Every month or so, Jimmy Possession -- proprietor of the UK-based zine Robots and Electronic Brains -- brings us up to date on the music that's found its way through his mail slot. And you get to read it. You lucky people. This time around, because he's so busy, Jimmy has enlisted the assistance of Laurence, his partner in crime at Robots' record label, RoKit Records.

So anyway, I wasn't supposed to review the first CD Moon sent me. But there was so much that was beautiful in the mess of blurred, unmixed fragments that I couldn't help but scrawl a few lines down between bouts of the kind of headphone intensity I used to reserve for Loop and Spaceman 3. The quality control was lacking, but the creativity control was turned up to 11. On this second ­ the first "proper" ­ release, they've trimmed hours and hours of improvised drone/FX/noise/melody down into 40 minutes of daydream bliss. There's seven tracks split into two "sides," two tracks on the CD, just like the old days (and don't get me started on the old days) and, just like the old days, you can lie on the mouldy mattress in your smelly bedsit, curtains drawn, eyes closed, can of Chequer Bitter half-drunk, spliff gone out, cold chile half-eaten balanced precariously on the coffee table edge, and dream of being drawn up and away into the ether by the power of raw waves of liquid guitar.
Mail: B+D Del Nista, Chemin de Saint Marc, Mauran, 13130 Berre, France
E-Mail: bu-l@clubinternet.fr
Web: www.burningemptiness.fr.st

Wave Runner are half of the Cuban Boys. They've remixed Toby Slater's anti-corporate rant to thumping local nightclub dancefloor effect. No surprises. Both The Cubans and Slater have some major label trauma to exorcise and The Cubans are nothing if not populist dancefloor.
Web: www.tobyslater.com

Mademoiselle have turned out some fine girl punk/garage records and this one hits that spot once again. Five groove-crazed chicks from Japan, apparently, who if they really, really concentrate can will themselves into being the hippest beat club in Sixties' west coast USA. Not a high score on the originality-o-meter but perhaps they don't care cos the groove-o-meter is off the dial. -- Laurence
Mail: PO Box 19049, London, N7 7WU
E-Mail: mia5@hotmail.com

Schooled in musicology as he so obviously is, it can’t have escaped Andy Gonzales’ notice that Metallica released an album entitled Ride The Lightning in 1984. Given the choice, back in 1984, I reckon I’d have plumped for the ‘Ca over the Coast. But then, cock-thrusting rhythms, intense in-your-face ultraspeed and black blackness are the kinds of things a young chap needs to get over acne, frustrated adolescent longings and the urge to masturbate 5 times a day. These days, gentle rhythms, relaxed and thoughtful pacing and multicolour multitextures are more likely to get my burgeoning pot belly rippling with pleasure as I reach for another Werther’s Original and a mug of Ovaltine. Thrash metal still helps the orgasm addiction, though. But that’s another story for another time.

Marshmallow Coast’s Ride The Lightning, is based in the Athens, Georgia scene and a lifetime of musical scholarship. Which isn’t to say you should just lump it in with the rest of the psychedelic retromaniacs and records made by people with their head up their past. Despite the hints, nods in the direction, and overt flattery, of what went before, this is a thoughtful and original affair. Unlike many of Marshmallow Coast’s local contemporaries (see The Olivia Tremor Control) Syd Barrett is the band leader rather than Sgt. Pepper, there’s classical and jazz deviances and the songwriting has been studied as hard as the melodies.
Mail: 19 College Avenue, Leicester, LE2 0JF
Web: www.pickled-egg.co.uk

"I must confess/ I paid for these/ Paid for these” Britany Boobies is the uncredited jewel in the crown of this neo-Viking act of musical rape, pillage, plunder and destruction. The method (see anything by V/Vm) is well known now: take anything you like (appropriate, verb) especially if it is well known (pop, contraction of popular) and whack it over the head with all the weapons at your disposal. Toss in some raggedy-arsed beats and a load of distortion and you're there. This is just great.
E-Mail: goulburnpoultryfancierssociety@hotmail.com
Web: www.systemcorrupt.com

“We dream of the bland whine of lifestyle supplements around us like cheeky nubile mosquitoes” say the Vessels, and continue: “the first song is about Syd Barrett (sort of; and women, obviously) and the second is about my urge to stuff myself down a drain.” Songs about Syd are OK by me, especially when they sound like Pete Astor was involved. Songs about drains I'm less keen on, but if they clank and bang like this one does over the top of a bass that's half dub, half acid I'll always be interested.
Web: www.emptyvessels.co.uk

If dreams were oil on the still waters of the brain, Yellow 6 is the chap who operates the cranial slide projector and slowly stirs as the gentle swirls of slow-looping drones make pretty patterns on the retina. It's the UFO club in your head.
Mail: PO Box 155, Cheltenham, GL51 0YS

The "quotes" from Bowie and Morrisey on the sleeve show Ex-Rental can invent the talk, but can they walk the walk? If we ignore the wanna-(PS)B errors-of-judgement, the answer is yes. Stick some essence of Almond, some dangerous disco and an android perfection into a boogie box and you'd be about there. Before they were famous? Maybe. Before they drop the pop and go for the jump-up jugular? Hopefully.
Web: ex-rental.com

It seems like Big Eyes are growing up fast. The first record was a breezy affair, sketches of songs and instantaneous reaction. A child. The second record was more considered. Clumsy Music it was called ­ although it sounded anything but clumsy ­ and the name is suggestive of the teenager struggling to find their feet. Love Is Gone Mad is the third. It would be cruel to say middle-age has set in, but there’s certainly a lot of room for reflection in these grooves. (Even though it’s a CD, yes, grooves.) Less song-based than before, it seems, the music sounds like it was written by the Czech string quartet who watched a few Morricone-scored films on slow-motion and with the colour turned to noir. Or maybe the jazz group who watched a few Barry-scored films on slow motion with the colour turned to noir. Empathy seeps from the speakers as the album wends through its sorrowful length, peaking early with Country Dust, but never falling below superb.
Mail: 19 College Avenue, Leicester, LE2 0JF
Web: www.pickled-egg.co.uk

CBMG, as those in the know call them, have simplified the home-made pop sensibilities of their former incarnation, Kumari, and on this tape the loveable duo adhere to a minimalist two-guitar and singing format. Nobi (CleanBoy) does most of the singing while Tomomi (MessyGirl) offers only occasional support, but remaining intact is the complete charm and simplicity of their music. Seven songs including a Beat Happening tune are lovingly wrapped in a 3D cover complete with appropriate spectacles. Wonderful.
E-Mail: peatmoss@clover.club.or.jp
Web: www.clover-records.com