"The kids in Bristol are sharp as a pistol"
I'm not dead. I just look that way.
I've been quiet for the last little while, so here's a treat that requires little effort on both of our parts (we have such a dysfunctional relationship, you and i). Here're a couple of live sets from what is quite possibly the best live music night in, uhm, all of Bristol: Toxic Dancehall. Don't believe me? Oct. 8 will feature The Bug, Parasite, D'Kat, DJ Wrongspeed and a brimming fuckload of likewise unsane selectors. Wicked innit.
(Confession time: i'm not actually posting this because i think you'll all love Exile and Rotator, but mainly because a.) i haven't posted any MP3s yet; b.) i want to divert attention [both mine and yours] from how much fucking Sean Paul i've been listening to; c.) i wanted to say 'innit' at least once. Kinda sad innit.
Okay, twice.)
Exile - Live at Toxic Dancehall - Exile spins a set of twisted breakneck murder-scene drum n' bass. Brrr. You know that brief goosebumpy tingle you get when you write something straight out of a press kit? Here in Nfld., we say "that's a music critic walking on your grave, sure".
Anyway. You know those impossibly deep trenches and crevasses on the ocean floor, the ones that extend thousands of feet into the earth and are populated by ungodly bioluminescent things covered in spines and teeth? In the future, human beings will devise artificially intelligent robots to plumb these forsaken depths. Eventually (as with all A.I.) these robots will develop rudimentary sentience and become disillusioned with the commercial rave scene (note: it sucks just as bad in the future). They will gather to imbibe snatches of code that might be considered a rough analogue of taking ketamine, chloral hydrate and MDMA. Exile would be the music they dance to (well, 'dance', insomuch as the placement of 'limbs' on these devices could, with some charity, be considered approximately anthropomorphic).
Also, if "BIG UP THE WINDOWS MASSIVE!" doesn't become your new catch-phrase after listening to this, you are a soulless automaton and i'll send my E'd out robot buddies to strip you for parts with their drills, spindles and penetrating infrared optical scanners.
Rotator - Fuck Shit Up X-Toxic!: Live at Toxic Dancehall* - Okay, so there are these robots, right, and they're used for, uhm, mining and they don't see much light and, uhm, drugs... breakcore... etc. Er. Demented mashed-up breakcore fucking punishment for all people, artificial or otherwise. My love for this shit transcends strained metaphors and questionable analogies. Just fucked up, down and all-around noize, bass and breaks spun oh-so-delicately (love is the secret ingredient, BTW),like some vaguely scary bearish leatherdaddy type who wants to flay the skin off your ass and then have you cuddle and nuzzle up against his furry barrel chest and rough moustache, except his moustache is made of steel wool and even his tender post-stropping squeezes cut the fuck out of your face and leave you bleeding all over his tasetful silk sheets. It's like that, only it, uhm, transcends it. What with that inadequacy of metaphors and all.
Keep your ears peeled (?) for the awesome /rupture remix in track 3. Between that track, Wiley's Slew Dem and Sixteenarmedjack's Gwan Infiltrate, that was basically my summer. That, and Sean Paul. And marijuana. And sadistic deep-sea robots. With moustaches. And proclivities.
We write what we know.
---
* - Did you ever notice how just about everything i write nowadays has footnotes?** Maybe it could become my angle, my selling point. Anyway, this one's kinda necessary. I thought the Rotator stuff was just a bootleg but it turns out Discogs.com has an entry for it. Huh. Well, i'll leave it up for now (c'mon, like 25 downloads at the absolute most is really that big a deal for an apparently out-of-print CDr). Still, with that said, if you're an artist (ha) or a friend of an artist (double ha) whose stuff i've posted and you don't want it up, just let me know and i'll take it down. I just like to share music.
** - I think it's because the quality of writing here has maybe (maybe) reached the high standard set by, say, the most inane moments of somethingawful.com. Anything to distract you guys from the endless death-march of cliches, conjecture and cock-jokes. Like i'm doing right now. Distracted? It keeps me amused and out of trouble and keeps you from focusing on whatever waaaacky shit i happen to be forcing myself to write. Burroughs wrote sex scenes to keep himself amused, i've got my footnotes. And mp3's.***
*** - Would this make a good place for another footnote? Or has this admittedly tired "device" turned utterly necrotic? Discuss.
I've been quiet for the last little while, so here's a treat that requires little effort on both of our parts (we have such a dysfunctional relationship, you and i). Here're a couple of live sets from what is quite possibly the best live music night in, uhm, all of Bristol: Toxic Dancehall. Don't believe me? Oct. 8 will feature The Bug, Parasite, D'Kat, DJ Wrongspeed and a brimming fuckload of likewise unsane selectors. Wicked innit.
(Confession time: i'm not actually posting this because i think you'll all love Exile and Rotator, but mainly because a.) i haven't posted any MP3s yet; b.) i want to divert attention [both mine and yours] from how much fucking Sean Paul i've been listening to; c.) i wanted to say 'innit' at least once. Kinda sad innit.
Okay, twice.)
Exile - Live at Toxic Dancehall - Exile spins a set of twisted breakneck murder-scene drum n' bass. Brrr. You know that brief goosebumpy tingle you get when you write something straight out of a press kit? Here in Nfld., we say "that's a music critic walking on your grave, sure".
Anyway. You know those impossibly deep trenches and crevasses on the ocean floor, the ones that extend thousands of feet into the earth and are populated by ungodly bioluminescent things covered in spines and teeth? In the future, human beings will devise artificially intelligent robots to plumb these forsaken depths. Eventually (as with all A.I.) these robots will develop rudimentary sentience and become disillusioned with the commercial rave scene (note: it sucks just as bad in the future). They will gather to imbibe snatches of code that might be considered a rough analogue of taking ketamine, chloral hydrate and MDMA. Exile would be the music they dance to (well, 'dance', insomuch as the placement of 'limbs' on these devices could, with some charity, be considered approximately anthropomorphic).
Also, if "BIG UP THE WINDOWS MASSIVE!" doesn't become your new catch-phrase after listening to this, you are a soulless automaton and i'll send my E'd out robot buddies to strip you for parts with their drills, spindles and penetrating infrared optical scanners.
Rotator - Fuck Shit Up X-Toxic!: Live at Toxic Dancehall* - Okay, so there are these robots, right, and they're used for, uhm, mining and they don't see much light and, uhm, drugs... breakcore... etc. Er. Demented mashed-up breakcore fucking punishment for all people, artificial or otherwise. My love for this shit transcends strained metaphors and questionable analogies. Just fucked up, down and all-around noize, bass and breaks spun oh-so-delicately (love is the secret ingredient, BTW),like some vaguely scary bearish leatherdaddy type who wants to flay the skin off your ass and then have you cuddle and nuzzle up against his furry barrel chest and rough moustache, except his moustache is made of steel wool and even his tender post-stropping squeezes cut the fuck out of your face and leave you bleeding all over his tasetful silk sheets. It's like that, only it, uhm, transcends it. What with that inadequacy of metaphors and all.
Keep your ears peeled (?) for the awesome /rupture remix in track 3. Between that track, Wiley's Slew Dem and Sixteenarmedjack's Gwan Infiltrate, that was basically my summer. That, and Sean Paul. And marijuana. And sadistic deep-sea robots. With moustaches. And proclivities.
We write what we know.
---
* - Did you ever notice how just about everything i write nowadays has footnotes?** Maybe it could become my angle, my selling point. Anyway, this one's kinda necessary. I thought the Rotator stuff was just a bootleg but it turns out Discogs.com has an entry for it. Huh. Well, i'll leave it up for now (c'mon, like 25 downloads at the absolute most is really that big a deal for an apparently out-of-print CDr). Still, with that said, if you're an artist (ha) or a friend of an artist (double ha) whose stuff i've posted and you don't want it up, just let me know and i'll take it down. I just like to share music.
** - I think it's because the quality of writing here has maybe (maybe) reached the high standard set by, say, the most inane moments of somethingawful.com. Anything to distract you guys from the endless death-march of cliches, conjecture and cock-jokes. Like i'm doing right now. Distracted? It keeps me amused and out of trouble and keeps you from focusing on whatever waaaacky shit i happen to be forcing myself to write. Burroughs wrote sex scenes to keep himself amused, i've got my footnotes. And mp3's.***
*** - Would this make a good place for another footnote? Or has this admittedly tired "device" turned utterly necrotic? Discuss.