babe, terror and some rubbish about myspace
the problem with democracy is that it gives voice to all manner of morons and fuckwits (like m’self) with nothing to say…..
…..there. i’ve said it. i’ve come out the political closet as a self-hating fascist or a communist or some bastard libertarian. not really. maybe. i don’t really like democracy sometimes. i kid of course. don’t i? now i’m not advocating an uprising, an overthrowing of the worlds governments and political institutions and replacing them with some pseudo-benevolent dictatorship. i’m not. honest. it’s just that those with the loudest voices tend to be heard. and usually those with the loudest voices tend to have the least to say.
the reason for this third chilled becks nonsensical not really political discourse is myspace. myspace, the grand democratiser of music. along with ipods and protools and whatever. so every mouthbreather with rudimentary music skills, some basic recording equipment and access to the interweb can now broadcast there earnest stylings to the waiting world. it’s good in some ways. it’s horrible in so many other ways.
trying to find anything decent on myspace is like going into hmv (does anybody do this anymore?) and having to sift through every out-of-order cd in their overpriced blankstared-staffed shed. now if you know what yr looking for it’s a handy way to try before you buy, although sometimes the preponderance for barely produced demos and live tracks recorded through jacket pockets is irritating and occasionally misleading / offputting.
anyway the point i’m labo(u)ring to get at is this: there’s lots of stuff on myspace. most of it’s shit. but in some attempt to keep up/down? with the kids i’ve had to delve into it’s murky depths. and in this respect it’s much like the clyde (pictured above). without the badly injured dolphins. sure it’s pretty to look at, occasionally, in places, but you sure as fuck wouldn’t go swimming in it.
anyhoo sometimes people say hello, or send me links to stuff i might like. most of it’s okay, some of it’s woefully misdirected and sometimes there’s a shiny diamond or perfumed hankie in this field of shit.
which brings me (eventually) to babe, terror.
now barr an almost-nonsensical email (language barrier presumably) from one or all of them and what’s scrawled across their myspace page in some english and portugese? i know zip nada zilch about them/him/her. i like the facelessness of it. the anonymity forces me to listen, as i sometimes do judge based on photos and influences and labels and who brought them to my attention.
i like what i see. referencing julio cortazar and wes craven is for me a good start. musically the closest i can come is maybe ariel pink’s homemade biological musical stylings. noises made by mouths and armpits and christ knows what else. it’s a mad heady brew, psychedelic (as much as i hate the term) and occasionally unsettling and eerie. there’s a creepy childish/childlike/childhood vibe to it all. probably not without reason the john carpenter forum is part of their friendspace. primitive is a word you could use if you were that way inclined to describe them/him/her. at the very least it’s interesting. which is more than can be said for some of the plodding indie rubbish i’ve been duped into listening to recently. it’s a bit jazz without form, by way of phantasm, edgar allan poe and the wicker man.
or as they/he/she put it: singing strange melodies, things, spirits and (mouth, table) beats at home, record it with a mic. then mix it and soup up it. and it makes sense only if been heard by the grandpa’s big headphones, cause its where the monsters and forbidden nightmares are hidden inside. grew up freely, collecting sounds, mini dragsters, hide n seeking in the greenest part of a hidden neighborhood in sao paulo. he knows a few ghost’s houses in the perimeter. enjoy swimming. me, the lost boys, colorful nightmare’s ladies. playing mouth sounds, mouth drumming, table drumming, voice and miccccc. four nights of the most huge nuclear brightness of an apocalypse from which the remaining ones were you and me together in the village protected by pine trees planted by a scarring gardner whodid burn the children with fire in the yr’ 1905. or like a cortázar thing mixed with a wes craven one.
“i spent my childhood in a haze full of goblins and elfs, with a sense of space and time that was different from everybody elses.”
anyway i’m ruddy well loving it so here’s the tracks:
