Globe Hall, 105.5 The Colorado Sound and Twist & Shout Present
Doors: 7:00 pm / Show: 8:00 pmGlobe Hall
This event is 16 and over
All sales are final. Review your order carefully, there are no refunds for any reason. Tickets are non-transferable. No tickets are mailed to you, your name will be on the will call list night of show. Night of show (1) bring a valid government issued ID and (2) print your confirmation e-mail and bring with you night of show. Come hungry! Check out Globe Hall’s award winning BBQ!https://www.globehall.com/event/1643178/
It was produced and recorded by Bobby Harlow at Studio B in Los Angeles, California, in the hot winter of 2014.
No one involved was prepared to make a record, but an invisible hand pushed them to do it. Perhaps it was God or that special someone we all know and love called The Devil.
God and The Devil actually have very similar interests. They both love electric guitars and they both want you to listen to Black Moon Spell and freak the fuck out.
There were many strange occurrences during the recording session- Dracula landlords, flashes of mysterious light, haunted microphones, songs that mixed themselves, demonic vortexes swirling in coffee cups, etc.
Under the Black Moon Spell you may experience euphoria, demented visions, wet dreams, bouts of backwards laughter, and dazed confusion resulting in primordial dancing.
Fire played a very important role in the making of this album. King Tuff loves fire.
For some reason, no one can really explain how the Black Moon Spell came to be. It just appeared one day and demanded heavy rock music and meatball subs.
Backwards messages may be found on this record.
Los Angeles, full of its screaming coyotes and creeping helicopters, surely slathered its sexy, twisted, hairy, polluted spirit all over Black Moon Spell. The Sunset Strip shat itself when it heard all these guitar solos.
A lot of people always ask King Tuff when he’s gonna put out a new record. The answer is September 23, 2014.
Can you feel the Black Moon Spell creeping up the back of yr neck yet?
King Tuff would prefer not to tell you the full story of making this record because its long and crazy and you wouldn’t believe him anyway. Also, I am King Tuff.
Magic Jake, who played bass and is beautiful like sunshine, would like to take this moment to give you a hug and invite you to a tanning party on a beach of your choice.
Old Gary, who plays drums and has the most glorious cackle, would like to take this moment to crack a cold one with you and invite you to watch the old ballgame with him.
Old Gary was out watching the old ballgame, so a wild critter named Ty Segall played drums on the song “Black Moon Spell”. Ty enjoys speaking in a goblin voice in his spare time.
Night fell on Studio B. A Tarot card leapt from the deck and said, “No human judgement is of any value here.” King Tuff agreed.
Sub Pop first discovered King Tuff curled up in his palace in Vermont. It was basically a shit hut made of moss, mud, and glimmering stones hidden near the graveyard, and it was guarded by beautiful wild bullfrogs with silver fangs and baseball bats.
Punx, Squares, Skaters, Farmers, Bartenders, Grandparents, Stoners, Carpenters, Hobos, Heshers, Babes, Babies, Plumbers, Strippers, Art Teachers, Teenagers, Townies, Moms, Dads, Truck Drivers, and Witches will all love this record.
Every song on Black Moon Spell was written without giving a shining fuck about nothing.
Listen to Black Moon Spell, turn yr volume knob up to 666, put yr lover in a 69, and let yr inner grinagog rear it’s wicked, unwashed, smiling snake head.
Listen to Black Moon Spell and give yr ears what they’ve been begging for all year; a heavily weird, heavenly dark, hysterically magical Rock & Roll Sexperience.
ps. the only part of this story that isn’t true is the part about the shit hut. I actually was living at my parents house when i was discovered. Love, KT
Cut worms is a crime scene; my god, who would do such a thing? Cover your eyes!
Cut worms is a gardening hazard; they feed at night! Treat with diatomaceous earth before they affect your beans.
Cut worms can mean many things, but today, most likely, Cut Worms means Max Clarke, singing up a storm for you on his new nightcrawler of an EP, “Alien Sunset.”
Some say, if there’s anything in the world you could be doing other than music, please god go do that thing. Well, Max Clarke could have done a number of things; after going to school for illustration, steering toward a career in graphic design, and taking some handy-man type jobs, he realized that songwriting, a pastime since he was twelve years old, was the only type of work that didn’t feel like just work. Writing and finishing songs had never been an effortless task for Max, more like a trip “through heaven and hell,” but he wanted to spend his mid-20s energy on something important and personal- and hey, a little hellfire is good for the complexion.
“Alien Sunset” is a collection of home-recorded “demos” from Max’s time living in Chicago (Side A) and New York City (Side B), written in spurts, like little designated creative coffee breaks. Following the example of a prolific roommate who had endeavored to write a song a day for a year and did so for FOUR years, Max decided to dedicate his daily hour of free-time after work to mindful musical regimen. He challenged himself to record two songs a month and release them online - for better or for worse, praise or criticism. Expecting little more than a few constructive comments regarding his 8-track fidelity, he was surprised by the positive reactions to his antique sound, classic voice, and Everly Brothers style close harmonies.
Each song on “Alien Sunset” has a sturdy, four-legged American quality, but also contains a gentleness and sense of stolen privacy. The arrangements are both dense and airy, decadent without sacrificing an ounce of effervescence. For sure, something about “Alien Sunset” looks back over time’s shoulder, but it isn’t really “retro” music - it just glitters in a way you don’t often hear these days.
If this collection can be said to have any sort through-line, a whiff of motif, it revolves around the obvious delight Max takes in singing his heart out, despite variegated agony. The lyrical work moves from simple, diary-like musings, self-consciousness on the dance floor and general lust problems, to illuminated text. As a lyricist, Max draws upon the Romantics and Symbolists of the rock and roll poet tradition; “Song of the Highest Tower” was written the day Lou Reed died and is an adaptation of a poem from Rimbaud’s “A Season in Hell.” The moniker itself, Cut Worms, borrows its striking and ambiguous imagery from a line in a William Blake poem: “The cut worm forgives the plow.”
For Max, making music is free passage back to the realm of ecstatic teenage feelings, and “Alien Sunset” is full of that intense, feels-so-good-to-feel-so-bad energy. Even when the lyrical content broods, the spirit sparkles, and Max’s emotive vocal performances bubble over with the tipsy dancing and diaphramic laughter of a writer lover fool who, having his wrestled his demons, hit his head upon a multitude of dead ends, and failed thrice and half times at self-immolation, has nowhere left to go but relief.
4483 Logan Street
Denver, CO, 80216