for your * pleasure – what is the opposite of psychedelic rock
By Kervin | March 16, 2010 | No Comments
good evening, ladies and germs. please refrain from throwing your rotten fruits and vegetables of ignoring these huge chunks of text i devote to screaming about things i like for a second, that is, please just refrain from the internet standby of tee ell semi-colon dee arr, because i’d like to introduce to you FOR YOUR INTIMIDATION AND POSSIBLE SPOOK-OUT, another round of sharing the creepy music i devote chunks of my life to sitting down and listening to. it’s important.
i have a lot of paranoias. conspiracy theories, being buried alive, tapeworms, foot fungus, alien abduction, abduction proper, large spaces, small spaces, no people, too many people, forced intrusion, (remember that creepy fucker from m. night shyamalan’s sleeper-hit [read: piece of shit] unbreakable? “can i come in?” haunts me to this day.) undercooked seafood, goats’ eyes, cats sleeping on my face,
Orphaned By The Ocean - 2009
and BEING ON A BOAT SINKING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING OCEAN TEN-THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM ANY SORT OF PLAUSIBLE RESCUE OR OTHER METHODS OF SUPPORT OR SUSTENANCE. HOLY SHIT. DEAR FUCKING GOD IT’S THE WORST THING TO THINK ABOUT EVER.
Teeth of the Sea - Only Fools On Horse Teeth of the Sea - Latin Inchesthat’s all there is to TEETH OF THE SEA’s album ORPHANED BY THE OCEAN. look at that album art. listen to those first two tracks. sinking with your tiny crew in the vast, ice-cold north-atlantic reaches of depths, surrounded only by a bunch of shit that people probably don’t even need, at fucking DUSK. flare guns hold standard-size shotgun ammunition for a reason.
ask and ye shall receive – polarity switch
By Kervin | March 15, 2010 | No Comments
first, i will turn you into money, then i will put you in my wallet.
i put my wallet in my pocket and sit on it.
when i need some more money, i will buy it with you–
change you in for the one-hundred pennies you are worth–
PUNKSNOTDEAD
soggy, used, discarded you.
and when we’re done with you, we’ll put you in our pockets,
snap the tops, steal all your light:
spread four ways; corners of the earth.
your north is south, we hold your compass for you.
little babe, magnetized no more.
———-
hello, wide world of internet. kervin here, reporting from a leather sofa sitting in the recessed den of a lovely townhome in tempe, arizona, and i’ve decided to do a convoluted-message advice column laced with hints of grandiose idea, nay, Idea, while i precariously sit across the room from an edward cut-out. his right eye is terribly photoshopped because the photographer was evidently incapable of using dramatic lighting efficiently. the creator, he is a blundering man.
so what is there to say about a person on vacation, what sorts of advice should he give, and what sort should he take? it is hypocritical to suggest relaxation routines, or perhaps just cruel, since this is all he is capable of. as the moment goes, he is not at work, nor at school, but not far enough out of these routines to forget all about them, so he piddles with the minds of those around him to see the gears grind; to see the wrench bend as he threw it in. silly, mischievous little man. occupy yourself with something self-engaging.
or burn it all down. we’ll be long gone before they figure it out.
Saturday Cool
By Anna | March 13, 2010 | No Comments
Sherin Guirguis’s studio visit on Beautiful Decay is really something. I’ve done papercut, but only once at that scale. Brain explosion.
for your * pleasure – i’m serious, introduce me
By Kervin | March 11, 2010 | No Comments
what up, peeps. i am overworked and underslept, which always makes for interesting revelations when i go back and re-read what i’ve typed a few days after the fact. so let’s all venture down the rabbit-hole to see how my slinky psychology and flimsy philosophies manifest destiny the shit out of this infinite canvas, shall we? speaking of how people see the world, and to tie this segment of FOR MY OWN DAMN PLEASURE, MAYBE YOURS TOO IF IT TURNS OUT YOU LIKE IT; THAT WOULD BE GOOD, I WOULD LIKE IT IF I SHARED SOME THINGS IN COMMON WITH MY READERS into the others, i hereby must present another group/dj who exists in a dark catacomb in the back, water-stained hallway of a literally-underground goth club, he who goes by the title AMON TOBIN.
i would like to believe that my good friend amon (we’ve shared a few candle-light cannibal dinners together) sees his world through a chipped, not necessarily cracked, diffusion filter precariously rigged with masking tape to a holga packed with a film far too low a speed to properly expose all the composed elements in the viewfinder. that’s to say, dark, gloomy, fuzzy, noisy, and so on. or at least, that’s what his music would like to convey.
supermodified - 2000
supermodified, which came out ten years ago, is not a well-guarded secret, which is great. spooky music of this caliber shouldn’t dwell in the shadows, no, it should be the shadows. and though you are at first given a strict dance sensibility, respected light-side dj, pulsing light and friendly-enough club vibe as the album starts, that’s definitely as light as it will get– the longer you listen, the further you are pulled into a dark hole, maybe a k-hole, with all sorts of twisting abstract smoke shapes in your peripherals. around all the sworled concoctions of unrecognizable, spooky samples, there’s a sort of lofty headiness that i decipher as both decidedly uplifting and maniacally crushing– so it’s definitely a good-headphones sort of album, certainly one you should find in FLAC lossless or LAME mp3 with a 192kbps encoding minimum. here, let’s take a taste:
now i’ve definitely heard amon tobin described as cut’n'paste jazz, which i think is appropriate, but not necessarily all-encompassing. that’s like calling ska “jazz punk.” there are horns, there’s some fretless bass, but i’ll be damned if i’d show this to my pops with the jazz angle. a better slew of arbitrary nomenclature would be NEO-GOTH-REVIVALIST-INDUSTRIAL-MUSH-POP, since i would expect the asymmetrical-blue-haircut, jhonen vasquez, knows-all-shades-of-black, thick-eyeliner crowd to willingly and peacefully listen to this album while they tag dark alleys at three-am tripping balls all the while. if you know any ladies whom fit this bill, please introduce me. or even better, LYNCHIAN-GROTESK, since this album plays like a david lynch movie does– nothing makes any sense, then it’s over and you’re sitting in the dark and scared shitless and you have to call your film-savvy friend david maron to help you decipher the various visual and auditory clues so you can go to sleep without having to worry about what the fuck do those mice even mean, their dialogue is so sporadic and nonsensical and backed by a super-sterile laugh track, is it a commentary on sitcoms or nuclear families or some twisted perspective of the human condition, i just don’t get it.
know what– i like this album so much i’m going to give y’all another track to sit on.
for your * pleasure – fedora the explorer
By Kervin | March 8, 2010 | No Comments
well hey there, studly and stubbly muffins alike. i’m really excited to have the ball rolling on this feature, as it’s a great platform for me to share with you and not feel like a skeez or anything because hell, you’re realistically an abstract smudge concealed or congealed by a keyboard and the various switch-offs network-to-network on this wild-west, rootin and tootin thing we call the internet FOR ONE, and also because i’m going about this from the mindset that, “hell, there’s no reason for me to collect all these great bands just to hiss at other people enjoying them, so fuck it, i’ll share,” FOR TWO. so, anonymous patron of the blog, may i happily present to you another enthralling installment of what i’ll consider calling FOR YOUR LOWBROW AUDIOPHILE PLEASURE.
Better get started listening to this one now, as it takes a while to get moving. Know what, quickly grab your headphones and plug those suckers in, cause I’ll be the first to say that this group cannot be thoroughly enjoyed through crappy macbook speakers. ok, so you’ve got some 40mm drivers glued inside the cans strapped to your head with the volume turned up as loud as it will go. go ahead and click the link that says THE KILIMANJARO DARKJAZZ ENSEMBLE and get ready to sleuth the fuck out.
Here Be Dragons - 2009
HERE BE DRAGONS is a fucking masterpiece like brick was a fucking masterpiece — under the radar and dark as hell. the band name is a misnomer, there’s less jazz here and more jazz club. if you can listen to this group and not instantly be assaulted with the image of a dimly-lit, blood-red brick wall, haze of expensive cigars, fine scotch, made men and dames ala my 1920s wet-dream back-door password-is-charlie-chaplin speakeasy, we’re not friends. or we just don’t talk as often as we should. i’ve said it before, and i’ll say it again: if it makes me want to don an expensive rabbit-wool fedora and .38 snubnose cautiously resting in a hand-crafted worn-in-from-time leather shoulder-holster as casual attire, i’m all for it.
Saturday Cool
By Anna | March 6, 2010 | No Comments
Arian Behzadi’s Flickr stream is delightful.
for your * pleasure – this one’s about drugs
By Kervin | March 3, 2010 | No Comments
hey there, kiddos and widows alike. welcome back to my lazily and, recently, lethargically assembled triumphica indieoso segment i like to call “FOR YOUR EARHOLE PLEASURE.” you will have to grin and bear today’s segment being two days late; i will not make excuses for myself, and it will probably happen again. but you’re here now and i’m here now and i’ve got a lot of lovin goin, so let’s just chill and let marbleize all smooth and polished-like. a’iiiiight.
as promised, i’m here to give you a review of albums i find entertaining or insightful or flat-out decent enough to put on in the background while you get wasted with your friends in your lavishly yet modestly ikea-furnished downtown loft. so i will, and so it goes, and so i will go and begin with TERRY SCOTT TAYLOR aka wump-a-dum-buh-dah-bum, a-ree-tee-teedee-tee.
Neverhood Songs
NEVERHOOD SONGS is delightful and delirious. yes, this is a videogame soundtrack. back when steven spielberg and the rest of the gang down at dreamworks realized they had so much money that they could sink a couple bil into the growing casual computer game market, they turned to microsoft and landed a partnership that probably failed a few years after its inception, but however, whichever, whatever. they had the means to give a group of acid-head artists fourteen tons of clay and a ridiculously far-fetched deadline to produce one of the finest point-n-click adventure games to hit the market, THE NEVERHOOD. so a vivid, dynamic and otherwise wild and weird universe was dreamed up, rendered in clay, viciously programmed, and most importantly scored. by TERRY SCOTT TAYLOR, which is where that whole tangent began and where it will soon follow. see, caps-lock and paragraph breaks really ease this whole speed-reading process. it’s good for you.
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