Everything on this page is GONE. However, lots of rad distros & dudes carry NNF stuff from time to time, so feel free to explore some of these places, as there's a chance they've still got a stray copy or 2. if you'd like specific help, go ahead and write presents@notnotfun.com Revolver/Midheaven Forte (UK) Bis Auf's Messer (GERMANY) Tomentosa Volcanic Tongue (UK) DNT Records Time-Lag Forced Exposure Release the Bats (SWEDEN) Fusetron Sound Eclipse Apop Blackest Rainbow (UK) Gilgongo Morphius The Lotus Sound Staalplaat (GERMANY) Aquarius Family Conspiracy (BELGIUM) Reckless |
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NNF050—CD Dig the past and look homeward, angels. This many-months-in-the-making comp collects 21 old-school obscurities and raw gems scattered across Not Not Fun’s first 50 sonic statements. Sadly, current compact disc technology maxes out at roughly 75 minutes of audio action (get on that, scientists!), so tons of equally beloved but lengthier genius jams and beautiful sprawlscapes could not be included (maybe subsequent volumes should be released on microchip instead of CD?!). Siked Psych’s visionary visuals are courtesy of NW color wheeler Devon Varmega aka Hair Party, and his lettering, lines, layout, etc are a dream. Discs come with a dizzying double-sided six-panel photo-collage tribal/trip-out poster, celebratory shredded neon foil, and are banded with 1 of 10 retardoid band comics by Britt. Hand-numbered, and limited to 500. The SIKED are: My Little Red Toe The Wolf Tracks Raccoo-oo-oon Yuma Nora Haunted Castle Impregnable D Yellow Swans Bobby Birdman Quem Quaeritis Silver Daggers Abe Vigoda Herr K Goliath Bird Eater Foot Village Mika Miko Child Pornography BARR Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television Foot Foot The Golden Hours Belly Boat |
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NNF049—CDR Hey beetles: love IS all you need. HOWEVER, love’s radness magnifies intensely when you run it through a hot pink thrash master pedal and tons of insane delay and jack it all on a volume 10 sunn amp. Which is how we celebrated our punk noise nuptials. Twas the MOST epic/beautiful day, crowded with a million siked friends, bands, amplifiers, microphones, beers/wines, vegan buffets, high fives and headbangs. Fortunately for us/you, our dear dude Bobb Bruno paced his bourbon intake that night, allowing him to semi-soberly record the whole amorous/glamorous affair on his black metal 8-track. 60 minutes of ripping sets by loud loved ones like Mika Miko, Abe Vigoda, Rainbow Blanket/Cruel Face (i.e. Jeff & Greg Witscher), and Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television. Stamped CDR comes in a collage-photocopied party-splatter envelope stuffed with confetti barf and tied with rainbow ribbon and yarn. Limited, and made with only love. |
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NNF048—CS You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows, but fuck, it helps. Because global strife/stress/chaos is XTREME of late. Definitely time to retreat, circle the wagons, build shelters. And this is the tape to withdraw with. Kalamazoo, MI-based Wigwam tether together fraying clouds of electric dis-ease and rumbling spirits, sewing a storm-blanket of amp warmth, dreamcatcher distortion, and…flutes? From the brains behind the Tapeworm Tapes label. Tent City are a tribe from the Arizona deserts/suburbs (Tempe), and their B side contribution, “Comes Full Circle,” is a patchwork quilt of recent live sessions and scattered backyard communions. Way more posi-vibed but similarly native in approach, TC clatter sticks and stones and broken drones for a giddy slumber party of free-whatever and vanishing voices. Housed in stenciled sandpaper covers with runic colored-sand emblazoned cases, and twine-banded with totem beads and feathers. Limited to 100 copies. |
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Blood Venus NNF047—CD Few dudes understand the Eastern zen of heavy riffing more than Bobb Bruno. The man lives in a literal lair of black amps, black hair, and black metal, and only emerges to eat fried chicken or get wasted at Mika Miko shows. Blood Venus rages this yin/yang vibe to the speaker-shredding breaking point, alternating feedbacker obliteration with passages of complete tunnel vision drone stasis. The rampant guitar slaughter is epicly complemented by Jeremy Villalobos' iron hammer drum moves, which kick from stoner lopes to total crash attack, sometimes dropping out to peripheral cymbal shimmer, all in a sick split second. And you can truly hear it all, too, as the songs were tracked in the studio on serious two inch tape. Nine deafening epiphanies of black leather headbang war, somewhere between Sabbath, Sleep, and...qualuudes. Oh, and no vocals, cause they're too metal for that shit. In jewel cases, with weird blood-tentacle squid-witch cover art. |
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Whitman Near Purity NNF046—CS Intensity is a varied creature. There’s no question ten billion decibel whiskey-chugging amp-destroyers earn the adjective (most of the time), but vaguer/quieter types burrow the psyche too, obviously. Near Purity pairs two of the So-Cal desert’s truest intensity-bearers on one singular C16. Watching Him Die is an inner vision/testament of Jeff and Greg Witscher (of Rainbow Blanket/Men Who Cant Love), recorded deep in a familial dark night of the soul. Three anguished tracks of brotherly rage, intimate themes, and Long Beach longing. Harsh noise at its most naked. Whitman’s side-long side, “The Rise and Fall of Ken Miller,” is a return to the Beaumont loner’s earliest unsane fucked-folk style. An apoplectic fit of pots, pans, loony bin voices and stringed garbage. Barn-thrash for the chicken coop crowd. Lace-stenciled tapes in color fold-out j-cards, banded with blur-paint denim strips, and sealed with pins of artwork by Greg Witscher. Limited to 100. |
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Child Pornography NNF045—LP LA is a sprawl, no doubt, but the deserts get dryest out in the sick sticks of Riverside. Ever since we first trekked out to the Pixel Palace (RIP) and had our skulls redefined, the 92501 crew have struck us as maybe the truest keepers of the So-Cal house party bombing freak-wave flame. The scene's since changed of course, but these two bands were/are the kings of old-school Inland Empire radicalism. Quem Quaeritis are no more, sadly, but the trio's jams here show beyond a shadow of a doubt why they fucking ruled. Jesus-bent weird-hop, Laker boat free-jazz, and post-political tent spiritualism mesh into a holy trinity of lunatic Americana. No genres, no rules, spring break freedom turned inside out. Child Pornography have been rocking/annoying west coasters since nearly 9/11, and their game still ain't up. Nine spazzy rants of Suicide-on-pixie-sticks Casio-babble, dumb-wave guitar shred, and helium-keyed stream of consciousness word barf. Enough outsider vibes and confusing nonsense to irritate even the stone-chillest board-short bro. In fancy printed matte jackets with face-collage scribble Erin Allen artwork, on kryptonite green vinyl. Edition of 420. |
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Inside Men NNF044—CS For reasons related to movies and rollerblades, California is usually considered an outdoors-oriented landscape. Similarly, for reasons related to Xasthur shirts and Jagermeister-on-ice, Bobb Bruno is usually considered not intimately impacted by Denzel Washington’s on-screen presence. However, on both counts, this is WRONG. Inside Men is the weird truth, a black celebration of western interiors, dark electricity, and a driven cinematic enigma. Goliath Bird Eater’s side stalks from false-calm Boris-drones to Sleep-style apocalypse crush, all snare/cymbal slaughter and Quaalude riff burial. Robedoor’s “Draining Day” trances in more of a bells-and-smoke scene, with zone-out loops and lightless tape shred transmitting the sentiment of superior interiority. Painted tapes in Denzel-emblazoned cases with a Hollywood insert, and DIY shrink-wrapped. |
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Poison Hands NNF043—2x3" CDR Seriously: fuck international borders. These Vancouver dudes sent us the sweetest demo EVER. Gnarly skronk-shred jams that morph into free shriekback post-jazz dead-zones (in a die-cut jacket no less!!). This is like that. Except even better!! And more epic!! One disc of harsh shrapnel free-punk distortion-wave action songs, and one disc with just a single sprawling twenty minute clatter-creep shakedown. Perfect brainless/Brainiac feedback attacks for summertime. Painted-and-stamped discs in an oversized printed pamphlet with sick hands art and a photo-cornered insert. |
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Pre-American Lands NNF042—LP It feels like a trillion years ago that the musical universe collectively hyperventilated over the notion of “new weird America,” and thankfully so, as the catch-phrase was/is nakedly inaccurate. In contrast, Pre-American Lands tells it like it really is: insanely OLD. These are the sounds/songs of pre-concrete civilizations, resurrected by two of our country’s most mystic gangs of dream-beard antiquity-drifters. Iowa City’s Raccoo-oo-oon commune with dirt, drums, smoke, and tongues to ignite a sky-burning convocation of psychedelic exorcism and mumbled animal prayers. On the B side, Brooklyn’s Woods wander but are not lost, with stumbling strummed strings treading through a dense brush of forest jazz clatter and mossy electric hum. Pressed on blurry cream/sun vinyl with purple runic art labels and housed in awesome skull-magik screenprinted fold-over jackets (courtesy of Shawn Reed of R-coon), and adorned with a fortune-ensuring synthetic rabbit’s foot. |
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NNF041—cassingle w/pin Totally radical art noise youth puke in the concise cassingle format. Hot Girls Cool Guys are from Sacramento, and are – contrary to the name – an all dudes squad. But the singer screams nervous breakdown falsettos like a hot girl anyway, while the rest of the under-20 bros shred 90s style feedbacky multi-parts punk. Their cut is an anthem for neo moshers. And on the B zone, Chino workhorses Abe Vigoda offer up a raw, fun-wound rager of claustrophobe rhythm-grind and weirdo/aggro vibes. Painted tape plus insert in a hand-screened canvas tote (with art-visions by Michael Vidal of AV and George W Myers of Grey Skull) bedecked with a sweet duo-bands pin. Young guns, younger guitars. |
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The Wolf Tracks Peace Paws NNF040—CS Even though most bands sing and ALL bands have songs, the "singer-songwriter" vibe still makes us barf. Hard. Which is what's so rare/special about these two United Kingdom acousticks. Both fingerpick into pensive drift zones and solitary mumble rumination, but neither steps near the shit poet pulpit of fake public heartbreak. The End Springs spins six-string patterns like spider webs, all quiet bossa-nova wanderings and neo-Fahey dusty landscapes, spruced with poignant sunrise/sunset delay and subtle sampled naturalism. Total tranquility base. The Wolf Tracks hunts a more feral, wall-of-the-wild vein. Clawed guitar leads and chord organ drones collide with forest-wind flutes and hairy wolfpack percussion clatter while vague voices mutter in the dirt. Campfire songs for after the fire goes out. Hand-stenciled and twine-tied with a talisman of palm tree-shrapnel. Limited to 100. |
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Feel the Crayon NNF039—LP This is a moment of heavy honor dudes. Magick Markers scrawled a permanent place in NNF’s heart the first time we jammed their deranged-shaman society-ripper “White Bikini” at max volume. Instantly became a total dream to carve that magik on sike-adelic vinyl. This IS that dream. Originally released as a limited-run 7-song CDR by the awesome east coasters, Apostasy Recordings, the wax edition of Feel the Crayon shaves 2 of the emptier tracks (for length/sound quality purposes), creating a harsher, denser document of their ecstatic feedback questing. Pressed on purple-haze vinyl, in color-washed hand-screened jackets with lunatic utopia artwork by George W. Myers of Grey Skull. Also comes with a hand-numbered 16-panel art-zine of additional GWM creature visions/drawings. |
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Barrabarracuda Bleached Speeches NNF038—CDR Freedom means a lot of things to a lot of people. Some Montana cowboys are like “freedom means having the right to rocket launcher a mule deer into a thousand pieces!” And other freaks are like “freedom means I can sue Coca-Cola because their soda made me burp!” But to witness the peroxide waves of bikini-punk fireworks-rock that constitutes a Josh Taylor’s Friends Forever show is to have freedom redefined forever. Amy, Kenna, and Germaine’s track here is a non-stop 18 minute junk-van thrashsterpiece of rainbow drums, headbang bass, and kool-aid keyboard plasma. Messy LA beach-cruisers Barrabarracuda exercise their own fair share of western liberties across 3 outsider agitations, decrying (or glorifying?) urgent social issues like Patty Hearst, Watergate mystique, and Bush-backed torture policies via bleedingly liberal guitar shred, pissed trumpet protests, and healthy freedom-of-speech abuse. In hand-stamped, die-cut sleeves. Edition of 100. |
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Bored Fortress 7" Club — Year One
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Failed Grails NNF031/EXBX015—2xCS It didn’t seem like all that big a deal when Martin Luther nailed his 95 accusations of heresy on to the Wittenberg cathedral's door on Halloween night, 1517 (the Catholic church/people had a fucking heart attack, but whatever). Just a shattered dude, nailing stupid steel into holy wood under an old-school sky. But this medieval gesture of punk-rock protest unknowingly sowed the seeds of religious rebellion for a million hippie pagans, college Nietzsche name-droppers, and teenage Burzum posers. Thanks a lot. Fortunately, “Failed Grails” taps into the heavier shit, channeling spiritual siege and the ashen aftermath through circuitry storms, infidel howls, and charred-altar smoke-drones. Comes housed in intricately spray-painted dual-cover (inferno revolt, cursed ash) cassette bibles, with ominously flammable match spines. (Co-release with Excitebike Tapes). |
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NNF030—CS This barnacle-encrusted comp of nautical sonics just washed up on NNF's sandy shores. Nearly ninety minutes of salty punk waves, experimental undertow, and Marianas Trench murk. Each ocean-blue tape comes housed in a jellyfish-stamped burlap bag bedecked with a scavenged seashell. Seafarers include: Silver Daggers Big Nurse PussyGutt Solitary Hunter Bobby Birdman Hustler White Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television The Wolf Tracks Recognizer Impregnable Abe Vigoda Mikaela's Fiend Watersports Gastric Female Reflex Bipolar Bear Loopool Oak Treetops Robedoor |
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Whiskey Flats NNF029—CDR w/comic zine Half imaginary spaghetti-western score, half ragtime saloon brawl, and half pirated cowboy movie samples (how many halves is that?), Whiskey Flats is like a night out on the range, gathered 'round a low fire with some chaw-gnawing men who don't talk much. Just the sounds of the dark desert winds, somebody peein' over by the cattle, and some tired hands fiddlin' with a banged-up acoustic guitar. There's good, there's bad, and there's ugly, all courtesy of hard-drinkin' (but harder-gamblin') LVC chief, Joe Kendall. He's helped out on most tunes by the good Jacob Smigel, who pitches in coffee-can percussion, homesick harmonica, and lonesome singin' where need be. A 16-track masterpiece nearly two years in the making, Whiskey Flats is the Dodge City of gun-slinging folk music. Covers printed on 50-year-old aged onion paper found at a tumbleweed-strewn yard sale, and accompanied by a dusty pamphlet of wild west funnies. |
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The Mystery and Her Crew NNF028—CS Nostalgia rules, especially when what yr recalling are the softer days of mid-80s yonder – a time when Calvin Johnson was top swinger and the Pacific Northwest was his luscious green K-hole. Reminiscent of Rose Melberg’s tender lullabies, the sort for cable-knit sweaters, hand-made zines, and homemade zucchini bread. The Golden Hours are Not Not Fun’s gentlest venture, and why not? We aren’t afraid of our sensitive side, nor can we deny the sweet thumping heart of DIY mail music. From Raf in Providence to Eliza in Eugene to Brian in Portland to you. This tape case glows in the dark, so hold it up to yr cozy lamplight, place it on yr bedside table, and get dreamy. |
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NNF027—10" He-Man used to live in Castle Grayskull. That place was fucking haunted (proof? you point a sword at the sky, chant "I have the power", and turn into a hulk). So is this black-on-black 10" of wretched hallow's eve spook-noise. Haunted Castle are a suburban Detroit duo of tortured basement clatter and poltergeist attack thrash, and their cacophony ritual here ("Rainbow of Octopi") is a cauldron of psychic evil and wraith frenzy. Easthampton's Grey Skull are a little more physical, starting a skeleton brawl with harsh tones, seizure shriek, and occult war drums. A trio of rad dudes (and sweet artists), GS bury their record in a mean, dead haze. Insanely awesome screen-printed, die-cut covers by Shawn Reed of Raccoo-oo-oon. Also, first 40 copies come with a bonus 3" CDR (either Haunted Castle or Grey Skull). |
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NNF026—7” Oh shit. This release is the riot Silver Daggers always promised us. Four saxy tracks of downtown back alley thrash, anarchist jazz, and knife-storm hardcore, all on a steel-blue seven inch. Punker than a cold tofu block through a city hall window, and about the same price. Housed in seriously screen-printed cardstock art-zines, with lots of post-political Crass/Conflict-style collages and underground rebel scrawl. Recorded by LA’s secret guru of heavy jams, Bobb Bruno, for maximum police state-smashing density. Ideal for insane house parties, and agitated political gatherings. |
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Dreamcatcher NNF025—3” CDR Hopefully some of you are rad/blessed enough to be familiar with Gabriel Mindel Saloman. The man is a FORCE: lofty thoughts, love-buzz guitar drones, and laid-back footware. When Yellow Swans stopped through LA in August with Metalux we managed to corral Gabe into holing up in the Begeirdo amplifier coven, where we drank rum from real coconuts, talked about astrology, and laid down a sick, sprawling, 16 minute metal march of feedback longing and heavy spirits. Dark psychic tribalism for ecstatic peace-niks. Each stenciled CDR comes leather-tied to a wreath of twigs, with 7 blood red beads, earth-colored feathers, and a dangling dreamcatcher. Limited to 96. |
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NNF024—CDR Assuming you spent most of high-school head-banging to Unwound 7 inches (pretty much a given), this lost classic of late 90's post-angst math-heaviness will hit you like a time-warp. An awesome mix of oblique screaming, idealistic breakdowns, and "Fake Train"-style guitar shred, Herr K kick Kill Rock Stars comps in the gutter (conceptually) with 7 serious tracks of pummeling nostalgia-core Kafka-punk. They went on to form skronk-wave super-group Silver Daggers, but these are the roots, the source, the fountainhead. Own some history, kids. Spray-painted CDRs housed in cryptic Communist propaganda parcels with real Russian stamps, and wax-sealed. |
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NNF023—LP After way too long dredging the sub-muck underworld of dead-junk CDRs and murky/mystical cassettes, Madison, Wisconsin’s most unruly musickal skull-cult, Davenport, finally burn a batch of their heathen earth songs into some sunburnt vinyl grooves. Eerie psychic vibes and scorched earth folk death hymns emanate from battered acoustics, amplifier ghosts, demonic rural clatter, and doomed calls of the wild. These are campfire songs for killing fields. On transparent aged-blood wax, in skeletal-rider silk-screened jackets. |
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Blood Trance NNF022—CS Summer in the city means not wearing socks, drinking infinite juice, and sweating too much on yr distortion pedals. Which is cool, cause the moisture short-circuits the cords, turning the microphone-drones into humid heat spell dream sequences. This hypnotic, sanguine split tape captures 2 such swelter jams. Loopool’s “Temporare Trance #1” is like a field recording from a rotting rainforest graveyard, all jungle ghosts and paranoid predator lurk, while Robedoor’s side is more of a sword-sharpening blood cell sacrifice soundtrack. Each cassette comes drenched in glitter-crimson war paint and banded with an Aztec bone bead bracelet. Will melt yr mindhole. |
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Sky Route/Star Roof NNF021/PPM007—LP Chino, CA is in many ways a thriving place. There’s vegan Chinese diners, plenty of adult video stores, and an active post-teen no-wave scene. Sort of. Mainly there’s just Reggie, Mike, David, and Juan arguing about which colors suck (all of them) on a suburban porch. And thank god for that, cause these 909 loyalists are ubiquitous dudes, road-tripping to any two-bit post-punk community center that will let them plug in and play their claustrophobic angle jams. Repetitive beaten guitars, Animal (from Muppet Babies?) drumming, and burrowing, burying bass lines—like boating shoes and cut-off jean shorts, these are signature Abe Vigoda moves. Marbled grey vinyl in sprawling silk-screened jackets, with total stairways-to-heaven art by James Bradley. Record even comes with a CDR version of the album for all you demanding modernists.Co-released with Post Present Medium. |
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Como Se Dice Six Months to Live NNF020—CS w/beer What's so funny about inside jokes? Nothing. What’s so cool about beer? Duh, nothing. But c’mon, this is okay. Claire once drunkenly referred to us as Weirdo Beergeirdo (mild laughter ensued), which led to a release idea that couldn't fully form until the five of us were back together with hip HOPS and krautrock ALE-ments. This was of course long before Molly became obsessed with the phrase "como se dice chips?" which she used to ask the cooks at her coffee shop job. Turns out, the answer is chips. Go figure. And now Molly's only got six months to live, according to a pushy, but hopefully not psychic, bum who assaults her at her new book store job. Oh. And a beer comes with every tape*. So there's no mystery left, only the insanely rad, sweetly overdriven crunked jam epic of Weirdo/Beergeirdo…and the glitter/confetti shit all over yr car, too. It's a messy one !! Limited to 50. *If you buy this release online, we're sending you a root beer. Thems the breaks, kids ! |
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NNF019—7" 4 sub-terra LA bands’ tales of primitive kingdoms, thick mud, swamp bugs, and torrential downpour crumble the city’s asphalt jungle into the hot rocks of an equator summer dance ritual. *Complete with buried gold, poisonous ivy, and a mosquito bite.Chants by Weirdo/Begeirdo, Mika Miko, Hello Astronaut Goodby Television, and Abe Vigoda. Landscape by Jean Paul Garnier. Edition of 300. |
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Arabia NNF018—3” CDR My cousin Jamesie used to collect Desert Storm trading cards back when that shit was hot. It was all dusty guns, beaten Bedouins, and early 90’s TV patriotism. It still is. “Arabia” is Robedoor’s desert death march, one 20 minute sandstorm throb of contact-miked scorpions burning in stolen Saudi gasoline. Total bad-war crawl. Buried in black electrical tape and shredded wires, and limited to 50. |
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That Black Forest Feeling NNF017—enhanced CDR Kids get siked about all sorts of "whatever" shit (pixie sticks, zelda, sex,etc), but do you know what they worship more than anything else in the history of the multiverse? Nope, not bongs. TECHNOLOGY. Totally! Highland Park transplants MSD tap this youth hot topic with a rad leave-stenciled, twine-woven enhanced CDR single. Featuring a PROG-ressive pair of ambitious ballads about pinecones and bummer love, plus a bicycle-oriented video for Shark's top 40 KROQ B-side, "The Sham-o-tronic Fever," as well as a rare reel of footage (shot during their 2-show Central Valley Tour in May) of the band members riding in vehicles, standing in fields, and even playing music (!!), TBFF will probably either win a Grammy (for best ensemble performance), or an Oscar (for best picture). Sorry, Cinderella Man. Edition of 100. |
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Pasado De Verga NNF016—CS Apparently Silver Daggers is the name of a gang in like an 80s movie, at least that’s the rumor. But even if it is, I never want the band to admit it – keeping them retro-free and available for all post-posts to enjoy. Will’s taller than any of us and channels Yoko Ono, Jenna skronks sax attax, Marcus is the man-machine rhythms, and Steve’s all serious bass-blasts. They say snarky things to each other when they play. They’re even older than you’d think but still sometimes wear shorts. And let me tell you, this gang of Silver Daggers can go fast. Real fast. We love this tape like we love downtown and the puddles outside The Smell. NNF’s most street release ever. Edition of 100. |
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Tapeworms Eat Bookworms NNF015—2xCS Books aren’t just for horny Barnard co-eds and pre-law prison inmates anymore. They’re also for Not Not Fun Records to carve and shred to bits and then shove tapes in. Authors include: Haunted Castle Emergency Ensemble No Doctors Adam Lipman The Aum Rifle D Yellow Swans Wives w/The Cherry Point Corcoran Quartet BARR Mika Miko The Palladist Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television Watery Graves Ponies in the Surf Weirdo/Begeirdo Buffle Las Vegas Club Parker Posie’s Parkinsons Carrier Pigeonz Raking Bombs Quem Quaeritis Foot Foot Robedoor Whitman Le Joshua RTA Belly Boat My Sexual Dad Impregnable Barrabarracuda Golden Hours Jacob Smigel Lame Drivers Kid Finish Offal |
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Jewels In the Snakepit NNF014—CD I flipped out the first time we saw Yuma Nora in a small Riverside living room – where both Jake and Aaron were shirtless and Amy (sorry guys) was wearing a stained white slip complete with silver sparkly medieval mask. This is like free jazz soulful sex scattered beat noise brass explosion meets the nicest, quirkiest minds from the dreary Portland streets. We’ve been screaming about them for months as the stupid ass world finally wakes up to their “genius” (-Wire fucking Magazine !). Amy’s sultry as hell, Aaron’s got tribal blues, and Jake’s guitar is barely-there perfection. And thus, the Oregon rain clouds parted to reveal Yuma Nora, brewing up their own storm. |
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Giraffes/Jackals NNF013—10" So if the gag is that Jacob Smigel is the only crooner we know, then you might gag (with pleasure !) upon hearing Mr. Rob Kieswetter a.k.a. Bobby Birdman. His stats are mind-blowing: there's the literal battle jams with unruly hecklers, his casual recording sessions in the Hamptons, his Andrew WKesque posi-white jeans, his absolute maestro-like ownership of indian-style sitters, the correlation between his last name and the word "sweater," and his bedroom-ass eyes. When he says things like, "That's just her trip, I guess," and tells how totally okay with computer music he is - you start to understand just why he's so crucial and why this EP is so necessary. Edition of 300. |
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Pixelated Math Costumes NNF012A/OFR003—CD Well, the long, lame wait is OVER. Sun Valley/Tujunga teamsters Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television finally re-drop their sold-out old opus, PMC. Howevs, last year’s pizza-punk production has been replaced by a California winter’s worth of shut-in bedroom-studio tinkering/obsession (not to mention a fancy-pants mastering job by J Golden), and now the jams shine like kitchen knives. 11 subtly hostile pop anthems of Evol guitar gestures, Philip K. Dick-style heartbreak, and orchestral post-teen existentialism, rounded out by a rare handful of secret solo recordings. You could call these songs “pretty,” but you’d probably get decked during the Minor Threat cover’s brutal mosh pit. Don’t forget: beauty lies in the middle finger of the beholder. Epicly, intensely, and totally OFF THE CHAIN. Co-released with Olfactory Records. |
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Pixelated Math Costumes NNF012—CDR Okay, they’ll admit to ripping off Sonic Youth, wanting to sound as good as Radiohead, and disliking Nirvana. It’s faux pas’ all over the place with Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television – the most insane, lovable pop thrashers outside of Downey. Our favorite HAGTv stuff: Luis works at Sizzler tirelessly and he once compared the band to Fleetwood Mac (“we like fight all the time but we write the best music”), Tori is a straight-up badass who cusses, wears a ton of black eyeliner, and plays the keyboards and drums AT THE SAME TIME, Matt has styles upon styles upon styles upon styles (i.e. he wears cologne and Stray Cats shirts), and Dani isn’t afraid to tell you that she’s been both a raver and a goth and that her bass parts are really hard. They could be metal, they could be hip hop, they could be the best thing ever. Edition of 200. |
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Yell It Yellott |
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Love Means Never Having to Say Yr Sorry/Sorry NNF010—2xCS World War two vets commemorate V-Day by visiting cemeteries and looking at cool old snapshots of subs. But Not Not Fun celebrates V-Day with a tape comp of U-Boat sized proportions !! That tingle in yr arm is a heart-attack in yr tape deck!
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World Fantasy NNF009—10" In the tradition of literary greats like “Bang the Drum Slowly” and Bowie’s not so great “Little Drummer Boy,” comes Foot Village – a bleeding, screaming, catastrophe drum circle that makes hippies wish they never invited Brian, Grace, Jeff, and Greg to jam on bongos at Zuma Beach. There’s been talk of covering Les Miserables and reenacting McDonald’s commercials, but for now Foot Village is happy to document their travels in World Fantasy. It’s a deep love for harsh noise, R. Kelly, Broadway musicals, and Rush that breathes life into the band that launched a million side projects. The Drum Machines Have No Soul guy is about to wet his pants. Edition of 300. |
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20 Minutes in Heaven with Claire Evans NNF008—CS Usually I wouldn’t suggest trying to french kiss our French keyboardist and oft-bassist. She’s taller than you and way out of your league. There’s semi-colon tattoos, baby pink belts, one very tiny ponytail, and that certain je ne *these are live jams where Claire Evans features prominently while puckering her lips. |
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Full Grown and Talking About Fountains NNF007—CDR Jacob Smigel is making love to you with his voice. He's caressing yr desert-dry & chapped skin with various medicinal lotions and creams. He has diagnosed yr cat with leukemia, made wine out of yr sour grapes, tape-recorded your most intimate chit-chat, and brought you back to life with his seductively technical mouth-to-mouth skills. He can name all the parts of your body in Latin and melt yr heart with a kazoo hymn. Charmer. Lover. Drunkard. Paramedic. He writes the songs that make the whole world sing. Edition of 200. |
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Boo Yeah: A Halloween Retrospooktive (featuring: Hello Astronaut, Goodby Television, Zkullz, Anthology of Short Fiction, Prey With Fire, My Little Red Toe, Weirdo/Begeirdo, and Las Vegas Club) |
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Lovers and Drunkards b/w The Riddle Song NNF005—7" This is Not Not Fun’s first 7 inch and it’s probably our favorite Jacob Smigel song of all time. It’s mastered so it sounds really awesome, it’s pressed on sunny yellow vinyl, and all the covers are hand-colored by friends of Jacob. And “The Riddle Song” is an insiders hit about secret names that’s not available on any other recording in the world. AND there’s a found sound snippet that’s quite touching. Edition of 300. |
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So I'm Dude in this Equation NNF004—CDR/LP Usually Britt does this thing where he caringly refers to me as bro, Broseph, Brosephini, Brodigliani, or even the benign “dude.” Couple this with his incessant desire to play both the ridiculous off-base babbler and the weary, nay-saying admonisher in conversational banter with himself, and you have the secret behind W/B’s enigmatic title. We glued every one of the damned sequins on ourselves and I’m grossed out just thinking about it. So many treats and surprises you’ll be shocked to find there’s also sound where the sound comes out. Look, they don’t call it a debut album for nothing. Of pop-culture note: Joel says some guy thinks this sounds like the Moldy Peaches. Well, we prefer “sloppily destroyed and bored insider pun-pop,” thank you very much. Edition of 200 CDRs, 300 LPs. |
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Shark NNF003—CDR/LP An important thing to keep in mind while pondering Shark is that it has NOTHING to do with sharks. No fins, no razor-sharp teeth, no cartilaginous skeleton of sinewy deep-sea terror. None of that. Think, instead, of its abstract predatorial connotations, the implied prey in the equation, the hunt, carnivorous lust and bloodbath climaxes. This is the shadowy, metaphorical monster Evan, Evan, Annie, and Joel sketch out for the listener on their stormy debut. It’s top-of-the-food-chain rock, and once it sinks its jaws into yr thigh, the only method of escape is to punch as hard as you can in the nose. Edition of 200 CDRs, 300 LPs. |
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A-live EP NNF002—CDR What’s it like seeing My Sexual Dad live? I wouldn’t know, but I heard it’s just like being in yr living room listening to their live CD. Evan’s there eating a vegan burrito and little Evan’s holding yr hand during the scary parts; Joel’s quietly judging you, and Annie's looting your grandma’s brooch heirlooms. Sure, you could recreate this overwhelming sensation by attending one of their shows, but why not have the real thing? Limited to 35 copies. |
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Have an Uptight Party (featuring Pogi Brown, Jacob Smigel, Weirdo/Begeirdo, and My Sexual Dad) NNF001—CS A round of hi-fives to a group of lo-fi’s: this is our auspicious debut, and I still haven’t exhaled. But what you don’t know is that me and Joel and Britt nearly lost our fucking minds in the process of making this tape, and the fact that people keep telling us they only own an MP3 player isn’t helping any. Well, hello hi kids, things aren’t getting better, they’re just getting shinier. So buy any 3 tapes and I’ll send a NNF tape deck with them. That’s how serious this is [offer no longer valid. -Ed.]. Edition of 100. |
