Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Numbers Stations and The New Blockaders - Whitehouse's "Erector" - The Dreaming

The Conet Project - Numbers Stations

Secret agencies transmitting indecipherable messages to small groups of men for reasons we do not know and may not want to. I think I have heard it all and then I hear this. I am left strangely moved. Encouraged to leave my room and take a walk through the streets (an option instantly strangled by my feelings about death and its probability of occurring at night time). Opting for the front porch I stare into the mid distance and continue to digest small segments of scratchy music (sometimes old time radio, sometimes melodic bleeps in some sort of pattern, sometimes electrical wash). This music/pattern/electricity, you soon find out, is a form of introduction and signal of leave for the enclosed "message" that we're supposed to assume is directed towards shifty parties maybe responsible for death but probably responsible for secret games of chess. Dangerous chess. Chess with death in it. These encoded messages for devastating chess piece directions come in the form of human speech. The speech is heavily doctored to sound like the most untrustworthy of computerised companions (think 2001 or some of the instances within the Asimov gem "I, Robot") with each appearing in either another language or spoken by an alternate sex (male/female/swamp demon). The time spanned for each message is fairly irrelevant considering the entire collection (The Conet Project) spans 4 discs and the variations in some cases are fairly negligible. All together however they do contribute to a listening experience not unlike some experimental music I have been exposed to in the past. I am of the opinion it works best listened to in such a way. In some cases it can actually become quite a beautiful experience. In particular the "magnetic fields" tracks which include synth like openers that, more than anywhere else on the collection, evict a strong emotion from the listener (aside from the paralysing dread and general foreboding and a general sense that radio waves are watching you from a bush while you undress). These short wave receptions are still occurring on radios around the planet, which adds to the feeling of experiencing something you're maybe not supposed to be. I can hear people denigrating this as pure novelty. It is true that this will make no sense to some people and possibly drive others into a conspiracy inspired suspicion based psychosis. However it more than works for me as an accompaniment to days that feel extraordinary, or to make the mundane feel so.

The New Blockaders - Out of Print Collection

Another somewhat adventurous "musical endeavour" was taken mid last week. I'd probably had some sort of average day and concluded it needed to end with a bang. Hell, I’d wasted this day pandering to controlling emotions and possibly vile man folk, let's squeeze this sponge and rid of it its pungent man stench. Let's download Anti-music. I'm ready for this. What could possibly go wrong? I'm feeling pretty 'anti'. Fuck everything, yeah? So I start to download the first part of a collection from the anti-band "The New Blockaders". I've read a bio from these guys and it sounds pretty fucking exciting. Lots of "pioneering" and actual mention of the TNB creation of a WHOLE NEW MUSICAL SCALE. Based on emotion. Fuck yeah. Applying this to what I have heard I am pretty sure that whatever out of print recording I got of these guys is either extremely minimal or just during their infatuation with office/school furniture and windows/doors. If this is so, great, count me in for further exploration. If this is not the case, I am fairly certain this is the only collection of songs I need that express the emotional scale of office/school furniture and windows/doors. The first track sounds as though a miserable school in Chernobyl just realised someone fucked up pretty bad and now has to stack all the chairs and desks neatly against the walls while the teachers mercy kill the students. All the deaths occur in complete resigned silence so you're left with this ominous scraping of chair legs, desk legs and tiny feet upon the slightly sooted grey floor of a school that is totally fucked. This scenario lasted for around 20 minutes in total and to be honest it was not a terrible listening experience, definitely unique, and I was fairly eager to hear what track 2 had to offer in ways of changing things up. Turns out the next track could have just been called "Exactly what is happening in the next classroom in the school that just found out it got fucked". It's terribly similar. I'd halted further acquisition of the discs related to this first in realisation that the entire collection probably went through each of the classes in this 16 roomed learning institute that just got fucked. I've not lost faith in The New Blockaders. I'm still interested. Maybe I’ll just try and locate a "best of..." and hope no children have to die.

Whitehouse - Erector

Introduced with a low rumble that indicates this is going to kick ass, I get excited. I'm starting to think it's going on a bit, this low rumble, and my excitement recedes a tiny amount. All of a sudden I am crying in a corner with my face bloated. Efforts to reach the speakers in order to just turn it down a smidge are refused by this invisible wall of matter pushing against me, encouraging me to expel more tears. It probably called me a pussy too but I couldn’t hear him over the explosively high pitched ringing of Whitehouse’s first song off of the album "Erector" titled "Erector". Not sure how the rest goes but I woke up hours later completely dehydrated because I’d shat myself empty of everything inside my body.

The Dreaming

I woke up in a sweat a fair total of 4 times last night. I am not sure who to blame but I am fairly sure my imagination raped me. Car crashes. Almost sex. Lost wallet. Fish and chips. Actual sex. Suicide from a bridge. Long talks with friends. Lost beer. Bus destroying a man running in front of it. Telling people to cover their ears. The crushing sound getting through. Lost keys. One argument. Confusing room relocations. Newly acquired love. The female "V" pressing me from behind. A conspired beheading. A brother’s death. Woman unrelenting on an alarm causing intense panic.

Tonight, if it be fair Mind. Lay off.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Jazz, you are like a faceless mask.

Transcript of a meeting between The Author and Jazz.
They sit almost alone in a quiet cafe. Make certain note that the weather (temperature) is "fine". This is important. The weather is neither too hot, nor too cold. The weather is just "fine".

Me: Hey.

Jazz: ...hey.

Me: What's up. Thanks for coming out to see me, it's been a while. Hey...are you ok? You're all over the place.

Jazz: Huh...what...what do you mean?

Me: You're all over the place. Your shit is everywhere. You can't even look me straight in the eyes. What the hell is wrong with you. You been drinking?

Jazz: Shit no. Drinking? What the hell are you talking about. This is a cafe and it be almost not 10 what 8:30 in the AM and you think i been drinkin'? I am looking directly at you and there is a totally sweet car over ther...shit is that the time...god i am hungry...trees are some fine ass niggers...

Me: Shit yes. Drinking. Sit down man, i'll order you a water. You're sweating man, have you taken anything?

Jazz: Noooooo man, i am coool...you're the one who is paranoid man just chill out for a bit yeah? Hmmm, I have been perspiring a bit haven't I. Feeling this cool breeze blow through now, my man. Real cool. I'm going to sit here, lay back, sip this nice cool water. What you callin' me out for anyways brother? You call me out and you go all Questioning Non-Stop on my ass when i just want to chill...

Me: Just wanted to see you again. It's been a while and last time we saw each other we didn't get on so well...

Jazz: What you talking about brother? We cool. Got this nice water here and this nice breeze blowin' through. We cool.

Me: Yeah

Jazz: ...We cool.

Me: Yeah. Yeah, i see all those things now. I guess. I mean, we ARE cool. No wait you're right...this feels good, having you here, relaxing... It was a good idea to get you out my man. Might order me some nice cool wate...

Jazz: WHAT you TAAAALKIN' about FOOOOLLlll? It is HOT. HOT my man i feel like i am STRANGLIN' or bein the STRANGLIN' in here! This water is BULLSHIT! Oh man i see some BRICKS over there they be SWEATIN' like watermelon PIE!

Me: Oh Christ.

Jazz: I don't want no stinkin' water this shit is fo' FOOLS. YOU a fool you dragin' me out here in WHOA. WHOA. WHOA. LAMPOST is LAMP LIGHTING. STAGE FRIGHTENIN'!

Me: This is exactly what happened last time. Why are you yelling like some fucking mad-man. We were just getting really cool there for a second. I was going to order a water. A nice cool water, remember the water? How cool and nice it was and the breeze? Remember the breeze...

Jazz: EAT yo' DINNA punk ass FOO'!

Me: ...

Jazz: EAT YO' DINNA drunk lass COOL!

Me: Alright i'm leaving. You're shitting me.

Jazz: Whoa, whoa...whoa. What's the matter. What IS the matter? You ain't even got you a water yet you ain't even asked the waiter man for you water. WATER PLEASE ANOTHER WATER. Just calm down my brother and get back in you seat i promise we be cool...feel the breeze WHOA SOLO OUT OF DA MUTHAFUCKIN AiiiRRRiiIIRRRIIRIRIiiiRRRRRRRR GREASE pIPES.

Me: Fuck you, Jazz.



The relationship we share is often tenuous. We spend alot of time together. By no means do i give you the most of my time, but considering how much time i have, you do alright. It has not been the easiest for us. Well at least for me, it has not been easy. You speak easy and often loudly and i've barely a moment to think about a responce. Your face is often expressionless and hard to read. Jazz you are like a faceless mask. Am i meant to draw in the expression i would most like to see? Am i meant to stare long enough into the white nothing of your mask in order to start seeing swiming stars and then patterns and then God knows? Shit, DOES God know? Have you talked to him about what you're doing? Has he replied with a resounding "Fuck Yes, Jazz! You're Doing It Right!"?.

I am not picking on you. You've been exceptional company on many ocasions. I am just trying to understand you.

You're just more difficult than my other friends. Louder than them. Quieter than them. Faster than them. Slower than them. Some of the things you say, you seem not to think about before saying them. Some of the things you say, they seem so full of purpose and deliberate. You've frightened me. You have calmed me. You have bored me. Oh jesus, how sometimes you have bored me. Some days you manage to best capture the complete random-ness of all things. Sometimes i need structure or i will most surely go insane. Sometimes, jazz, you drive me insane.

Most importantly, i think, you are a challenge.

Jazz, what i am trying to get at is that i think you're a bi-polar spastic, and i love you.