Four inch television screen at the pump was tickled by the weather, raindrop after raindrop, for thirty years. The water levels rose. How high the water, up the muffler man, that was our measuring stick, our scarecrow. Rain Stoic.
What was on the screen, dancing behind the ‘snow,’ shouldn’t have looked so good. The jolt of degradation intensified the dance. The dated feed, then, was updated. New moves under generation loss: what signal calls ‘tradition’ (knuckleball). An old-fashioned enhancement–facelift, caricature.
Yes. We would like a receipt. Out scrolls the receipt, obviously a shopping list of some kind, a list of artifacts and cravings. The artifacts are rare, no longer in circulation. The cravings will go unsatisfied. The product does not exist. The need intensifies.
“The Way I Look”
Only after coring, peeling, and devouring the fuck out of a Granny Smith, I imagine Darren came up with the concept for the video, all the while with some green, tarnished and tart skin in his teeth. The stitched aesthetic of both the track and the video is truly Red Delicious. Surely, this is a Gala not to be missed.
On the real though, “The Way I Look” is a head rush of sugar bumps and candy humps, kinda like an actual apple. The track’s tone and speed match well with the flip-book of screen shots going on down below. And that dog? Forget about it.
“The Way I Look” is the first single off the forthcoming He’s Not Real, out August 28th via vinyl record and downloadable digital files thanks to the wonderful folks at Orange Milk Vinyl Records and Dowloadable Digital Files.
Live at Harlekin, Berlin (April 2015)
Multidisciplinary artist Eve Essex’s speaks through her saxophone in a pointillistic vocabulary; wild colors and quick sound-strokes run erratically over a hovering tonality always subtly lingering in the background. Her playing grows into gnarled, fragile forms that take the shape of a riff blast or pointed sax-glitch, tones that abstract themselves in a way not dissimilar to many lowercase musician’s manipulation of amplified wood, wire, or paper. Only, this is the free improvisation of a saxophone – a familiar medium – one that’s rendered as an elegantly transportive process signaling toward a starkly modern orientation. The set is inflected with bits of Braxton and Kalma, or even Lorenzo Senni and AMM, in equal measure.
Scope her solo instrumental work, as well as her collaborative work in the artist duo, Essex Olivares. Essex also recently compiled a listening room mix for the ALLGOLD/PS1 Printshop, which consists of her own work intermingled with cuts from Partch, Dan Fox, Jooklo Duo & C Spencer Yeh, and more.
Can the pay-no-attention-to-behind-the-scenes gloves keep up with the demand for a slices (worth a coin) of apple pie? These slices were made long before they reached the BOH. They traveled in the halo of nuclear medicine.
I was roused at 5am…the buggers were at it, making a commotion I was not prepared for, at that hour…. slipping new slices into coin slots. Demand was high. On the sidelines, the impatient ones wanted the doors blown off the whole automat. Little did they know, the whole thing was a fad. The whole thing would blow over before tomorrow. Caught up in the fad, breathless mimes bought small cars, each “new car smell” smaller than the last, until they disappeared from plain view.
If only I had access to their dumpster.
I spot my chance. A door the size of a laundry chute’s is open. I squeeze in. The door shuts behind me. Now where the hell am I? Satisfying my hunger will not be as glamorous as I thought it would be.
“No Energy Vamp”
Denver’s own Colin Ward will not stop pumping the raw jams out of his brainpod until he and you and I are all dead. After a winning streak of overloaded electronic mayhem and intricate polyrhythmic beatdowns purveyed from projects like Alphabets and Tokyo Drift, Ward returns to the danger zone with new material under the Killd By moniker. The stereo spread this time around features a little more open space for his beats to intersect over dance-friendly grids, resulting in some of his most legible compositions to date. But legible ≠ simple. As ever, Ward’s tracks unfold in unpredictable directions, betraying few signs of stasis or verse/chorus recursion. His upper register synth leads shine at the center of his mixes, sliding through layers of delay and filtering processes into corrupted digital moans in harmony with tuned 808 toms and squelchy acid basslines. His experience as a percussionist continues to abet his baroque beat arrangements, which cycle through déjà vu patterns that evoke strains of electronic production from reggaeton to big tent EDM to deep house to cumbia.
Enter the culinary otherworld on display in the video for “No Energy Vamp” and try not to step on any of the broken glass. Like the indelible visuals for previous Alphabets banger “Raptor Jazz,” Ward and his collaborators capture a clique of ragers in action, guzzling wine and generally causing chaos. Instead of paying tribute to Carlo Rossi on the rooftop of Rhinoceropolis, these patrons chill in the analogue of a fancy restaurant, relishing their Dayquil-spiked entrees in ignorant bliss under the watchful eyes of a character billed as “E-Cig Dreadlocks Chef #2.” Yeah, we’ve reached the zone. Some really heavy shit goes down before the conclusion, but I don’t wanna spoil it for you.
• Killd By: https://soundcloud.com/killdby