#patrick emery

i-94 Bar Pleasure Maps review by Patrick Emery - http://www.i94bar.com/albums/pleasure-maps-sand-pebbles-kasumen-records

Pleasure Maps - Sand Pebbles (Kasumen Records)

Written by Patrick Emery on 22 September 2017.

Conceived somewhere between Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable, the Neighbours writing room and the half-back flank at VFL Park, Sand Pebbles have always been something of an enigma.

Befitting a band made up of record nerds who could discern seven separate strands of freak in every lost '60s beat, Sand Pebbles bestowed upon themselves the descriptor "flower punk"; the flower was the inspiring melody, punk the defiant attitude.

Sand Pebbles didn’t embark on a proper tour until over 10 years into their life. And when they did, the band imploded. In the midst of a wave of internal tranquility, the band got together to record an album. Again, consistent with cult artists of yore, old tensions spilled to the surface, but thankfully not enough to hinder the release of the album a couple of years later.

“Pleasure Maps” is a Sand Pebbles record through and through. It’s replete with blooming melodies of the ‘60s generation, infused with Andrew Tanner and Tor Larsen’s crisp melodies. "Desire Lines" is a collage of psychedelic groove and synthesiser atmospherics, the Summer of Love in a Manchester basement.

By Patrick Emery

“’Blaze of Glory was #1, the Velvet Underground came at a good time.”

Sand Pebbles and The Spoils Present Peel Slowly And See: The Velvet Underground at the Flying Saucer Club, Elsternwick, Saturday August 22.

The Spoils play the debut album, The Velvet Underground & Nico, whilst Sand Pebbles take on the Velvets’ wild second record, White Light/White Heat. Patrick Emery got Sand Pebbles’ Christopher Hollow’s VU. 

When did you first hear the Velvet Underground, and what was your immediate reaction?

I was a teenager and given the second and third albums by a girlfriend. My immediate reaction was devouring the records. It changed my idea of music, of songwriting and what I wanted to do if I ever got a band together. ‘Blaze of Glory’ was #1 so it came at a good time.  

Were you conscious of the deviant themes being explored in the lyrics?

I suppose but it wasn’t the thing that interested me most. I loved the romance and the sadness and the intelligence of the lyrics. Most of all, I loved how the band sounded. Super quiet or poppy or totally abandoned, it all sounded amazing and full of possibilities. To my ears they were always only playing one chord. Turns out, they weren’t but that’s what I wanted to do. Boil things down to one chord and come up with ways to make it move.

The mythology of the first album is that - according to Brian Eno - only 300 people bought the album, but everyone one of the them started a band.  I understand you challenge that mythology?

Well, it’s not me. Richie Unterberger put out a great book called White Light/White Heat. He calculated the debut sold close to 60,000 copies in the ’60s. That’s not such a bad showing for a first record. In the early ’80s, Lou Reed told Eno it was 30,000 and Eno’s quote in Kristine McKenna’s Book of Changes was: ‘I think everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band!’ 30,000 is better than 300.

Do you think Nico brought anything to the band's music, or was it just her icy Nordic personality and sensibility that was important?

Nico is an acquired taste. Maybe it’s the doomy Teutonic vibe? The not quite there pitching? The harmonium? Her solo records are much more challenging than the Velvet Underground’s. The songs she sang on the VU debut are out-and-out pop songs. She makes them much weirder with her voice. She would’ve done a great version of ‘Sunday Morning’ too.

Lou Reed came from a pop songwriting background, whereas John Cale came from a classical via avant-garde musical background.  Are they complimentary or competing artistic perspectives?

It’s one of the great pairings. I love that Lou sings every song like it’s a pop song, like it’s going to be a hit. He lost that later on when he started barking his lyrics. John Cale owns those first two records, his ideas drive them but it helped that Lou wrote such great songs and plays amazing guitar. It helped that Moe Tucker’s limitations were her strength. It helped that Sterling Morrison’s guitar lines are so sympathetic. I also love what Doug Yule brought to the Velvets, too. I think Doug Yule’s contribution is very underrated. Growing up, nearly every piece about the VU praised John Cale and caned Doug Yule. Doug Yule was an incredible bass player, a beautiful singer, great harmony vocals. His organ on the 1969 Live version of ‘What Goes On’ is stunning. It’s outrageously good, a peak moment in the band. He also wrote one cracking song on Squeeze called ‘Friends’.

The VU is often reduced to the symbiotic (and later fraught) artistic relationship between Lou Reed and John Cale.  But what about Sterling Morrison and Mo Tucker - what do you think they brought to the VU sound?

Out of all the Velvets, Sterling Morrison is the one I most wanted to meet. Apparently he was great company, an incredible storyteller. If you’re ever stuck for ideas on a song, it’s always good to ask, ‘What would Sterling Morrison do?’ I’m even starting to come round to his moustache. There was a time when that was the only thing I didn’t like about him.

Are you disappointed that Moe Tucker has thrown her support behind the Tea Party in the US?

It’s shattering. Wes [Sand Pebbles drummer] tells me that Moe sells toys on eBay. He bought a Star Wars figurine just to make contact. I don’t agree with her politics but her drumming is untouchable.

The timing of the Velvet Underground's classic period - 1967-1969 - coincided with the emergence of psychedelia and philosophical (hippie) idealism on the west coast, the latter which the Velvets seemed to consciously oppose.  Do you think the Velvet Underground was being deliberately provocative in countering the misty-eyed idealism coming out of San Francisco, or were they just a New York band telling them like they saw it?

They were just competitive, like every band. They took a lot from the Byrds. The Byrds were ice cold, too. The VU also used plenty of 12-string guitar. Lou played a Fender Electric XII and it looks, and sounds, amazing.

The Spoils’ Sean Simmons says you have an alternative interpretation of ‘White Light/White Heat’ – what do you think that song's about?

In his book, Richie Unterberger details how Lou Reed was inspired to write ‘White Light, White Heat’ after reading a book by occult writer Alice Bailey called A Treatise on White Magic. Bailey wrote about the concept of channelling white light, some metaphysical energy within yourself so you can approach a more transcendental state. Lou later gave the book to Jonathan Richman and regretted it. Apparently it inspired Jonathan to write ‘Hey There Little Insect’. Lou had told him that insects are the manifestation of negative ego thoughts. Those Bailey books also inspired Billy Name to lock himself in his darkroom at Warhol’s Factory for five months.

I also like how Lou put a lot of credence in star signs – as a band, the Velvets were half-Pisces [Reed, Cale], half-Virgo [Morrison, Tucker]. And Doug Yule was Pisces too. It was one of the reasons Lou let him join. That shows a different side to Lou, an unexpected side. He also died doing tai chi looking at trees, he couldn’t have been too anti-hippie.

How many versions of Sister Ray have you heard, and what's your favourite?

I paid $45 at Greville for the Sweet Sister Ray bootleg with John Cale from La Cave, 1968. I have to like that one.

As a musician, what's the most challenging aspect of the Velvet Underground's music?

The quality and consistency.

If Waldo Jeffers wanted to impress Marcia in an on-line world, what would he do?  Send a holographic virus of himself to her Facebook page?

[Laughs] No idea. ‘The Gift’ is probably my favourite song off the White Light/White Heat record. But only the instrumental track. I used to have to turn the balance to the left to hear it as an instrumental. One chord, amazing riff.  

by Patrick Emery of The Australian

The cover of Love This Giant, David Byrne's collaboration with Annie Clark, aka St Vincent, is arresting.

  Sand Pebbles, Thursday January 4, The Old Bar

  In a week when Rupert Murdoch belatedly tried to counter his reputation as an olde worlde media luddite by signing himself up to the moment's flavour of the week social media phenomenon, a more significant announcement flew almost below the local music radar. Amid the standard serve of tweeting tedium and self-indulgent trivia, Sand Pebbles drummer Wes Holland declared that tonight's gig at the Old Bar - a benefit for the Familia Moja Children's Home - was likely to be the Pebbles' last gig for an indefinite period.

In some ways, it wasn't an entirely surprising development - the Sand Pebbles have played three times as many interstate gigs in the last six weeks as they've played previously in their entire band history - but it was potentially calamitous, nonetheless.

The Old Bar on a Thursday night in early January wasn't particularly auspicious timing for a farewell gig, but then again, the Sand Pebbles have never professed to be a conventional band. The set began with the evocative rumbling pop of Natalie, the only ingredient lacking in tonight's performance being co-writer Dave Graney's irreverent on-stage prose.

From there it was laconic step to the present with the reflective adult-angst of Because I Could, a song that must one day be played adjacent to its companion piece, Future Proofed. On Long, Long Ago, the Pebbles blended the spirit of David Crosby with its patented brand of musical lysergic acid, bending and stretching the track into hitherto unknown shape and form. Chris Hollow dedicated Wild Season to the Pebbles' dedicated fans; the song itself ducked and weaved with the viscous poise of Hollows' former St Kilda teammate Gilbert McAdam, while Black Sun Ensemble expanded and contracted with a galactic intensity worthy of Cambridge scientific study.

After a plea from the venue management for one final track, the band returned to the stage for a typically invigorating cover of Julian Cope's Out Of Mind On Dope And Speed, augmented by the presence on stage of a few socially excited punters. As the gig crashed into its finale, it was hard to believe this could be the end of an era. And if it was, it was a perfect high to go out on.

LOVED: The love in the air during Out Of My Mind On Dope And Speed.

HATED: The fear that this may be the last Sand Pebbles gig for an indefinite period.

Ceduna

(Sensory Projects)

  Just about every middle class kid with a Lonely Planet guide, a thesaurus of hackneyed eastern philosophical musings and a pair of a designer hessian pants has claimed to have had a transcendental moment. Transcendental, in this context, is often used synonymously (but erroneously) with enlightening. A genuine transcendental moment is said to occur when the witness achieves a higher plane of consciousness, possibly due to the surrounding cultural and environmental conditions, and most likely with the aid of some mind altering substance of valuable potency. But when the drugs wear off, so usually does the moment, and, unless sent spiralling into the waiting arms of a cult with a penchant for liberal sexual activities and micro-managed financial practices, the witness is left with little more than a hazy memory of something that seemed more enjoyable than mundane, everyday existence. There are plenty of transcendental musical moments to be had without embarking on a journey of self-discovery. Indeed, the liner credits to the new Sand Pebbles record, Ceduna, convey the band’s thanks “to everyone who transcendental with us”. The Sand Pebbles understand the power of a transcendental, psychedelic experience – not in the sense of bright ink blots, purple granny glasses and festering Grateful Dead t-shirts, but in the sense of a moment when you can close your eyes, listen to the music and wait for it to interact with your senses and take you to a different cognitive place. Sure, you don’t stay there forever – but if it was perennial, it’d never be any fun going there. Ceduna was recorded proximate to the town of the same name, located on the south-eastern coast fringe of South Australia, referred to popularly as the Great Australian Bight. As an artistic statement, Ceduna is a product of its geographical environment. It’s sparse, remote and laconic, an album that you can listen to anywhere, anytime, and feel just that little bit more relaxed, a bit more aware and a helluva lot more in touch. The colours of the album are immediately recounted and illustrated with the opening track Red, orange, purple and blue – it’s bright, but a bit dark on the inside, light but really deep, man, if only you know where to look. Wild Season, in contrast, is a celebration of surf, sand and the beauty of the pop song, played out eight miles high into the psychedelic musical atmosphere. The perfectly crafted harmonies that characterise Short term memory loss are as compelling as David Crosby’s charismatic grin after imbibing some of LA’s finest mescaline (later on, Tina Louise recounts tales of acid fuelled juvenile pranks that would amuse Crosby’s drug-battered brain). The literary inspiration of Tennessee runs a distant second to the haunting, beach bummed television feel of the tune itself and Purple Flower is a love song that gives folk a sparkling mauve tinge. And then there’s the intergalactic brilliance of Future Proofed, a song that both typifies and contradicts western society’s inherently flawed quest to protect itself against the perils of the future, without acknowledging that we’re all only living in the moment, and it’s only this moment that we can deal with. In Silver Comet the Sand Pebbles take a sharp left back down the glistening, spaced out, surf pop that only few bands even comprehend the existence of, before the final song, Scenic Railway, unrolls slowly into a lazy fifteen minute journey out of the haze, and back into what passes for normality. Like the early morning recovery session with a couple of cigar sized doobies, things stumble back into reality after the wild night spent in wild psychedelic heaven. And while the Sand Pebbles’ journey is at an end, and the transcendental moments are over, you can’t help but feel you’re all the better for it. Ceduna doesn’t solve world poverty, re-plant old growth rainforests, bring peace to the Middle East, or even eradicate the influence of the mind-numbingly moronic public relations industry from our daily existence. But it does give you plenty of moments that transcend all that shit – and that’s what quality psychedelic music should do.