only then can R.M. Gellin control you, and then you will be but one pawn in his mighty army of love. Of thirty. Because, you know, edition of thirty tapes.

OJC Recordings


--Ryan

PERFECT JACK “Gold Chain” C18 (OJC Recordings)

“Gold Chain,” melted down like Velveeta, drip nasty over the concrete streets, sneaks pound cluelessly under cloudless skies. Perfect Jack and his friends head down to the liquor store, liquor store’s the place to go. Perfect Jack sings tune(less)(ful)ly while synthesizers wheeze and croak, LA spaghetti Freddy sidewalk tales puncturing canisters on skywriting planes. We see you smear up there, smear in here.

Sexy jumbo love cake melting hearts, spray-on tans oiled and boiled. The workin’ man is workin’ hard or hardly workin’. Pimp city soundtrack, basement VR pimp city. Perfect Jack is cash money, gold chain vaping top-down avatar of pimp city. Covered in ice.

OJC Recordings


--Ryan

ROPAL JAGNU / STEPHEN’S LORIKEET / RIGEL MAGELLAN / DDM 4 Way Split C40 (OJC Recordings)

Like some unholy quadforce forged in the heart of Mt. Doom (and shut up I can mix up my fantasy references if I want to), 4 WAY SPLIT seems to be OJC Recordings’ attempt at total domination. Not to be confused with the CSNY classic 4 WAY STREET, 4 WAY SPLIT packs a quartet of OJC’s wackiest heavers onto one tape, each displaying the violent power they’re apt to unleash at any given, unpredictable moment. You’ve got Ropal Jagnu’s gut-busting synth warble, Stephen’s Lorikeet’s lo-fi guitar tunage, Rigel Magellan’s uncompromising synth pop, and more lo-fi guitarrage from DDM. Personally I’m a Ropal/Rigel fan, and you can catch some of that collaborative wave on the newest Galaxie Deluxe release from OJC. But all four artists prevail in their gloriously debauched idioms, each leveling an uncomfortable amount of “personal expression” at us audience members until we’re MK Ultra’d into doing every bidding of our new OJC masters. Or at least a little seasick from the passage. Either way, it’s hard to shake the disconcerting recordings contained herein, and it’s almost certainly because of the rough edges on each of these tracks. Ropal and Rigel sound like they’re drenched in maple syrup, and SL and DDM come off like they’re playing on the inside of a shoebox. That’s OK for this crew, although it would be interesting if some of that synth drippage leaked into the Stereopathetic Soul Manure–era Beck interlude sounds of the guitar dudes. Whatever your poison, you’ll sure to at least BE poisoned by partaking in this toxic mélange. And you should already be used to that, person reading Cassette Gods – that’s pretty much all we do around here: poison our bodies by listening to toxic sonics performed by sick puppies who get off on our discomfort. And then there’s us, getting off on our own discomfort. Where does the circle end? Maybe it won’t, and that’s just fine by me. Fine by OJC, too, as they’re an important link in the chain.

OJC Recordings

--Ryan Masteller

GALAXIE DELUXE “IV” C30 (OJC Recordings)

The question, “Are you Team Rigel Magellan or Team Ropal Jagnu” used to eat at us just like choosing either the Beatles or the Stones did in the 1960s. I never felt comfortable aligning myself to one band or the other – why couldn’t they just make music together and give everybody what they really wanted? But there was never the possibility that Paul would jam with Keith or Mick would rock out with John. It was a foolish dream that ended long before I was even born. Now, as we’re rolling through the late twenty-teens, I’m faced with the OJC Recordings version of that conundrum: Am I a Rigel Magellan or a Ropal Jagnu man? The question is all but tearing me apart inside. Fortunately for all of you afflicted in the same way that I am, I have good news – the mail has foretold of a cassette tape project where the problem is resolved in such a satisfying manner that you’ll say “Beatles who?” and “Rolling … Bears?” once you wrap your ears around this pretty little nugget. See, Rigel Magellan and Ropal Jagnu have made my dreams come true as Galaxie Deluxe, their own supergroup, thereby allowing me to forego any terrible choice that almost certainly would end in Solomonic baby-halving (which didn’t actually happen, so … chill). Huh? This is their FOURTH go-round as the GD quirkadelic lo-fi mavens, GD? That would explain the title, IV, and also the fact that I wasn’t really as worked up as I pretended to be above. Also, it’s hard to stay tense when the Galaxie Deluxe gang is so obviously having such a blast working together. Utilizing their trademark synthesizers, drum machines, and skewed take on melody (think the Haord crew as a potential contemporary match), Rigel and Ropal lurch through a nine-song repertoire recorded with the fidelity low and the atmosphere high. Their approach is sort of “Monster Mash” run through video games and dub, with obscured, bizarre vocals narrating the proceedings. The song “How’d They Get a Sound So Big?” is sort of the project’s overarching mystery, as they somehow build thick swaths of atmosphere from obviously chintzy equipment (or maybe it’s not, but the effect is right on). Still, hard not to have a good time with Galaxie Deluxe, some incense, and a blacklight. This is the exact tape I wish I had in college, and I’m still in a position to enjoy it. Now if I could only figure out this resurrection spell, I’d have Ringo back among us and playing with the remaining Stones right now. (Wait, Ringo’s not one of the dead ones? Oh boy…)

OJC Recordings

--Ryan Masteller

NO DATA “Uniform Groove with a Chisel” C40 (OJC Recordings)

No data cannot incriminate you. Where no information lives, there nothing can learn anything about anybody. Turn off your smartphone, your computer, your television, anything that connects you to the outside world. Can you turn off your brain? That’s a trickier proposition.

Static. Static created to carry no data can divert unwanted attention. Fill a space with enough sound, enough noise, and even the tiniest shred of knowable information can be obscured, made to seem nonexistent. Look around – your phone’s tapped, your home’s bugged, your car is probably programmed to automatically drive you to the nearest police station at the slightest slip-up.

No data meet No Data, your absolute answer, the popular life-encryption system used worldwide. Totally analog, No Data emanates from a single cassette player, overwhelming every ancillary noise within any enclosed space by bombarding it with tonal sheets. No Data is approved by all major Deep Web counterespionage agencies.

Of course, all conspiracies will eventually coalesce into actions destined to destroy humanity. Your reprieve is temporary. No Data will, like the proverbial cockroach in the aftermath of a nuclear incident, remain in its tape player broadcasting itself to empty spaces. That is, until the batteries run out.

Ancient synths rotting in the sun. Greenhouse gases. Melting ice sheets. No data.

OJC Recordings

--Ryan Masteller

CHEAP MEAT “Demos” (OJC Recordings)

 These cuts are the scraps. What, the music, or the meat? I don’t even know anymore. I’ve been accustomed to Cheap Meat for a while now, in that all my lunches are bologna. All my dinners are “TV Dinner”s. Don’t even ask about breakfast. All day, every day, the lo-fi-ness of my diet bleeds into the reality of the music I ingest. Gritty, distorted funk guitar and bass runs obscure gritty and distorted vocals. Or is that the consistency of my food? There are four songs. There are four compartments on my TV dinner tray. Coincidence? You decide. Demos is over in a flash, choked down in less than seven minutes, before the first commercial break.

I guess nutritional value aside this stuff tastes OK sometimes. Sounds OK? See, I’m still confused.

OJC Recordings

--Ryan Masteller

ROPAL JAGNU “Silo” C20 (OJC Recordings)

Ever wonder what your guts sound like when represented by musical instruments? Ropal Jagnu surely has. They/he/she/it (I’ll go plural “they” for now) have stuck their heads inside the open abdomen of a living thing and used it as inspiration for their music, which is a form of seasick synthesizer freakout. Silo, a noun having nothing to do with guts, for some reason, sort of resembles noise rock in that there’s drums and distorted/buried vocals (and weird, trippy guitar) along with the synth. And that synth – it’s pushed to the fore for 10 minutes on each side, sounding suspiciously like a street-corner politician (or preacher) punctuating his points for effect. If a synthesizer could literally pump its fist in the air, it would sound like what’s going on in the middle of “Silo” (the track).

“Ripple,” side B, sounds like a confrontation between R2-D2 and a bunch of alien space thugs. It’s better than the Grateful Dead’s fucking “Ripple,” that’s for GODDAMNED SURE.

(Nick: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Anyhoo, Silo’s certainly a welcoming and rewarding twenty minutes if you need a combination of punk distilled to pixels and a malfunctioning arcade game slowly melting down from the inside.

OJC Recordings

--Ryan Masteller

SEX SHOPPE “Sex Shoppe” C22 (OJC Recordings)

The band’s name says exactly what it means to say, and as a listener, you should set your expectations accordingly. You don’t wander into a sex shop with a wholesome agenda – you’ve got a dirty, dirty grocery list in your pocket. You cheeky perv! I don’t want to even guess what’s on it - and while I run the risk of coming off as markedly prudish, I will actually refuse to do so. I run a family website here. (No I don’t. I don’t even run Cassette Gods.)

Whatever, because Sex Shoppe is a dirty, dirty band, and they have (or he has, I don’t know if it’s really a band) made a perv of a tape, twenty-two minutes of greasy, leather-clad industrial flecked with art pop. Sounds appropriate, right? Sex Shoppe should only be listened to while dressed in leather, preferably with a gag ball strapped to your head to avoid the risk of you interrupting the music with your stupid comments.

The first half is wicked and exciting, with the title track and, particularly, “Culture Zone” coming off like a garage version of Mr. Bungle’s “Desert Search for Techno Allah,” which sounds pretty good in theory, and delivers in practice. The second half of the tape is a bit more Suicide-lite, and it’s not bad, but the first half is where Sex Shoppe shines. Or convulses in agony and ecstasy. I’m not 100% sure which is better. Regardless, get your grimy mitts on this whack job before it sells out! Only 25 made…

OJC Recordings

--Ryan Masteller