Verstärker -Aktivität

verstarker

In order to ignore the woes of the cricket for, ooh, some seconds, let’s type a random paragraph that bears no relation to the almost indescribable music that this post is bringing to your attention.

Of course, using the word ‘indescribable’ is in fact a description of sorts, albeit a meaningless one. Much like most music reviews (/snark).

1000 monkeys at a typewriter, etc. Dancing about architecture and all that.

Having said that, one of my posts that was filled with non-sequiturs when I was going through that phase of copying stuff out of my ramblings document was quoted on the release of that artists next release on his Bandcamp page by his record company. Now, to post that album I feel obliged to find another bunch of such ramblings. Takes my mind off the cricket, I suppose (all out for 67! Fucking woeful!)

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Culto al Qondor – Electricidad

culto el qondor

I just noted the time and the second day of the Ashes is about to start, plus my tea break is probably up now, so I really should just get on with it.

Funny sport, cricket. More of a game, really, but then people have actually died doing it. Does that make it a sport? I mean, people possibly die during games of chess, too, if they drag on long enough.  Would that make it a sport? Do mayflies play chess?

Or is the risk of dying not enough to make something a sport? I should just look in a dictionary and see if the definition of sport is something along the lines of ‘a leisure activity that contains risk of death.’ After all, this would then rule out politics, war, commuting, etc from being considered sports.

But then, there are people who think that the entire ‘life’ thing is just a game (usually rich people who don’t value other human beings very much) – what if they’re right? Ugghh. And with that I’m off to see if England collapse as predictably as they have been doing recently in tests.

Föllakzoid – I

follakzoid

When you call your fourth album ‘I’ ?

Not sure what to make of that. In fact, I never did get the idea of self titling albums. I just didn’t. It’s so damn easy to come up with album titles that why would you self-title an album? But this sounds like criticism and it isn’t meant to be. I may be actually telling the world of some or more of my own limitations.

That’s all that writing is, really. Bear that in mind next time you read a music review. Pretty much the only times it isn’t is when someone is copying verbatim something from someone else (as in, most ‘news’ these days), or genuine stories.

As always, this is not a music review. But if you happen to like this music, you’ll like the next one I’m about to post.

Vago Sagrado – Vol. III

vago

The theme for this week is buses, as I have a week off work just because. This means I get to ride many more buses than usual.

The first of this weeks buses comes from Santiago, Chile, a country rightly famous for Follakzoid and also for sounding like a cold place whilst simultaneously  sounding like one of my very favourite hot foods of all time. Almost all of my stir fries have chopped chillies in them. I particlarly like the ones called Birds Eye Chillis though they do not look like birds eyes, or even mass produced frozen food. Maybe a native of Santiago would find my attempted humour even less funny than my usual peer group do.

This is what comes of looking at many buses.

So this bus has a picture of some old ruins on the front. I don’t know what to make of them. Nothing, I suppose. They’re ruins. Let them be. Let them fade with all those other failed constructs from past times and spaces, a reminder of something you never knew in the first place.

This bus sounds like it’s motoring along smoothly, and the journey it takes you on is a pleasant one. It doesn’t get in your face with how much of a good bus it is, it just drives along at an appropriate speed for the environment in which it travels through.

I heartily recommend this bus to all who would take a bus journey.

Fanatism – The Future Past

fanatism

The universe is a perpetual perceptual feedback loop

I’m preaching to the diverted

You cross the line when you play the game

The shape of things to come? Or the things that shapes become?

Work hard play dead

Make sure the opposing possibility has a crossover point, or it’ll be a waste of saturation

Smile for the countdown

You have a fire inside you? Poor thing! How do you concentrate?

If you must have an obsession, do try to have more than one. It’ll make you so much more interesting at parties.

 

Jjuujjuu – Zionic Mud

jjuujjuu

Imagine a jigsaw, a round, huge, perhaps even infinite, where all the pieces are unique, and make for a beautiful whole when observed from without, as is quite possible for anyone with the requisite spiritual training. So, then, let us immediately zoom in on a small piece roughly to the left of the hypothetical centre, a bit above and less to the top, capable of movement. It’s sad. It saw something about one of the other pieces over on the right, and it wants to be like the piece on the right, but the piece on the right is different, different shape for a start. So our piece, with a tremendous effort of will, gradually alters his shape, trying to be the same shape as his idol. Unfortunately, he can’t quite get to the right shape, though he keeps trying, because he thinks he just needs to persevere because some idiot wrote that if you persevere, you will get everything you want. The problem was, the effort at remaining in the wrong shape, and the continuous striving to perfect this other shape was an enormous strain, emotionally, and eventually, physically, which took its toll not just on our little piece, but on those around it too, and eventually, on the whole picture. Because those around it suddenly found that they weren’t fitting as comfortably as before, and so they thought there was something missing in what they had begun to think of as themselves. This led to a growing communal sense of dissatisfaction, the solutions to which seemed to be in following the first of the shapeshifters, who, due to a bizarre irony, was now seen as something of a pioneer and so they started trying to imitate him, and then others came up with what seemed like an original take, but was in fact their limitations making it impossible to become an exact copy, so they therefore seemed original enough for others to try and copy, all failing, of course. So the continuing result is a jigsaw of pieces where very few fit – those who have kept their original shape are now regarded as psychologically deficient in some way.

(the) Dead Sea Flowers – Cult of Sargasso

sargasso

Imagine, right, that the human race gets wiped out in such a way as to leave behind all of our works – I dunno, a virus, really virulent, incredibly fast acting. We didn’t stand a chance. And then, as luck would have, we actually are visited by beings from another world. They land, they take a look around, they see signs of life (you know, frogs, trees, foxes, free-market cheerleaders) but no signs of yer actual intelligence. And yet, puzzlingly, there’s all these artefacts. Football stadiums, for example: what would they make of them? Factories, some of them including forklift trucks. Some of those sexy sensual temples in southern India (that’s a religion I don’t mind signing up to (typical bloke response)). Postcards. CD’s. toy aeroplanes. Real aeroplanes. Helicopters. ‘mobile phone antennae.’ Wires. Offices. Essex. Ironing boards. Et so on.

Would they recognise these as artefacts of an ancient but extinct civilisation?

I suppose it depends on their own ascent up the evolutionary ladder. It’s bound to affect their perception of what constitutes intelligence. Bit like how the Europeans were when they encountered other countries with different coloured people who did different things differently. ‘You must be savages!’ we screamed, and promptly tried to ruin them and their descendents.

In other words, how enduring are artefacts if there is no-one to explain their purpose?

Therefore, what exactly is legacy?

(Pyramids, I want me some pyramids…)