Although in recent years Skaters are now à la page as well as trendy curiously, their music remains one of the most indigestible as it hear the entire Earth. This excerpt is taken from the book Noisers - Traces locations and geographies of the new noise USA, released by Tuttle Publishing in spring 2007. The duo of James Ferraro and Spencer Clark is by far the strangest thing, unlistenable, out of his mind between all the music described here, which is basically a record that has the miraculous. No one has the rate of garbage, the filth, the real shit, that motivates the proposal of the two - and say that the race was fought. But when Clark and Ferraro appeared on the scene in 2004, the term Skaters simply crushed the competition. Everything in them is despicable. First the music, of course. That should be a dreamy drone music all in all, certainly psychedelic, evocative anzichenò. It instead becomes a mass of excrement impenetrable, a slime that is an understatement to say unfortunate, but not hurt badly recorded perilous, stuff that the concept of low fidelity is only as a clue. And then the usual "business tactics" to their ever an album worthy of the name, never an output that is not amateur, never a packing that is not handmade or printed as is the case with two images to do cover, be it tapes, vinyl ultralimitati or encyclopedia cdr inevitable that in recent times have not only begun to come out in a continuous jet, but have also taken parallel names, acronyms invented projects so-called unpublished instead are nothing more than the usual, old quarry ultrafreak.
course with numbers like that skaters are now, more than a cult, true capiscuola. With them comes a new music unintentionally, a sort of abject neoluddismo free from appearances, in which not so much the language used (in the case of the Skaters, we said, you can safely reduce the "drone") as the vocabulary with which this is expressed: it is more shabby, is more vile, the more primitive the better. A fortiori, this vocabulary can not be expressed through free-form, released from constraints such as track time and architecture of the same. That's basically because the music of the skaters and psychedelic, not to evoke states of mind superior, but because they just can not do otherwise, as the result of a truly aberrant mental labor. Of course the ancestors, primarily attitudinal, no lack of them briefly, one could quote the entire defect without being aware of outsider tradition (the usual LAFMS, various freak from the '60s to today) that no (eccentric as Jandek, the music "in the key of z", etc.). But perhaps the closest to the minimalism of the barbarian Skaters remains Angus Maclise: The animator of the former Velvet Underground, the Theatre of Eternal Music, trainings fantasma quali Tribal Orchestra e Dreamweapon, occultista e sciamano, innamorato del Nepal e lì scomparso a soli 41 anni, è il prototipo di tanto primitivismo ultraterreno che negli Skaters trova gli epigoni più recenti.
Eppure l’esordio del 2004, “Dark Rye Bread” (Nature Tape Limb) sfiora quasi la normalità. Il suono, se non pulito, è relativamente intelligibile, la musica è una distesa di droni, fischi e tamburi sparsi, le voci si allungano in om idioti o in ululati pseudosciamanici. È subito chiaro che si tratta di una materia mostruosa, costruita per giustapposizione di elementi sparsi (qualche gorgoglio elettronico, un po’ di harsh sottotraccia, momenti di sventagliate noise), propped up by mere process intuitively, without any songs you decide to leave as a fetal form kept under glass. Ideally, to be told the names here, we are very close to Wolf Eyes dilated most of the evidence on cdr as horror drone of Double Leopards, but things are bound to fall quickly.
"Mountain of Signs" again comes to Nature Tape Limb and again in 2004: to be emphasized is a kind of ethnic vein that obviously draws not only MacLise but the whole story of the Dream Syndicate, only this is too hick, too mob to be taken seriously. The three tracks that make up the cdr are long, rough surfaces, the minimum ingredients (only a whisper and a buzzing drone in the distance) and seem the result of a bad trip unsuccessful deteriorated. Despite its apparent generosity, "Mountain of Signs" condenses immediately as well as the music, the whole aesthetic of the duo. The mandate is still exploratory at this point, but gradually things start to become more and more clear: "Rippling Whispers (Nidnod/23 Productions, 2004) explores the territory of a horrible example for electronic tape and delay, hardly guess having the lowest sound quality has suffered from a lo-fi (or rather would say no-fi), as well as production, including executive, Ferraro and Clark appear to be limited to play with a range of effects all but expanded, producing a sound that reveals the archaic grotesque, coming more than in distant galaxies, some strictly mental ravine removed. "Palm Shaper (Lattajja, 2004) on the other hand is the ideal continuation of" Dark Rye Brad, another test for deformed vocals, ringing random, mantra and sour. All Languages \u200b\u200b"dirty" out of new music (the free folk, psychedelia low fidelity, the brand of abstract noise Midwest) are merged into a sort of amalgam without handles, and out is a wash that stain to by all parties, built with nothing and then filled with a horror vacui nightmare. Slowly Skaters mettono a punto, più che un suono, un campionario di atmosfere: che sono sempre sinistre, rigurgitate da un passato remoto (si direbbe preumano) per poi essere proiettate in qualche buco nero siderale.
“Gambling In Ohpa’s Shadow” (Pseudoarcana) è l’ennesimo cdr che nel 2005 impone il nome del duo direttamente al centro di quella galassia weird divisa tra USA, Finlandia e Nuova Zelanda. L’album aggiunge poco a quanto detto fin ora: la qualità audio è ancora una volta immonda, gli ingredienti vengono replicati con una certa scioltezza, e tutto è un susseguirsi di muggiti, agonie vocali, improvvisazioni infantili sciolte in acido, con in più qualche sparata di feedback e scotennamenti different. The obsession with a kind of primitive vocal style, which is expressed to lullabies and lamentations in the manner of a Meredith Monk regressed last stage of barbarism, but occupies the entire "Pavilonous Miracles of Circular Facet Dice" (Chocolate Monk, 2005). And it is an abyss of uvula tortured savages of phonemes that fall into a cesspool of garbage, one of the most insane, ridiculous, incatalogabili that is heard in a scene of his lost between hysteria of all types. Someone speaks of a masterpiece, the most react in horror: that of "Pavilonous Miracles of Circular Facet Dice" is a music, beyond appearances, tense and cupissima, direct emanation some hell to pay when you lost track, like a smoky fire left to go out on a low flame. Worse it seems that you can not do, but Clark and Ferraro do not really have limitations, and so again in 2005 following the cdr (self-titled) for American Tapes once again without any change in a summary for inertial electronics, and bellows bestial drone grunts: useless to ask Skaters for more, ask less impossible.
Between 2006 and 2007, Skaters seem to disappear. Relatively few are out on their behalf, and practically no one worthy of note: the only "Raising Spheres of Crossing Angel Minds (New Age Cassettes, 2006) is another blunder semi-ethnic, a lascivious procession to slow tribal drumming, orientalism series B, creative vocals, and intolerable complaints freak. The reality is that Ferraro and Clark are mostly engaged in a series of side-projects that are further blurring the waters, with the first and esagitatissimo iperprolifico (names such as Newage Panther Mistique, The Wooden Cupboard, Dreams etc etc etc), and the second is notes under the moniker of Vodka Soap. His cdr "A Pyramidelier Chand" (New Age Cassettes, 2006) is composed of thirteen tracks, the usual mob psycho-ethno-drone, recorded and edited in the closet with a hatchet. The next "Parallel Visitation" (Nature Tape Limb, 2007) can only confirm the formula, which is then removed a few minor differences, the one that has always set on fire nightmares targati Skaters.
The Luddites of no return, the aesthetics of bums, the orgiastic rites were enough for future neo-paganism, in just over two years, to make the Skaters one of the most respected names, followed and admired the American scene, noise or no noise it. At their best, their music is a quirky update of the most infamous delusions out. At its worst, is the most nauseating garbage that is given to listen around. This is basically the size of the duo, in this lies its incomparable, obscene cult status, and if Matthew Bower describes them as "spiritual sons of Alice Coltrane and Pharaoh Sanders, "means only that the primordial task of the firm Clark & \u200b\u200bFerraro can not really leave anyone indifferent, with responses evenly divided between manic elation and simple rejection of the intestine.
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