Parades Against Parades - Driving Me Stoned (Cardinal Fuzz) Sam Giles CDr Edition 2 LEFT
£9.50 / Sold Out
Everyone loves this. we have 2 left of the Sam Giles CDr Edition.
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Parades Against Parades comes from a different place and feeling. That totally wasted and do not give a fuck sorta place. Love us, Hate us - do your best - We just don't care. A mushroom infused Rolling Stones via the Velvets? Some (early) throbbing Thee Hypnotics with a touch of Spacemen 3 (that love of Detroit Motor City). All the recordings the line up made are here for you. Suck it in kids please.
Parades Against Parades as told by Chris Laramee (Shooting Guns, The Switching Yard, Radiation Flowers and Wasted Cathedral) -
Rock N Roll is a funny thing. Everyone wants that thrill, that rush of volume and Adrenalin running rampant through their skin like a living thing, screaming and undisciplined. I joined this band, Parades Against Parades, oh, about eight years ago. Well, bullied my way in might be a more accurate way of putting it. The original four-piece line-up was playing a Boxing day show at ye olde Jazz basement, if memory serves somewhat correctly. They were headlining a packed show, all the old friends were back in town for Christmas, and as they say, no one went thirsty that night. Parades, as I knew them previously, were a quite spastic and volatile Wire-ish style experience. They were great live, but the recordings left something to be desired. However, on this night, something else was happening – a new plan had been devised since I’d last seen them. The closest reference point I can draw from memory would be Zuma-era Neil Young doin’ a decadent closet dance with some mushroom-infused Rolling Stones groupies, and the whips were definitely out. Buzzsaw guitars slashed the jugular with barely even a nod and the group was so into it. Broken strings, broken bottles, hell, broken amps couldn’t wake them from the spell they had conjured. Hot Shit. And basically, I was down, having known most of the band socially for a few years, I told them that they needed a third guitar, and I was that man. Amazingly, they were down for a jam.
Well, I kept showing up for jam,it wasn’t a big deal to put down the Mario Kart and turn off the Lou Reed records to go for a jam. Speaking of what was on the turntable at the time, Brian Jonestown Massacre was never very far away, Spacemen 3, The Gun Club and Howlin’ Wolf were some other hits floating about, at least in our neck of University Drive. And these influences were a very important thing, as far as I was concerned. Not to make some poor-assed record collector’s rock music, but a living thing, maybe ragged, maybe sloppy, but infused with feeling and bravado.
The recording sessions we had were ripe with this bravado, sense of purpose that we were THE ONES, that we were going to make it happen, as far as the rock was concerned. Slogging gear through a February blizzard to SJ Kardash’s studio and all five of us crowding into his recording space, hitting it live off the floor. Well, it seemed like an insurmountable thing (for us) to do three songs in one day but we got it done easy.Then we flash forward to Steve Reed’s joint a few months down the line. Frasier has left by this point and Kalon has come in to, by my estimation now a few years removed. What I remember of that night is drinking a shit load of beer and eating some 33rd Street Vietnamese food before tearing into a couple of tunes with some head-down mongering, the type usually reserved for east-side bar fights, drag strip shenanigans and heavy conversations. ‘Wasting All My Time’ was one of the tunes we cut that night. Go figure. I am clouded by many joints and left with the recordings to hold my hand through those memories.
So, fuck it. We had some great times, left some banging tunes behind us, and got out quick. Not too good for a career, but hell, whoever said there was a future in this shit? Besides, we were far too unambitious to ever consider anything beyond the next jam. But like I said we left a couple of bangers behind.
Chris Laramee – Feb 2018 (From Craig Silliphant’s book Exile Off Main Street)