Private Static Void
Talk about failure to acheive momentum, failure to deliver. Well, what can I blame? Currently dealing with flaky stolen ISP connects after our (slightly) more stable boot signal hauled ass at lease time. I'd just head to some dodgy cafe but that would mean leaving the trusty turntable behind and I'm not gonna try to type up these loads with pumpkin bar cream cheese smeared about the keys and fuckin 'whatever' on the stereo. I say 'whatever' 'cause I can't even be bothered to name names. All crap! That's my gist, if you must know.
Naw, I maybe just exaggerate, maybe just a little, or so I hope... I mean, how would I even know since I'm not even on the spot to hear whatever possibly crap/possibly not hardbody jams are going down in my local cafes? I'm just salty and in the best possible way having brokend out the ol' Volkurah/Bone Awl/Hammer/Vordr split tape I picked up a ways back from AQ. Sometimes a dip into this shit is refreshing for us not immersed in the scuzzy BM underworld, not unlike a lye jacuzzi. Convinced me to vacuum the apartment, at least, as well as bitch about "the kids", so that's alright. Time to revisit Funeral Mist as well, I suspect...
Through circumstances, as always, beyond my cuntroll, I've been off the air the past couple weeks. Outta town two weeks back, once again, and then I go in yesterday to find that the tower isn't actually broadcasting, so programming is only bein' distributed via the webcastor. Well, oiled up though I was to slip on some lovers rock, I took pause, thought it over, and figured that my jams of the week were best suited to car cruisers who just couldn't snag 'em, so I ducked out and let the auto-stream of Melt-Banana and what have you continue unabated. Fanatics of skree everywhere rejoiced herkily.
But! Next week, I promise. It's the final pre-semester dispatch, and I can say with as much confidence as I'm capable to muster that I've got some "shit" planned for two weeks from now, at the launch of the new semester schedule. No worries, I've clung to my Friday evening 7-9pm slot, so you needn't readjust your sleeping patterns on my account. Not that you can sleep, with that conscience of yours, or so I'd hope.
Fine, fine, what about some commentary on tunes? Again, I continue to have an increasing backlog of sharing ("Backlog of Sharing" is also the name of my new upcoming single, now that I have a spankin' new Cubase "dongle"... just ye wait) to get through, but it still just ain't the time. But I'll throw a bone in continued justification of my time spent here.
Another tape I've been returning to frequently is this Ben Nash spooler. Now, usually the cassettes I handle (which really aren't a ton, all things considered) make use of the format with some fi-deprived bashmint, scuff, blur... sonics that generally revel in slopping all over those magnetic bitties with glee and haze. This is a different sort; some work at providing clarity went into the productions at hand. Clarity is a relative term, though, as the attention to details in separating the tracks 'pon which these movements were recorded serves only to allow the diverse instrumentation to more greatly coalesce into one of the more enjoyable stoned basement-to-backporch style melancholic-n-introspective collections of tunes I've heard in a bit. Maye it's just the oncoming autumn, but I was starting to worry I was just done with this kinda thing. The first track of side B, Kuan 9873, is what really gets me here, with a lurching horn (?) stab/drone working into some meat-and-potatoes fingerpicking that, to these Deadwood-inflicted ears, conjures some kind of immenent saloon threat or dirt-road backstab. I think the medium also helps this one to stand as a low-key affair... hand drawn, photocopied notes seemingly at odds with the production values, and the case mine came in cracked in the mail, jus' adding to the dusty-booted charm. Shoddy internet keeps me from providing much info, but the liners offer up www.blackestrainbow.co.uk and www.myspace.com/bennash1 as possible nodes of interest.
I drooled over the stone-vacuum-cold of the Echospace project/label with their CV313 twelve before and the Model 500 Starlight remixes 2x12" is another peak, this time offering at least a cashmere shrug's worth of warmth along with the ice-dance. The original mix of this so-I'm-told classic techno track is another dart in my skull, directing me to correct my damn self and go back to all the stuff that I once dismissed due to the burgeoning first-rave batch of tepid trance and whatnot. Can't believe I used to think all "dance" was to be associated with gaudy glossy postcards advertising rediculously named warehouse events with poorly assembled 3D imagery in service of 300bpm cheesefests and chill rooms. Fool! The sinewy chords that hover above the mutating, slightly threatening bassline, man I coulda been with this. Well, I was an idiot. I'll be sure to work out the grooves of this copy in repentance, though.
The A side continues with the Soultek mix, which mutates that bassline into a robot talkbox larynx and eventually works up into quite the dreamy tapestry, with some plinked piano keys, a "supple" counter-synth stroking that talkbox with a velvety-gloved chipfinga, and some nicely spun chord bursts weaving in on occasion to just kinda hang, if that's alright.
The B side features Deepchord's take on Starlight, and ups the implicit-threat factor while dropping the temperature, all without affecting the ever-important suppleness. But synthetics can be supple too, as the pleather of yore would attest to, and as such I feel both compelled and disturbed, afraid I might get freezerburn offa some liquid cooled overclocked circuitemptress. HAL eBerry? Guh.
The highlight of this set for me has to be the second twelve, though. The Echospace mix and dub are really about as much as I could hope for in dance music. This track instantly transforms any room (or at least my loft, the only spot I've had chance to listen) into an ivory-laden observatory, suddenly brimming with partygoers clad in a somehow-mixture of elegant Victorian intricacy and Berlin-chic minimalist. It's the gawdamn Diamond Age, awright? I've said it. Starlight, indeed.
The Convextion mix on the D side dubs up original to aquatic proportions and adds some shuffle, inverting and submerging your view of the stars into a dimmed olympic pool. Dranks still afloat on black poly trays, it's odd how little resistance the liquid offers up against the gyration of my pale ass.
Naw, I maybe just exaggerate, maybe just a little, or so I hope... I mean, how would I even know since I'm not even on the spot to hear whatever possibly crap/possibly not hardbody jams are going down in my local cafes? I'm just salty and in the best possible way having brokend out the ol' Volkurah/Bone Awl/Hammer/Vordr split tape I picked up a ways back from AQ. Sometimes a dip into this shit is refreshing for us not immersed in the scuzzy BM underworld, not unlike a lye jacuzzi. Convinced me to vacuum the apartment, at least, as well as bitch about "the kids", so that's alright. Time to revisit Funeral Mist as well, I suspect...
Through circumstances, as always, beyond my cuntroll, I've been off the air the past couple weeks. Outta town two weeks back, once again, and then I go in yesterday to find that the tower isn't actually broadcasting, so programming is only bein' distributed via the webcastor. Well, oiled up though I was to slip on some lovers rock, I took pause, thought it over, and figured that my jams of the week were best suited to car cruisers who just couldn't snag 'em, so I ducked out and let the auto-stream of Melt-Banana and what have you continue unabated. Fanatics of skree everywhere rejoiced herkily.
But! Next week, I promise. It's the final pre-semester dispatch, and I can say with as much confidence as I'm capable to muster that I've got some "shit" planned for two weeks from now, at the launch of the new semester schedule. No worries, I've clung to my Friday evening 7-9pm slot, so you needn't readjust your sleeping patterns on my account. Not that you can sleep, with that conscience of yours, or so I'd hope.
Fine, fine, what about some commentary on tunes? Again, I continue to have an increasing backlog of sharing ("Backlog of Sharing" is also the name of my new upcoming single, now that I have a spankin' new Cubase "dongle"... just ye wait) to get through, but it still just ain't the time. But I'll throw a bone in continued justification of my time spent here.
Another tape I've been returning to frequently is this Ben Nash spooler. Now, usually the cassettes I handle (which really aren't a ton, all things considered) make use of the format with some fi-deprived bashmint, scuff, blur... sonics that generally revel in slopping all over those magnetic bitties with glee and haze. This is a different sort; some work at providing clarity went into the productions at hand. Clarity is a relative term, though, as the attention to details in separating the tracks 'pon which these movements were recorded serves only to allow the diverse instrumentation to more greatly coalesce into one of the more enjoyable stoned basement-to-backporch style melancholic-n-introspective collections of tunes I've heard in a bit. Maye it's just the oncoming autumn, but I was starting to worry I was just done with this kinda thing. The first track of side B, Kuan 9873, is what really gets me here, with a lurching horn (?) stab/drone working into some meat-and-potatoes fingerpicking that, to these Deadwood-inflicted ears, conjures some kind of immenent saloon threat or dirt-road backstab. I think the medium also helps this one to stand as a low-key affair... hand drawn, photocopied notes seemingly at odds with the production values, and the case mine came in cracked in the mail, jus' adding to the dusty-booted charm. Shoddy internet keeps me from providing much info, but the liners offer up www.blackestrainbow.co.uk and www.myspace.com/bennash1 as possible nodes of interest.
I drooled over the stone-vacuum-cold of the Echospace project/label with their CV313 twelve before and the Model 500 Starlight remixes 2x12" is another peak, this time offering at least a cashmere shrug's worth of warmth along with the ice-dance. The original mix of this so-I'm-told classic techno track is another dart in my skull, directing me to correct my damn self and go back to all the stuff that I once dismissed due to the burgeoning first-rave batch of tepid trance and whatnot. Can't believe I used to think all "dance" was to be associated with gaudy glossy postcards advertising rediculously named warehouse events with poorly assembled 3D imagery in service of 300bpm cheesefests and chill rooms. Fool! The sinewy chords that hover above the mutating, slightly threatening bassline, man I coulda been with this. Well, I was an idiot. I'll be sure to work out the grooves of this copy in repentance, though.
The A side continues with the Soultek mix, which mutates that bassline into a robot talkbox larynx and eventually works up into quite the dreamy tapestry, with some plinked piano keys, a "supple" counter-synth stroking that talkbox with a velvety-gloved chipfinga, and some nicely spun chord bursts weaving in on occasion to just kinda hang, if that's alright.
The B side features Deepchord's take on Starlight, and ups the implicit-threat factor while dropping the temperature, all without affecting the ever-important suppleness. But synthetics can be supple too, as the pleather of yore would attest to, and as such I feel both compelled and disturbed, afraid I might get freezerburn offa some liquid cooled overclocked circuitemptress. HAL eBerry? Guh.
The highlight of this set for me has to be the second twelve, though. The Echospace mix and dub are really about as much as I could hope for in dance music. This track instantly transforms any room (or at least my loft, the only spot I've had chance to listen) into an ivory-laden observatory, suddenly brimming with partygoers clad in a somehow-mixture of elegant Victorian intricacy and Berlin-chic minimalist. It's the gawdamn Diamond Age, awright? I've said it. Starlight, indeed.
The Convextion mix on the D side dubs up original to aquatic proportions and adds some shuffle, inverting and submerging your view of the stars into a dimmed olympic pool. Dranks still afloat on black poly trays, it's odd how little resistance the liquid offers up against the gyration of my pale ass.
posted by Quincy Hoist at 11:52 AM
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