University of Ottawa researchers Jing Zhang and Marie-Andrée Akimenko have discovered that if the proteins actinoden 1 & 2 are suppressed in fish, fin development gives way to something like leg development. These two proteins are found in fish, but not in reptiles, mammals, or other tetrapods. The date of this original transition is immensely far into the past, in the middle of the Devonian, and new research continues to push it back into the temporal gulf.

That such a small alteration is all that governs such a huge change should not be surprising to those familiar with the history of Innsmouth and similar communities.

“everything alive come aout o’ the water onct an’ only needs a little change to go back agin.”

– Zadok Allen, Innsmouth, Massachusetts, July 15, 1927

One wonders what the researchers would find if they were able to examine biological samples collected by the federal investigation of the Massachusetts shore eighty years ago.

Lose fin proteins, gain limb? [The Scientist.com]
Loss of fish actinotrichia proteins and the fin-to-limb transition [Nature]
Image Gambianmudskippers by Bjørn Christian Tørrissen [wikicommons]

Matt Berry has released 2 albums. Opium (2005) and Witchazel (2009). He laces vintage gilden threads into the polyester of his albums. (Did I really just type that?) I usually describe his music as “woodland fantasy prog-rock”. Matt’s music is really really good. Those who haven’t heard it yet may be expecting humour, however, Matt’s natural ability to seep hilarity as a person and as an actor is separate from his musical endeavors. Although I do feel his whimsy is definately present in the musical arrangements. Matt plays organ, piano, synthesiser, guitar, bass, and some percussion. But of course, let’s not forget that voice. The Pheasant is my favourite song on Witchazel. A 9 minute epic that takes you on a very satisfying journey, much like a 5 course meal. I was lucky enough to see it performed live in London in a small venue in Hoxton. Definately a blast!

Matt Berry’s Myspace is here.

*Cough* Embarrassing “fan” photo here. I chatted with him after the show. I was drunk. We took a few cell phone shots. He looked like that in all of them. Epic.

My dad seems to be composed of more stories than proteins. He was a firefighter for thirty years, he was in attendance at the Led Zeppelin show that is the first recorded instance of headbanging, and he was in the Army, stationed on Okinawa.

While there, he visited one of the strangest sites on the Pacific Rim: Yonaguni.

All soldiers return from their stations with travelers’ tales, but my pop tells a story like nobody else. He’d talk about the pit fights the locals would stage in which a mongoose would wrestle a habu—an indigenous Okinawan viper, and demonstrate the holds. When I was a boy, he’d tell the story of his trip to Yonagunijima as if he were a bard—gesticulating, insinuating, shaking his fists for emphasis.

He told about strange tombs that dotted the shoreline; tombs that weren’t of traditional Japanese make and that made him nervous if he stayed too long. He always made a point to mention that the cemetery complex seemed to continue on into the water, rather than stopping at the shoreline. When I asked him why, as all young boys must, he’d raise his eyebrows, comically, and intone, “Maybe it was Atlantis.”
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[Please welcome the newest New Scum, Angel Ceballos. Ceballos is a rock photographer based in Seattle, and is providing Ectomo with a shunt directly from the heart of indie music. -EG]

Mother’s day was yesterday right? Listen and Watch Eighties Matchbox’s effing awesome song Celebrate Your Mother. Not necessarily in the same vein as yesterday’s celebrations but … close enough.

Eighties Matchbox B-line Disaster is releasing their first album in 6 YEARS, Blood and Fire on May 17th. You can listen to the single
Love Turns to Hate on the band’s myspace.  This album is the follow up to the unbridled brilliance of their first 2 albums, Hörse of the Dög (2002) and The Royal Society (2004). Self dubbed as ‘Psychosis Rock’, I get classic garage punk with a sprinkle of surf (think The Cramps) and blues and lots of insanity. 80s Matchbox expertly hands us short songs that really only serve as appetizers and make you starving for more, boil your adrenaline and make your mouth water for action.

The band has kicked off a Great Britain tour that ends at the beginning of June. If you’re across the pond I highly recommend you attend one or many. You won’t be disappointed. As for us yanks I propose we do as much as we can to get them to cross over and do some gigs here. I will personally fly over and stick them in my carry on and bring them back with me.

Having spent my formative years in a beachside community I’ve had ample opportunity to be exposed to all manner of the strange and wonderful wildlife that inhabits the sea. I realize that sometimes when the world of men and the briney deep interact one risks injury to varying degrees. But generally, the creatures of the ocean that can really hurt you, that want to really hurt you, tend to advertise their malice by looking exactly like something that can, and will, ruin your day.

But shrimp? Shrimp?!

Shrimp are things they serve children in restaurants, battered and fried and innocuous as the day is long. Shrimp are supposed to sit politely on the rims of cut-glass cocktail sauce bowls, waiting to fulfill their tasty purpose, not chew off my god damn toes when I step into the water. My reaction may seem somewhat alarmist, I admit, but the sea and I have a history of violence.

The first attack on my dainty feet came by way of a horseshoe crab when I was a youngster, but they’ve got fairly obviously dangerous tails and you should watch where you walk on a beach full of horseshoe crabs. It couldn’t have been a barb purposefully aimed at my tiny pink appendages, could it?

I think the video above speaks for itself, my friends. I’m declaring war on the ocean.

Mantis Shrimp [Dark Roasted Blend]