Bloody Panda
An eclipse is an astronomical event that occurs when one celestial object moves into the shadow of another. The term is derived from the ancient Greek noun ἔκλειψις (ékleipsis), which is derived from the verb ἐκλείπω (ekleípō), “to cease to exist,” a combination of prefix εκ- (ek-), from preposition εκ, εξ (ek, ex), “out,” and of verb λείπω (leípō), “to be absent”. When an eclipse occurs within a stellar system, such as the Solar System, it forms a type of syzygy—the alignment of three or more celestial bodies in the same gravitational system along a straight line. [Wikipedia]
Coming to think of it, it’s probably safe to say that I’ve always been drawn to the ‘darker’ side of the sonic spectrum rather than finding much joy in the ‘happy camper’ corner. Like everyone else I of course occasionally do branch out to dip my beak into warmer waters and sunnier soundscapes. Although in the big pictures, the dark, the aggressive, the desperate, the tormented, the raw and the grim ruled my world in various ways from the get go. Consequently it comes as no surprise that with Bloody Panda it was love at first sight for me. No other band that I saw in the last 20+ years comes closer to being the artistic embodiment of a fully scaled eclipse, complete and utter darkness, cold and mysteriously ferocious. When these high priests of doom strike their first chord it feels as if they have the ability to switch off the sun with an organ note or a simple bass string. Yet their earsplitting compositional onslaught defies categorization. It is heavy but not metal, it is dark but not gothic, it is complex but not math, it is unorthodox but not experimental, it is atmospheric but not ambient. It is, frankly spoken, a monstrous beast on the loose, impossible to pin down, let alone classify with known musical genres.
Having followed the band around New York City since 2006, (((unartig))) is pleased and proud to finally present a selection of brutally magnificent performances, alongside an exclusive interview conducted for us by Fred Pessaro, Metal/Punk Editor of BrooklynVegan. Additional text contributions come from Aidan Baker/Nadja and Jan/Black Shape of Nexus.
[Fred Pessaro | BrooklynVegan]
There is no shoulder shrug reaction to Bloody Panda. The confrontational and awe-inspiring live juggernaut always elicits either a “wow” or “not a fan” – nothing between. It’s an indication of great art, provocation whether positive or negative.
Ever since my first live experience with them, I have aligned myself with the “wow”. The hoods. The screams. The wailing and aching female voice. The ambiance. And those riffs! Dear (dark) lord, those down-tuned riffs will rattle your innards, shaking loose anything resembling false/hipster metal.
Excellent tunage aside (evidence of that below), I’ve often wondered about the inner workings of Bloody Panda; how did they arrive at their vision for the band? I posed that question, and a few others, to Josh Rothenberger, Blake McDowell, and Bryan Camphire.
Fred Pessaro | Brooklyn, February 2010
Chicken or Egg: The tiny female lead singer joins a 5MPH doom band, or the 5MPH doom band adds a tiny female singer.
Josh: I played in bands with Bryan for the last 10 years. We teamed up with Blake and decided to explore some different paths: Eastern music, minimalism, expressionism, atmosphere, sloth. At this time we came across an ad in a record store. “Get ready to be in the biggest band in the world ASAP. Play music at the risk of your life.” We figured the ad was placed by some 300 pound bearded, tattooed metal dude. When we found out the ad’s true author was a 100 pound Japanese girl with a fetish for panda bears we became aroused. Yeah, I said “aroused.”
Yoshiko had this demo of 21 one minute songs. Little explosions. I heard certain things in that demo that made me think she could really be the centerpiece of a band doing majestic avant-garde metal. The marriage was a really fun process. It’s still in the works in some ways.
Josh (cont.): For example, the vocals on Summon were done a bit differently than Pheromone. For Pheromone the vocals were written simultaneously with the music (for the most part). On Summon only a few vocal lines were written with the instrumentation. Most of the vocal lines come from Yoshiko working through ideas, with me recording and layering various effects. Actually we liked some of this experimentation so much we decided to home record some of the vocal lines to get the exact swirling psychedelic sound you hear on tracks like “Miserere.” We embrace the limits and the boundless possibilities that technology provides. Overwhelming a low-fi recording device connotes the type of the onslaught we aim to bring to every live show.
Bryan: We formed around Yoshiko’s pheromones.
The theatrical element to the band is very strong. Is there an overarching concept that pits the executioner’s hoods against Yoshiko in short skirts/go-go boots?
Blake: No overarching concept. It was an experiment we tried several years ago and have stuck with because of the performative effect.
What is the inspiration for the theatrical element? Does that come from Yoshiko’s visual artistry background?
Josh: The masks were part of Bloody Panda’s fascination with the obscure. Smoke and mirrors. Things you can see but can’t quite clearly make out. Sounds you can hear, but can’t quite pinpoint. I’m more interested in the echo of a guitar chord than the actual chord itself. Shadow over the woman it’s attached to. Ghost over the dead body. I love Liz Harris (Grouper) for this reason. Listening to her music is like waking in a dark house with no memory of how you got there, and then exploring the room completely unsure as to whether you are dead or alive or dreaming.
Yosh is maybe taking part in the ritual of obscura in her own ways, hiding her face behind a wall of thick black hair for most of the performance.
We are currently exploring new means of conveying this theme of un-seeable dystopia in our live performances.
There seems to be a wide variety of artists that you have played with… the sunny happy hippies on Akron Family to Jarboe. Add to that the fact that your band is not the type to provoke a mild reaction. What was the strangest audience that you played to?
Josh: Since this band formed we have visited scenes for a night or two and then moved on. We appreciate and enjoy when a scene offers up its bed and a warm-cooked meal, but in the morning we ultimately continue on the journey. Ideas are exchanged within the cozy walls of our temporary homes, we learn much from “the scene,” but we have no intention of making a permanent home there. This nomadic existence we’ve chosen forbids us to become “extreme” in the way fans of certain genres desire. But that type of genre-extremism hopefully is replaced by the utter destitution of a journey with no destination, of an endless road that mandates we remain strangers in every house that welcomes us.
What is your favorite live show memory?
Blake: The crowd at the Whitehouse show at the old Northsix. A friend added us last minute and I’d venture no one in that crowd had ever seen us perform, or even heard of us then.
Josh: Maybe our first show ever at the old Continental. I remember hearing Yosh scream into the mic for the first time in a live performance. I looked at Richie – our drummer at the time – and we both flashed this same look of “I just shat my pants”.
Now that you have played with a glacially paced doom band, do you only listen to 1000 MPH grindcore and black metal now? Where does inspiration come from?
Blake: Inspiration comes from just listening. I carry a sound recorder with me almost all the time. Tape, listen, tape, listen,…. a lot of ideas come from sounds that would otherwise go unnoticed. Gamelan music from Central Java is a huge influence as well.
Bryan: Portal’s new record Swarth has been in constant rotation in my stereo. Theirs is the most sinister unrelenting aural decimation put to tape in recent memory. Their music is blistering and evil and provides more inspiration with every listen for me. As for the realm of doom, Fleshpress and Wormflegm carry the torch. For glacially paced mind-melting mysticism, nothing compares to gamelan music of Surakarta, Central Java.
[Aidan Baker | Nadja]
Some Thoughts on the Impact of Bloody Panda’s Music on the Citizens of Buffalo
I don’t remember exactly when or how Bloody Panda and Nadja first got in touch…one of us emailed the other at some point. I can say that we first played a show together June 19, 2006 at Tonic in New York City. I remember being impressed by the volume and the intensity of their show. And thinking that we made a good pair; they were almost flamboyant in a self-effacing way, faces obscured behind their masks, and we were the opposite, self-effacing in an almost flamboyant way, exposed but hiding behind our music…yet both of us equally loud and heavy.
We’ve since played a number of shows with them, always on BP’s home turf, yet the one show I remember best — probably for all the wrong reasons — was on one of their first tours: April 17, 2007 at Mohawk Place in Buffalo, NY (also with Beta Cloud and Ocean). Buffalo isn’t exactly our home turf, but we’d played there a few times and it’s closer to Toronto than it is to New York City, so it kind of felt like they were finally playing in our ‘hood…
Mohawk Place is a dive, no better word for it, in downtown Buffalo, which can sometimes seem like a bit of wasteland, especially after business hours. There’s a street sign that greets you out front of the bar that has on it pictures of a handgun and syringe with slashes through them and the caption: SCHOOL ZONE – NO DRUGS OR GUNS. Which we, as Canadians, find particularly absurd. Not that we don’t have drugs or guns in Canada, but we’re either a) naive enough to believe that people will have enough common decency not to bring guns or drugs into a school zone or b) cynical enough to believe that a sign isn’t going to deter anyone who would in the first place.
Anyway, as we were loading in, BP pulled up and tumbled rather dazedly out of a dirty van into the dim, dingy streets. They seemed somewhat non-plussed by the lack of activity and absence of people around and wondered if there would be any audience (a legitimate concern in Buffalo). Well, there’s always the Mohawk’s regulars, we told them…and there they were, hunched over the bar and nursing their beers like the permanent fixtures they were…decidedly unimpressed that a bunch of musicians were about to disturb the peace of their already numbed evening…
In the end, I think we had more people who actually come to hear the bands than there were regulars who didn’t — but it was a close margin. And whether BP took inspiration from those people who wanted to hear them or the distinct lack of interest from those at the bar, their set was particularly fierce that night. The regulars did their best to ignore all the sounds and vocal histrionics emanating from our corner of the room, but I’m sure their ears were ringing the next morning…some tangible impact at least…
Aidan Baker | Toronto, Canada, January 2010
[Jan | Black Shape of Nexus]
Usually there is some kind of personal approach to the bands featured on this site and that is what I like about it. Sadly I never met or talked to any of the Bloody Panda members and even more sad is the fact that I never experienced them live. So what can I write about them, that could be of any interest? I first took notice of Bloody Panda after seeing a comment they had posted on another band’s Myspace page. At first I wondered about their band name and honestly I was a bit bored with their comment writing style. It seemed lame to write from right to left, as I thought this was just another foolish attempt by another foolish band to be as evil, kvlt (or whatever) as possible. Sporting an image neither the people behind the band, nor the music could possibly live up to. So I ignored them and didn’t visit their Myspace site. Later on I bought the Kayo Dot /Bloody Panda split LP, of course because of the Kayo Dot side of it. After spinning the Kayo Dot side, I flipped the record and was totally blown away by this slowed down, diverse, somehow haunting stuff with its dominant organ sound and an almost archaic feel to it. Somehow with these two songs, my interest in Bloody Panda grew and my first impression got revised. Suddenly everything felt quite right: Their name, their music and their approach. As I got deeper into their world I got the feeling that they are passionate about what they are doing, but always with an ironic twist. Seeing, that Yoshiko surely has Asian roots even their band name felt like it was chosen with a touch of humor. Or is it a play on the panda-like corpse paint lots of Black Metal bands are sporting? I still don’t know, but I guess the feeling, that there is something more about this band than visible at the first sight kept them in my mind and made them stay there. With tons of bands floating around on the Internet nowadays, rarely does a band stay stuck in my mind and even less likely will a band get me into chasing down their records. Although Bloody Panda were able to! Checking their Myspace site today, still reveals no European tour dates, but once again confirms the impression they left on me. Because how could a band be wrong, with such diverse top Myspace friends as Kool Keith, Arvo Pärt and Krallice?
Jan | Mannheim, Germany, December 2009
Excepter
Five years in the life of Excepter: As seen through the eyes of (((unartig))) and narrated by Nick Sylvester, writer and editor of the downtown zine Perineum.
[Nick Sylvester | Perineum Zine]
The first time I saw Excepter was five years ago at Tonic, a small experimental music venue in the Lower East Side that slowly went under as the condos went up. I don’t think I had moved to the city yet but Excepter would be one of the reasons I’d be doing so eventually. The group performed something like musical theater that night: Caitlin Cook, who I remember being tall and blond and beautiful (I only saw her this once, so don’t hold me to it), wore a short fur coat and walked on and off stage into the audience, seeming aloof and murmuring into a microphone whose signal was treated with considerable delay and reverb. When she took off the coat, revealing a backless dress, you could count every one of her vertebrae, from the top of her neck and all the way down. I had never seen anything like that before. John Fell Ryan, who I am nearly certain was wearing his linen suit and a bucket hat, also looked the part of prophet, while the rest of the band played bass guitar, a drum set with torn cymbals, and a small drum machine. Sometimes the sounds made sense together, other times they did not. Each player held the other in quiet disregard. The crowd, which had been wall-to-wall, thinned out considerably. But for whatever reason, I had the distinct feeling that night of wanting to understand–who were these quiet, disregarding people, what did they read, what did they listen to, what food did they eat, where did they get their clothing, what did they worship, what did they think of the walls closing in around them.
This might be the last band I’ll ever have that kind of blind-trust relationship with–where if I didn’t like some new development of theirs, such as when Caitlin and Calder parted ways with the band (Cook had the best ‘haunted vocals’ in Brooklyn), or when newcomer Jon ‘Porkchop’ Nicholson abused his microphone privileges and nearly ruined the band’s show at Northsix, or when the band moved from swirling kraut-like head music and into something more industrial, I assumed I simply didn’t get it. Nate Corbin and Dan Hougland were meticulous beat makers and the stage was theirs by divine right. That was indisputable–no? John Fell Ryan was above the rules of mankind and simply could do no wrong. “I’d like to introduce our machines to you, but I forgot their names,” he said. “I’d like to shake hands with each and every one of you, but I’m on stage…”
Part of me suspected their performance was a gag on spirituality and ritual, not unlike a Kenneth Anger film or Jim Shaw’s Oist movement, but I still went to Church every Sunday. Like a Christian faced with biblical contradictions, I listened to the band’s early streams–MP3 recordings of several hour-long improvisations–and tried hard to justify the parts that dragged. You need the bad parts so you know what the good parts are… a nugget I had stolen from the Beavis and Butthead soundtrack. The last shred of taste credibility I had with Bob Christgau, Dean of Rock Criticism, I lost at a different, particularly flaccid Excepter performance at Tonic. The night Excepter were ‘banned’ from the Knitting Factory was an unbelievably difficult day for me. Here was evidence that this entire city was on Ritalin, that no one had time for anything he didn’t grasp immediately. As I re-read my own account of the incident—it involved a showdown on top of a bar, and some manner of loud, stoned shouting outside the venue, and Excepter were clearly in the wrong–I can’t help but laugh at how vehemently I took the band’s side.
Granted, my devotion to Excepter didn’t mean I didn’t voice some frustration. For a good while I struggled with my doubts as to the Meaning or Point of Excepter in the pages of the Village Voice and Riff Raff, the daily music blog the paper let me write. My concert notes (I took them at all their concerts) were manic attempts to divine the secret messages in what I refused to believe were anything but cosmic dispatches for better living. It’s no wonder that Dan Hougland, who had a friend at the Voice, relayed that he could never tell whether I really liked the band. The record reviews were even worse: “Side A moans and drones like their three earlier sets, but set to broken gear grinds and sawdust kid stutter, Excepter sound like toddlers humming overtones along with mall bells, or rock-star dads with the lawn mower,” I wrote about 2005’s Self-Destruction LP. “The band’s latest Sunbomber EP works that pop-through-bongwater angle everyone’s wanted them to do forever now.” Both these were supposed to be tall compliments, but I ended the piece with a hedge: “Maybe I’m just a mark.”
For all the words I’ve put down about Excepter, I don’t think I once said the full truth: This band changed the way I experience music. As a writer, I take a colossus of stimuli and whittle it down into a narrative–beginning middle end–leaving out less important details that might distract the reader, bringing others to the foreground because I want the reader to feel a certain way. And as a young music critic, I admit to having approached music in a very writerly way–trying to place meaning onto a song, or band, or concert experience, which is not unlike putting a muzzle over a wild animal’s mouth. I credit Excepter to beating that impulse out of me–to teaching me how to let things be.
I owe them one more. When I let my ideas get the best of me and humiliated myself at the Voice in early 2006, John Fell Ryan, his fiance and bandmate Lala Harrison, and the rest of Excepter came to my rescue. They named a recording after me, as if that show, which happened around the day I was offed, had some cosmic connection to my own unrest (“The Ballad of Nick Sylvester”). Maybe they were poking fun at me, but the fact was that my favorite band knew who I was, and they wanted me to know that. I was a pariah, to put it frankly–but still, John and Lala invited me into their Bushwick home for dinner and a private performance in conjunction with the release of Alternation, which might be my favorite Excepter album. They really didn’t have to. I was worthless to them at this point, and worse, my fuck-up may have caused them harm by proxy. It was one of my favorite nights in New York.
Over the next few months I would be lucky to have conversations with John about his creative process, the nature of happy accidents, the psychic toll of always taking the long way home–all ideas that inform my own attitude these days: Slow down. Get out of your own way. Let it happen.
That was three years ago–and as I finish off this piece, watching the roof of the building next to mine slowly sag from the weight of snow, checking the internet far too frequently as reports come in that these last ten years were the worst in American history, and now taking a second to remind you that the fantastic Clare Amory is also in this band, though I wish I knew her better–I worry I’m talking about this band as if it’s in the ground already. This is not the case. Their last two albums–Debt Dept. and Black Beach–are so different and wonderful in their own ways. The former is filled with gritty Chris & Cosey-like techno jams, the latter a minimally treated field recording of percussion and flute as waves crash the shore, with beautiful video accompaniment. The last time I saw Excepter was at The Maze at Death By Audio in September 2009, and it might have been the most compelling I’ve ever seen them.
But my favorite show of theirs was at Monkeytown on February 22, 2008, a/k/a Excepter Presents “Science.” As people sat on low-lying benches and ate three-course meals around the room’s perimeter, the band performed a live soundtrack to the space movies they projected onto all four walls of the vast white art space. (Monkeytown, I’m saddened to hear, is also closing soon.) The band had begun before people were let inside–a slowly throbbing, low-frequency rhythm that wrapped around us like a cocoon. It was the night I learned that Lala was pregnant; she was just beginning to show. It had been a difficult night for me so far: My longest and most significant relationship collapsed on the walk over to the venue. For reasons I forgot, we decided to stay together for the performance anyway. Something about Lala that night, moving carefully around the microphone wires, picking up her flute, putting it back after a few inspired notes… It is hard to explain, as it is so often with this band, but it made me feel better.
Nick Sylvester | New York City, December 2009
Jen Shyu
Peoria, Illinois born Jen Shyu is one of the most fascinating new artists currently emerging from New York City’s experimental and avant-garde world. Or to quote Val Jeanty of Val-Inc “Jen’s work is amazing and inspiring.” What strikes me most about Jen Shyu is her stage presence and the aura she manages to create with a mere motion, with a facial expression. Even though placed in a completely different corner of the creative spectrum, it is a gift very similar to that of Genesis P-Orridge. Who, much like Jen, just by the look in her eyes manages to create greater artistic depth than other artists do with their full back catalog. No matter whether Jen appears under her own name or as part of groups like Bobby Previte’s Amniotic, her performances are nothing short of impeccable. Below is a selection of live impressions, presenting Jen Shyu on her A-game. With words by Steve Coleman/Five Elements, Patricia Magalhães/Poet & Writer, Jan VanAssen, Dale Fitzgerald/Founder & Executive Director Emeritus Jazz Gallery, Rio Sakairi/Artistic Director Jazz Gallery and Bobby Previte/New Bump Quartet.
[Patricia Magalhães | Poet]
Jen Shyu is an urban-tribeswoman. She is curiosity and dance, poetry and sense, and our collaboration is one of symbols and souls. Her compositions are an ineffable poetry, sonic art pieces with original handmade colors — they are a bouquet of wild flowers picked at dawn. Always eager to learn and discover new paths, Jen is somewhat the Bela Bartok of this time; from all sources she seeks, from all springs she drinks, and to us all she delivers the voice of beauty, tradition and modernity. She is symbiosis and semiotics, and an artist in its purest sense.
Patricia Magalhães | Brazil, January 2010
[Jan VanAssen]
Jen Shyu’s Raging Waters, Red Sands is a concept piece of power and beauty, often calm and meditative, while simultaneously fierce in its quiet intensity. The instrumentation is unusual: viola (the excellent Mat Maneri), clarinet and bass clarinet, vibes, small percussion, voice and er hu (Jen). A dancer in mime whiteface (Satoshi Haga) uses slow Tai-chi movements that relate more to the words than to the music. The text is based upon a Chinese legend and uses traditional sources as well as contemporary poetry by the Brazilian Patrícia Magalhães. The songs are in Tetum (the language of East Timor), Taiwanese, Portuguese, and Mandarin. The themes of Raging Waters….. (at least to my understanding) are both elemental and complex: the futility of human attempts to impose our will upon nature, one’s responsibility to society vs. self and family (conflict between the personal and political), the acquisition of wisdom through trial and suffering, and the interconnectedness of all things. I won’t reveal the specifics of the tale, except to say that it ends in an erotic joy.
Jen uses traditional material, as she does in her work with Jade Tongue, but this is most definitely not “folk” music. Nor does it fall under the meaningless category of “world music.” The musicians, here and in Jade Tongue, are generally regarded as jazz players and the music contains improvised sections, but Jen is uncomfortable with being labeled a jazz artist, with good reason. I think we can say that hers is creative art music of high caliber and leave it at that. I have long been impressed by Jen’s successful incorporation of poetry and text into her compositions. (“The Chinese-Cuban Connection” from Jade Tongue is a notable example.) The combining of music with poetry or prose is a tricky business that so often results in the dilution of both. (The fondness of some truly creative musicians for bad poetry has always baffled me.) Magalhães’s poetry is eloquent and evocative, filled with images of sorrow, passion, and rage. Jen uses Sprechstimme for much of Raging Waters…: soft, clear intonations that are frequently mesmerizing.
When one listens to a great deal of music, particularly music with improvisatory elements, as I do, occasional rare moments happen, exceedingly rare, in fact, when something I reluctantly define as magical occurs. They are difficult to describe without lapsing into the sort mystical nonsense I loathe. Transcendent intervals, I suppose I can call them, in which one experiences a sense of complete immersion. Such a moment occurred for me, late in Raging Waters, Red Sands: viola and bass clarinet joined in a repetitive figure, vibes shimmered in the background, little wood and metal percussion instruments clattered and clacked, the dancer moved with glacial grace, and Jen’s lovely voice floated through it all. I left the concert feeling fortunate to have experienced the music in live performance. Thank you, Jen. And thanks to your musical colleagues.
Jan VanAssen | New York City, January 2010
[Dale Fitzgerald | Jazz Gallery]
My initial exposure to Jen Shyu’s talents was limited to her performance as a vocalist with Steve Coleman’s group, Five Elements. It was immediately clear to me that her warm, supple voice is endowed with a penetrating power that projects well, even when embedded in an instrumental ensemble. And she consistently hits the notes she targets.
Subsequently, I had numerous opportunities to attend her performances as a leader, featuring instrumental, choreographic and dancing skills.
By the time I attended the premiere of her Raging Waters, Red Sands in December of 2009 I counted myself among those “in the know” about the impressive dimensions of Jen Shyu’s multiple talents. Nonetheless, I was unprepared for the complete tour de force she displayed in this fascinating project. Every single part of the performance worked and, moreover, worked with all the other parts. Each instrument was keenly balanced with the other instruments and beautifully aligned with the striking visual presentation by a skilled dancer. Into this ensemble her voice breathed a fire that made it all come magically alive. I found it one of the most remarkable performances ever staged in The Jazz Gallery and, moreover, one that would be appreciated on any major stage in the world.
Dale Fitzgerald | New York City, January 2010
[Steve Coleman]
I’ve known Jen Shyu for 7 years now, and most of that time she has been performing with my group. What has impressed me has been how hard Jen works on her projects; on the musical composition, the performance, and on the connection between the music and the underlying symbolism. All of Jen’s work has been developed from this solid foundation, and Raging Waters Red Sands follows this approach. It is extremely rare for a vocalist to make this kind of complete contribution to the world of creative music. This path requires a unique blend of musical skills, a passion for original research, an insatiable curiosity, and an ability to merge seemingly disparate elements into a holistic expression. Jen’s work sets an excellent example for future vocalists and musicians, the world definitely needs more creative work on this level.
Steve Coleman | New York City, January 2010
[Bobby Previte]
The thing that most impresses me about Jen is that she’s all the way in. Total commitment. When you watch her perform, she pulls you to her so completely, there’s no room left for doubt. This is a gift that cannot be learned or faked. You have it, or you don’t. She has it. Lot’s of people try to do movement, and it’s just embarrassing. Not her. She has a stage presence that makes you believe . We have a band together called Amniotic, more of a rock/psychedelic band than her other projects, and when we play she completely morphs into this rock goddess. Amazing.
Oh, and she can sing, too.
Bobby Previte | New York City, January 2010
[Rio Sakairi | Jazz Gallery]
Jen embodies sincerity and passion through her music. Her quest for self-expression is quite a joy to listen and watch.
Rio Sakairi | New York City, January 2010
Coalesce
Twelve years ago I reached out to Sean Ingram for a Coalesce interview and soon after received a two pages strong handwritten response. The questions of course are long lost. Unless you have access to a copy of Trust Zine #72 (October 1998) in which a German translation of the interview appeared, along with eternal praise and appreciation for their brutal full length masterpiece “Give Them Rope”. While having been in Germany the other day, I went through some old stuff and excavated Sean’s letter as documented above. Love the stamps…
