ANDREI RIKICHI: CAGED BIRDS THINK FLYING IS A SICKNESS (COLOSSAL SOUNDS)

Andrei Rikichi's Caged Birds Think Flying is a Sickness (a Bearsuit Records release) may sound claustrophobic and confined, trapped and rationalized, but to my ears it's bloody damn big, as big and as allegorical as a kaiju wonder. That's how I've chosen to hear it, to see it, and through my imagination, I've come to love the titanic tapestry it's helped me form.  

Its subtitles are marked in a variety of ways, open to a variety of interpretations. Here then are my specialized impressions, monsterized and each numbered for one's convenience: 

1) "Theme From the Butcher's Parade": The title implies a Leatherface slaughter, but the sound is pure, cutting kaiju: a creature breaking away from the sequestered earth, a wide-winged puffing lasered-smoke deity for the saga's start. 

2) "They Don't See the Maelstrom": A merry, behemoth infiltration, thundering with each oversized thud, surrounded by naysayers, yes, but only until the mad, revealing march becomes too blaring to dismiss. 

3) "At Home I Hammer Ceramic Golfing Dogs": A dandy title for sure, from which Rikichi's sounds shape a repetitive, workshed mania, but to a greater degree, the collective chords of harried helicopters, scanning a land that's been crushed and defiled.

4) "What Happened to Whitey Wallace?": I can only imagine he perished under the concrete, but for this colossal undertaking, there's a spy jive goin' on, like something out of King Kong Escapes or Terror of Mechagodzilla. Here we have many electrical entrapments, which make one wonder who's the real monster, manipulating man or rubber-suited foe? 

5) "Bag, Lyrics, New Prescription": This one's short, so spectral that it's almost nonexistent (a proverbial calm before a storm), but the enormity of a threat can be packed in something so small. 

6) "This": Old-school, sci-fi mortar, like saucers descending from the exotic Planet X or maybe even the mythic Mysteroid, where titans terrorize against their will via alien signals, but at their crusty, hungry heart, let's face it, terror is all that giants want. 

7) "Player Name: The Syracuse Apostle": Now we get into a plan of action against the creature onslaught. A protagonist heads the fight. Through a jet squadron? A queue of tanks? Ah, better yet, the prophesy of a pretty harbinger!

8) "This is Where it Started": Flashback time, where speculation blankets the annihilating's causes and effects. Who let the giants in? But perhaps the better question is, who encouraged their ascent? 

9) "They Hide in the Dark Forest": The title references an exterior expanse, but the forest is (to my mind's eye) enclosed and computerized, beeping away with another Rikichi spy jive, searching for answers, demanding replies.

10) "Who's Driving the Handcart?": The computerization hits its shameless summit. Sounds of data spill with great insight, but also a lack of reason. Rikichi's notes beg for an end of attack, but the search for closure spawns defeat. 

11) "The Butcher Band (I'm In)": A Raids Again sequel of sorts, where titans clash, with a personalized pledge (and cheer) to either cruel side. Its chords slid hard and play far harder. 

12) "Caged Birds Think Flying is a Sickness": The eponymous, philosophical theme of all those who disbelieve, only then to become devotees of  strange and amazing phenomena. Rikichi's melody indicates a something-is-out-there confirmation, serious and frivolous at the same time. (If the truth be known, sheer, juxtaposing genius, if ever there was!) 

13) "Death of a Postmaster": The most morose of this epic set, an anthem for an everyman who's been smooshed and stamped into doing what's right, his sacred sacrifice bellowing beyond a watery grave.  

14) "This is Where It Ends": The eclipsing, end-credits scroll to an album that redefines one's faith in the anti-mundane. The final chords declare that the land (the world) has been forever reclaimed. No matter how much mere mortals scoff, the human condition no longer resonates. The old rule now towers as the lumbering new. 

Though Rikichi's flair for the melodramatic may work one way for me, it'll no doubt summon a different view for you, perhaps something Kurosawa-esque or geisha-gal/pleasure-house oriented, then again maybe something entirely else. His orchestrations have that unique ability to tap personalized angles, dreams, hopes and sorrows, either among a subtle strand or the long-way-home extreme. In any case and under any classification, this Caged Birds experiment is mammoth.

https://bearsuitrecords.bandcamp.com/album/caged-birds-think-flying-is-a-sickness

TERRIFIC TEAM-UP IMAGE: TWITCH OF THE DEATH NERVE & THE BLIND DEAD

 

SCARY MONSTERS #127: GHOULISH BLOOD ISLAND HORRORS & MORE

 

Scary Monsters #127 creeps forth with a hearty queue of mad-scientist/monster-island charms, including those of Eddie Romero/Severin Films' Filipino Blood Island franchise. 

Scott Jackson's wondrous wraparound cover sets the pace, with Eddie Garcia's Beast of Blood (the Chlorophyll Man) in the front-cover forefront, hoisting his head in homage to his eponymous, Blood Island sequel. (Ah, what sweet childhood memories it does bring!)

In addition to the Blood Island chapters, an overview of Dr. Moreau movies is included, with the Blood Island kickstarter, Blood Creature (aka Terror is a Man) figuring in. 

In addition to the above, there's coverage on Robert Quarry/Count Yorga; Jack Pierce; Lon Chaney Sr; Boris Karloff; Christopher Lee; Ted Turner; Irish McCalla; She Demons; Voodoo Island; Horrors of Spider Island; King of the Zombies; Teenage Zombies; Mantago (Attack of the Mushroom People); The Killer Shrews; She Gods of Shark Reef; The Island '80; Jaws; Dead and Buried; The Last Man on Earth; The Omega Man; Mill of the Stone Women; Kill, Baby, Kill; The Whip and the Body (aka What); plus a healthy smattering of dinosaur/kaiju epics, spearheaded by The Lost World '25 and King Kong '33.  

Man, oh man, is this ever a luxuriant fright fest. Snatch a copy of Scary Monsters #127 at your favorite book store or online source. It's an embellished, thematic hit you'll revisit time and again. 

STICK IT IN YOUR EAR, SVENGOOLIE GROUP FANS

Perhaps I shouldn't care, but when I'm ostracized for no damn good (or clear-cut) reason, I feel compelled to protest. 

I was a loyal follower and commenter of Svengoolie Group Fans, a fruitful Facebook source that celebrated not only the enduring horror host, but his admirers. These folks would often share personal reflections on birthdays, anniversaries and pets, in addition to those great movies that Sven shows.

I discovered, more by accident than plan, that I was suspended from the group. From what I can gather, I'm not the only one to get the ax as of late. The thing is, I (for one) was given no explanation for the suspension. When I asked the administrators to see a comment or image that I may have posted which caused the rift, I received no reply, no reason. Trust me, if ever I commented on a post, it was with heartfelt appreciation and consideration; and I certainly didn't post any images. So what's the damn deal? 

Maybe (and probably) the problem is more glitch-based than anything else, but if so, I'm owed that explanation. I'm owed such for the time and effort I invested into the group. Was I ostracized because of my socio-political views on Bizarrechats? Was it my (gasp!) pin-up pics? Maybe, but again, a lack of courtesy and courage have prevented any such insight coming forth.

Shame on the administrators of Svengoolie Group Fans for pulling such a craven stunt. You've disgraced not only your group and followers with your ambiguous act, but Rich Koz, the man behind the make-up. Mr. Koz deserves better than that. I deserve better than that. Your existing members deserve better than that. If you can't run a group with efficiency, transparency and respect, don't run it! 

ALIEN AMORE!

 

PIN-UP TIME: MIE HAMA IS KRISSY SUZUKI

 

LOVE IN REVERSE: FAKE IT

 

When I reviewed Love In Reverse's Fake It single, "Assholes and Astronauts" (see July '22 post), I acknowledged the track's pleasant melody, but also its meaning: that urge to squeeze from out the dummy-assembly line and into a sublime state of being. 

In many ways, "Assholes and Astronauts" epitomizes the entirety of destined-to-be-classic Fake It (released today via Dada Drumming), in that the album's thematic thread perceives life's most regimented challenges, but also grants a means to overcome them. The remedy is evident--fake it!

And Michael Ferentino, Andres Karu and Dave Halpern nail this allegorical groove right down the conceptualized line. Yes, they fake it, in a manner of speaking, but with artistic sincerity. 

For one, the opening track, "Manifesto" (see March '22 post) rams against a mad rift. It begs for an quixotic awakening, a spiritual epiphany, a way to see the world as it should be. The track tells listeners to don a surreptitious guise and then make their escape from the outside in.  

"Breaking Through", as a beefy follow-up, speaks of being fed up enough to commit to a revolt. With its workman splash, one can't help but rise beyond the machinery, to believe that the rebellion is worth it, that it can be won, no matter how many damn, yes-man mannequins block the way. 

"Don't Believe Them" is arguably the album's most poignant piece: an essay on hope for a new tomorrow through second chances. It mirrors "Assholes and Astronauts" in its get-me-outta-here vibe, but it also requests renewal, a path toward making things at long last right, as well as serene.

The title track breaks from the prior's humble verve, to the point that all one can think is "Fake It", and why the hell not? The tune strikes in just the right spot, dangling like a magic spell, with a perfect f-you salutation to "all the shit" as one zooms through every red light; but you know, I'd argue that "Bones" (even if slower paced) pulls much the same vivacious trick, sparking swishing strums as it hammers like Thor upon one's head. 

The lamenting (if not regretful) "I Hope I Never Have to Leave" and the sardonic "My Misery" each swing back to introspective modes (perhaps with a little worry, though lots of pep), but to make certain that one's inhibition fades, they each celebrate a noble, outcast state. The former track is more a yearning to grasp what little good one holds (with maybe the hope to amplify it), while the former offers bouncy cheer for the so-what status quo (with an implied trace of Nietzsche's "That which doesn't kill you..." reinforcing it). 

The sorrowful "Song to Myself" and the wavering "Half of You" (the latter, the album's self-effacing conclusion) perform as buck-the-system lullabies (forms of reason after a hard day's toil), though by no means are they ever defined by complete resignation. They simply tap the necessity to punch and kick, albeit in "gentler" ways, so that over time (that is, with ample patience applied) ho-hum mass production implodes, if only in one's mind.    

Ferentino's smooth-as-silk voice (and sweet, guitar accompaniment) and Karu and Halpern's astral-sweeping orchestrations (livened by swooning bass and percussion) create an experience that is as uplifting as it is philosophically grim; but then such juxtaposing is a trademark of Love In Reverse. 

Fake It proves the guys haven't lost their profound, pacifying touch. In fact, they've grown more seasoned in their musical practice, and with this new masterpiece, they've chiseled a concept that knocks its observational intent way out of the park. 

To experience Fake It's reflective reparations, visit

https://orcd.co/n16kved?fbclid=IwAR3H9fNebYgf-LwdasM73iFIw0iXubzD1JcbIihekyPPDfzILBB0fN0pwYU