Artists: Body Morph
Titles: Pussy For Breakfast B/W Medical Fame Double Cassette
Label: Moon Mist Music
Keywords: Saxophone, Noise, Free Jazz
Reviewer: Alex Spalding
Sometimes, life hands you a mystery… this one arrived in a CVS bag with little information, just a handwritten message from a mysterious “Dan” thanking me for checking it out, plus some fliers for a show featuring Sextide, The Bibs, Public Urination and PRC — none of whom are on this tape.
The whole thing is actually an artist by the name of Body Morph. I discovered this while investigating the tapes further and digging a little through google.
Side A of Pussy For Breakfast begins with reedy tuning screeches and feedback! It sounds like a rusty see-saw. Spacy bits of echo blast off and are immediately retracted. Harsh, throttled, mangled noise… it feels rubbery, like a black tire flexing. The sax sounds more like an oboe in places. Retching vocal dissonance expands into inhuman sub-octaves… the frequency abuse is intense in the low mids. Arabic melody structures, veritable opium scales, can be heard unfolding below the gassy nebula of noise. It’s like free jazz buried in a dense muck. I’m reminded of the group Smegma as the harmonic reeds begin to take the character of a rail car careening forward at unsafe speeds. The low tones, permeating the mix, remind me also of coffin creaks. After a lengthy span of silence, some more noise pops in to say hello. After the initial grotesquery, alien / ufo reeds enter. Burbles, belches, sicknesses masked by filters. The saxophone begins to sound like a Dervish, whirling alone in the dark with little illumination, and we’re viewing through a thick, green glass of illness. The noise is relentless and refuses to relinquish it’s compromise over the balance of the mix, while tending to let slight windows form for us to see back into the clouded reedy den of druggy sax layers. Some clicks, and then the next part of this side starts, a grinding wall of noise that is released to fade away as a growing, ominous drone of low, bassy wind swells. Grating, fingernail on chalkboard feedback… static. It’s like the amplified experience of standing just outside Dracula’s manor.
Side B… I hear a horn. Feedback. It begins similarly to the A Side, squelching saxophone soon joined by crunchy noise layers. Sustained drones of high-pitched signal tones. It begins to congeal into a scab of sounds familiar, resonant bass drones, caterwauling reeds, harsh noise walls. Siren-like sax tones… swampy laser-blasts beneath. Mentioning a swamp, I’ve transported to a delirious state of malaria, laying on a raft in a humid bayou, sensing boas and alligators and the figures of tribesmen running behind the trees, reeds filled with poisoned thorns. The undulations are not of lovemaking or REM sleep, but of fevered madness. It drifts away… to a long span of silence. Much like Side A. Suddenly, whoosh, noise. Witchy, near-vocal utterances. Flatulence. I don’t know what is going on anymore, if this is rapturous, hellish or someplace in-between in the grey where reality occurs. Reeds sketch obscure lines. It feels like the mix is being chewed through by a lawnmower in places. The ritual begins to resolve. The next section is a piece reminding me again of Side A, and I begin to wonder if both sides of this cassette contain the same recordings, if there are only slight alterations? There are certainly similarities, but maybe differences… like, here, I hear a low rumbling that breaks away to repetitive, hoarse squelching. It’s the pacing that feels similar, the silences, the cordoning of the tracks by means of tape static clicks and pops. Hard to be sure… ah, but now I’m certain of the difference, as I hear peculiar electronic tones drifting in the background just before the end.
I begin Side A of Medical Fame… there is some rustling, and a bird? Reeded drones… warps… warbling. I like this so far, as the swell of bizarre harmonies occur, audible dissonance. It sounds like someone is adjusting themselves on a plastic sofa. Audible discomfort. Distortion… a refrain of sliding electronic tones. A razor. Spinning blades. Electronic animals. Now, rain… or static… I hear a flourish of low saxophone modulations. More sax, like air being let out of a balloon. Attic fan. This one is subtle, a hypnotic work of sound. The profile is modified after awhile, with some bass dropping away, concentrating the mix into the mids as everything becomes more shrill with distortion. It feels insomnial, moon-lit, clinical but unsanitary. Porcelain rinse. A gap of silence that is quickly filled with widened drones of multiple, distorted sound sources. A few of these. Brief dirges breaking down. More harsh feedback, screaming into the ears, electronic corrosion. Silence… pops… then, low, damaged sax frequencies. Reedy expressions laid over. Then, blasts of sweltering noise. Bass humming, nasal. The sound of a saxophone dying alone in a low-rent apartment. Loud bass, now… in and out. Sickly harmony. Flies. Remote control. I can’t help but laugh, at times, with the forms being explored. An interesting noise modulation twixt the reeds, several stabs of sax squeak like the treads of a sneaker on freshly waxed gymnasium floors. Purposefully warping sax note sustained, as the wet claws of an electronically produced animal climb. Next, an interesting jazz explosion. A large horn is crumpled. The resonance of a bright sax playing in an empty hall, or a massive beehive, reverberating through the combs. Sudden skip-tracking. Stillness. Artificial breathing, syncopated unnaturally. Large span of silence, more or less, waiting for the end of the tape.
On Side B, the silence is broken by the same animal tones, the saxophone… I’m quite certain I’m listening to the exact same thing as before, on the A. Crackling, drones, rough noise. And now that warbling… I feel certain. Anyway, then…
… I’m just gonna link to this now. It was a strange experience! Only 40 copies were made, so if you want this, get it while you can right here: