“Slot Machine Music (Side A)”
C’mon big money, big money. I don’t feel comfortable in the casino environment. Somehow I don’t know I don’t think so c’mon babe big money. I walk into a casino and promise myself that I will only spend (waste) $20 dollars on whatever, usually slots, and I keep my promise. My max bet comes up 45 cents. It’s not even a matter of “resisting temptation.” It’s a war. All I’m tempted to do is leave without spending anything. Listen, what are you playing? I can’t play black jack, poker, roulette, etc., well enough to even fathom coming out ahead. Double bonus. So in the off chance that I’m dragged along to a casino for a friend’s birthday or something, as my posse presses their luck with the big kid games, I find solace in a few key factors. Press the spin button to see what you’ve won. #1: You can smoke cigarettes indoors. I wanted that one. #2: Slot machines hypnotize me. You just have to wait a minute, mom. I know that’s hard for you.
I listen to Adrian Rew’s field recordings of Midwest casinos, compiled into his album Slot Machine Music (originally issued as a CDr on Ergot Records), and I’m transported straight to the zone. By “the zone,” I don’t mean “the casino.” I mean the same mental fugue state and/or ecstasy sparked by Reich’s endless melodic repetitions, Nancarrow’s inhuman player piano rolls, or Headboggle’s grab-bag synth mangling. Rew’s overwhelming stereophonic mixes, populated by layer upon layer of manic arpeggios, klaxons, victory cheers, Wheel of Fortune fanfares, gambler commiserations, all captured from the perspective of a lone microphone, with all recorded machines improbably tuned to something like the same key by their manufacturers for the sake of good-time consonant vibes on the floor, transcend the physical reality of their recording sites (Horseshoe Casino, Cleveland, OH / Horseshoe Casino, Hammond, IN / Grand Victoria Casino, Elgin, IL) to stand as successful “compositions” in their own right.
Key word: ~*# chance #*~. Just as the unwittingly recorded gamblers submitted themselves mind, body, and wallet to the rigged mistress of chance, Rew allowed only the natural conditions of the environment to shape his recording. The casino’s chaos is out of his, or anyone’s, control — other than the fatcats in the backroom stacking bands on bands on bands, pumping in the enhanced O2. Without the use of pedals, oscillators, tape machines, or any typical noise accoutrement, Rew’s recordings fit neatly into the Hanson Records catalog (alongside other already classic field recordings like the Nath Family’s Sounds of the Indian Snake Charmer) as a mind-fuck of rhythmic abandon and eardrum overload, frosted with that depressive sheen of hope and loss that keeps us all coming back for one more try, a little more, c’mon babe, big money.
You can preorder the picture disc from Hanson Records now. It ships in early September.
Location: United Kingdom
Greasy nob, hairy legs, dark.
White wires, whirring noise, penis.
“Your partner’s camera is busy or broken”
Man smokes cigarette and listens to Reggae.
“Your partner has denied access to his camera and microphone ”
Location: Canada, Quebec
Everlast boxer shorts
Old dude listening to radio, gold cross necklace.
You’re now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
In his little known History of Sexuality volume 5, Michel Foucault describes our current epoch as “the age of rampantly masturbating to a possibly infinite amount of strangers on the internet,” or as Slavoj Zizek puts it, we have become “a collective of individuals who are ready to share with others the solipsistic egotism of their stupid pleasure.”
Luckily, in their video for new single single “Creamy,” Argentinian duo Sinux have managed to bypass the vast swathes of bare man-flesh that we refer to as “The Internet” and instead serve up a Skype party brimming with some far more wholesome forms of fun. Seriously, I wish my friends were this interesting, we normally spend our Skype chats wearily redialling as the connection crashes and doing boring, blurry tours of our indistinguishable houses. These lot do handstands! And boxing! If even smoke-ring blowing Argentine cool kids are this gymnastic then their World Cup team should be fine on Sunday (my first and last TMT futball reference for you there)!
The song, taken from upcoming album After Hours, is a dream too. Chords shine, synths percolate, the bass rolls on heavy. Solids and edges softened by luxury. The kind of tune that could have been hewn into a Keysound banger, or tempered into a casio-pop anthem, yet resists either. The result is an intimacy sometimes misplaced in the cold hard singularity of certain ego-driven dance productions, lubricating connections rather than reeling through visions of self-love.
Glasses clinked. Toasts made. Eyes met. Crude (olive) oil poured out overtop baked bread. Bossed out. Devil grins. Solemn debauchery. Horns falling in pitch, dropping like promises made; never kept.
Again and again and again, these songs keep popping up like Dressbarn’s in Midwest shopping malls. Out of the blue, now into the red. Five songs in six hours? And they all knock? Yessir. NUGS went hard. Check the other shit. They’re all for the gettin’. And it’s all for you.
• NUGS: https://soundcloud.com/nugs661
A JOURNEY WITH NANNY - Vol.1
As Nanny (Nick & Annie) travel further under the sheets, their world opens up atop of a large mollusk tower. While descending the spiraling coral staircase ahead of them, their shoes tare on the rough edges, and completely come off as they reach the sandy shores below. Seas of TEAL wash the coastline in a variety of massively crashing and subtly drifting waves. Nanny approaches and sinks their feet in the sand. Then their legs and hips, stomach, fingers, elbows, shoulders; they transpire into the next realm of merely bubbles, as the sand drifts into a wind away, and Nanny floats around and down toward a waterfall that is pixilated in HD. Riding the water down the cliffside, they land in a pool filled with dolphin shaped creatures. These creatures read Nanny’s better than any regular dolphin would have, and are nudging their bubbles around playfully in the pool, laughing. Within a minute, Nanny is up in the sky drifting between clouds as these new found friends fly them across this new world, as these creatures have sprouted fluttering wings like butterflies out their backs.
Take A JOURNEY WITH NANNY in this first volume of many. As Nanny considers this more of an adventure than a formal album or EP, they’re already pretty far along with Vol. II, and are hoping to have some animations as accompaniment to join this time. So get stoked!. Annie does art as TEAL on her own, and Nick is the (in)famous RICK RAB (PRANCE, THICK LIQUIDS). Dig ‘em:
“Floating On A Salt Lake”
First time I gripped on Roland Tings was the Milky Way 45 on 100% Silk. It was actually unlabelled due to the packaging I received it in (not their normal packaging), and Roland Tings was written in white on the LP middle sticker. Didn’t even realize it was a 45, so I played it at 33, and my mind was BLOWN for about 30 minutes. Just the most intricate minimal retro house music dripping out my speakers at the speed of sludge, and frying was seering across my nodes.
For a long time, I always thought it was so HARD to make music. It seemed like such a learning curved process, I’d always think, I’ve ZERO patience to learn. Found out it’s actually a lot easier than I had expected, just need a few hundo$ for equipment and then a basic idea of how to use it prior to taking flight all on your own; the creative process is really the intentional progression. So it’s interesting to see “Floating On A Salt Lake” being live produced by Roland Tings here (radically in a church). Makes the conceptualization of the mystery behind the beat.
Dance ‘til you drop, no DOUBT Roland Tings always got your back, and just this past April, Internesjonal popped off a new RT 12-inch, Who U Love, which contains the 12-INCH VERSION (!!!!!) of “Floating On A Salt Lake.” this video above is such a tease, OMG, I take back everything I just wrote!!! ;)