Wasted Cathedral – I’m Gonna Love You ‘Til The End Of Time

I’m probably the last person to comment on the incongruity of artist name versus album title. I actually have nothing useful to say, other than that, to me, the combination is incongruous.

Meh. Regardless, the album is really rather good, and by really rather good, I mean excellent. My only minor quibble is that the short pieces are good enough ideas in their own right to be fleshed out further than they are, but as long as they’re good, right? Right.

The longer pieces are well trancey, which is something I’ve rattled on about loads before so I won’t again, except to say that if you want to lose youself in some monging drone, then this here is for you.

Dude here also does other things – The Switching Yard, The Radiation Flowers, and Shooting Guns.

I actually meant to post this the other day with those other two posts I did, but my mind went blank. There was also another one too, but that isn’t acyually released til the 23rd of this month and you all know how I feel about posting stuff that isn’t actually available yet. I’ll try and remember on the 23rd.

Girl Sweat Pleasure Temple Ritual Band – Hyper Rituals

girlsweat

So then, we’re all agreed: it’s a farce. But exactly what kind of farce is it? McWilkinson will take the first seminar, arguing her hypothesis that the farce should be read like a deconstructive take on a Bakuninian-level revolt disguised as hot marvel. The second seminar will welcome Mordant Furniture, presenting his best selling vision of an illusory farce in a mentalist dogma, preceding the reality which followed it because of inbuilt hypotheses planted by previous venerations. Then Professor Summat Whassup will take the floor, and only return it when we agree to peer review his latest article on the cultural importance of whippersnapping the well-fed, who we should be concerned with because they’re the future of his fan base. And we shall end this enthralling day by dethroning the prevailing revolutionarism and slapping it, all in the capable hands of a brilliant PHD strident, fresh from the aristocratic jam function, known as Manjenium SLobobacker-Roosevelt-Ckumbucket. Tickets are a very reasonable national debt of Guatemala, or the soul of one or more of your children. This includes a buffet lunch – dingos kidneys wrapped in lettuce strips served by small white boys from the council estates that we’re paying minimum way-ge to in order to assuage our guilty consciences that shout at us when we write content-less articles depicting their way of life instead of fucking doing something about it.