London screening of the new film by Pia Borg.
Features sound/music assembled by moi (along with a super brief cameo as a ghost!)

Palimpsest by Pia Borg
2008, 10’00
Paying homage to photographs of spirits from Victorian times, characters appear, disappear, then re-appear in a ghostly exploration of time and space.

info

Train wreck at Montparnasse, France, 1895

For other uses, see Failure (disambiguation).

We are at the half way mark and things are getting kinda interesting for new music. Firstly the Billy Bao record and now this. I guess cats have been talking this sucker up in certain quarters which tweaked my interest in the first place. Well, 'it' arrived this week and suffice to say i am pretty damn impressed by the entire shebang. The package is straight up simple, just the cover image here. Nothing else. The music is bad trip low-fi damage with a heavy melodic bent crawling outa the murky abyss. Within this realm, this number is a gem indeed. The sounds are restless and foreign, occasionally a sound will appear to be familiar, a guitar is strummed a drum is beaten but often the murk and fog cover an semblance to 'normal'. This baby sits well amongst other 'bad trip' classics such has brainticket's 'Cottonwood Hill', Chrome's utterly unique 'Half Machine Lip Moves' or any of the early (Brandon Kearney) Caroliner Rainbow records for reckless experimentation in the name of melodic fortitude. This is quite simply top notch uncompromising spazz. I got this at the same time as the new Sic Alps record which by comparison seems totally straight and boring, this may change with time, but for now I cannot get enough of this demented treasure whilst the alps will have to wait in line for further attention. Time to hunt down the back catalogue me thinks.

I surmise the sun is wounding me
With its sharp malignant rays
I surmise the stars are healing me
I am the deity of dark cosmic space
A horned cow reveals a faithless goddess
Everything's turned against me the one true god
I created the world to tear my head off
Judges torture me for insignificant acts
I am disgusted by the souls who radiate nothing
Like a small nasty puppy puny death
Is approaching from afar
I don't know what to make of all these things
But I can't stand the sight of you you file of scum
You file of snails
Well hurry up in your slime
Because if I can turn my words into thunder
I can turn you into a pool of stagnant water
Now that I am in this crazy fervor of mine
I could do just about anything
So your stupid rotten your vain souls
Wouldn't stare at me with their stupid peaceful eyes
If you take women out of the equation
I don't even know what
These slimy creatures are for
What all their words are for
What their lectures are for
I demand and I want just as God rightfully wants
The immediate abolition of all things
Without a purpose and with no beauty
Without a purpose
And no soundness

SARAJEVO

I hear the misfortune threads
Turned into a beetle as if an old singer
Is crushed by the silence and turned into a voice.

The town burns like a piece of incense
In the smoke rumbles our consciousness.
Empty suits slide down the town.
Red is the stone that dies, built into a house. The Plague!

Calm. The army of armed poplar tree
Marches up the hill, within itself.
The aggressor air storms our souls
and once you are human and then you are an air creature.

I know that all of these are the preparations of the scream:
What does the black metal in the garage have for us?
Look how fear turned into a spider
Looking for the answer at his computer.