Lily & Madeleine
I was an hour late to work today because I was busy having a series of insane dreams about Minneapolis and Seattle (neither of which I’ve been to):
In the former city (in which one of every two people wants to be in a rock band), a famous, nameless indie rocker narrates a biographical scene from his days as a longshoreman. He rides his bike the full 200-mile span of concrete along the shore at night, across an empty concrete way awaiting morning shipments. At the end of the paved expanse, he reaches a dark forest. Then he tells of his world travels, of seeing Chinese plants and of swimming with a crocodile. His tale ends.
I suddenly find myself in the latter city, in the office of a music newspaper called News, established in the late nineteenth century. An employee leads me to a large window. Outside, it’s raining softly. A large hill over a marsh begins to blossom in waves of orange, white, red, and yellow. The flowers bloom fast, stochastically, along lines like a hockey crowd atop the Milwaukee Art Museum. I know, even as I dream, that I’m sleeping through my alarm. The beauty of nature overwhelms me, pardoning my inefficiency. My dad appears at the office — the office I want to work at. He’s been newly hired; his head is shaved, he’s jacked, and he’s wearing a gold chain.
I wake up to bail out, and when I look around my room I feel strongly that it’s okay if I leave New York. It’s best that I leave what I’ve got in order to live in a way that genuinely gratifies me. In a way that won’t tint my end-of-life recollections with a pervasive sense of tragedy and waste. Are you in this boat with me? Will you also listen to “Paradise” over and over as you sob in bed for an hour from 3 to 4AM, hearing in your gut, as much as your ears or head or heart, the lines: “I’ve worn out my welcome/ spent all my time./ I’m ready to live/ not ready to die./ How can it be/ that nothing’s yours/ and nothing’s mine?”
“DEEPA (Vocal Mix)”
The mercurial, Mew-like riddim conjuror Dubbel Dutch made a graceful descent from the great club in the sky earlier this morning to drop another effervescent batch of cosmic tone poems via Brooklyn-based dancehall 2.0 imprint Mixpak, the centerpiece of which would appear to be the strident, Jersey club-/jungle-inflected gem “DEEPA (Vocal Mix)” — take a listen, whydontcha?
The new EP entitled Cloud Club seems to pick up where last year’s excellent Self Help Riddims left off, delving even further into the transgeneric milieu that is contemporary club culture, while maintaining the high emotional payload we’ve come to expect from DD. The bubbling, mechanical calibrations of the oh-so-trending grime subgenre fit snugly alongside jungly jerks and pelvis-possessing bass patterns, while the tone of the whole thing points definitively skyward. Just wait for the vocal sample to start helixing into harmony with itself at the one-minute mark — I have a feeling this one’s gonna be banging ‘pon the dancefloor long into 2014.
*cough* TERRODOME IS COOL *cough cough*
What was that? Did someone say that BOY FROOT is Eureka-level amazing? Did someone also know that BOY FROOT curates and mixes these TERRORDOME compilations, which are historically awesome factions of future-hop that not nearly enough people know about? Am I currently posting in hyperbolic rhetoricism? Is rhetoricism a word? STOP INTERROGATING ME!
Look, just click the link and get sucked in, we’ve got prime cuts here from ‘13 faves like Bonglestar Galactabong, Holly Waxwing, First Dog, FROOT himself, and of course Spills (the one that actually truly really should be famous) and a bunch more. Less raps on this collection, but the warped beats and sprinkling synths will hook you in for sure — shop the incredible crunch of a cut called “Zoom” by someone whose name I simply cannot pronounce (“щяʃ” — you try… my best guess here is “Worf,” which would actually rule) or the filthy lurch of Night Park’s “Detective.”
Anyway, give it a spin, download it (yes, for free), and watch close for stuff from all these kids on their own or together again in the very near future. This is starting to be something of a “usual suspects” type of deal as these volumes have ticked by within the past few months, and the group shows no signs of splintering any time soon. But with a solid tape outing from Holly Waxwing just a minute ago on his own Neumenal Loom label, and Boy Froot flowering in his own right, only time will tell how each of these folks will really capitalize on their flagrant potential. Until then, light one up and get lost in the crowd:
• Terrordome: http://terror-dome.bandcamp.com
Two-thousand word think-piece on how the drone/noise and electronic/techno undergrounds creep closer together in every boundary-blurring release from each camp: go!
Well, if you take a few steps back and think about it, these scenes have been culling from the same influences, using the same gear, and gravitating toward the same extended, repetition-based song structures since their most primordial origins, dating back to —
(((p(>o<)q))) STFU, MAN! !! !!! 凸(｀△´＋）Damn.
I’m tryna sink into this new Steve Moore jam.
Lush synth tones straight from the midnight drive montage of a horror score. A rhythmic grid so deliberate in its creeping trajectory, until… that beat. Uhhhnnnnnnnnnn yeahhhhhhhhhhhh. Grid complicated, rhythms overlapping, head bobbing -> I’m locked into “Deep Time” (streaming below):
Steve Moore, one half of cosmic synth prog-lords Zombi (soon to be on tour with GOBLIN [yeah(!!!)]), continues his sterling solo catalog with Pangaea Ultima, a new LP due December 16 on Spectrum Spools. Peep that Robert Beatty cover art (yeah). Preorder it now and project your mind to the future moment of its arrival at your home. Oh, how thrilled you look. Now come back to the present, grease up your elbows, and toil your way through this work-a-day existence until that moment arrives IRL.
The time change makes a big difference up here in the north. Driving to work at 6:30am is much easier when the sun is up. I don’t spend as much time staring at my breath while the car warms up, and the timing belt doesn’t seem to squeal quite as much. But the fog is still there. Only now, it’s lit up in faint pinks and yellows instead of just sitting there soaking in the streetlight. New music from Redfish is just like these modest colors peeking through an otherwise monochrome landscape. Textured ambient backdrops deteriorate and warp, letting in beams of grainy percussion and washed out melodies on the band’s newest self-titled release.
Redfish is made up Alexandre Navarro and Sasa Vojvodic (aka Letna), the two founders of the SEM record label based out of Paris. By combining their similar, yet unique flavors of electronic composition, they have created one of the richest, most intriguing minimal albums of the year, Redfish. Listen to the album stream below:
BUT WHO GIVES A FUCK.
Now take a deep breath and press play:
• Death Grips: http://thirdworlds.net