Citing such disparate influences as Swedish hardcore ensemble Refused and German-Caribbean disco-doyens Boney M is an oh-so-po-mo-manner of now-fact and a historo-challenge that requires a lot of living up to. are Blood Command cool daddies or trickbags?
Thematically provocative and topically incisive Cult Drugs addresses those rigid and dogmatic belief systems that wreak havoc on the individual/collective psyche: religions, cults, gangs and secret societies that all act similar to drug dependency with narco-bliss replaced by the (al)lure of the esoteric, the unknown, the transgressive yet still restrictive and constrictive, a bind is a bind. Systems of fear structured to limit, inhibit and control.
The role-playing of the ‘fame game’, the compromises and falsity fostered and its attendant erosion of self is exquisitely articulated on ‘CTRL + ART + DELETE’ an eviscerating and lacerating ear-battering soundscape.
‘You can’t sit with us’ adroitly discusses the literary merits and fantasy realms of Tolstoy and E.L. James and the blurred cinematic lines between fact and fiction, reality and surreality. A thumping thwack round the senses.
This isn’t an easy listen by any means and it depends on your tolerance for gut-wrenching screeching and passion for emote-rock. At times evoking echoes of Kathryn Hanna’s Riot Grrrl angernomics, fillets of Faith No More and occasional JJ Burnelesque asphyxiated-bass (especially on the punk-funk ‘Quitters don’t smoke’) this is an album that reveals greater depth upon repeated airings.
If I’m honest I can’t hear any trace of the Boneys here, but, osmosis is an ethereal thing. Nevertheless, follow these sanguine orders and comply.
Some records act as time-signifiers, articulating the socio-politico-emoticomplex so deftly that they will be seen as para-psychic texts for millennia to come. ‘Death Song’ is one such objet d’art.
With sonic sculpting from Phil Ek (Fleet Foxes, The Shins) these eleven songs observe, absorb, feel the pulse and take the temperature of the dis-ease and unease prevalent in today’s cosmos then promptly prescribe a protective remedy racket of fuzz and buzz.
Opener ‘Currency’ is a head against the Wall Street crash-bang-a-thon articulating the everyday demands and losses wrought on the working drone, the fealty ‘you pay with all of your life, a slave from 9 -5’; its mantra that money’s omnipotence is the root of all malevolence and worry not ‘one day it’ll all be over’. No ambiguity in that threat.
‘I’d kill for her’ is a wailing and flailing murder anti-ballad worthy of Black Francis.
The self-doubt and mistrust intrinsic to fractured relationships embodies ‘Half Believing’, where the person once (en)tranced is now awake, as ‘he’ cries in vain ‘it’s like my spell on you is useless’. The magic has gone, the spark is snuffed, the potion of devotion slaked dry.
‘Comanche Moon’ is lunatic asylum rock, an indigenous promise to ‘reach into your socket, rip back your scalp as you crrrry’. No half measures here, no prisoners there. ‘Hunt Me Down’ is what shuffling anachronism Noel Gallagher thinks he’s hearing when he’s spewing his sonic gut-rot up, but, where his audio chloroform sedates this is a thumping plodding masterclass that follows your every step, hears your every breath, your shadow is shadowed. No place is safe from trace.
‘Grab as much (as you can)’ lifts the bass from Can’s ‘Mother Sky’ to maximum effect with a guitar lick nod to ‘Shakin’ all over’ resulting in a surfin’ safari-ot to the apex of the vortex.
Standout ‘I Dreamt’ is a Clinic-al hypnotic tock of the sleep clock. The time elapsed during the (a)wake-state, is it real or am I dead?
The pulsating ‘Medicine’ is a spoonful of sugary melody threnody. Feed your head.
The interstellar story-telling ‘Life Song’ deploys Jeff Lynne’s appropriated Beatles drum sound to delirious space-rock effect. Aspiring, desiring with an ultimately expiring exhortation of ‘I’m dying to say, I love you anyway’ the end result a dramatic finale to a funereal time. This rebirth and revengeful reincarnation ultimately uttering ‘I am your warning from the other side’, the last cry of an album of controlled rage against the machines of control.
This deeply emotive and cathartic rock and soul-searching fifth album from Imelda May is regretful and rueful, a ‘chin up, love’ letter to herself.
In 1962 Neil Sedaka wrote ‘Breaking up is hard to do’ an ode to the parting of the hearting, the (dis)union and separating of the ways, an artistic avenue that numbers albums from Bob Dylan, Marvin Gaye and ABBA. Heartache for art’s sake. L.L.F.B. is an aural autobiographical skin-shedding and a musique metamorphosis so bare, raw and visceral that outlines the re-emergence of a ‘self’ through the power of (re)creation.
The titles personify a tense past in the past tense (‘The girl I used to be’, ‘Should’ve been you’) with themes of solitude and vulnerability prevalent (‘Human’, ‘Leave me lonely’). However, a morose misery memoir it isn’t as redemption and salvation dominate as initial glum self-introspection becomes May’s trademark glam outré-flection. Better out than in: demons banished as her man’s vanished.
Produced by T Bone Burnett Life. Love. Flesh. Blood. features Jeff Beck, Jools Holland and Tom Waits’s go-to-guitarist Marc Ribot as erstwhile foot soldier-shoulders to cry on. Opening with the plaintive ‘Call me’, a cry for a simple message (or sign) that can signify the world as May pleads ‘if our love means anything call me’ encapsulating the waiting, berating and hating that concludes in the restless woes and deathless throes of ‘can’t sleep, too scared to dream’.
Jeff Beck-ole! brings his own fretting and sliding on the ‘Santo & Johnnyesque’ ‘Black tears’ the mascara running freely the giveaway of distress as a gut-searing eye-tearing ‘inside I’m dying, outside I’m crying’ is salvaged by a superior show of strength from May’s buono vox.
The reaching and bescreeching ‘Should’ve been you’ is a masterly barbed assault on ‘he’ whose absence is felt yet the last laugh will be dealt (only not by him).
The extra-sensory emotion comes to the fore on ‘Sixth Sense’ a premonitory warning sign detecting foreseen feelings of soon-to-be-revealed dealings. This woman’s intuition (She S. P.?) coming to fruition.
Musically ‘Bad Habit’ evokes ‘Sixteen Tons’ itself a song about being enslaved to the MAN, as penury is the price for not submitting to servitude. Make of that what you will.
On this showing Imelda’s not a ‘rockabilly no mates’ anymore. Her loss is also her gain.
In the famous poem ‘First they came …’ by Pastor Niemöller specific groups are identified, targeted and destroyed one by one leaving no else when ‘they’ came for him. That stark message of an absence of unity and blind eyes being turned to terror rings true in this important, informative and unsettling play.
Based on true stories and events from the 1984 – 1985 miners’ strike, this visceral one-man show (written and performed by Danny Mellor and originally titled Shafted) outlines the brutal impact collectively and individually on a mining community, where principles are challenged and compromised, friendships are made and ultimately shattered by circumstances and state sanctioned blood-letting is deployed.
Mellor powerfully delivers a monologue as ‘Yorkshire Dale’ (backed contextually by pop hits of the time e.g. ‘Relax’, ‘The heat is on’) that charts these tumultuous two years of adversity and the systematic destruction of a working community. A community that believed that striking was a fundamental democratic necessity and a long-sighted plan of action as echoed in the chant ‘Enough’s enough, we’ll always need the black stuff’. Through his eyes and expressions we hear of the fates of others’ and how solidarity and harmony fall prey to divide and conquer tactics aided by a pliant media, strong-armed law enforcement and secret surveillance. Mellor inhabits and (re)lives the travails of all the characters, you feel the anguish and despair and in spite of the spite humour always shines through.
The Sun ‘news’-paper, that toxic organ of officialdom had the temerity to call the miners ‘lazy’ and ‘the enemy within’ a label most associated with the paranoid propaganda of World War II: colonise the consciousness, control the outcomes. All depressingly relevant today.
This framing of perception saw miners played off against each other and even derided as ‘scabs’ by those who had no understanding or involvement in the struggle: the media is the messenger and the message is ‘Thatcherite neoliberalism is here to stay’. The ‘publically’ funded BBC fared no better, fostering the view that the miners were workshy layabouts whereas the horse mounted police were knightly heroes on overtime oiling the wheels of tyranny. None more so than during the infamous Battle of Orgreave where police brutality indiscriminately attacked all and sundry including ex-servicemen who had fought in World War II.
As we have seen more and more often, there are several reasons why media studies should be on the school curriculum (despite the mocking tones of Boris Johnson et al). The pernicious role of the media throughout these two years is but one.
The lives of the characters go from ‘LIFE is’ to ‘life IS’, an upheaval that shifts the emphasis from living to struggling to exist as typified by the refusal of money for a new-born’s funeral as punishment for striking. There truly is NO such thing as society.
In these times of slacktivism and clicktivism this is a reminder of people power and how that notion scares the authorities, therefore, it must be crushed either violently or scandalously.
The overall and ever contemporary message is ‘what we do in hardship is more measure of man’. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.
The cover of Craig Finn’s third solo album shows the kickback from rain-soaked traffic ahead, the way ahead blurred and potentially treacherous: an overt metaphor for these times.
‘We all want the same things’ exhorts Craig Finn on his third solo outing. Today’s geo-political shenanigans, corporate chicanery and ringed-residential rapacity continually attempt to contradict this Utopian ideal, however, it’s got to start somewhere and somehow. That somewhere is here, the somehow is now.
Ex-Hold Steady head honcho Finn has always viewed everyday life through the everyman prism, from blue collar blues and white collar woes, high school overhangs to bar room hangovers, what to do when the party’s over and everyone’s gone ‘home’? Universal ups and downs that are never more prevalent than today.
Like clear reference point Bruce Springsteen these are homilies from the cradle to the grave, the downtown tales of the uptown folk (under the ever-watchful eyes of God who unsurprisingly features prominently here particularly on the sing-spoken and elegiac ‘God in Chicago’) and vice versa. You ‘know’ these people if not by name then definitely by character.
With an anthropologist’s forensic eye Minneapolitan Finn’s vignettes are imaginative reinterpretations, recreations, and extrapolations of experiences he undergone, stories and news he read, or gleaning from the experiences of others. It all amounts to a documentarian character analysis incorporating the minutiae of the daily grind, puncturing the myth-reality of the movies. So far so grim.
The truth is to the contrary beginning with the wah-wah Peter Framptonesque guitar of ‘Jester & June’, an upbeat and head-down affair of remembered memories and shared (unrealised) dreams (like a post-millennial John Cougar Mellencamp’s ‘Jack & Diane).
There’s a jaunty, wistful and autobiographical looking back in ‘Preludes’ a retrospective annotation of leaving home and venturing forth culminating in a return filled with uncertainty about your place in the world (‘they plaster my wounds and showed me a place to get sick’).
The metaphorical-legory ‘Birds trapped in the airport’ is an electro-builder augmented by Steady-partner Tad Kubler. Melancholia permeates Rescue Blues’ a choral cri de cœur from the perspective of ‘Janie’, another face in the crowd.
If you’ve previously found Finn’s lyrical sway and distinctive delivery too abrasive and earnest (I have) then this is the album to assuage your concerns on his most accessible release to date.
Literate and cerebral, this ten-track humanifesto sets out to unite and connect via collective soul-searching, deep rendering catharsis, within/without. It succeeds. Try it yourself, you are not alone.
London Charing Cross’s Heaven is the celestial venue for a night on the (rep)tiles, underground caverns loom beneath the arches, the catacombs exhibiting a triumvirate of spectral silhouettes on stage.
Psyche-o-geographers of the inner mind, travellers of the (experi)mental terrain, this tower of power trio delivered a (s)trident bunch of fives from new LP, Occult Architecture Vol. 1; a thumping knuckle sandwich to the façade of the low-vibrational energy vampires, the empathy-bereft submerged, the surreptitious secret hand shakers and movers, subterranean domesick crews that wreak havoc and misery from their exalted positions of twisted hierarchy. Out Demons out!
OA 1 delineates the hidden structures that exert esoteric control, the (un)seen architecture that influences mood and alters behaviour, the occult site/sights that hamper and impair our sub/unconscious selves.
The technicolour visuals feature pyramids (those top-down hierarchical control systems and bottom-up aspirational scales), obelisks and the all-seeing eye, that watching, prying, intruding orb of observation; malevolent, malicious and malignant. Beware CCTVoyeurism.
‘The Death Set’ kicks off proceedings, a Stooges-indebted fuzz-racket replete with syn-thetic sorcery that segues into the haunting electro-throbbing ‘Cold Fear’ a hypersonic tour de force in the vein of early Human League. No inter-track chit-chat is required as the clattering cacophonic ‘Creepin’ tramples in: motorik-disko par excellence.
The archive-dérive throws out the hypnoidal trance-dance of ‘I been gone’ and drone-zone glam-stomping ‘Free Action’ (off 2012’s Circles) and the narco-klepto ‘Thieves’ (from 2015’s Shadow of the Sun).
Symbology abounds in ‘Sevens’ (off forthcoming follow-up Occult.Architecture. Vol. 2) continuing the esoteric theme, the antidote to the misanthropic parasitic perverted is here. Initiate yourself.
Culminating in a rousing rendition of The Stooges ‘No Fun’ the circle is complete, the hex has been (re)cast. The fightback is on.
Evil lives: look around, dig the sound, get wise and open your eyes.
Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers, Desert Island Woman, Friday Song, Goodbye Nashville (Hello Camden Town), Martin Stone, Mike Nesmith, Paul Riley, Phil Lithman, Real Sharp, Truck Driving Girl, We get along
NO, not THEM, those sock-cock-rock girth-mirthing Califunkers with the SAME song AGAIN and AGAIN. This superior ensemble occupied the post-hippy and pre-punk epoch and are chock full of pub-rocking beats.
Real Sharp: this two-disc anthology covers the whole breakneck rise and fall as within three years (1972 – 1975) and after over 400 gigs and three albums the group crashed and burned.
Group mainstays Martin Stone (ex 60s cultists The Action, Mighty Baby and Savoy Brown) and Phil Lithman were augmented by future Attraction Pete Thomas, (Nick Lowe also featuring on some tracks) managed by the mercurial Jake ‘Stiff’ Riviera and artwork by the legendary designer Barney Bubbles.
This is a band that signify the missing link between prog and punk/new wave taking in Americana-folk banjuelling (‘Goodbye Nashville (Hello Camden Town)), Southern American frazz-rock (the Allman Brothers-esque ‘Desert Island Woman’), fiddling Celt-blues (‘Fiddle Dee’ is akin to a mashing up of The Incredible Lindisfarne String Driven Thing Band) and motorin’ ragtime-rock (‘Friday Song’).
Two tracks (‘We get along’ and ‘Truck Driving Girl’) were recorded (in acrimonious circumstances) with Monkee Mike Nesmith.
This rewind of the mind reminds of a time when America was still ‘over there’, its place in British culture still part of the ‘fantasy realm’ of movies and music, its exoticness yet to be demystified by mass culture-overload and consumerist colonisation. A more innocent (yet no less aware) time when music and its practitioners acted as a portal to other worlds, cultures, sounds and scenes, interpreting and performing without the sense of pecuniary profit to be plundered from pilfering the past (c.f. Mumford & Sons).
This is fascinating document of an under sung group (the collection features a booklet with great recollections by bassist Paul Riley) and a hitherto underwritten period of British music. Turn to this ‘Page in history’.
Bananarama, Brother Beyond, Dead or Alive, Divine, Donna Summer, Jason Donovan, Kylie Minogue, Mark Elliott, Mel & Kim, Pete Burns, Sigue Sigue Sputnik, Smash Hits, Stock Aitken and Waterman, Success, The Ministry of Pop, The Sound of a Bright Young Britain, This time I know it;s for real, You think you're a man
‘Stock, Aitken and Waterman’, the very mention sends shivers up the and down the spines of some, but, to many they represent a ‘golden age’ of pop. Epitomising a period when to think deeply about pop culture was the predominant language throughout the land at odds with today’s disposable ‘all-face no grace’ popsphere. Most importantly, humour lay at the heart of their work.
To commemorate and celebrate the trip’s output author Mark Elliott has written The Sound of a Bright Young Britain an extensive and exhaustive anatomisation of the ‘Hit Factory’, a history of pop being top, of underground sounds transported to the overground of primetime television and cultural discourse.
Can you tell me a bit about yourself, background etc?
Spent nearly 30 years working in magazines. Used to be MD of Time Out London and was publisher of Empire for a stretch. Worked on a number of magazines including ELLE, Red, The Face. Today, I publish magazines for tourists – Where, London Planner, IN London. I was originally a local newspaper and then magazine journalist and have always been a huge record collector. In the last few years, I been doing some freelance work for Record Collector, Long Live Vinyl and Universal Music.
I live in Greenwich, am married and proud dad to Battersea Dogs & Cats’ Home pug.
Why SAW? Why are they and the phenomenon worthy of such scrutiny?
Statistically, they are one of the UK’s biggest writers/producers. Their songs have lasted and their acts – Rick Astley, Kylie – continue to dominate pop music. Not everything they did was brilliant, but the same can be said for comparable outfits working at such a pace like Motown. As a young man, I loved these songs and play them to this day. It’s time to look at the bigger picture and there’s a wealth of their material that’s been overlooked. They were mavericks and experimental – that’s what makes them interesting.
SAW were unfairly maligned and are criminally likened to ‘Irritable Cowell Syndrome’s Sweatshopping Karaoke PLC’, whereas like Motown they took the sounds of the underground and clubland and took it to the masses.
The best pop subverts and repackages the underground and makes it palatable. Madonna is a good example of someone who does this brilliantly. The ability to reinvent and reinterpret is a skill. In their early years, SAW were on top of the dance scene and helped drive it.
The SAW sound veers between sounding dated and sounding contemporary; is that a sign that things haven’t really moved on in the audio-sonicverse?
I think that’s a sign of a classic song and production. People love these sounds – strong, emotive melody with a dance foundation.
Do you think the intervening years have allowed for a clearer reflection on the pop-ularity and cultural dominance/prominence of the charts, a shared cultural event every week (school)? That unifying moment has disappeared via the ubiquity of ‘now-tech and with it the loss of a pop-centre?
I think it would be hard for a production brand to dominate popular culture like this again. People are able to filter far easier now than they were in the 1980s. While DJ brands like Calvin Harris, Guetta etc are, for example, everywhere with a signature sound, no one has that sort of overwhelming exposure to single musical channels any longer.
The Guardian termed them “Schlock, Aimless and Waterdown” yet arguably would now herald its cultural relevance and all round ‘poptimism’. Do you think there’s a case of ‘yesterday’s dross is today’s kitschy cool’ to repackage and re-sell’?
I don’t particularly like reappraisal. The stuff I liked at 10, 13 and 20 is largely the stuff I like now. I enjoyed The Smiths, but less than I liked Sinitta, so I would champion both to the same degree today as I did in heated debates at my student union in 1987. I think the idea that you like something with hindsight suggests you probably weren’t being honest about it at the time. That’s true of individuals and the wider media.
Were you a fan at the time or do you now see them as worthy of higher appraisal?
No I loved them. I would buy everything they did whether I had heard it or not. The production credit on the record sleeve was good enough for me. I loved the early Divine and Hazell Dean releases without having any particular awareness of the producers but, by 1985 and Dead Or Alive, I was starting to make the connection.
How involved were SAW in the book?
I decided to work mainly with Mike Stock – the book is about their work and he was the songwriter. He was generous with his time, wrote the foreword and helped me check some of the detail.
Phil Harding and Ian Curnow the ‘Spector of the 80s’?
They had a pivotal role in the way many of the tracks sounded and have produced some excellent, although highly technical, testimonies of that time, but Mike created the recipes. It’s a shame there is still so much bad feeling between them all, but I understand why.
Artists like Divine and Dead or Alive were exuberant and extravagant transgressive artistes given teatime airtime.
Absolutely. It was a highly colourful and creative time – much more interesting than the acts in our charts today. It’s considered a golden age of pop music for a reason.
The roster included Kylie, Jason, Donna Summer, but also the ‘World’s First Rodent Superstar’ Roland Rat’s Living Legend?
Kylie has an amazing pop voice and has matured over the years into an enduring artist. I feel I grew up with her – my first visits to gay clubs at the dawn of the 1990s coincided with her getting more experimental too. She and Jason are about my age so Jason was someone I tried to physically emulate. I enjoyed Rick’s music a lot, but have always preferred female vocalists. Roland Rat had an odd relationship with SAW (read the book!) and, in truth, I didn’t much care for it, although as Pete told me, you can hear early Mel & Kim in some of this.
The importance of the music press, seemed to be a symbiotic relationship between SAW and Smash Hits, seeing the joie de vivre and superficiality in pop and also the ability mock it.
Barry McIlheney, who edited Smash Hits during some of SAW’s years of dominance, is a friend and a former boss of mine. He was able to share some useful insight and, absolutely, the tone that Smash Hits had in that time blended perfectly with the SAW acts. The way the magazine wrote about The Reynolds Girls, for example, builds brilliantly on their public profile.
Have you heard the Judas Priest SAW songs?
Only the clips online. Pete tells me they are lost from his archive. We’ll see …
(Sigue Sigue) Sputnik Aitken and Waterman, post-modern provocateurs meets the prevailing populists. A match made in heaven?
A great idea but, as Mike says in the book, creating a song with a band with a peverse perspective on what constitutes a melody probably wasn’t a match made in heaven.
Why do you think the magic ran out? Natural lifespan of phenomena?
I think the pace of work was too great and the business structure around the core SAW team started to get in the way. Both Mike and Pete managed to create new, highly successful projects after the split.
The artist Scott King has argued ‘I still think that pop music is potentially the highest form of art, even though – or perhaps because – most of it is utter rubbish’. What’s your take?
I’m fascinated by the blend of pop music that makes you feel something and the way it impacts on wider public awareness and culture. Getting that mix right is rare and usually doesn’t last for long. I don’t have time for anyone that rubbishes anything. Your reaction to something is always going to differ to someone else’s.
Why do you think most of the songs have endured?
Definitive SAW song? Act?
Donna Summer – ‘This Time I Know It’s For Real’
Probably Kylie, but I love the Wow-era Bananarama for their spirit, styling and fabulous songs
Would you agree that a SAW makes you nostalgic for simpler times or is that simply wistful thinking?
For me, personally, I was a young man and that naturally induces a sense of nostalgia. Glance back fondly, but make sure you’re as interested in what comes next. I think the era was actually a blend of terror and hardship alongside experimentation and positive energy. Again, that’s what makes it interesting in part.
Top 10 SAW tunes?
Now this is hard. Today, I’d say in no particular order:
Donna Summer _ ‘This Time I Know It’s For Real’
Kylie – ‘Better The Devil You Know’
Bananarama – ‘I Heard A Rumour’
Cliff Richard – ‘I Just Don’t Have The Heart’
Laura Branigan – ‘Shattered Glass’
Dead Or Alive – ‘Brand New Lover’
Mel & Kim – ‘That’s The Way It Is’
Rick Astley – ‘It Would Take A Strong Strong Man’
Hazell Dean – ‘Whatever I Do (Wherever I Go)’
Brother Beyond – ‘The Harder I Try’
Do you look when you see? What do you ‘see’?
Moon Duo, the Portland twosome (Wooden Shjips émigré Ripley Johnson and Sanae Yamada) consistently examine the Manichean, the Yin and Yang, staring down the two-faced Janus, seeking the good vs bad, observing black vs white; these binary dualities shaded in with colour and light that ease the passage from dusk into night and the seasonal gradations. On fourth long-player Occult Architecture Vol. 1 we are taken on another voyage on the Sea of Tran-quality.
Where pyramids and obelisks are overt (blatant) structures built on specific energy points (the better to siphon nature’s power and subvert), occult symbolic structures as hidden spectacle (latent) hijack our psychic space as a controlling, corralling, herding entity that sinisterly influences behaviour, mood and actions.
However, esoteric education reveals the hidden patterns, the sub-texts that enable the dismantling of pre-existing and non-questionable structural systems, providing clarity of the atavistic absorption of these invisible frameworks that shepherd humankind, allowing psychic freedom from the fugue of dystopiates that numb the questing mind. Once the shackles are loose, you will never ‘unsee’.
Lucifer, Moloch and their satanic disciples all get a kicking throughout starting with ‘The Death Set’. In the crosshairs are the war-mongers, the corrupt, the abrupt, the low vibrational architects of misery, the attendees of the clandestine committees, the scripted, the conscripted, the rehearsed, the perversed, the harbingers of gloom pocketing profits of doom, the obscene unseen whose own strings are pulled by malevolent, desolate ones, the carpetbaggers and market blaggers.
‘Cold Fear’s haunting hum entrances and hypnotises, a seductive delve into an alt-realm of chilly atomisation and separatism. An unvarnished synth-phony par excellence.
The motorik-rock of ‘Creepin’ is the sound of the fright-night demons that linger throughout the day-daze.
Ol’ Moloch’s popular this year (‘Cult of Moloch’ and also San-Fran-band The Molochs), the cabal of the death set worship at the altar of this child sacrificial deity, this song in the key of sacrifice with tribal beating and bible bleating. ‘Cross Town Fade’ is superlative orienteering of the mindscape.
The spooktacularly eerie and wailing ‘Will of the Devil’ could soundtrack Halloween XII: Carrie knows what The Exorcist did on Friday the 13th’s Chainsaw massacre; where evil lurks, Satan works. The closing ‘White Rose’ proffers hope through purity and spirituality, flower power virtues delivered in a blitzkrieg bouquet.
Reaction equals creation and in times of cosmic crisis and spiritual strife, supersonic avatars are needed to facilitate between the Gods and the mortals, these esoteric lunar-tics look like us, but, they don’t sound like us. They sound like THIS.
This profound sound shows a darker side of the Moon (Duo), a celestial escort through the time-space songtinuum. Activate your trip-chords to these rhymes of the seasons: open your ears, your mind will follow. Set your controls for the art of the sunset.
These lightbringers return later this year with Volume 2.
Madly In Love With Sound
A repository of McLuhan-related news, conferences, events, books, articles, links & general information.
COOKING ON A BOOTSTRAP & MORE
Friday 26th May 2017, University of Sheffield
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Cross-Disciplinary Dialogues and New Directions
ORIGINAL HANDMADE INDONESIA
terror, wonder, tea
The blog of Robin Carmody. Liberal humanist, reformed ex-Stalinist and former anti-anti-anti-Semite, melancholy Europhile and romantic-ruralist socialist. Londoner by birth, Kentish Man by upbringing, Portlander by adoption. "More like Roy Harper than Fairport Convention" - Simon Reynolds, 2003. May be the horsiest Leftie in the Anglosphere, but there are many horsier ones beyond.
This blog deals with common neurological diseases.
The Psychedelic Museum exists to research, preserve, and share stories from all expressions of psychedelic culture.
A blog of my new book project, an eightieth anniversary retracing of the famous 'crusade'; a protest march from Jarrow to London by unemployed workers in October 1936
British youth culture at its finest
concert photography and stories