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There is a good chance you found us accidentally by using the word “taint” in your search (If you found us on purpose, you deserve our accolades). Of course we don’t know what you were looking for, but you stumbled on a damn cool project. Look around; let us help send you on a musical journey. Here you will find a number of album reviews from the strange and extreme to the tame and mainstream. Our reviewers are a bunch of obsessive miscreants. Most of us are avid music collectors and have been involved in the music world for decades. A couple of us have been in or are still in bands.

There are no rules on Tickle Your Taint Blog. Our reviewers might make you laugh, or piss you off; both results are legitimate. One reviewer might write a glowing review of an album another might tear it apart. We may end up adopting a single review system, such as five stars, or each reviewer may use his own or none at all. We may have a new review every week or we could end up with one every six months. This blog exists as a social experiment to build community among a diverse group of music maniacs – our reviewers and hopefully you. Pull down your knickers, lube up and join us in tickling yours and our taints.


Friday, November 9, 2012

Ancient Sky - T.R.I.P.S.

(Loud Baby Sounds, 2012)


Reviewed by Jimmy “Explosive Diarrhea” B.

Late one night I was more or less randomly searching for samples of progressive and/or psychedelic bands. I found Ancient Sky on the Robotic Empire website – if you are into punk or metal and like independent music, I recommend you check out Robotic Empire. Anyhow, I came across Ancient Sky. I thought the name was cool – it has a postrock ring to it like Explosions in the Sky. Also, I am a sucker for DIY projects. The packaging of this record, yes my friends, an honest to goodness vinyl record, is sparse (the word sparse is not sparse enough). The album sleeve is monochrome and looks like it was stamped on during a very creative and perhaps stoned moment at a stamping party. But, who the fuck cares about packaging, it is the music that matters.

Regular readers of this blog know that I not only take good care of my taint, but I pay great attention to the physical sensations and cues only a well, uh, oiled taint can provide. When I first listened to T.R.I.P.S., I did not have one of those moments where my taint needed immediate tickling. It took a few listens to get a proper feel for what the album was all about. Then my taint began to respond. Each song on the record is superb. Most of the tracks start slow and build up speed before slowing again. Even in their faster moments, the songs possess a depressing bleakness I love. The combination of keyboards, effects, and the vocal style create a feeling or vibe of vastness, which makes the listener feel hopeless and insignificant. I often get this sensation when I listen to space rock, which I believe is the sub-genre that best defines T.R.I.P.S

My favorite track on the album is “Towards the Light.” This track is a good example of what I mentioned above – a feeling of vastness and insignificance. The song is, for lack of a better word, foggy. We have all heard a dense fog referred to as pea-soup. T.R.I.P.S.  is like pea-soup for your ears – if you wait long enough a pea will rise to the top and become clear. The deeper you go into the fog, the clearer the music becomes. The first thing you will notice about “Towards the Light” is the slow and depressed vocals filling the huge gaps between the bass and guitar. Then the drums kick in, and we are launched into space. The guitar begins buzzing and circling looking for someplace to land. Is that hope we feel? No. The drums fall away, and we are once again left as we were found, empty.

I, like a lot of music junkies, often listen to music to fill an artistic or intellectual void. There is no other reason to listen to weird shit like Sleepy Time Gorilla Museum or The Mass. At other times, I listen to music because I need a testosterone jolt. Then there are those moments when I need a different type of stimulation, when I need to feel something. These are the moments when I spin Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper,” or REM’s “The Wrong Child.” T.R.I.P.S doesn’t give me a testosterone jolt, doesn’t make me tear up, and doesn’t fill an intellectual void. Ancient Sky on T.R.I.P.S makes me feel insignificant, and that makes me fulfilled.

I tickled my taint for eight minutes.

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