ED WILCOX
PRESS ARCHIVE
From Your Flesh #42 by Ben Galaxy
Temple of Bon Matin "Bullet into Mesmer's Brain" CD
Civilised sounds disintigrating around one's tonsils in all timbres and grades of fidelity, apexing slightly in the number where the Hindu girl as "What Does it Matter?" (specifically, that is, as to whether one is "speaking of insects or flowers or genitals," but I'm hearing that quandery stretched across just about every
Temple of Bon Matin Tour Diary by Greg Chapman
From The Big Takeover No. 44
Now you too can enjoy all the mind-erasing benefits of a bad acid trip in the comfort of your own home. The Temple of Bon Matin (now named the Laser Temple of Bon Matin), have done all the dangerous chemical huffing so you won't have to, so just slip this onto your CD player and settle back. A leather dog chew works well for the inevitable teeth grinding htat will follow. This is free rock, no limits, perhaps no particular talent, just blow or wail or strum, throw in some sampled dialogue and you have the chance music that John Cage talked about many years ago. A cross between the Art Ensemble of Chicago and the early freak-outs of the Mothers and Red Crayola.
From STAIN #9 author unknown, reprinted without permission
"The mysterious wall of sound and confusion
explodes from the tips of Fast Eddie's sticks. The Temple is a machine that
puts you in trance. Very sonic, very hard, very fast. Combining Eastern philosophy
with Eastern cartooning, Bon Matin races into your heart. Probably having the
most extensive revolving door of musicians, I'm sure some sadly missed members
would have remained had the entity garnered more support over the years. Some
speak in hushed voices of the Temple curse. Years from now hordes of ignorant
naysayers will be climbing over each other to claim that they were there when
no one else was. The loooooooong overdue Siltbreeze LP released earlier this
year was a masterpiece to behold and demolished anyone's doubt that this band,
in any form, driven by Wilcox, can deliver the goods. With the new addition
of bonus drummer Angelo, Ed has room to soar like he never has before, and the
band remains ever-changing, ever-moving and ever Bon Matin."
--Stain #9
Unknown byline:
"If a gang of smelly welding students broke into your house, force-fed you PCP, tore the place apart, all the while some maniac banging on your doors with two ball peen hammers, that would have to be Temple of Bon Matin"
BULB Press Release January, 1999
If you would have been listening to our words or going to ANY of Temple of Bon Matin's countless American shows, maybe you'd be in the know, too. But, fact is, in this closed world of music consumption, promotion and criticism few things get past the mail room. Sad, but true.
Who is Temple of Bon Matin? Temple of Bon Matin are the brainchild of Mr. Ed Wilcox, thinker and ghetto-man from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Of course, he's not alone. I think of all the times I've seen their live shows, I can say that I've seen the same line-up only on two occasions. Members float in and out like water, some staying for days, some for months. Temple has been described as a cross between Merzbow and the L.A. Guns but stacks up high against any of the lame ass experimental shit that you listen to. What is it? Who needs Sterolab? Who needs fucking Tortoise? I'll tell you who doesn't: ME. Can had their moments, I can even like Hawkwind, but all in all Bon Matin keep coming back to me.
Siltbreeze's 1994 self titled LP release put them on the map as a rock powerhouse. The cover, looking as if it were spraypainted by a group of 3rd graders sniffing glue about sent me over the roof the first time I saw it. Noticing the half rotted xerox paper stickers haphazardly stuck on her and there made me a convert. The record itself gave me shivers of what I always wanted Sonic Youth to be, but what they never delivered. I hate bringing them up (I don't hate them, though) but that's really where I stood. Amazing to say the least. It was like if you fed yourself large amounts of PCP, spraypainted all the walls of your house with silver spray paint and then invited all your friends over to beat on the outside walls of your house with ballpeen hammers while listening to Judas Priest's Greatest.
Their second release, "Enduro", was of course an entriely different line-up. More of a sensitive rocker than the first one, it still made the grade. As orange as the covers suggests, it was like a BMX race gone amok due to overuse of inhalents. But the thing that struck this listener was not the power-rating so much as the general dynamic of Ed's work. Clearly he is a man of vision and doesn't fall into traps of self definition and categorization that other bands do. Ed is only Ed and even under the direst of circumstances, he'll keep going like a runaway train.
"Bullet" is an even farther departure for the Temple. Completely different from the original demo tape he sent me for this release, it came out to be like Arthur Doyle eating potato chips in a Super Glue factory. Fucking brilliant. It actually does include Mr. Doyle (as far as I can tell) as well as other heavyweights such as members of the Tibetan Bowlers, a less than known experimental jazz outfit from Philadelphia. From beginning to end this disc gives one the sense that, yes, this is a man who knows what he's doing. There is a method under the facade that looks like a corrugated tin shack. More like an experiment in finding the connections between space time and rusty nails than anything else, "Bullet" is an easy listen compared to the first two pieces, bringing together the circle known as Bon Matin. Of course Ed is still in the reigns, holding the title for the floppiest breasts in indy rock (see pictures for details) and for one of the greastest visionaries of the twentieth century. In years to come Ed will be remembered as a master. If you have any self-respect now, give this record a listen and don't miss out on the next one, bud