Ultra Vivid Scene
Ultra Vivid Scene

What makes me greatly appreciate the discography is the condition that often forces me to "rediscover": not having my entire collection of vinyl records in the place where I live due to space constraints, having previously scattered it in distant places where it still lies, for several years I have come across records that I had purchased, listened to, and memorized, with the logical consequence, but only in the case of very affordable prices, of an immediate replacement, possibly a different pressing to avoid the usual duplicate.

In the case of CDs, the matter is much more complex: now the Expanded versions have supplanted the first pressings, and they are often stuffed with useless things like Alternate Tracks, Edit Versions, and Live recordings on which even a mega remastering can do little. What catches my attention is the inclusion of unreleased 45s, B-Sides, and 12" versions, though, this, however, I can consider an exception, and it took just a few variations to convince me to dust off something I felt an absolute need to reclaim.

A debut as a solo in the studio is an ambitious pass, not without certain risks, so must have thought Ivo Watts-Russell, the patron of the prestigious 4AD, at the height of its overseas expansion: his proverbial foresight had hit the mark with the engagement of Throwing Muses and Pixies, explosive discographic debuts and a range of action well beyond the English Indie Charts, but his desire to amaze was far from satisfied, and in 1988 he makes the strange decision to sign a young New York prodigy who had recently disbanded his band Crash, a short-lived experience aimed at realizing the possibility of acting in total autonomy.

For Kurt Ralske, England was a recent memory, as a bloodhound in the Indie scene, he had had time to sniff around everywhere, mainly attracted by the freshly turned Noise-Pop terrain, rich in organic particles shaped by feedback. A humus unfindable in the vain digging among the roots of the late '80s Big Apple leads him to shut himself in a suburban hibernation where boyhood dreams overlap unconscious perversions, sex, and violence, miserable alienation suckled by a yellow metropolitan banana on a white background.

When Morpheus's embrace gives way to awakening, the dreams are grouped and developed in total solitude within a secluded studio, but without moving too far from home: Ivo gives him carte blanche to take care of everything, including production, perhaps fearing to dilute that expressive urgency perceived so strongly and penetratingly. In a couple of months as SelfMadeBoy, Kurt would repay him with fifteen Dionysian snapshots.

Lost masterpiece of Old School Shoegazing, the work immediately shows surprising maturity in the garage nervousness of She Screamed, served ice-cold by lyrics molded in S&M mud, and in the post-Paisley Underground wavering of Crash, ode to obsession with car crashes as a possible alternative orgasm. Couple games on the wire of corporal punishment constantly maintain the sick atmosphere of You Didn't Say Please, as only the Wire had managed to reveal its bitter aftertaste. The two movements of Lynn-Marie, placed in a way that is only seemingly unusual, constitute a sort of tribute to Marilyn's twisted personality, with a radiant smile peeking from the inner sleeve.

Kurt has a thin-toned voice, hard to forget and that clings like a voluptuous herpes on psychedelic daydream tunes, but succeeds in making it an absolute trademark in Mercy Seat, where there is no respite for death ( And when the blood begins to flow, there’s nowhere else to go, I feel complete, in the mercy seat ), and in The Whore Of God, celestial lullaby dedicated to an unattainable woman for any mortal ( But a kiss on the lips is far too much for anyone, so kneel and pray until you're sore, you’re the whore of god ).

After an evolving trilogy, in 1992 Kurt Ralske would dive back into anonymity, disappearing from the scene, undoubtedly satisfied with a musical quality so high. Recommended for fans of Jesus And Mary Chain and My Bloody Valentine, but also to those who have been able to recognize continuity in the teachings that the Velvet Underground have bequeathed to posterity...a musically transmittable disease.