Saturday, July 21, 2007



Recovering from last night's uber-excellent cross-blog drink-up in which The Zeros of Earth-One visited The Shirts of Earth-Two. Once again, The Crisis on Infinite Blogs was narrowly averted by the gritty determination and valour of four of humankind's greatest heros. Many gins, whiskeys and pringles were consumed...

But, most importantly:



Yeah, so anyway, I set CD-player on Random.

One: Some sort of mid-60s electro-accoustic drug-binge is in progress. Muffled, yet somehow also sonorous at the same time. Dull bells and the battle-drums of Tribe Limbless. They're eating Bob Dylan!

Two: A hellish kill-machine from the Warhammer 4000 universe lurches into action, mowing down legions of armoured ghouls with some sort of blue-pulsing death-gun, electric whips and rapidly spinning razor-scythes that eviscerate everthing in their path. The sky rains bloody hands.

Three: Haunted organ music from an evil, old well. Some sort of Japanese computerised goblin lives down there spinning a web from dark green shit. Alt.soundtrack to "Hideo D: HellBitch Dead Stalker."

Four: I really don't want to talk about this one; it's too fucking disturbing.

Five: A dense, roaring cloud, malignant and unfathomable, falls upon the listener. Distant fire-engines. A machine wants to eat us. We fall into a dark purple vortex made from our own memories.

Six: Tape-transports stutter and howl. A murderous toy-robot limps around a 1960s amusement arcade on broken caterpillar-tracks. We fall into an arcane, automated mechanism that uses knitting-needles and rotating sanding-disks to progressively strip us of our skin. The soundtrack to yr own eventual demise.

Seven: 70s Biker Flick on ultra-fast-forward filmed by Jeff Keen. They Kill/rape/fight/drink/make music at 270mph. Alien cops kill them at the end. Credits in sickly black neon typefaces.

Eight: tape-crumpled 4-bit drum-machine over oil-drum gtr-line and the sound of faces scraping against granite.

There's loooooads more, but why go on. This astonishingly inventive CD fucks with yr head on a whole bunch of levels - it succeeds in somehow being both pyschedelic and post-industrial, invoking a series of unflinchingly raw soundworlds that are as original as they are unexpected. A mad mulch-up of primitive electronics, gtr meltdowns, found sound, cassette-deck abuse, live jams, circuit-bend-outs, thuggish beserko percussives, Brut Concrete - sometimes all on the same track! To be honest, the jams on this CD have blown me away - I'm sooo gonna have to raise my fucking game. It's ages old, I know, but I live in a cupboard-sized micro universe that's forever 6 months outa synch w/ The Spectacle.

Non-Horse (or NonHorse) is G. Lucas ('Glucose') Crane, better known for his antics with Vanishing Voice - I'm pretty sure he played on their fantastic "Stone Tablet" album, which you really do need to buy fucking pronto.

Of the Haraam CD, G. Lucas says: "Its basically a dream description. I was lost in a desert maze and I kept encountering small rooms and situations vibrating with hidden alien pitches and molded rules. A small alter, a reflective bowl, a spear shaped candle. I was trying for a crystalline structure with the tracts the same length like the facets of a large jewel. The desert was long and ponderous, and I had to speak to enemies and old kings to gain my freedom. This was while i was living in a blackmoldy basement after traveling for a year, so I was psychically unmoored and traumatized by New York city. The source material tapes were mostly stuff I recorded in America on tour, moments with other musicians in hotel rooms and backyards."

Available thru Release The Bats, you lucky fuckers.