Vinyl reissue of the original (and long out of print) 1990 cassette release.
"What you do....
You take what you have....a resonator guitar, a mandolin, 3 fuzz boxes, a 5 watt valve amplifier, a 44 gallon drum, some old records....and you acquire a 3-in-1 home stereo with dual tape decks with record and overdub functions....and you tap into what you’ve been listening to, what you’ve been living your whole life, a stream running free through pre-war blues, songsters and saints....and you feel it when you’re sober even, and you do it when you’re fall down drunk....and somehow, over a couple of tumbledown, turnaround months in 1990 you commit An Unnatural Act.
And it contains both kind of breakdowns, it has stolen voices, a cover (sort of), a love song, a piece by Samuel Beckett, sensitive feedback, a back beat, insensitive jokes, the sound of losing it, a tribute, a debt being paid in part, a groove found, an entirety.
And it’s more noise than you can bear.
And it’s deeper and bluer than you can feel.
And you know it won’t come this way again."
1. Sun House II
2. Sic 'Em Dogs on
3. Sweet Haunch Woman
4. Funeral March for Charley Patton
1. Radio I
3. Wall in the Window
Format: 12" vinyl record. 33rpm. Edition of 500 copies.
Year of release: 2013 (recorded in 1990)
Label: Negative Guest List Records (NGL035)
City / Country: Brisbane, Australia
"From beyond the ether, the Negative Guest List label continues to operate (actually its heavy release roster was allegedly divvied up between concerned parties who keep it alive, from what I gathered). Few others would have thought to re(?)-release this monster, a 1990 recording by long-gone Australian noise/improv/fuck life outfit, in memory of their late founder, guitarist David Mac Kinnon (going here as one John Henry Calvinist), who passed on last year. Unlike that sprawling, somewhat lost in its own right double-album that NGL put out, this one is the sort of excavatory gem you hope to find in search of past attacks: visceral scuzz, twisted languages of their own device, thoroughly blasted/fucked/reconstituted guitar destruction of a stripe I cannot really fathom. It sounds at times like the first Bill Orcutt LP played through clouds of radio interference (the aptly-titled “Radio I,” throwing Beckett under the same bus for good measure), others like the sort of xpr taper violence of a bygone era, Jojo from Hijokaidan bodysurfing on a wave of spilled Cooper’s Sparkling Ale into whatever choked inlet these folks operated out of. Throughout it all you get the sense that this was a lesson passed down from elsewhere, that there wasn’t anything here that wasn’t learned, which further substantiates the following thought: that I really didn’t expect much out of any sort of understanding of “the blues” from any Australians, let alone one so thoroughly destroyed and depleted, yet ultimately “right,” but here you go, early contender for reissue of the year and a record that could legit damage your insides given prolonged exposure – like gin, but more, uh, certain, like the drinks menu of Freddie Quell. Good lord. Rest In Power, David." - Doug Mosurock, Still Single
"I nearly tapped out just at the sight of this Lost Domain LP… their previous Blondes Chew More Gum double LP was about as much drunken outback Fall worship I could take. So glad I dropped the needle on this one though, because it’s an entirely different beast, and I mean beast – right from the start The Lost Domain send their noisy transmission through a helicopter’s spinning blade, simultaneously disorienting and pleasing me. They follow that with a punchy sheet-metal beat and guitars so distorted and painful, it’s as if the Saw movie franchise chose Fenders instead of humans for its victims. If I think of the best possible outcome of a Thurston Moore / Sunburned Hand Of The Man collaboration, or Tetuzi Akiyama reforming A Band, I think of what I hear on An Unnatural Act; seriously, this thing cuts right to the bone and doesn’t even flinch. It’s bittersweet to know that this band is no longer with us, but I’m thankful that such a recording made it where it belongs – a thin, shiny slab of black plastic." - Yellow Green Red