Tuesday, January 24, 2006


Yay! Aciiiiiied: here and here.

John and Loki firing on all four-to-the-floors w/ a salute to St. Albans finest: Richard Norris of "Jack the Tab" infamy.

How fucking fabulously skeletal and alien the best of these trax still sound nearly 20 years on, espesh. the American stuff: Just been listening to "Touch Me" by Scrappy...the listless, disinterested female vocal samples (girlfriend of artist/producer gets roped in during her lunch-hour to recite some supposedly titilating one-liners into a mike when she'd rather be scarfing a bagel w/ her mates) sound like a template for New Beat's later exercises in Eurosexual ennui. When she says "I want you" over 303 belches and skipping, minimal drums it somehow inverts the intention, stripping the words of anything resembling eroticism. Sampling sucks the words dry of meaning and Language is briefly revealed as mere artifact, sonic debris left in the wake of the music (wh/ is, in itself, relentless and restless, potentially endless when temporally-compressed by the effects of Ecstacy)...there is no meat, no muscle on 1st gen. Acid: it's all ligaments and tendons, bleached-out sparrow-bones, dry and dessicated, built for nervous, pointless movement...a series of hyper-animated gestures, a soundtrack for all our random monkey-brain tics and twitches...the removal of overt linguistic Meaning from this music is essential (the disembodied words are then taken and also incorporated into Acid's mechanised epileptic fit), otherwise these trax would not have had the power to free us of both fat and thought, transforming us into living spasms, a Behaviourist's wet-dream, transfixed by nothing more than our own ability to move and move and move.

By temporarily removing part of our own humanity, Acid House briefly reminded us of how wonderful it is to be human.

Nearly two decades on and this shit still sounds great.