Archive for January 2012

The Island   1 comment

Tried to post this earlier but I guess something was going on.

Simon’s song about Britain I guess.

Fantastic animation by Lucy there innit.

Posted January 31, 2012 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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Room 6   Leave a comment

Went round my old house the other night to visit Phil in my old room. First time since I moved out in April last year, and I was there for 15 years, so even things like opening the door onto the landing started fucking with the neural pathways after a couple of drinks. Adding to the trippiness, the spaceman, ever the astronaut of the internet and auteur of the YouTube derive in particular, hit me with the following couple of vidz:

Maybe I should try and persuade Meeuw to let me do a cover of that Tim tune for his label. That’d have a certain conceptual continuity.

I was just getting settled in for the night when Phil told me that when he’d said he couldn’t get too mashup cos he had work at 10 he actually meant PM like RIGHT NOW TAKE YOUR STRONGBOW WITH YOU DICKHEAD. He did tell me a funny story though which I’m hoping to squeeze into pure elxir of jokes grist for this Gagarin record that’s causing us all so much English trouble. I saw a real copy of the Doozer record too!


Thanet To Dogon   1 comment

That restless C Joynes has been nice enough to include thee Um pop hit Evil in a mix for The Liminal. Presumably the first & last time anyone will mix my stuff with Burial. Haven’t listened to all of it but Joynes is a safe pair of hands with a mixtape, basically.


Posted January 27, 2012 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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Can't Get Started reviewed in The Wire   1 comment

If I ever wrote for The Wire I like to think it would read a bit like a cross between Clive Bell and Byron Coley, the former for his warmth and lucidity and the latter because he’s fuckin’ Byron Coley, dude! But that’s just what I like to think. Anyway, Mr Coley wrote something about something I did ages ago, it occurs to me now, and Mr Bell has recently done me the honour too. I’m really pleased with this review, so thanks very much.


Pete Um
Can’t Get Started
Grist 0005

It takes a while to enter Pete Um’s world: his songs are brief, dense and ramshackle; he revels in a reviewer’s dismissal of his live act as “grindingly awkward shithop”, and wears his self-doubt on his sleeve. Can’t Get Started is an ironic title, for Um is prolific across videos, blogs and music. But this 10″, a condensed Best Of, is a remarkable, coherent document, an excellent introduction to Um’s misfit creativity. Whoever compiled this, possibly associate Nochexxx, interviewed alongside Um for an article mapping the Alternative Cambridge music scene (The Wire 325) – has selected melancholy gems rather than eccentric freakouts. These 17 songs don’t waste your time, and repeated listenings underscore Um’s talent for crafting poetic vehicles carrying memories of Holger Czukay and Syd Barrett.
One of Barrett’s last songs was “Wolfpack”, and here is Um’s “Wolves”, in which the pursuing pack seems to be music itself. In spite of its howling and chanting, the song is delicate, a study of vulnerability. The subject recurs in “Built To Spill”, and “You Will Never Let Me Fall” has Syd-alike vocals, bathed in reverb and quivering guitar: “I’m a slow bomb, I’m a sad boy, but I will cure myself before you cure me.” Once you accept Um’s ad hoc working methods, realisation dawns that there isn’t a weak track here, and if there’s a fault, it’s that everything is too short. Um has an answer for that too: the sexual innuendo of “That’s Too Close”, in which a girl with sparkly lipstick chides him for not making his songs longer.

Clive Bell.



Oh yeah, hopefully there’ll be some actual real-life online record stores carrying this effort soon too, which is partly why I’m writing this, but if it isn’t embarrassing to buy your emotional ruin porn direct and you use the evil that is paypal or have some other clever suggestion then leave a comment or pete[dot]um[at]ntlworld[dot]com or however you’re supposed to express that. It’s going to be roughly £8 before p&p if yr in the UK, & if you wanted to talk about deals on CD-Rs to go with it you will find me very amenable.

Posted January 17, 2012 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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Some unknown gurgling degenerate.   1 comment

Doozer news!

You can buy it here. Good lord!

An Appeal   6 comments

Hey guys,

ha, floppy own-brand tortilla chips, peanuts and Lilt and vodka (just a very small medical dash for my damaged tropical child) for breakfast. Happy New Year. Can’t sleep so let my betters rest. A guitar string just pinged on the wall so I must be Accompanied.

I don’t know if you use Discogs but I do and I like it. I’m not one of those psychedelic revolutionaries that acts like a soul-smarm priest who’s pretending he hasn’t got anything in his underpants. I have baby, it’s here. I believe in the meta-fundamentals of the market. I believe in the Big Deal, it is holy to me. If a has it, and b wants it, then so be it and let’s haggle the fucker across. We are good creatures, don’t get me wrong, and people forget it and then get all pious when someone helps a brother out as if it isn’t written into us like hunger, violence and sorrow, but in that sense humans are alright and can’t help but help. Ants help ants, wolves howl for the chase, Biiiig Issue etc. Yeah, but fuck the Old Ways and Record Collector and that. My The Best Of Abba used to say £40 in the Book, but, uh, the internets is grease for human souls and the funny thing about capitalism, cos all human history is irony, is that which is finessed is also almost complete & thus over, man. What I mean is the web is The Final Auction, and that goes for eBay as much as Tahrir square or whatever. OK.

So, if you’re still with me, or ever were, then here is a racing tip for the lowest common denominator written on a peice of internet paper. Our pal Si, you shall know him by his name up there, has got at least one copy of Tripel 004 going at £2. Now I don’t cast aspersions on Simon, because of what I’ve said above, and because he is someone who both likes to live simply and also used to run an online shop, and since the two are incompatible the former will inevitably win out over the latter, thank goodness fror his sake. Tripel 004?, I hear you ask in your unripe foolishness, like dogs questioning the unlikely appearance of the Ace in the great fucking help of the sleight of hand! Well, way back when when there was no history of that to make a mad old man tell it like this now, yer Dave, my fucking Dave, in his Gold-souled wish for something more meaningful than what’s measured in money, stumped up for the Split. A thousand fucking pounds. Mastered by the fucking Faroe Goodiepal on a reel-to-reel (he says) according to his special specifications. Dubplates & Mastering. A picture disc. Designed by Animals On Wheels. Me half-cut in an amusment arcade in Padstow throwing it down like a Maori warrior or some PNG shit. It’s all fucking grist. Two Thousand & Five, Dave on the concrete tip, the audio derive through the raw tripped-out beauty of sound, where even TV cookshows can get souffled into something just-so that the absence of words leaves your dumb face in a squinch whilst your mind races for HELP. You know James Ferraro? Well, it’s not like that music-wise but it isn’t just the chefs. I feel this strongly. There’s a blankness, an overloadedness of symbols, that was in the recipe. Play the records side by side. Mix them together perhaps. And yeah, it’s half a giraffe of probably the best thing I ever did or will. I’m on Discogs, and you can buy the CD-R off me for not-a-penny-less than 5 quid, and it might be the complete thing, but that record is All Gold, solid fucking gold, and the only reason you don’t know it is because nobody told you, but I’m telling you now.

So, what I’m asking you to do, is please buy the record off Simon. I think the market value is more like £4.50, at least, so you’d be getting a good deal. We still live under a capitalist system, but this is a time of renewal, traditionally. Why not make it your first symbolic purchase of 2012? Please.