Melbourne, Experimental, Field Recordings, Pop, Synaesthesia, Avant Garde; CD - Ex Used condition Francis Plagne's second self titled release presents strange and visual evocations of different places, and the variety of different spaces that shift throughout its 91 minutes. There are claustrophobic spaces, and wide-open vistas conjured through the use of field recordings. Francis Plagne is like looking out the window of a bus as the scenery unfolds. It’s easy to attach metaphors to his sprawling work, but it’s bewildering to discern exactly where Francis is coming from, probably because he’s coming from everywhere at once. You could say it’s a schizophrenic musical identity, but I’d say it’s really just glee and enthusiasm that drive it all.  It’s a gleeful act of appropriation, but with such a unique spin on music, it’s hard to label it as merely that. Francis Plagne is forward thinking in its take on the notion of music being everywhere, if you just listen, in the streets, your house, and the park. Francis Plagne is everywhere and everything ; it’s cluttered, but sounds purposefully this way. The title of the track ‘A Chance Exposure To A Distant Rumbling’ reflects one of Francis’ chief aims; random moments in sound coming together all in one place, creating spaces, letting songs form beneath and between their folds. It’s an act of cutting and pasting, a monumental process of trial and error, considering just how many sounds make up his opaque pieces.

Noise, Harsh, Experimental, Electronic, Abstract; CD (Mego) - Ex Used condition Massimo's 2002 release Hello Dirty is a  relentless mess of clumpy noise, Hello Dirty is destined to be sold or permanently shelved by almost all who own it. That's fine with Massimo, though, because the rest are going to crank it and throw a TV out the window at some old man walking down the street. That makes Massimo giggle.  Hello Dirty can be taken one of two ways. For most listeners, it will be an awful experience. It offers little in the way of immersion, analysis or plain old bop-along enjoyment. There are no hidden textures, complex arrangements, striking ideas or catchy hooks; Massimo simply takes a dozen generic tracks and butchers them. Conventional structures pop up fairly often (one segment introduces a four to the floor house beat, another could be a riff from an eighties cock-rock band and most of the tracks have some sort of rhythmic foundation), but the abrasive digital garbage that those structures are built upon ruins any enjoyment. And that's the point. Everything here is a big “fuck you.” From the taboo imagery to the sandpaper in your ear distortion and clipping to his pornographic live shows, Massimo aims to make the listener uncomfortable. For most, this will be a huge turn-off and make everything he touches (well, almost everything - his releases for the Mego-related Fals.ch label are more welcoming but accordingly lose the power of his harsher work) unlistenable. For those who aren’t intimidated, though, Massimo is a hero and Hello Dirty is an exhilarating treasure.

Noise, Fat Cat, Experimental, Industrial, Electronic, Harsh, Japan; CD - Ex Used condition Japan noise-monsters XINLISUPREME's 2002 mini LP 'Murder License', Whilst containing fleeting moments of respite, is an album preoccupied with frightening, crashing, unending noise -- the sound of industrial culture cannibalizing itself. "I Drew a Picture of My Eyes," "Sakae," "Front of You" -- these pieces build from thrumming basslines to staccato .50-caliber percussion drops, and the forlorn, fatalistic mutterings of humans being eaten by iron smelters. The opening title track is similarly distorted; however, it layers a wayward, keening synth over the chaos, suggesting The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" played backward by berserkers. Later, "I.T.D.O.O.M." discovers a lonely, flute-like instrument wallowing in a world of breezy, grimy manhole covers. The instrument repeats its simple scale as sickly sweet air swirls through sluiceways, and it's calming, to a degree. Still, it's clear the bone-shattering aural grime of Murder License's more crippling material is never far away. The album closes with "Count Down," a flawless blend of its two extremes. Fractured beats scatter like cicadas unleashed over a pounding industrial rhythm. Somewhere a melody develops, down beneath the blast doors and corrugated grating. But the machines eventually, finally burn through, silencing Murder License in peels and tears of charred shrapnel.