Wevie Stonder: all the people are fridges; all the food is made of October

For a decade, ridiculous joketronica band Wevie Stonder (photo: Fjords) have been churning out their own parody dance music, featuring (according to the New York Times) "singing and shouting" and "a portly German tuba player in sunglasses and costume antennas."

They are electronica's version of Weird Al Yankovic, except without the yawning realisation that you've heard the joke before.

You'd think they'd be stuck in a rut doing this kind of thing, like Goldie Lookin' Chain. Yet the boys still have one sweaty ear pressed up against music's pregnant underbelly. Their latest album The Bucket churns out dubstep and grime references like some kind of clown-show sausage machine without an off-button.

Hans Peach takes off Leftfield and T-Rex and is the sound of all the guitars and all the synths playing Twister after closing time in all of the UK's instrument shops. Small People (think Lemon Jelly on K) is a Carribean island, palm tree at its centre, spinning in giddy circles like a warped record.

The Amiga beeps beep. The funk bass funks. The 909 snares ensnare. The whole thing pleases. "It's going well Tuesday," spouts the Nathan Barley DJ on Glidstep.

I have no idea what any of The Bucket means. It's like being at a party where the people are fridges and all the food is made of October. Wevie Stonder leave the quirkiness of Lemon Jelly and Avalanches dead in the dodo juice.

Swimming with the sharks in the (Basic) Channel

This week, I have been mostly listening to the relentless stabbing* of German techno.

Basic Channel's BCD-2 is well worth a listen if you like watery synths splashing on top of throbbing waves of shark-infested drum machines.

For the dedicated techno fan, this compilation of a decade or so of Basic Channel releases renders all those rare 12"s dead. But it's worth it for the inexorable attack of the bass drum. Go buy.

Off State-side now. Producer Mike Cadoo has reissued his 2005 internet album Shimmer And Fade in a real life album format.

Released under his Bitcrush moniker, the three ideas here are electronic noodling, pop sensibilities and live percussion. With guitars. Four ideas, then. Like an indie Lemon Jelly. Five.

It's a pleasant enough 70 minutes of listening, but I wish it didn't wear so many influences on its sleeve, whether it's Plaid, New Order, Boards Of Canada, early Verve, MBV, Lackluster or Proem. If he stuck to the drudging indie stuff, this could be magnificent.

Finally, holy child of Detroit Kenny Larkin (pictured) has made his Chronicles 12" series available on one double CD for the first time. Detroit's a little too smooth for me, but the packaging's pristine and you get a free mix too, so give the boy some love.

I'm not sure if Detroit has many sharks, so I can't end this post neatly by looping back to my original theme of infested waters. You'll have to write your own ending in the space below.
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*if you like relentless stabbing, there's a new documentary in which Justice slash up the face of a psycho fan. That's, like, soooo Dead Set.

"No. No. You've still lost me. Could you rewrite it with just the facts and about 50% less nonsense?"

Them's that's got eyes upon to see, them's not hatheth the brains wot to unnerstand whath the heck they're looking ath with them eyes eth th thth.

This famous quote by Lord Something-Of-Somethingorother, who was afflicted with an appalling lisp, reminds me of the most common criticism of my blog: "it makes me laugh, but I have absolutely no idea what you're saying most of the time".

So let me make this simple:

This is a blog post. It is a review of some recently released records. The records are not well known, because I'd rather punch the panda of pop into next week's zoo and crack open a sparkling giraffe of dubstep instead.

Clear? Good.

Nightmares On Wax is back. thought so... is his annoyingly titled new album which plays havok with those of us who like our ellipses at the end of sentences and our capitals at the start.

There, the havok stops, because this is the earhole equivalent of soft furnishings, of magnolia, of a shop assistant's smile, of baked beans without the chilli powder, of food in a university refectory.

In short, it is not an Affleck's Palace: it is an Arndale Centre.

A tastier take on chill-out comes from Araya, whose debut LP Bridge Of Hesitation is grounded with tinkling synths and guitars, not unlike Lemon Jelly's more comatose moments, before being kicked up the arse with a more wiry version of the Boards Of Canada production ethic.

I can only review the mp3 version, which is a glitchy, meaty platter that pleases from the opening Plaid-ish chimes of The Mast to the panicked cut-up vocals of the stomping closer Child, Let's Stop.

The CD edition has more tracks, and even has a cut called Murakami's Kangaroo Zoo. For haruki's sake, what next - Ishiguro's Badger Super-Collider?

Finally, it's time to mirror, signal and (Roots) Manuva. I'm not sure what that means: but I do know that the best British rapper of the past decade has a new album called Slime And Reason. If you don't buy it, the super-collider will explode and we'll all be turned into purple semolina.