what the fuck is this? they shriek, lunging for the (virtual) volume knob. slapping hands back with fiendish precision, i counter, glossolalia. their confusion gains me valuable seconds. i’m quickly armed and brandishing. by way of explanation i sink into religious trance and start babbling in aroused, slurred cut-up: of lord rod i fear, his oil forever runneth over me, before the staff i shall lie down, my comfort preparest thy goodness, he annointest me in shepherd water, a soul green and evil…
etpetercetera.
soon it’s all liquid syllable. i find a rhythm. a sharp descent into unsense, a wondrous singsong, a pitching mellifluous flow of language goo.
they back off.
i’m left alone, engorged, onanistically inclined; delirious, wallowing in nonsense, a pig in musical shit.
the lord? this lord is not my shepherd. not my father. not in heaven. dehallowed. unforgiving.
but.
oh my, the temptation, the evil, the power, the glory.
for ever. for ever. for ever.
amen!
i am sitting in a room, different from the one you are in now. i am recording the sound of my speaking voice.
i am clockwork orange alex, eyes and ears stapled obscenely open, glued to that bit in scorsese’s cape fear: bobby de niro (as played by bobby mcferrin) handcuffed to sinking boat, gibbering in tongues.
that’s a bit like what this is (having trepanned it’s way into yr skull with a tiny toffee hammer). a crack in the kishkas real horrorshow hot. vocally, a foul flatulent fuck. kindof a cappella gabba. lazy, moist, stabs at comparison: a forty minute venetian snares guffaw composed of cartoon body noise. matmos with a sense of humour (and i’ve met matmos, they’re a pair of right funny fucks). dylan nyoukis gone happy hardcore.
ach, bugger all that. distil all this. extract any pretence of musicality. leave behind nothing but butthole surfing bad drugs, mad hair, brutalist boing and klank; a warm, dribbled, semi-verbal diuretic; a mulch of dr evil duckha-duckha blethering, elastic bands, pingpongballs and kissy noises; a mid-album guitar breakdown that’s so nonsensical it makes perfect bloody sense.
noise honed; beatboxed consonants, scat vowels, bastard tics of techno, gabbled r’n’b kazoo beats, frotting, sputtering, gurgling against around over one another with pornographic glee. leaving you sticky with ectoplasm, gurning away as mutant ardour subsides.
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