Exploring the Voids of All Known Undergrounds
by Byron Coley and Thurston Moore
first published in Arthur No. 9 (March, 2004)
Santa’s little helpers, or Yod’s little dwarfs, or whoever the fuck they are, were busy as beavers this past year. Those wily rascals loaded down our stockings with more treats than you shake a rat’s ass at. Thanks guys!
Boston’s Nmperign are the kings of small improvisational gestures. Early recordings for the Twisted Village label, and collaborations with other members of the New England (and world) underground have been great, but their new double LP, We Devote Every Effort to Offer You the Best That You Deserve to Have for Your Enjoyment (SIWA) seems like their best effort yet, The first LP was recorded in France, the second (I Am Sitting in a Fucking Room) was done at Wesleyan, and the records are as different as they are similar. Greg Kelley and Bhob Rainey (who ARE Nmperign) mix cuss-like use of extreme breath control with electronic huzzing and screeched vocals like no one else in yr carpool. And the French LP is as buttery and dense as some sort of magical cheese that melts in your pillow late at night, while the Wesleyan one creaks and weevils like bedsprings after a week of ape-fuck. This is a beautiful piece of sonic exploration that defies genre tags (jazz, noise, free, experimental, whuh) and is packaged in typically gorgeous SIWA stylee. And if you’re second-guessing these toots as hot shots who know NOT how to play REAL jazz then we suggest you bite your fuckin’ tongue. A challenge was made by Wolf Eyes’ Johnny Olson that Greg Kelley may play a mean horn but did he REALLY know how to play? “Of course I can REALLY fuckin’ play, noise boy!” recanted Kelley and with puffs of steam blowing out his ears he raced home to Eastern Massachusetts and recorded what has to be one of thee most fucked documents of obsessive-repetitive jazz dementia since the Charles “Yardbird” Parker Dean Benedetti recordings of 1947. Take after take after take of Kelley just blowing the living krap out of Dizzy Gillespie ‘n Kenney Clarke’s “Salt Peanuts” (just the head, mind you), you can hear the spittle flying with each take a brutal and savage point nailed into Olson’s brain. And just when you think you’re gonna smash your head thru your speakers he runs a few dozen maniacal variant runs thru Bird’s own “Donna Lee.” The coolest thing is after Kelley fedexed this sonofabitch to Olson, Olson released it on his label (American Tapes)! Quite a fucking showdown and, needless to say, highly recommended.
Stefan Jaworzyn may be best known to some as a guitarist (Skullflower, Descension, Ascension, solo, etc.) or as the proprietor of one of England’s best record labels of the ‘90s, Shock. But he first made his mark as an amazingly smart and savage writer and editor, covering exploitation and strange art films of all sorts in his magazine, Shock Express, as well as via various freelance gigs. He has edited some superb Shock anthologies over the past few years, but really seems to have outdone himself with Texas Chainsaw Massacre Companion (Titan), which is a fascinating history of the original film, its follow-ups, the work of Tobe Hooper, the movie’s creative germ (Ed Gein), and everything else in the exploit-o universe. There’s amazing info on Hooper’s pre-Chainsaw work, the Austin hippie scene, the mechanics of producing splatter films, jokes at Dennis Hopper’s expense, and lots of sharp writing and great pics. Even if you don’t like this sort of thing generally, this is a totally wonderful read.
If you wanna watch this kinda thing, rather than read about it. Let us suggest a couple of hot numbers. The first is The Living Corpse (Zinda Laash) (Mondo Macobro), which is a long-thought-lost Pakistani vampire film from 1967. It has similarities to some of Hammer’s Dracula films, but is full of curious details, and has an absolutely unique feel. Much of it is directed almost like a silent film, and the pacing and lighting mirror that as well. But there are berserk musical interludes, inferences of baby eating, wild dance numbers and many other mind-blowing touches. If you are a devotee of the psychotronic, this is a must see. As is Happiness of the Katakuris (Chimera Entertainment), a Japanese film from 2002, directed by Takashi Miike. Colored heavily by the scenes that parody The Sound of Music, this movie is an insane mix of horror film, musical, heartwarming family saga, and claymation nightmare. Sorta hard to describe it without going through it scene by scene, but it’s a very whacked out story about an extended family that runs a rural hostel in which every guest seems to end up dead. You should just see it, okay?
For reasons of sheer cussedness, we have always considered Curlew to be the weakest link in the musical chain forged by Alabama surrealists. By this, we mean that the combo never really seemed like Davey Williams’ best unit. Their records were okay, but they were a little too Laswellish in parts to really excite us. But hey, here is an archival live LP by the band, Gussie (Roaratorio), recorded at a defunct Minneapolis club in 2001, and it is a monster of soul-churned improv snacks. Everybody seems to be extremely loose and lateral here. George Cartwright’s saxes, Williams’ guitar, Chris Parker’s piano, Fred Chalenor’s bass and Bruce Golden’s bass are all making great small noises and big splats, and there’s none of the surgical riff-handling that marred some earlier records. The freak register reigns in all quadrants, and there are some truly singular squeals here. And since this a Roaratorio product, it is also packed in some fine original art, and is pressed in fidelity that can only be described as dandy. What a treat.
One of the hippest jam records to enter our sphere lately is The Beast LP (De Stijl) which pairs the glapsy Midwestern otherness of Wolf Eyes, with the solid dunderage of Smegma, the band perhaps most responsible (along with the Residents) for a real underground noise continuum in the US of A. Smegma, originally from San Diego, then based in L.A., and then in Portland, have been clucking out their own frantic brand of post-form madness since the early ‘70s. And it’s as untaggable now as it was then–instruments, random noises, voices, electronics, everything flutters into a big vortex of wet cement, emerging as a perfectly-realized sculpture of confusion. This session happened because Wolf Eyes were touring out in Oregon and wanted to meet their heroes. So they did. And the results are just ducky. This is the first real extended recording we’ve had of Richard Meltzer vocalizing with Smegma, and he sounds great; almost like hearing Yogi Bear bum-rushing the stage at Company Week. And the combination of the two units’ sounds is pretty seamless. You could break your neck trying to figure out where one stops and the other begins, so be careful as hell when you listen to this. But do listen, ‘cause it’s good.
And the only way for us to stop talking about frikkin’ Wolf Eyes is maybe talk about some other Michigan madmen. How about this cat, Charlie Draheim? No one’s too sure who this joe really is, but he has issued a cassette called March of Slimes and it has already proven to be one of the best goddamned underground USA noise releases of the last full moon cycle. If, after absorbing Jaworzyn’s Texas Chainsaw opus, you want to know how some kid who grew up with repeated viewings of said film and had to just set his ass-on-fire to MUSIC, then search out Draheim’s tape. The only distributor we know who’s carrying it right now is Hanson.
The Sun City Girls’ organization has moved into new fields of endeavor with their new Sublime Frequencies project. This is more or less an ethnographic odyssey into the music and culture that informs the SCG’s own strange trip. The first batch of stuff includes a few CDs (which we haven’t played) and a couple of very interesting DVDs (which we have). The vids are both documentaries of musical events from what Capt. Beefheart called “the other side of the fence.” Jemaa El Fna is a 50-minute film by Hisham Mayet, shot in Marrakech in 2002. It basically documents a strange evening of music and ritual (and very bizarre record cleaning techniques) in a large town square that serves as a meeting place for local musicians. It is very crude, but it is pretty spellbinding anyway, because the music, the scene, the whole goddamn thing is just a weird as anything. And man, those record cleaning scenes are unbelievable! Nat Pwe was shot by the band’s Alan & Richard Bishop, and Robert Millis, in Burma. What’s depicted here are a variety of performances at a festival held every year to celebrate these kind of mean ghosts. The ghosts who are the focus of this particular event seem to have transvestite tendencies, so the film shows a crazy pastiche of sword-music, cig-dancing, cross-dressing, and scotch-juggling. It’s another eyeful, lemme tell ya. And both of the DVDs had lotsa digital glitches, but they didn’t really distract that much from the otherworldliness of the visuals’ flow. Beep.
Norwegian label Humbug has released some sweet swill these last couple of months. Of particular note is a new 7” by Portland, Maine’s leading ladies of electric dada pollution, Crank Sturgeon, E-Z Voice over Box-Top Living Solutions (Humbug030). Here we have the Sturgeon alone at his desk in his room shuffling noise clutter around and talking about it out loud. Weird and decidedly warped. There’s also the 7” lathe-cut by Rats With Wings titled Black Label 7” (Humbug025) with nice percolated noisetronik action courtesy of Australia’s Bill Burston. A five-inch lathe-cut by idm theftable, “A just B” B/W “B or A” (Humbug021), shows off the more flux-mouth music by this Windham, Maine resident (Maine noise rules!) in conjunction with the attached CD (which is more machine/found sound stimulated flux-huff). The identity of this cat is one Skot Spear and he’s a registered one-man fluxus wrecking crew. A lathe-cut LP by Edward Ruchalski, Having It Out (Humbug020; edition of 50), lays out superb swathes of mood/noise using homemade instruments, sound sculptures and motorized string machines. He is also known to incorporate event sounds, primarily recorded from his back porch (family picnics, etc.). Ruchalski resides in Syracuse, NY and has been kicking around the new music scene for some time. Like the deep playing of Organum and Mirror, Ruchalski is the real deal. Lastly, there’s an LP by Bill Wood and Fredrik Ness Sevendal, Song of Degrees (Humbug016; edition of 200). Sevendal is in Slowburn, a hazy Norwave outfit, and used to be in some band called Gom we’ve yet to catch up with. Wood is a New Zealander who has recorded extensively as the excellent 1/3 Octave Band in his native Kiwi. This dynamic pairing is a freedom ride of various synthesizer and miscellaneous sound improvisations and all rather great. So ask for Humbug at your local record shack.
The latest, greatest book by Canadian poet Valerie Webber is called One Night Stands (VW). It is a sequence of 20 poems, written in 20 bars, while Ms. Webber enjoyed a rum and coke, and smoked a single cigarette. The results are funny and brutal, a kind of travelogue of the lost, filled with a great tumble of details, and written in Webber’s crisp, acerbic style. I guess we should just all be glad that there’s still smoking allowed in the bars of Quebec. This book’d taste a lot different without the tang of nic. More Canadian content comes in the form of the new issue of Fish Piss, a bi-lingual (‘though mostly Anglo) ‘zine from Montreal, which combines strong comix and graphics with an excellent review section, and great features. Of special interest this time are a few inter-related pieces on the recording industry (a general history of the early days, a snazzy bit on K-Tel, etc.) and a fine obit of strongman/street person, The Great Antonio.
Probably named after a bass clarinet player from Sun Ra’s organization, Eloe Omoe is an extremely raunchy free-rock duo from Eastern Massachusetts. Using bass and drums (but not drums n’ bass), they make little swirls of dirty fever that rise into the munge of the night before collapsing like so much puh-dust on the floor of the warehouse. There are a few tracks on their eponymous debut MLP (Infrasound) that seem to have been recorded live, and they kinda remind of what a very stripped-down version of Demo Moe might have sounded like. So perhaps their name is more a tribute to that long-gone NY outfit than it is to anyone who wielded a licorice stick, be it a bass one or not. Stylish!
Of all the eccentric wildfolk in NYC past present and future not too many can hold a candle to the real life weirdness of Edgar Oliver. He’s a dramatic actor and prose artiste cum urban vampire. He’s been stalking the lower depths of Manhattan for well on 30 years. His first book, the novella The Man Who Loved Plants (Panther Books), is an astounding journey through obsession and dark desire. Imagine Hubert Selby trading lines with J.T. Leroy and you may come close. Or not. And the voting is in: best broadside poem by a lawyer this issue goes to The Bodhisattva of the Public Defender’s Office (Remitittur) by Richard Krech. Krech has, of course, been producing important and liberation-oriented poetry since the ‘60s. But his legal work has not been largely documented in artistic ways before. Now, here’s a very nice synchretic fusion of two of his main threads. And it’s a gas. Very splendid words, illustrated by Richard’s daughter, Briana Miller. Meanwhile, #4 of Miller’s own cool mini-comic, Break (Break), is also out. This one documents the utter stupidity that befalls poor working retail stiffs on a day-to-day basis. Excellent work. And if you contact her, be sure to ask about back issues.
Meerk Puffy is one of the inventors of modern Providence, and his work with Forcefield, as well as his solo efforts, have put a new, more thoroughly stupid (read: American) face on electronic field action. And finally, after a small pantload of releases in other formats, there is a Meerk Puffy LP available to the discerning. Nung (Animal Disguise) is a wonderful battlefield of real lockgrooves, fake lockgrooves, sequences collapsing in anger, notes exploding in rage, and all kinds of other throbbing noise. It’s a hell of a pleasing platter, and it looks pretty hip, too! And, naturally, another wonderful basket of Providential slunk has arrived from Load Records. There’s the eponymous debut LP from Vincebus Ereptum. As might be expected from a combo taking its name from Blue Cheer’s debut album, the sounds here are as loud as cottage cheese. But unlike some similar volume-mongers, these guys seem to remember what a great band Flipper was. Love live Pet Rock! There’s also the debut LP by Kites (who were ballyhooed in Arthur No. 5). It’s called Royal Paint with the Metallic Gardener from the United Sates of America Helped into an Open Field by Women and Children, and it mixes alternatingly skuzzy and static electronic hair-wall-doodles with an aesthetic taken from the meanest playground on Earth. Which is a cool mix of stuffs. The rest of the Load vinyl load (as it were) is from non-Prov artists, but that’s not to discriminate against. Brooklyn’s USAISAMONSTER’s new LP, Tasheyana Compost, is a brilliant as its two predecessors–stylistically reminiscent of some of the Minutemen’s most casual Boon tunes crossed with a more spasm-oriented version St. Vitus, plus plenty of uniquely contempo strangeness. What a South Bay concept! And San Francisco’s Total Shutdown have released a posh eponymous LP that is partly their patented, staggering, stop-start free-punk fusion, and partly a new, more diffuse, sputsy, post-core atmosphericism. No complaints here.
As regards the world of magazines, Swingset #4 is out. Steve Lowenthal puts together a real fine read, with good music stuff (Catpower, Iron & Wine, Susie Ibarra), plus enough art, lit and whatnot to separate from the pack. Issue # 4 of Astronauts music ‘zine from Australia has just been sent over and it’s full-on killer. Healthy, revealing interviews with percussion stud muffin Tim Barnes, starkissed folk punk Matt Valentine, soul bunny P.G. Six and Wooden Wand’s James Tothe gets deep inside the murky psyche of Hall Of Fame. Also, fresh as hell is a solo book of prose by Matt Valentine, Small as Life & Infinitesimally as Pure (Child of Microtones), which is a wonderfully cracked yarn about record-collecting, Buddha nature, drugs, sex, and many other important topics. If you like his musical work, you will certainly shit yourself sideways reading his fine words. There’s also a new issue of Mineshaft. Everett Rand’s great lit ‘zine features art by Crumb, Deitch, Bruce Duncan and Ace Backwards, plus a d.a. levy collage, publisher Jeff Weinberg’s memories of long ago political vandalism. Also included are poems by Irving Stettner, Wanda Coleman, A.D. Winans, and plenty more. Duncan and Backwords have also put together the 15th Telegraph Street Calendar (Twisted Image), which depicts a year’s worth of Berkeley’s finest streetnicks. Send one to yr mom. And a companion piece to this is Backwards’ Surviving on the Streets (Loompanics), which is both a memoir of Ace’s journey from New Jersey to the Bay Area and beyond, as well as a good hands-on guide to homeless living. Not brand new, but interesting and useful. And Stettner also has a new issue out of Stroker, one of the best, longest-lived underground poetry ‘zines around. #76 has a long tribute to Howard S. Levy and a great sample of his work, plus the usual Japanese content, Tommy Tratino investigations, and much else.
Spires That In The Sunset Rise are a female trio from Chicago who mine the Wicker Man tradition better than anyone in recent memory. Their eponymous debut LP (Galactic Zoo Disk/Eclipse) sounds something like Alva pretending to be mid-period Current 93. There is a nice, tense, wheezy otherness to the way that the strings breathe in and out in concord with the harmonium, and that the vocals blend incantational tones with barks right out of Polansky’s Macbeth. There are other raw touches to the music that bring to mind the early Godz, but the hoot-ritual aura eventually overwhelms any sense of art-anarchy. Which is a pretty hip thing to do, eh? The same label offers the Flashing Open LP by Plastic Crimewave Sound, another Chicago band, whose previous 45 was a nice slab of futuristic pulse-rock croak. The album is more of the same. Great touches of Krautrock, Hawkwind, Chrome, Pere Ubu and whatnot, draped across a large, echoey avant garage. Park your cup here!
Readers who are fond of silk-screened art and pornography are probably already well acquainted with Le Dernier Cri, long France’s most distinguished oddball art press. But should you not have “gotten down” with them as yet, might we suggest seeking out L’oraison des orifices by Quentin Faucompre. This fine new volume has more bizarre, handsomely-printed pictures of genitals in unusual action than you’ll see in a year of regular church going. It’s “really” “something.” If you have the nerve, they have the images.
In terms of a mighty-fine, one-sided LP series, one would have a tough time naming one superior to the recent set on Table of the Elements. There are six of them. San Agustin’s Triangulation (Hoof and Mouth Blues) is a fairly clamorous set for this instrumental trio, having, as it does, an opening sequence that approaches as close to rock-action as these guys are likely to get, before ascending into blue clouds and clots of lightning. Loren Connors’ The Murder of Joan of Arc is a ringing string of electric guitar strikes. It lacks the outright brutality of some of Loren’s recent recordings, but has its own devious agenda. It spurts majestic rolling amp barrels that will first knock your legs out from under your ass with gusto, then quiver loudly in a corner. Which is nearly all anyone could ask. John Fahey’s Hard Time Empty Bottle Blues (1-4), recorded live in ’97, typifies some of his late period pre-hardball beauty motion. This era’s languid acousticism was something I used to find particularly spiritual, and that memory seems borne out here. Cool. Laurie Spiegel’s Harmonices Mundi is a performance of Johannes Kepler’s 1619 musical piece, based on the spatial relationship of the planets and their paths in the solar system. Spiegel’s computer music realization of this swirling set of drones was actually shot into space on a 1977 NASA probe. But now you can enjoy it in the comfort of our own planet as well. Rafael Toral’s Harmonic Series is just that, a splendid sequence of tones, generated by guitar, analog electronics and computer, surging against each other (and your eardrums) like little tin foil bulldozers skirting the edges of the universe. Arnold Dreyblatt’s Point Source/Lapse has those two pieces recorded in ’97 by two separate groups of young musicians. These performances give the work of this (ostensible) minimalist a shockingly antic quality. Indeed, “Point Source” reminds me of nothing so much as the Theoretical Girls’ “U.S. Millie.” Sheesh. My only caveat on this series is that the pressings can be a little noisy at times, but that goes with the turf on clear vinyl, silk-screened editions, so clam up.
First issue of Pitchfork Poetry Zine we’ve run across is #10, and it’s a good one. Cover image by Loren Connors, poetry by Ira Cohen, Lyn Lifshin, Guy Beining and others, with good graphics and a feature on the wonderful California poet, Gerald Locklin. Locklin is probably best known for his long association with Charles Bukowski, but he’s a great “street” writer in his own regard and has a ton of books to prove it. The most recent is a prose collection called The Pocket Book (Water Row). There is the long title novella and a bunch of short stories (some of them very short), which are both funny and sad as hell. Locklin’s mature writing is great, like others of his generation of underground writers who have survived to tell their tales. He has a thoroughly great handle on the dynamics of blue collar day-to-day grunting (emotional, intellectual and social aspects, inclusive) and he just nails it time and time again. This would be a great place to start reading him. But be warned, his backshelf is vast! And is you get in touch with Water Row, be sure to check out their stock of new and used underground lit. It is quite staggering.
Also, we must offer a correction on something from a couple of issues back. It was said that Benoit Chaput was the sole driving forced behind Montreal’s Slow Movement. “Not so!” Say many readers. It appears that the wonderful visual artist, Julie Doucet, is the genius behind many of the gestures and concepts. So we apologize and commend to you all of the great work that Ms. Doucet has done under her own name. Great wads of it are available from Drawn and Quarterly Press, or you can seek out her newest collaboration, which is Chroniques de New York (Seuil) by a young French writer, Jean-FranÁois Jouanne, who wrote the stories to be read on the radio. Julie’s illustrations are great. And although the press seems to be hard to contact, the book is available through Montreal’s Fichtre.
CDs are hard to actually pick up and stick inside a CD player, very difficult, but once in a while Bull Tongue takes a little road trip just to see what’s new on the peeps’ market. And seeing as how most mid-size rentals have fucking CD players in ‘em, we hoist a tote bag or two of CDs into the ride and just fucking wail thru ‘em. From South Deerfield, MA to Pensacola, FLA (and back) one weekend we must’ve jammed at least 2,000 of these shiny repellent pieces-o’-shit into the “player” and y’know, four of ‘em weren’t half bad:
1. Sixteen Bitch Pile-up: B.F.F. (Gameboy Records) Five females who regard themselves as “charalambides possessed by morbid angel mutilating merzbow’s bloody corpse with a combine.” Whoa. And they’re not too far off. An unholy recording of a holy nun’s mass saturates the top of this monster and it gets propulsively taken over with guitar feedback, machine terror and turntable destruction. Nice.
2. MOUTHUS (Psych-o-Path 6) Mouthus is Brian Sullivan and Nate Nelson of Brooklyn and they absolutely destroy. Super great feedback and overload squall w/ a hep no-wave edge. The label touts them as a brain-gouged cross between Jandek and Fushitsusha but our ears catch something more of a Rudolph Grey-jamming-with-Sightings vibe.
3. Various: SPACE IS NO PLACE (Psych-o-Path 5) Wait, another release on the same label? Not fair! But fuck, this is kill city great. It’s also the first place we heard Mouthus. Their track on this comp is better than the heavy shit on their own CD. And it’s surrounded by excellent other New York area weirdness. Flaming Fire deliver a bent cabaret-chaos piece, No-Neck Blues Band, Sightings, Axolotl, Enos Slaughter, and the great Breast Fed Yak (featuring Controlled Bleeding’s Paul Lemos and Samlas Mammas Manna sitarist Hakan Almkvist). This label not only also released the great Egypt is the Magick # How Many Pieces Of The Puzzle Can The Mind Go Without? and the Sightings Michigan Haters CDs but reissued the Kraut Klassik In The Poor Sun by Zippo Zetterlink. No Shit.
4. Various: Rap Pouch (Breaking World Records 35) As Bull Tongue does most of its daily stomping at the foothills of the Berkshires, it’s only natural we’d respond to the local flavors of this comp from Hadley, MA. A 3” CDR in a sewn pouch, it contains an amazing tune called “Rad Melting Plastic Box” by the already legendary Fat Worm of Error, which comes across as the only Bonzo Dog Band meets GTOs as freezing 21st century noise freakdom we’ve heard to date. There’s other goodness here from Barn Owl, Noise Nomads, Josh Burkett and others but that Fat Worm track is haunting us.
AS ALWAYS. IF YOU HAVE MATERIAL TO BE LICKED BY BULL TONGUE–VINYL, BOOKS, MAGS, VIDS, ETC. SEND TWO (2) COPIES TO:
PO Box 627
Northampton MA 01062
American Tapes: http://www.geocities.com/americantapes/
Animal Disguise: PO Box 2191, Dearborn MI 48123
Astronauts: c/o therhizomelabel, POB 319, Torrensville Plaza SA 5031 Australia
Child of Microtones: email@example.com
Chimera: 519 Belmark Ct., San Antonio, TX 78258
Crank Sturgeon: http://www.muteantsounds.com
De Stijl: no address, try http://www.forcedexposure.com
Drawn and Quarterly: http://www.drawnandquarterly.com
Fish Piss: Bix 1232, Place d’Armes, Montreal, Quebec Canada H2Y 3H2
Galactic Zoo Disk: c/o Eclipse http://www.eclipse-records.com
Gameboy : http://www.gmby.net
id m theft able: http://www.kraag.org/id/
Infrasound PO Box 382163, Cambridge MA 02238
Le Dernier Cri: http://www.lederniercri.org
Loompanics: PO Box 1197, Port Townsend WA 98368
Mineshaft: POB 884, Lewisburg, WV 24901
Mondo Macrabro: www/mondomacabrodvd.com
Panther Books: http://www.goodie.org
Pitchfork: 2002A Guadalupe #461, Austin TX 78705
Remitittur: c/o RK, Ste. 1000, 1611 Telegraph Ave., Berkeley CA 94612
Edward Ruchalski: http://www.phonography.org/phonographers/r.htm
Stroker: 174 Huntsville Rd. #5, Dallas PA 18612
Sublime Frequencies: http://www.sublimefrequencies.com
Table of the Elements: http://www.tableoftheelements.com
Twisted Image: PO Box 12642, Berkeley CA 94712
VW: c/o Webber 87 Troy, Verdun, Quebec Canada H4G 3CG
Water Row: http://www.waterrowbooks.com