Get Crapulous!

Posted in Uncategorized on December 18, 2008 by scottbrandolfski

11093brixton-academy-new-years-eve1

Crapulous according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

Function:
adjective
Etymology:
Late Latin crapulosus, from Latin crapula intoxication, from Greek kraipalē
Date:
1536
1 : marked by intemperance especially in eating or drinking
2 : sick from excessive indulgence in liquor
And before we go any further, a toast!
d978miller-high-life-brew-posters
Hell Yes! Going on a ridiculous adventure fueled by various beverages of an alcoholic nature is one of life’s true simple pleasures. You are aware of what may potentially be the greatest get down, freak out, spaz happy dance party going down this very night! You smooth out the minute creases on the bright blue velveteen shirt you have so stylishly paired with corduroy pants and you step foot out into brisk fading twilight. Dust motes careen in the air, cicadas chirp out a blissful drone and you high five random strangers in the heightened excitement of what is to come. Get your strut on!
78812343_1cccb5083a_o
The remaining vestiges of light are exintinguished as the edifice of this grand celebration comes into view: Liquid Sunshine! The line stretches around the block three times over to get in and every person of every variety imagniable is out in effect: Cher waits impatiently, her robotic face and torso shifting style and color to achieve the most up to date, glamorous visage possible; Michael Jackson, now having replaced his entire body with mechanics and servos, moon walks above the crowd via jumpjets implanted in his feet; Madonna’s third clone, this one in it’s mid thirties, belts out her 90’s era classics in a most unwanted fashion, prompting security to deftly remove her from the queue. Amidst the gaudiness and metallic sheen, a small crowd of individuals is allowed to fiter past, conspicuously lacking robotic enhancements. True believers in music, those that have merely come to dance in the place of preening, are screened through and as you enter the cavernous hall lit with neon red lamps, you feel the electricity seize you. Party time is here!
neonneon

Neon Neon- Neon Theme

The dance floor is packed and you nurse the delcioius beverage currently serving as WD 40 for your soul. The lights dim and begin to pulse and  Truckasaurus comes roaring out of the house speakers like an 8 bit fury with nothing but destroying the dance floor with quaking bass on its singular mind.

truckasaurascover

Truckasaurus- Super Copter (Buy their debut album right here!)

17

Having survived this onslaught, the five armed dj gazes down upon the audience, deeming it worthy of the most insipid and unabashedly cheesy tune he has in his repetoire. As Fruit Salad by Gameboy/Gamegirl roils out of the speakers, a wave of awful dance moves strikes the audience like a plague. The running man, the shopping cart, the white boy thumb dance, the cha cha slide part 2, THE CHARLIE BROWN!!!! None are safe from the ravages of these gyrations of the human form and, impossibly, the party gets better because of it!

Gameboy/Gamegirl- Fruit Salad

With inhibitions lower than the Dow Jones Average, the pliable audience is swept up in the utter euphoria of cutting loose and dancing like complete imbeciles. You are on your eleventh drink as Totally Michael filters through the club and you launch yourself, quite ungracefully, back into the fray. The track bubbles over with giddiness and hyperactive memories of youth once again being experienced by the disaffected and weathered. Winona Ryder’s memory lives in us all.

Totally Michael- Winona (Miami Horror Mix)

nomathmatics-ssion-art-thumb

Basking in the nostalgic glow of happy memories relived, you see the dj crack a sinister grin. What is he planning on unleashing upon the crowd? What foul depth of his record bin did he shuffle about in to bring ruination to this gaggle of frolicing maniacs? Clown by Ssion, bitches. The record is the sonic equivalent of the atomic bomb being detonated in your face five times over as monster trucks on fire careen through the air, bearing down on your position. Prepare to melt.

Ssion- Clown (Nomathmatics Sexy Suburb Mix) Buy this shit here!

captsky1

The dance floor is a fallout zone, utterly devastated in the wake of the Clown. Perhaps the Dj has gone too far. How will the party continue when its’ participants auditory canals have been mercilessly shredded? At that precise moment, a ray of light shines from the ether. What does this portend? Who is stepping out from this temporal rift? Why, just the greatest collection of heros our world of booty shakinghas ever seen: The Trifecta of power that is Captain Sky, Super Jake and the Arabian Prince! (Posts concerning Captain Sky and Gary Davis are forthcoming in which I will give their full history!) Captain Sky steps forward first, proclaiming that bubblegum is the name of the game and he chewz you!

Captain Sky- Bubble Gum (I Chewz You)

4829

The crowd is going nuts, completely revitalized and nourished back to health by the powers of funk. Now on your eighteenth concoction, you blearily see Gary Davis A.K.A Super Jake step up to the stage and unfurl his endlessly funky story. Super Jake is in command and your feet follow.

Gary Davis- Super Jake

200px-picture_arabian_prince_fresh_guys_1985

The groove has been established and the people have gotten their fill of dancing madness for the night, yet one mighty being of funk remains to speak. The mysterious Arabian Prince has appeared to bestow infinite wisdom of the funk upon the masses and close out this impossible calvacade of dance and drink in true cosmic fashion. Your mind wanders and gets lost as the woozy stabs of  the Prince’s keys wisk away what conciousness you had remaining. Feel it!

Arabian Prince- Strange Life

Pick up his anthology, which is great, here!

jamespants500

The temporal rift flickers, turning oblong and spewing incomprehensible geometric shapes out of it’s confines. The link to a new plane of funkiness blinks from view and your eyes readjust to the sight of the dance club sprawled before you. A cheer of joy and exultation seethes through the crowd as all partygoers emerge from Liquid Sunshine arm in arm, united and bewildered  at what they have experienced and will never forget. Reluctantly parting with you fellows, you stumble home the way you came, joints and limbs buzzing with ethereal dance energy. The cicadas hum has increases to a wave of noise that enveloped and insulates your besotten ass, helping you up as you skin your knees on the pavement, calming your mind as you struggle for your keys and and imparting a true bliss as you akwardly tumble down the stairs.

James Pants- Shower Party

Dragging your tired, bruised body to rest, splayed out at odd angles on your bed, you think just how much fun you experienced this night and how next weekend will surpass this night. For now, you slip into the arms of content and rejoice the simple beauty of drunken, unfettered dance.



Conjurations for the Eternal Party

Posted in Uncategorized on November 24, 2008 by scottbrandolfski

Yikes! It’s been a while since anything new has been on this page! A million apologies as I had a tough time figuring what exactly to share (there’s so much stuff!) Hopefully after this next week, some form of regularity will establish itself to this thing’s runnins.’ Onwards!

I had a waking dream just a little bit ago as how exactly to communicate with ghosts, or paranormal beings or whatever you want to refer to them as. Not just in a stereotypical seance fashion or Ghostbuster ass kicking manner, but to approach said beings without pretense or ceremony. What follows is the mental journey I underwent.

High Mountain Tempel craft a beautiful, all-encompassing drone that bears with it equal parts spiritual reverence and enrichment and sheer, screaming terror. Journeying within their floating house of mind-bending ritual, the barriers between our firmly defined and graspable domain begin to twist and meld, shakily bringing into being a grainy, shifting unexistence. Bells chime, discordant instruments strum as percussion throbs in signatures not meant to be heard by human ears and we are awash in a deluge of uncertainty, choking on dusty emotions and gasping at spiritual impossibilities.

High Mountain Tempel- Tempel Walk

00011749_broadcastNew tastes, old smells, familiar jokes, forgotten loved ones. Impossible sensations come crashing into you, building in intensity and poignancy. Lives and memories flutter past, pixelated, stretched and rendered as photo negatives. Trying to grasp and retain these pieces of nostalgic ephemera deepens the inconceivable pulse ringing out through your body and you pull back. The din is starting to grow into a discernible beat, the memories of the long dead begin to fade and you find yourself standing before a shuttered and dirt begrimed sun room, long unused and completely anachronisic in it’s accoutrements. Ancient parasols rest next to spiderwebbed tube radio receivers, their antennas expectantly raised. Forms begin to swirl and rotate, swimming impermenances distorting the environs and snapping the scene into focus.

Broadcast- Green Peter

Fear and misgivings have begun to melt away and a smile of recognition blossoms over your face. The forms before you cannot be seen or understood but you can feel them. The antiqued radio flicks on and Ariel Pink spills from the speakers, ringing the entire affair with good times once lived and never forgotten. You swell with the good will and the only thing left to do is dance.

Ariel Pink\’s Haunted Graffiti- Jule Lost His Jewels

The radio clicks off. The sun room spins away from your view, ricocheting into unfathomable realms and you gently descend into the dark. Swallowed up in the embrace of nothingness, mind reeling from the billions of lives that were splayed before you, you find a contentedness. Nothing was directly spoken between you and the beings but there was never anything to say in the first place. Words and ceremony would only have ruined the beauty and terror of experience, of being submerged and held below the surface much longer than reasonably comfortable. The familiar strains of Atlas Sound play across your ringing mind, corroborating all that you have seen and drunk in. Existence has just played itself across the lens of your perception and you have emerged transformed and the same, touched by an unearthly aura yet more grounded in reality than ever.

Atlas Sound- Sea Burial

Here Comes That Weird Chill…

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on November 14, 2008 by scottbrandolfski

The transition from fall to winter always brings with it a surrealistic and unknown quality to life. It’s a period when reliable and consistent elements of our days begin to show signs of wear and fatigue akin to a film reel slowly falling off its chassis, obscuring the picture and leaving us with distended and unrecognizable images, scenes of loss and decay. Things are beginning to shift , our realities so precariously hung and so easily dashed away.

Unease and disillusionment are what fuel the skittering monochromatic world of Junior Boys, masters of weaving wintry melodies into hardened electronic structure. You can hear the stifled sound of hearts breaking and resolve cracking in “No Kinda Man,”  an exclusive track from their own wonderfully mixed Body Language album on Get Physical. Coils of darkness ensnare you as the song evolves from baleful rumination to fractured lament. Winter has arrived.

Junior Boys- No Kinda Man

Crystalline forms spring into the bitter air as the last echoes of Greenspan and Didemus’s heartache ring into the distance, careening and roiling into nothingness. In the frozen landscape thus rendered, a stillness reasserts itself. Light glints from the tips of icy monoliths and refracts, kaelidoscoping into prisms possessed entirely of shade. A codeine afflicted voice begins to issue in the silence. It’s Kazu Makino from Blonde Redhead, transforming the muted quiet into a blinking environment of infinite beauty and infinite mystery.

Blonde Redhead- Signs Along the Path (Slowed Down)

I found that this song being slowed down to 33rpm (it was on a 45) made it incredibly beautiful and glacial in its pacing, a balance between the Junior Boys despondently churning beats and the austere beauty of Boards of Canada. The shift has come and we must steel ourselves for what approaches next.

(The title of this post was taken from an EP by Mark Lanegan, one of the most beastest voices in music.)

Harmonic Resonances is GO!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , on November 12, 2008 by scottbrandolfski

It’s pretty funny how something you can detest so much can slowly worm its way into your consciousness, filing away at your entrenched misgivings and ultimately become something interesting and nourishing for your being.

When I first heard about blogs and the “blogosphere,” I had terrifying flashbacks to Xanga and all those other wonderful social networking tools that lent themselves so well to perpetuating high school politics ad infinitum. I had sworn off blogs as just another petty device to waste our time with and on.

I luckily enough stumbled onto a site (I had no idea it was a blog at the time) that was brimming with crazy esoteric music and insane rambling posts that were besotten with Lovecraft references, bad 80’s horror movies and insane psychedelic images and concepts. 20 Jazz Funk Greats is a repository for the strangest, the most bizzare and wonderful music I have ever heard and it has propulsed me to new realms in my musical journey through existence. Having been so inspired, I have humbly set out to create a space where forgotten, ignored and just plain amazing music can be heard and enjoyed and experienced. I aim to portray the music that moves me in a visual and spiritual way and, hopefully, it can move you too! Lets Jump in!!!

Disappearing into a shimmering mist filled realm is a proposition filled with equal parts madcap, hunted- by-noisome-beasts, unending terror and the stoic impulse to pierce the veil and sink into the unknown, the unknowable. Lichens know this territory well, straddling the fine line between meditative quiet and deeply unnerving primal terror. Its not the obvious which is frightening, it’s that what cannot be grasped or comprehended.

Lichens- Vevor of Agassou

Joe Meek was an independent British producer whose work garnered him equal parts fame and tragedy. I first heard his work from the totally excellent Cosmo Galactic Prism mix Album by Prins Thomas. Here, Atlas Sound cover “Valley of the Saroos”, a song from the Sci-fi/doowop album “I Hear A New World” by Meek and the Blue Men. Following the twisting terror issued forth by the valley of mist, sense has been made out of the alien surroundings, a path has been set. As the golden sunlight pours into the secluded environs, you feel yourself and all that you have seen melt and distort, perfect in the knowledge that the unknown has been confronted and savored (if never to be understood) and everything fades away.

Atlas Sound- Valley of the Saroos (Joe Meek Cover)

Hello world!

Posted in Uncategorized on November 12, 2008 by scottbrandolfski

Welcome to WordPress.com. This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!