Multiple Pedal Reviews.

I have had a recent clear out of my overly large guitar pedal collection. The pedals below are lovely but space, mounting bills and not using them enough live meant they had to go.

The following have gone on through the power of Royal Mail else where in the country, however here are my thoughts;

Akai Professional E2 HEAD RUSH Pedal - great little delay or looping pedal.

You get a nice tap tempo digital delay it even has feedback trails so when
you turn it off things don't suddenly go deadly silent.
There is a tape style delay (modulated delay with 4 outputs, quadorophonic
sound!) that gives rise to lush King Tubbyisms.
The looping function is probably why most use the box, you get sound on
sound loops with ability to jump back to an original loop.
Its a real shame Akai didn't allow you to use the delay and loop at the
same time, but at the price of the box you can pick up two
for the same price as a Line 6 DD-4, and possibly add more flexability but
the DD-4 lovers may disagree...

Yamaha GEP50 Effect - the shoe gaze rack; aka SPX-90 with a different
badge.
This rack allows for a single studio quality effect to be used at any time,
whether it is a digital distortion, pitch shift,
compression, delay, or fabled reverse reflections.
The latter why this particular rack became popular, having been used on
MBV's Loveless for the dreamy effects.
The box has a loop function (for any other racks to go through it), an
on/off footswitch option, 50 presets and 50 user memories.
I think the compression, delay and reverse reflections are the only bits
that hold up after all this time to be fair as the other
effects could be found in any digital multi effect now. There is little
flexability to edit parameters once saved as you have to go
through a series of tables to edit them. However if you want a one effect
at a time box (that classic reverse reflections) then look
no further.

Alesis Multi FX Pedal - brilliant chip tunes box
This may look like a cheap tacky effect box but within the beast it has a
decimator and bit crusher effect with remote foot pedal
control. This box is very low fi, but then who needs a hi-fi bit crusher
live? Isn't the process of bit crushing essentially lofi?
If you want hifi use an effect on your laptop software. Why buy the WMD
Geiger Counter when you can have this?

GLX Noise Gate Pedal
Its a noise gate, it stops noise/hiss/whatever, right? Yes! It does this
but can be used as an auto volume control, e.g. the famous
Boss Slow Gate. The controls allow sounds to come in and out, allowing for
greater flexability and use out of this box.

Boss Super Octave OC-3 Pedal
Octave pedal that allows you to play chords and get a fat synthy bottom to
it, great if you don't have a bassist.
It picks up roots only and you'd better be in tune else the digital bass
goblin will eat you up but better than nothing.
I loved the fat bassists could use it to go even lower, or get a nasty
fuzz! People seem to ignore this box for bass fuzz, when I
plugged it in I loved it! Angry fuzz with the EQ set just right so you don't get a massive volume drop.

Rare Vintage Frontline Analog Delay Pedal
Nice little analog delay pedal, adds a bit of warmth to whatever you put
into it. Couldn't get the thing to self oscilate, boo :(
If you can pick one up cheap you can get a tape style warmth though. As
with most analog stuff you can't get it to respond to angry
fuzz.

BURFORD ELECTRONICS - UFO Repeater Tremolo Pedal
Nice little tremolo pedal, has LEDs to show the amount of Frequency and
Speed you've applied. You can get some good sounds out of
it. As with most analog stuff you can't get it to respond to angry fuzz.

Devi Ever ZG (zeitgeist Fuzz) Caustic Earth Shattering High Gain Mega pussy
Cat fuzz box.
Evil evil fuzz pedal, lots of bassy bottom. Seems to be monophonic (one
note at a time) and adds an octave up on these one notes.
Is very high, and responds sensibly is you turn your guitar volume down. It
has a very quick decay too that splutters and coughs
like a dying battery. If want a weird noise box or something to do strange
solos with you may like it.

Blackjack the Magic Detective Cat and the case of the Jade eyed Monkey.

5.58am The alarm clock switches on. BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

“Meow!” yawns Blackjack as he rolls out of bed, crawls into the kitchen, before dunking his whole face into the sink and turning on the tap.

“Glug glug glug” supped Blackjack from the running tap.

These long nights on the Jamaican Dark Rum hit him harder each month but the Jamaicans knew how to make damn good rum, second to the Cuban stuff of course depending on who he was in company to at the time.

Water was very re-hydrating and fairly tasty, not as tasty as rum or the cat milk he had as a kitten but pretty good nonetheless.

He put on his brown trench coat with matching hat and strolled to the office. It was a still morning. The sky was grey currently but the rising sun would break that cloud, he was sure.

On arriving at the building where his office he noticed a pretty young thing stood outside. She was albino white with long fluffy hair and a pink bow. It had been a long time since he’d seen such a pretty she cat. In his line of work he didn’t get much of a chance to socialise or even hold a relationship together due to the nature of the business he was in. He sighed and ignored her and went back to the business of getting to his office where he could get into the thought process of the day ahead.

Blackjack entered the building said ‘meow’ to the receptionist who took calls for the offices in the building, walked the three flights of stairs and unlocked the door. He was a forgetful puss so always left the key under a Spider plant pot next to the door. Click.

All as was yesterday. Filing cabinet, desk, couple of chairs, a filter coffee machine and.….”Oh no not another bill?” he thought, it turned out he’d underpaid the electric last month. He tossed the bill on his desk, took off his overcoat and switched on the coffee machine. Coffee is the devil but its lovely to warm the brain he thought….

At that point the young thing from outside the building strolled in feebly.

“Mmmmmrrrr Blackjack?” she said.

“Yes, that’s correct. Take a seat. Would you like a coffee? How can I help?” he replied.

“Well you see Mr Blackjack my father went to the Amazon jungle several months ago and recently stopped returning correspondence to me, his daughter. He would never normally do that. I’m worried something awful has happened.” She answered before bursting into meowful cat cries.

“Right, jungle you say? First you need a strong sugary coffee. There there. I’m sure he’s fine.” He replied.

After a time had passed and she had licked at her creamy sweet coffee she explained she was Elise and the story of why her father Sir Raymond Catmus had gone to the Amazon jungle. In the deepest depths there was a ‘Temple of the Apes’ supposedly full of great magic and treasure. Although there were great riches there he had gone in search of the ‘Jade Monkey’ a monkey statue carved of such a high quality Jade stone that when brought near sickly people it could fully heal them.

Sir Catmus’ wife was incredibly sick and the best doctors of the land could not help. Finding this ‘Jade Monkey’ might be the last chance for her survival even if he died searching for it….

Blackjack would always agree to a case such as this on a moral ground, unfortunately he was not a cat who took money and apart from a plane fare to Brazil he would have charged his normal pittance rate. Elise, who had a kind heart and access to her fathers large bank account, could see this luckily. She offered five times his normal rate as she had foresight to realise this case would require more than Blackjack’s work. He bowed, thanked her for the advice and took the cash knowing she was right.

He noted all the detail she could give, took a photograph and contact telephone number for her residence before dashing outside, the airplane to Brazil was in half an hour….

On the way he went via a couple of acquaintance’s homes; Sergeant Harvey, an expert in cat warfare and Rose Seymour, an expert translator. Both of whom were happy to help an old friend with a great task such as this.

The three boarded the airplane for Brazil. The journey was a tiresome long one. The airplane eventually landed, the three collected their baggage and took a bus to the nearest town. There they found a Guide with a LandCat, 4x4 all terrain vehicle, who could take them to the last village in the Sir Catmus had sent correspondence from.

When the LandCat turned up the village was silent. The four got out. There was crying in one of the natives huts. They entered as the door was already open.

There was a cat on a reed bed with a horrible wound, two locals were attempting to nurse the cat. Rose Seymour was actively listening and said at this point;

“they say she has been wounded by the beast and the wound will not heal….”

“…until the beast has cleansed the reason why he has awoke!”

Sergeant Harvey replied “Golly, what kind of beast is this that has control of flesh?”

Rose Seymour answered “They just call him the beast.”

Concerned at this Blackjack asked the Guide to take them to the village Elder to speak.

There appeared to be animosity at outsiders on meeting the Elder. Blackjack seeing this, brought out a bottle of Cuban Rum and several Cuban Cigars, if you’re going to do introductions properly bring out the expensive stuff he thought.

The idea of these intrigued the Elder and came around to Blackjack’s way quickly.

Rose Seymour translated the Elder’s story of how the Sir Catmus had come and journeyed to the ‘Temple of the Apes’. The Elder and his Witch doctor had warned that although the ape leaders of the temple had all died out that there was a curse on the temple. If treasure was taken and not substituted the the Jade eyed Monkey would come back from the grave and wound or even kill anyone associated with the thieves!

Blackjack the asked the question “How did the Jade eyed Monkey die to begin with?”

The Elder replied with a word Rose could not translate, unfortunately.

With this information to hand the four headed to the LandCat. At this point the Guide said he would not drive any further and they would have to walk but could drive them back from this village on return, he would wait and they agreed.

The 3 walked towards the Ape Temple in the distance. It was extremely humid, which is not ideal if you’re a cat. However the 3 were brave, strong and journeyed on to the temple.

On reaching the temple they rested and talked about the plan to get the information they needed. After about half an hour there was a terrific rustle and a massive ape jumped down. Sergeant Harvey grabbed his rifle and attempted to aim for the ape, the ape’s bulky left arm hit the rifle out of his hand as quickly as a Pro Chinese Table Tennis Player can serve.

The three were frozen looking at the great ape’s eyes that were jade!

“You Three! You Three go now!” “Arhhhhhhhh” “You Three go now or a terrible price you pay!” With that the Jade eyed Ape jumped into nowhere….

There was further argument on whether they should go in but Blackjack convinced them, however they would have stick together.

They entered; the temple looked like an Inca build but the usual bloody sacrifice paintings were apes ruling the natives! It was a maze. Having done orienteering in Cat Army Sergeant Harvey went about directing them to the central chamber.

The central chamber was massive room full of all kinds of treasure. The gold and diamonds were like a drug. Blackjack noticed a red stain on some of the gold, he followed it to an alcove room. This led to a massacre proportion cat slaughter. The three found it hard to hold their normally strong stomachs with so many dead cats. There was no way to tell who most of them were due to the nature of the wounds. It was an extremely meowy time.

At the end of the alcove was another room with a green light, this could be were the ‘Jade Monkey’ was. Only Blackjack entered, he advised his friends at the first sign of danger escape. Blackjack entered slowly, he found a cat lying on the floor by the ‘Jade Monkey’. “Sir Catmus?!” he cried.

“Meoooooowwww!” Sir Catmus replied.

“I am Blackjack, I have been sent here to rescue you. Are you alright?”

“I am fine young one. The power of the ‘Jade Monkey’ has kept me in health. I am afraid now we have come here and ignored the curse we have re-ignited his curse.”

“Unfortunately you have Sir Catmus. Is there anyway to bring the Jade Monkey to your loved one and escape though?” Blackjack answered.

“I did extensive research before I came young one. We cannot kill the Jade eyed Ape who has arisen as the Jade Monkey statue power will also die. We can however replace it with alternative gifts. I do not have any on my person though as they were lost in the Amazon river. Do you?”

He took out his Grandcat’s Pocket Watch and said “This is all. If it means lives are saved the Ape can have it.” He left the Watch, took the Jade Monkey and the 4 left the temple.

About a mile away they could here the Jade eyed Monkey screaming as if his soul had been replaced by a time piece that could eventually die….

They reached the village and were happy to find the cat who was previously injured was now fine. The Guide was still there surprised they’d returned but had obviously stood by his promise and took them to the airport in knowledge of urgency of the mission.

The four returned safely home. Elise was happy to be reunited with Father and Mother who is now fully healed due to the ‘Jade Monkey’.

Although Jade Monkey was a powerful and great artifact Blackjack realised it could be used for evil, he also knew the Jade eyed Monkey needed to have it’s curse lifted and felt a return visit was in order.

Blackjack made a subsequent journey to the Amazon jungle to return the Jade eyed Ape his treasure and reclaim his Pocket Watch. Fini.

Continual Bristolian to English Introduction Program.

Addition of TO or DOWN to sentences.

“Where’s that TO me babber?” – Where is that, my child?

“Got me some Lambert’s DOWN shop Marm.” –

I picked up some Lambert Butler Cigrettes at the Corner Shop Mother.

Addition of -AL to nouns.

“Errr yeah me darling I got that Microwave Pizza down AsdaAL’s” –

I picked up the Microwavable Pizza you requested at Wall Mart Adsa my Dearest.

Gaddafi on Gaddafi.

Supernoise had a rare chance to speak to Gaddafi during the recent 1^st world bombings on his country, we met the man himself in a secret bunker under one of his many palaces…

Gaddafi how are you?

Arrghhhhh ahahahaha eeeee aghrrhrhh! The shit has hit the fan my brother. The peoples of Libya have gone fucking bonkers and don’t want a leader.

Do you know why?

Well to be fair friend I’ve not always been the best leader of the republic. I think that the 1^st world powers have landed on the Libyan stage of world domination Monopoly and decided that paying rent on a 2 hotels isn’t good enough. Paying locals to riot and bombing the crap out of the place with an F16 plane is far cheaper.

Do you feel sad that the people want you out of office?

Yes, slightly. Who is going to be the face of Libya again if I leave my job? Who will have first dibs on Miss World – Libya if I’m not in office? I may no longer get a new palace every six months, maybe one a year at most.

These are questions that constantly plague my mind friend.

Do you have any further career plans if you move out of office?

I may get my slaves to make the desert I own into a desert of sand castles. I think getting into your Guinness Book of Recordings would be a good next step on my CV.

Being a dictator you’ve got a bad name to live up to. How do you do this everyday?

Ah I like you! Oh hahaha, it is very hard. I find forcing people to do things beyond their normal capabilities is a good one. I have a whole department dedicated to thinking up awful dictatorial punishments one such recent one was walking backwards on a tight rope suspended over a bed of broken glass for not paying a parking fine. The usual ones go else, shooting, gassing, hanging….

Your adviser is rushing us out now but before we go, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?

I thought Lockaby was a pretty bad ass effort on my part. If you can’t beat them blow the fuck out of them with a load of semtex, that’s my moto.

Thank you for your time Mr Gaddafi.

Top Lad.

Tits. Arse. Blondes. Birds. Football. Lager. Cider. Lager. Cider. (internal struggle) Lager! Lad! Welcome to the mindset of the lad.

In lad culture you’re nothing. You’re no one if you can’t drink, talk football like the vindaloo shits and pull an orange bird with pointy nipples that resemble Christ’s crufixed hands. Lad!

You are not a lad unless you adopt geeser speak, chat about booshing that bloke in the head with a glass the other day down at the pub for being an absolute fucking prick, shagging your mate’s bird in the very same pub toilets or shouting “Lad!” after every few coherent sentences made of a maximum of four words. Lad!

Few and far between you will find a rare specimen. The cultural lad, he likes long quiet walks on the beach, Picasso, Ballet, introverted moments to think about the Panda population in China…. *record screeching sound* The cultural lad doesn’t exist, the cultured lad loves Hard Fi, Oasis or that other new band that the lads like. Lad!

Toplad.org is an awful “Lad!” web site in the vain of a modern computerised Zoo or Nuts without the footballers with bent kneecaps or overphotoshopped ladies with oversized breast’s who have unfortunately probably had loans from such Lad! magazines to get silicon implants or perhaps feel their assets are the only their only asset in life and a meaningful and worthwhile job with any intellect they own is a wasted effort.

Toplad.org is a horrible forum where lads note a topic of the hour and other lads agree or disagree. You have anything from lads talking about army lads to lads who sleep with a mother and daughter within several hours. “Lad!”.

This has been a broadcast on behalf of Lad! education committee.

Vegans. What’s not wrong?

Pasty faced individuals who refuse to touch anything. Jes-louis! You rarely get anything more annoying than a Vegan going off on ‘one’.

Yep. That’s it, Vegan are everything that’s wrong with society.

Ok, let’s look at the facts…

Red meat in any quantity is a bad thing, science has proved bowel cancel, and a heap of other things are linked to red meat.

Death is not a good thing. Death is the most natural thing in the world but breeding hundreds of animals in mini Alcatraz’s before going to Mr Spinning Automated Meat Clever of Death to a conveyor belt that also does Tesco/ASDA/Sainsbo/wherever shrink wrapping ain’t a good thing.

Forcing a cow to be in constant after birth state, aka lactating through hormones and constant artificial insemination to keep them rearing new calfs to aid in additional income is not good.

Ok, what’s wrong? I agree with the old native Americans and their view towards the Buffalo. If you’re going to murder something thing (that’s what it is at the end of the day) the least you can do is use all of the animal. If you’ve got a cow you can use its skin for shoes, its meat for tasty goodness, innards for pies or cat meat, its tail for a good soup, its eyes for secondary school science classes, its bones for your dog or making into gelatin ummmm, Haribo!

Free range is certainly better, luckily it seems there is a bit more emphasis now on keeping animals in a happy lifestyle before they go to chicken/pig/….Heaven.

The idea of forced lactation is a horrible one, and it really isn’t right. There seems to be lots of propaganda around the health benefits of milk, it is a good substance being naturally developed to help Calves become big Cows . But there’s the problem right there, calves to cows. Breastmilk from Babies to Men and Women. We don’t breastfeed at 21 (I’d hope the majority of the population would stop around 20 years before that age!)

There’s a case that ‘skimming’ the fat, e.g. anything that’s not gold or silver top takes calcium levels down by halves. In which case eating most green vegetables will give you more Calcium.

Fair enough we’re not developed to handle dairy every meal time but we can digest the odd bits and piece like eggs.

Now eggs get shat out by a hen most days of the week unless shes bored or pregnant. I’d love love love love to hear the vegan argument against eggs.

Yes they have a high fat content, a high protein content, a high Omega 3 content, they get shat out anyway and will rot unless eaten, where’s the problem. Seriously? We need all these aspects of a diet to survive.

Omega 3, there’s another buzz word. So you get this amazing oil in fish, some other white meats, eggs, seeds, nuts and other birdfood.

I’m a purveyor of the old birdfood until I find Omega 3 from seeds and nuts can’t be digested if you have particulars in your body such as alcohol, high acid levels… rah rah. Time to cut out the drink in that case.

Stuff you might not know!

The powers that be filter wine and most commercial lagers through a substance that is basically fish guts.

Most cheese needs a component called rennet to set, which is formed from the lining of a cows stomach.

Milking cows don’t tend to get eaten, they tend to get milked as long as possible, e.g. until the flesh is too stringy to eat so either a natural death or the Haribo factory for your boney goodness.

There’s a few good things about the vegans we know for a fact…

That last steak in the reduced section of the supermarket wont get grabbed by a vegan…

the last pair of Dr Martins in the sale won’t get bought by a vegan.…

I can sit in a major chain coffee shop drinking those bloody tasty hot chocolates with the fake whipped cream and marshmallows in without fear of a vegan tea leafing it.

I can’t be sure about the following…

Your fellow Vegan might buy the last vinyl copy of 1000 Hurts under your nose.

This is because Shellac is naturally derived from bug shells, not from killing. Debate it next time you go to your local independent record shop. The fact that the vinyl isn’t made from Shellac and Albini has probably eaten every creature in the rainforest doesn’t count.

…I agree with the old native Americans and their view towards the Buffalo.

Additional Research Notes :

Linda McCartney was a hardcore vegetarian. She died of cancer. What does that say for you vegans? Animal products alone aren’t going to save you from the inevitable.

Chugging away...

Street and Phone based Charity Collectors.
Charity Muggers. Spoonerism : Chugger.

Walking down the street. That person has a nice smile. Are their eyes on yours? They're saying hello! What a nice change. How friendly!

Oh hang on there. Wait a minute, children in Ethiopia? Dogs in Spain? My bank card? I've been charity mugged.

Phone call? This time? Might be important. Security questions. Oh it is important. They sound really nice.

Wait a minute, children in Ethiopia? Dogs in Spain? My bank card? I've been charity mugged.

Oh I know your type. I used to share an office with the lot of you. You do one area in the morning as 'Greenpeace', lunchtime comes and you're changing into 'Shelter' mode. Really? Really? Do you really have a soul doing this? The moneys great though, I love using my looks, my charms, my lovely voice to manipulate others so I can get a little more of that commission pie...

CHINK CHINK CHINK goes my coins into your BACS transfer, CHINK CHINK CHINK goes the pick axe on the nice parts of your soul.

Where does your money go when a Chugger has wh*red at you enough to make you give over a monthly BACS?
It goes on commission, it goes on charity admin, it goes on management.
B*llsh*t if they tell you nothing goes on admin, they lie at African dictatorship governmental type proportions.
If it was admin free they simply pay a 'grant' to someone who does the work for free and that 'grant' has no admin associated.

The volunteers who do the work may not get paid but the manager’s definitely get some money. Around 5-12% is the expected admin cost on your Chugger cash. If you're paying £8 a month, £0.96 is going on the management fees if we're doing 12% admin. If threes commission involved for our Chugger at say 10% there's another £0.80 gone. £6.24 is going to our old pot bellied sick African child.

This means you're giving them £74.88 a year in good costs and £21.12 in admin costs. What can you do for £74.88 over the coarse of a

year? How many gallons of petrol in the Chugger Landrovers will £74.88 fuel? I reckon just under 15 gallons of petrol. How far is it from Chugger base camp to Village Middle of nowhere? Once they get to Nowhereville what are they going to do? They’ve spent your money on petrol. Radio crackles, Chugger #1 to Chugger #2 we need another victim, guerrilla clipboard tactics ahoy! Send the troops back into the streets and the cold calls…

Ok Chuggers get in more cash than the charity cases had before but it doesn’t change the fact that I f*cking hate our fellow souless Chuggers.

Why trying to get a book published these days is like trying to suck your own cock By Opium Dennis

I wrote a book. It’s not Thus Spake Zarathustra or A Clockwork Orange, but it’s decent enough for a first effort. Now I want to get it published. So would you if you’d literally been driven mad in the process of writing and editing the swine. I was possessed to the point where I saw blue spiders burrowing into my palms. I spent weeks without speaking to a soul and with only my fracturing psyche for company. Of course, it doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to flagellate yourself to create great art. But for this particular story I had to live it, no acting or contrivance, feeling the way the character felt, even if that meant feeling like fucking the wet sand your sister just pissed on. Problem is, our dear friends in the publishing industry have little interest in whether or not your work is authentic, from a real place that will connect, perhaps, with others. It sounds so obvious, but they want work that is GUARANTEED TO SELL. Doesn’t matter if it’s the most spineless, yellow-bellied, cookie cutter shit you’ve ever clapped eyes on – if it’s been written by a celebrity cook or singer then those pound signs start pulsing in Jemimah Bookseller’s noggin, down come her coolots and there’s Satan’s black cucumber fucking her in the ass before you can say ‘Henry Miller wouldn’t have stood for this shit’.

It’s enough to make you sick. Just a peep in the window of your average bookseller and you see what gets those registers a-singing: books by The Stig (lord love a duck), Jeremy Clarkson, Alan ‘fucking’ Sugar Tits, Cheryl Cole out of Girls Aloud, Dannii Minogue – and then of course the parade of cuntdom that is the ‘celebrity cook TV series spin-off’ by a variety of the country’s most fuckhanded individuals – Jamie ‘please piss on my face’ Oliver, Nigella ‘my Dad looks like a used condom but I’m happy to lick the cake mixture off your terrific cock’ Lawson, Huge Fearnley Cripplestalk and, of course, England’s number one cunt (sorry Bono, you’re Irish) and bully, Gordon Ramsays. He says ‘fuck’. It’s his trademark. “Make sure you put a few ‘fucks’ in with the recipes, Gordo, give the punters what they want, eh?” Page 78 - Chicken fucking curry with a side fucking garnish of fucking mindless bullying because Daddy didn’t love me, and I felt so, so small, now fucking cook it again and don’t burn it this time or I’ll say fuck again, or maybe even something really scary like I’M JUST A FRIGHTENED LITTLE BOY AND I’M GOING TO BULLY YOU SO I FEEL BETTER, EVEN THOUGH I’M 50 AND LOOK LIKE GRANITE MAN.

However, the book that really, really got my goat was Food for Friends by Levi Roots, featuring the Reggae Reggae Sauce man on the cover laughing like a Rastafarian hyena at the bewildering fact that he’s got a book on the shelf when all he’s ever done is jazz up tomato sauce a bit and wank off a dragon. I’m sure he’s a real nice guy, but that image and that book summed up for me what has gone wrong ACROSS THE FACE OF WESTERN CIVILISATION. Yes, Mr Roots, you are the epitome of the downfall of all that is sacred to God and man. It’s not your fault. Like so many, you’re just a puppet. But you symbolize the rot at the heart of the modern age, a disgusting disease that has been going on for some decades and has now reached epidemic proportions. It’s called ‘progress’… and it kills.

Look at how music used to be recorded (and still is in some enlightened quarters, like my kitchen) – analogue, none of this digital malarkey to ‘make things easier’. And guess what? 90% of digitally recorded music sounds like a dog turd in the ear compared to the lovely angelic golden masterpiece of heaven that is analogue sound. Maybe it’s just my luggers, but I can barely fathom how we could have mastered such a wondrous process only to desecrate it in the name of ‘progress’ – meaning convenience. Now you can replicate virtually any sound and ‘it sounds just like the real thing, yeah?’ Does it fuckola. The point is that there is SOUL in doing something, anything IN THE MOMENT, FROM SOURCE, and to condense these magical experiences into easily approximated mutations for the sake of convenience is to entirely miss the point, and DIE LIKE A SYPHILLIS-RIDDLED WEASEL IN A JELLY OF YOUR OWN PUS.

And so the ghouls and vampires of the advertising/marketing deathzone centre in on what they perceive as the ‘value point’ in anything, the soul or magic or wonder of a thing, and extract it and reduce it into a quantifiable and sellable product, usually these days in the form of an ‘experience’. Yet to do as such renders the true magic of the moment, the real experience, a lifeless facsimile of itself. Life is a living thing, and these murderous and vile roosters would sell their own babies’ quivering labias to the highest bidder, obliterating the life force from Life itself, reducing the gardens of Eden into parking lots for mummies as they drink the blood of virgin midgets and fellate camels in hospital waiting rooms.

Where was I? Oh yes – Levi Roots. These fidgety, cock-headed, whelk-pussied, juggle-nosed piss drinkers called publishers love fellers like Levi - instantly recognizable, ‘celebrity’ product. And the programmed masses lap it up like bukkake veterans. Of course there are novelists aplenty of merit on the shelves, yet a cursory glance at the bestseller list reveals a festering heap of clowns’ cocks, homogenized literary sick rice, a dizzying succession of ‘meaty’ novels about someone’s uncle in Ireland who fucked a tree and now the Pope’s got a hardon (just as a little aside, don’t you think the Pope looks the very ARCHETYPE OF A PAEDOPAPA?)

Phew, maybe I’ve got a little worked up under the collar about this, and maybe I’m actually adding to the overall malaise, but WHY CAN’T THEY JUST RECOGNISE A GENIUS WHEN THEY SEE ONE AND GIVE ME A BIG BAG OF MONEY?

bikes and rock climbers...

…new bike? By Judge DAmNation.

Oh, have you bought a new bike? Great, what make is it? That really well-known purveyor of bikes everyone who knows anything about bikes says us good? That’s cool. Do you have a photo of it, or lots of pictures from different angles? Brilliant… You’ve got Spizz-Monkey 10k Shock Absorbers? Wow, cool. Do you have a reflective badge shaped like the Honey Monster, or those stupid clacky beads that go on the spokes? They come free in Sugar Puffs…

Hang on, what year is this? It’s not 1992 – you mean I’m a grown up, not a child, and subsequently I don’t give two shrieking fucks about your bike? That’s alright then – to be honest, even if I was bud I still wouldn’t be interested – whereas if you happen to own a Red Venom Spaceship from Manta Force I ight still be impressed…

So you have a bike, do you? Well congratulations, you are now officially a “Fucking Menace” (registered Trademark.)

Yeah, it does look like a lot of fun freewheeling down that hill, feet motionless on the pedals- I’ll be it’s even more of a treat for the snaking queue of cars tailgating you down that hill, foot hovering desperately over the brake to prevent momentum from dragging you under their wheels, a precaution I fail to the point of frankly.

Isn’t it annoying though, having to wait at traffic lights along with the other – oh wait, you’ve just sailed on through without stopping. Oh I see, you’re above the laws of the road because you’re an eco-warrior, saving the planet one little bell-tinkle at a time? ….

You just ride on the pavement. No, fair enough….

Yeah I know trucks and Hum-V’s are bad for the environment – they also look fucking cool, don’t they? You’re unlikely to see Christian Bale in the next Batman film, careering out of the Batcave on a stupid long handled contraption, before folding it up into a suitcase and going into his council meeting about new dustbins, still wearing his highlighter-pen yellow trousers like a dick, now are you?

And at least I can count on a Hum-V to stay in the fucking road, regardless of how many lanes it may take up – I’m not going to suddenly see one wobbling down the pavement towards me, chopping down pensioners in its wake with your stupid helmet-wearing face in an expressions of imbecile obliviousness.

Oh you don’t wear a helmet. I’m sure you’re keen to do your bit for good old Mother Earth, and save a few pennies against petrol or bus fare while you’re about it, but to be honest I care a bit less about your Carbon Footprint than I do about your handlebar currently impaling my pancreas. How much have you saved by the way? Make sure to bring it with you to court on Monday…

…some rocks? By Judge DAmNation.

Who’s that mate of yours, what’s he looking so smug about? Oh he does climbing does he? I’d love to see a Facebook App saying where he’s been….

“Mike has just been climbing on Some Rock that’s near a Bridge.”

Wow, I wish I could have been there. I might download that App myself…

“Judge DAmNation has just been climbing out of a Monumental Trough of Boredom.”

Hey, this is fun! Yes, I know he likes climbing. Why doesn’t he do it without a rope then? Well, it’s kind of pointless otherwise, isn’t it? People go rambling or walking in the mountains, but they don’t stablisers to their fucking legs do they?

“Judge DAmNation walked from Rusty Cattle Grid across a field to poky looking turnstile Cowpaths trodden in : 1. Human Fatalities : 6.”

I’m beginning to understand that “buzz” or “rush” you were talking about now.

Remind me again how you delete friends? No, I mean in real life, lol.

Write your own title. Heart Alice Damages...

When asked to do 'something' for the next 'Supergeräusche' issue the singular 'Damages' mind quivered with a kind of excitement over the vast number of possible subjects to pick from. However, trying to fit 3 almost fully grown people onto one keyboard to write something readable by human eyes is harder than you might think, so we drew you a picture, it's possibly the diagram of the perfect being. I mean, SEE FOR YOURSELF.

Seeing as I'm doing so well at writing all by myself, maybe I'll extend what was to be a simple introduction of a joint effort into something more of a short story I've been wanting to write for a while. Here we go. You can write your own title on the dotted line, you can call it just about whatever you like.

Love From Alice.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"There's this place I've been going, this point between a light and a shade. Just below the morning, underneath the settling of dew. I have to climb through that thick black air that covers the night, as it gently recedes it feels like it could be satin; and I'm there. Have you ever stepped into a complete hollow Elizabeth?" He questioned, while deciding between plain or chocolate coated digestive biscuits, an extremely difficult and crucial decision.

She crushed a beige crumb to dust on the perfectly flat and solid table the couple had come to see as a friend. "I don't believe i have." She paused, as if to reconsider her answer before continuing with a hasty "Go for a chocolate one."

"Your right, chocolate it is. How could someone hesitate over a choice like that. It's crazy."

"It really is Henry, are you sure everything is alright, this place you were telling me about..."

"It's slowly becoming more difficult to see where the chocolate digestive begins and the plain one ends, but it's not that that bothers me. If anything it's been making the real problem slightly easier to deal with. Every morning, i wash, i dress, i check my reflection to be certain I'm still here, i sit, opposite you, and upwards from the table, day in, day out stare two biscuits identical to the ones the day before and the day before that. Everyday my hand reaches towards the chocolate coated one without fail. So why everyday is there still a plain biscuit staring up at me?"

"I thought you might like something different for a change, I'm sorry if you find that life altering proposal intimidating Henry." Elizabeth rose, removing the constantly rejected biscuit from the table and placing it into a small brown paper bag, walked straight out of the front door, laying the package on the road, standing back and watching as the tyres of strangers cars smashed the poor morsel to dust.

Henry smiled to himself, at least it couldn't get to him now. "Today will be a good day."

Blackjack, the magic detective cat.

Blackjack, the magic detective cat.

Every now and then a little memo card comes in the post for Blackjack the cat. He's always up before his owners so they don't know he gets the mail, it’s only the Postie who thinks a person called Blackjack is a bit queer but it’s another piece of his job. On this morning Blackjack got on such memo card... "Dear Blackjack, I would be humbled by your assistance since my Grandfather Waffles has gone missing and we've been unable to contact him. Yours Faithfully, Shimla."

She seemed desperate. Blackjack who stood strong to his true moral heart decided his bowl of Whiskers could wait a few hours and headed out of the house to the address on the card.

On arriving at the house Blackjack gave that native cat meow greeting to call out Shimla, who pottered out looking rather lost and upset. She explained that her Grandfather Waffles had been kidnapped and she had a ransom note demanding 1000 litres of fish paste. No cat apart from the Kitten of Brunei could afford 100 litres of fish paste!

On looking at the note Blackjack deducted it was a male cat from the aggressive tone and claw writing style. He decided however based on the lack of information in the note, further investigation would be needed and Fred owner of Das Tot Maus Bar would be the ideal informant...

Blackjack told Shimla to stay home and he'd sort the whole thing out. Das Tot Maus Bar was on the other side of town, a rough neighbourhood full of multiple seedy characters. The interior of the bar was dated and unclean, Blackjack however had himself a double Cream on the Rocks. He drank it in one and began to speak with Fred.
"How's business Fred?", "Slow Mr. ...jack, no one really comes here now. I only ever see you when you want information?", "I'm sorry Fred about the business, some information would be appreciated and I could give you some extra income for your troubles?", "What you wanna know Mr ..jack?" Blackjack shows Fred the note and it turns out he knows about the matter...

He's a mean one, don't know his real name. Everyone calls him 'No Tail' on the account of a bad scrap once, he lost his tail but the other cat's dead. I heard this old guy Waffles had created a crazy invention that will change the world of cats. All I can give you is No Tail lives down by Dockyard, dock number 17. Blackjack handed over some Kitty Treats, thanked him and headed towards the dockyard.

The docks were another notoriously rough area, stalked by Sailor Cats. There was a large group of Sailor Cats on the end of dock 17, it appeared the SS Pussy was back and its crew were on shore leave. The crew seemed ready to unleash pent up sea anger with a good bout of fighting, this didn't worry Blackjack who was a high level belt in the ancient art of Catjitsu.

One of the crew, Baggins, shouted at Blackjack and demanded some action fresh from his battles against the sea. Before Blackjack could reply Baggins was swinging his huge fists about like the huge oaf he was, a quick cat kick and paw swipe to the neck rendered Baggins unconscious The rest of the crew parted like the Red Sea when they saw what Blackjack was capable of, he continued his journey to the end of dock 17....

At the end of the dock was a large ominous looking warehouse. Blackjack found a backway in that was unguarded. He heard voices behind the massive crates. "Only you know how to work the device, you must tell us how to use it." "NEVER! You want to use it for evil!" "Haha, you know my kind too well. If you don't I will eventually kill you with all this torture." "I'd rather die than unleash your twisted mind on the world!" "Very well..." Some horrid electric noise was made and there was an awful smell of burning fur. Blackjack looked from above the crates to see No Tail with his henchmen flicking a switch which sent electric currents through a wire coat hanger Waffles was strapped to. On a table was the device they were talking about, it looked like a walky talky in a collar.

Time to put this mistreatment to an end, thought Blackjack as he jumped into the centre of the action.
"WHO ARE YOU?" screamed No Tail.
"I'm here to rescue a friend and put an end to your shenanigans. Now! You either let the device and Waffles go or else!" replied Blackjack.

"Oh hahaha, you are going to stop me and my henchmen? I'm keeping both and you're going to be dog meat. Henchmen attack!!!"

Half a dozen henchmen flew at Blackjack who sprang in the air and used the surrounding crates to bounce off and unleash chops and kicks. Within minutes him and No Tail were the only ones standing. "Right, time to finish you properly!"

No Tail ran straight at Blackjack who with a swift kick launched No Tail out of a window into the sea. Through the sea howls you could remotely hear No Tail screaming as cats do when dropped into water.

"Time for you to see Shimla!" said Blackjack to Waffles who was slightly burnt but very thankful to be going home. Blackjack picked up the invention, they left and walked along the dock which was getting misty now with sea fog.

As they walked Blackjack's Great Uncle Jasper suddenly appeared in a fog. This was bizarre because he'd been dead the last 2 years however in Blackjack's line of work nothing surprised him anymore. Great Uncle Jasper said that kitty heaven was great but he'd foreseen a horrible future where Waffle's invention had been used for evil purposes and cats had enslaved the human race! Some humans are indeed evil to their pets however the majority are not and we should live in harmony. The invention needed to be destroyed! Waffle's agreed with Jasper, if one evil cat wanted it for bad uses imagine what the rest might do. And with that Waffle's took the invention from Blackjack and tossed it into the sea, the caustic seawater instantly blew up the invention’s circuitry.

Blackjack and Waffles walked to Shimla's house talking about the whole ordeal. When the pair got outside the house Waffle's asked how he could repay Blackjack, to which Blackjack replied "Its my job, as long as you're safe and sound that's my repayment." "There aren't many cats left like you", was the response as he went in the house. As Blackjack walked home he caught a glimpse of a happy Shimla hugging her Grandfather, which warmed his heart as did the thought that his bowl of Whiskers was waiting at home for him. Fini.

Von Rutter Ping Pong Delay

Ping Pong Delay is a digital delay that uses two short digi chips in conjunction to give a longer sound.
Although digi tends to = cheap Mr Rutter has tried to play to digitals advantages, get analog type sounds and attempted to deliver additional benefits/functionality not always offered by digital or analog delays. Its a complex little beast to get a grip of espically if you've only used a basic MIX/REPEATS type echo.

There are two on/offs a true bypass for tone clarity and effect on/off, both must be on for it to work however the effect switch off allows feedback trails to continue and fade off.

An Expression Pedal is offered to remote control the feedback level of one delay chip, allowing for self osc craziness.

The size is nice, about 2 MXR style boxes stuck together. Gives enough space to allow both foot switches to be depressed but allows it to be small enough to fit on a crowded pedal board.

Having the two chips allows for dual repeat times and adds a bit of complexity to the standard setup, they are both linked to the same feedback.

There's a few toggle switches to add features. A bright/dark switch (a low pass filter) to change the sound of the echoes, the dark effect gives something like a tape delay repeat. A type switch, selecting an echo type gives echo echo echo trails and a ping pong type sound with a single repeat.
Finally a switch to select whether to use the effects loop or not. The effects loop, like you would find in an amp, allows a series of pedals go before the delay circuitry (allows tone junkies to open up all kinds of possibilities and end with the delay as you'd expect). Its a shame the effects loop isn’t a stomp switch since being able to select the loop without bending over would have been handy, its a nice feature though.

With all these functions its a nice little delay that's different enough. Overall it does feel like its not totally sure what it is though, a digital delay like the Akai E2 provides a low pass filter, trailing echos with tap tempo or a MXR Carbon Copy provides similar length analog delays with dark delays. The Akai doesn't have true bypass, the MXR doesn't have trails so maybe a half way house like this is a gap.

Being from such a limited edition batch (this was among the first he produced) its not likely many of these will ever come up but its nice to have something documented on it somewhere.

Von Rutter produces all kinds of pedals now either singly in MXR style containers or dual ones like this in the bigger enclosures, he seems to have rectified some issues with this pedal on newer ones. He allows you to mix and match various circuits from what he's produced (e.g. a fuzz into a delay). You could do worse than to check out his current range ...

Burford Electronics 'Cybertron'

I recently came across this little beast on an ebay mission, described as ring modulator esq sounds with a filter sounded like a good addition to a skronkers pedal board.

Having now got it, the 'ring mod esq' is firmly in the 'esq'. The 'Cybertron' takes your guitar signal and modulates it with an internal oscillator, giving a synthetic quality to the original guitar signal.
"What are you talking about? Your ring mod article a few months ago described this concept as ring modulation." you say to yourself. True this is ring modulation; however there is some additional circuitry at work.
There appears to be some find of mild fuzz circuitry in the mix along with the VCF (voltage controlled filter). Unfortunately you cannot adjust the fuzz level, gain or colouration.
A gain control overall would have been a nice addition since there is a slight volume drop, but on the plus side there is a noise gate in there so no osc sounds leak out while you don’t play.
The VCF switch adds a sweeping sound based on the pitch you play at, it adds a bit of variety to the box and definitely helps make it a more skronky number. When the VCF is off its usable as a half way house between modulation and fuzz, plus it doesn't sound exactly like anything else you'd have got your teeth into before. It seems to work best picking individual notes or power chords, however it isn’t monophonic so you wont get confused circuitry sounds if you hit two strings at the same time.

To my mind the 'Cybertron' feels like the guitarists useable mxr blue box, its doesn’t do the octave down thing but you can make weird noise that still sounds like a guitar. Alan Exley at Burford Electronics has designed this specifically for guitar it feels, unlike similar effects (refering to the blue box, again) you can't use that many other instruments on it other than stringed numbers with a pickup or a keyboard (i tried an analogue casio number and it sounded sweet).

The 'Cybertron' is no longer made as 'Cybertron', probably due to the Transformers franchise connotations. Reading up on the Burford Electronics site at projectguitarparts.co.uk I think 'Techno lo – fi' is probably the closest match, it seems the VCF on/off is now an adjustable pot, which would be better, and you have some control over the fuzz colouration.

I think if you're after something a bit different there are plenty of options out there, however a gander at the Burford site might be a starting place, esp when Alan's boutique pedals are available at a reasonable price compared to the Z Vex

The Internet Hates You...

The Internet Hates You And Everything You Do. James Cole.
You used to be a little band, playing a few gigs locally, building up fans, working on your material. You were aiming for bigger gigs in bigger cities. You wanted to get noticed, first by journalists, then by the record labels. Maybe not the big ones, but you thought you had a fair shot at a credible indie label. You were a growing fish in a small pond and you had every intention of being in the right place at the right time to upgrade to a bigger pond, with gravel, and bitches. Then you posted your music on the internet.
It seemed like a good idea, didn’t it? The Arctic Monkeys did it and went straight to number one. Besides, it can’t hurt to let people hear what you do. Maybe a few more people will come check you out live. Perhaps even a journalist or label scout will come across you and accelerate your rise to that coveted third slot on the Rhombus Stage at Glastonbury. You never know your chances, right?
True. And it’s entirely possible that these things could happen. However, let’s have a closer look at those chances. Roughly 1.8 billion people have access to the internet at this moment in time. Even acknowledging that the bulk of those come from Westernised democratic countries (sorry Somalia, you can have broadband when the last man standing lets us know it’s calmed down a bit), it seems reasonable to assume that a screamingly small percentage of those 1,800,000,000 people are music journalists or record label minions. It’s much like real life in that respect, only in real life you’re still far more likely to be in the right place at the right time. Stepping up to the internet and hoping you’ll be noticed is like taking a piss in the Atlantic and hoping it gets to Boston. Two years ago Google announced that it had found and cached one trillion unique urls, and the indexable web as it stands has a minimum of 25 billion pages. It’s a big place.
At this point you might be thinking “Shit. I’m going to need to stand out in some way”. You would be right. In my personal opinion this boils down to one of two things, either:
a) A gimmick, which you create, send to your friends, post wherever you can and which, you hope, will go viral and get you noticed, or:
b) Being really fucking good.
Guess which one of these is most popular. Now guess which one works. Hint: it also works in real life, too.
Any number of bands have gone online with their music and their gimmick and had a crack at winning the hearts and minds of everyone who sees it. Well done them. Every time I get an email with the subject line “OMG you HAVE to see this band video!!” I know I’m about to have an encounter with a group of wannabe rock stars and the things they’ll do to their dignity in order to make it. It will be buried under a ton of After Effects ‘magic’, and it will probably feature some attempt at humourous self-deprecation, which I guess at least cuts out the middle man. Even the best gimmicks rarely work, the classic example being Ok Go. They’ve released two excellent YouTube videos, one featuring a treadmill dance, the other a Rube Goldberg device timed to the song’s beat. These guys are clearly bright and creative, but did it benefit their music? No. The first video helped Here It Goes Again to creep into the bottom of the top forty, the second is widely considered to have had a negligible effect on the sales of both the single itself and the album it came from.
At this point you might justifiably be thinking that some successful bands have gimmicks. To some extent I would agree with you. I would, however, point out that none of those gimmicks were created for, or based on, the internet. They also tend to belong to those who also fall under the category of being really fucking good. Kiss dress like tin foil wizards on stage. Is that their gimmick? No: their gimmick is looking like Hogwarts Vice and being really fucking good. David Bowie used five or six different personalities in the seventies. Was that his gimmick? No: his gimmick was a slightly cracked mind and being really fucking good. Gimmicks work if, and only if, they are part of the character of the band and backed up by genuine talent. Kiss are show-offs, and it works, because they’re very good at what they do. Bowie is a chameleon, and it works, because he took that side of his personality and used it as a channel for his musical gifts.
Back to the internet, then. What happens to the average gimmick? If you’re lucky, it does go viral. People pass it on, watch it, are entertained by it, and then forget about it. If you’re unlucky, well... Remember those 1.8 billion net users? A significant proportion of them will delight in your inadequacy. I know. I’m one of them. And either way, you lose, because the entertainment value is all right there in the gimmick itself. Whether it works or not I don’t need to click on your homepage and listen to your music, because the gimmick gave me all the amusement I needed and it didn’t cost me anything. Why should I pay for your product when I can just wait for the next viral video to entertain me instead? The internet has plenty of advice on how to create your own gimmick, so I can reasonably assume I won’t be waiting long.
I don’t understand where this desperate ‘look at me’ style of internet marketing has come from. I genuinely believe you are no more likely to be noticed on the internet than in real life, and significantly less likely to be noticed at all unless you fulfil the really fucking good clause. There are constant references to the Arctic Monkeys being the start of a period of internet discovery, but they weren’t. And they didn’t need a gimmick. They just put their songs online and enough people thought they were really fucking good. If they’d turned out to be a fifty-something man who liked the adoration of teenagers we might be telling a very different story, of course.
None of this means that I’m in any way against the use of the internet for musical purposes. I just don’t think it’s being used properly. By all means maintain a website and have your songs online to listen to, even to download if you want. A free song for your new fans isn’t going to hurt you at all. Just don’t go online expecting to get discovered, and definitely don’t go online with the intention of ramming your gimmick down people’s throats. I hate that, and by extension, so does everybody else. The internet has opened up a million useful possibilities for your new band: you can create band merchandise, get your records duplicated and packaged, get your recordings properly mastered, and get in touch with venues and promoters much more easily. The internet has given every band the advantages previously only available to the wealthy or to those on labels, and it has had the added bonus of increasing competition and thus lowering prices. This means you can get out there gigging, making real fans, and attempting to beat the real competition of other bands by doing the one thing you can do that makes you stand head and shoulders above the 1,799,999,999 other people online.
Being really fucking good.