The cover of "Microteaching LP" sports one of those black crayon over pastel deals that hopefully most of you have made in art class at some point during your early academic careers (so are not staring blankly at me while making "cuckoo" gestures). Creating one takes a hell of a lot of elbow grease on the frontend, repetitive strain injuries likely unless you specialize in hour long hammer on solos or are a professional hi fiver. But the resulting bursts of random colour, like the prismatic flash of oil on a mud puddle is worth the effort and Chefkirk obviously feels the same way as the variation and liveliness of the session here is like a bowl of rainbow sherbert covered with a think layer of grit, grease and blessed grime. A most colourful and dirty sort of noise. The lesson spans 12 tracks with a mostly obtuse naming scheme, "Bass Player In Knife Fight" being my personal fave. They are mostly of a middling length though one epic and another mere sneeze of a track break it up. Chefkirk seems to be primarily PC based though how anything this digital (stutter loops, garotte like aliasing, etc.) can sound so wet dog earthy is beyond me. My hunch is that a laptop is either being inserted at the rear orifice of a farm animal or more likely, introduced to the business end of a pedal array. I also doubt that the PC is only source component since a lot of what hits the wall sticks like it was once living and breathing: junk percussion, found sounds, bags of hammers and wet noodles, who really knows?
One of the most endearing aspects to Chefkirk's output is that often you will have no idea what the fuck is going on nor how it managed to get through the air vents, across the floor and up your pant leg. This is noise as if made by a drunken ferret with contact mics for claws. All roly poly and amusing until it latches onto a fleshy bit and won't let go.
If there was anymore spice added to this dish you'd be reaching for a glass of milk to stem the burn. Acoustic guitar rodent scrabble, loops so broken they must have been the last utterances from a sampling delay before it curled up and died leaving nothing but a plastic stink and puff of smoke as condolence. Then there are the crickets playing bongoes and toy pianos and the brats hooking up a broken radio to an apartment's PA system. It's a tide of noise rough housing that at times peels the skin from your elbows but is nice enough to offer you some golden seal in between the episodes of over excitment.
As pure noise goes this one is a reference disc for how to keep ye olde line a moving. Never dull,
always a new colour of crayon at the ready, inspiring really. Chefkirk rocks.
Reviewed by Moron