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Arkansaw Man
Arkansaw Man
2007

Radium/Table of the Elements
TOE-CD-805
Compact disc

Here is the unlikely CD debut of Arkansaw Man, a wildly obscure San Francisco art-punk band that flickered to life all so briefly, between 1981 and ?82. This self-titled EP was its only 12-inch release. 25 minutes of music, 25 years ago... and sayonara. Were we now in the 1920s, such output would be the equivalent of a long-neglected 78, stuffed in someone's attic. Three minutes and a pile of dust.

Still, the best things in life – in the life of music, anyway – often are tucked away where they are hard to find. This is a great and unique record. It revels in terse and choppy guitar, the languid, sour leakage of keyboards and horns, and occasional lyrics sung as ironic disclaimer. The spare yet vaguely ominous bass lines recall the Gang of Four played back at 4 RPM. With a brilliant economy of means and a sparseness reminiscent of dub, the band got an amazing jump start on the whole post-Slint, post-Gastr, post-Rock thing.

A quarter of a century ago, the spindly funk machinery and discordant scraping guitars of Arkansaw Man failed to give the world much to latch onto, so its music got lost, abandoned in a locker at pop culture?s bus depot, the key left floating in a gutter somewhere one day to be scavenged. There's no better place to find a glimmer of artistic gold.

"Continuing their quest to unearth some of the most crucial underground American music never heard, Table of the Elements have excavated this absolute classic from the lesser-known San Francisco Punk band Arkansaw Man. Originally released back in 1982 this was devastatingly forward thinking music, no doubt considered part of the no-wave post-punk scene back in the day, but listening to it now it sounds so much fresher than it should. In essence it’s closer to Slint and the whole post-rock surge of the early 90s than DNA or Ut, but because it pre-dates all of this it actually ends up sounding like nothing else on earth. The opening seven-and-a-half minute epic ‘The Ballroom’ is the band’s towering achievement, a grimacing, slooooow piece of reverberating, dissonant art-rock with a snarling, disassociated cynicism so connected with the time it was recorded. This is music which sums up the hopeless hedonism of the 80s in full, ominous, maniacally narcotic glory, and it simply needs to be heard by more than the few lucky people who managed to lay their hands on a copy of the 12” version. The release might only be eighteen minutes long but it’s some of the best skewed no-wave I’ve ever heard, and is well worth the asking price (and more). A huge recommendation for the disillusioned youth out there – you know who you are!"
Boomkat