http://www.myspace.com/themoha

On UK tour which includes the cool and reputable Venn Festival, this young, crazily energetic and established pair go from strength to strength and are ready to bring the house down again with their nuclear barrage of ultra-tight instrument and PA slaughter. You get it, be there.

Run away pop kids, crazy free improv noiseniks Moha! are back! Thank the lord…
Taking it upon themselves to resurrect the true spirit of out-there extemporising, this is, like their last masterpiece, Raus Aus Stavanger, a wonderfully refreshing blast of high-density electronic squall, explosive drumming and mind-bogglingly cosmic guitar strangling, courtesy of fret wizard, Anders Hana and drummer Morton Olsen. The trick to making this stuff so engaging (that’s right pop kids, I said engaging) is to create some kind of dialogue between the extremities. These bouts of Supercollider-minced sound rarely take a strictly abstract course. If you stick with it, there emerges a fascinating anti-pattern, filled with snatches of straight-ahead jazz and bubbling digits. Most importantly it’s delivered with a clarity of production that shows how much CARE actually goes into creating something that, on the surface, seems so chaotic.
- Chris Jone BBC Music

MORE PICS HERE

Eaten By Children

Another triumphant return in the shape of Londoner (now Edinburgh based) solo sound modeller Rob Hart. Last seen in these parts at the Grapes back in '06 where he blew the crowd away with his improvised table-top sale of home baked analogue electronics and consumer goods. Not just another pedal-pusher, EBC is a stylistic (can I say old school for such a young guy?) rare type of noise artist, with a really keen ear for interesting, outer limits spontaneous magic. Also bringing new work in the shape of additional home-made Super 8 visual treats.
http://www.statesanctioned.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xib17HHT650

Forest Creature

They make stupefied rocking motions, like chained bears. They conjure a shifting storm of toxic buzz, swaying and growing. One of them shoots pulses of overdriven synth through the mix, looping, distorting, setting of samples; the other screams through a Fisher Price karaoke deck, but it makes no difference. Syllables are melted, swelling the noxious cloud that starts to spins between the two of them more quickly, noticeably, mutating into something like a rhythm.
Limbs twitch, like nerves stabbed. No anger here, just anxiety without any recognizable source, Krautrock's alien motion refracted through the hollering of the dammed. I want more. - Plan B
http://www.myspace.com/forestcreaturesofdoom

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