richard youngs makes so many goddam records i figured by this point he’s busted open a continuum and already recorded with his future / past self. so i guess an album by and with his pre-teen progeny shouldn’t be too surprising…
this is another unclassifiable splurge. not a million miles away from youngs the elders d-beat alluding record, barbed wire explosions in the kingdom of atlantis. or the rotten masters record with andrew paine (on caveman bass here). but much less muck and murk, and diametrically opposed in tone. there’s no spleen or wearied vomit or railing against corporatocracy / kakistocracy here. it’s all (pink) joy a mad wild noisy ride, a skint knees bouncy castle of machine-fritz punked up nonsense.
i’d make reference to a trachtenburg family slideshow players reimagined by billy bao, bugsy malone meets the fall, but really this is just another in a long line of singularities. everything’s the same, everything’s different. that’s my youngsian aphorism.
fugly bursts of fuzz. wonky drum patterns. three note bass parabolas. nursery rhyme incantations. reductionally, that is about it.
but for something that flails and stumbles as much as gallops, jars and jolts as much as glides it’s a hypnotic beast. dunno if it’s the perseveration of vox / lyrics, the stream of conscience repetition across tracks, no matter in them. a kinda childlike gibberish that if you think about too hard starts making sense.
tying shoelaces, eating food, understanding what earth means
there’s supposed to be a story in there, arcostra and the apocalypse (acopalyx), a man who fell to earth type concept album taking extreme fucking liberties with the notions of narrative or coherence. it’s all wrestlers and aliens, space solar panel systems and future architecture. a jumbled découpé of crayon scrawled comic bookerry.
but really it just batters on through (slows down a bit in the middle for when i was 86 stomps around like a lloyd kaufman lcd soundsystem), digs its own furrow and splutters to a halt.
it has a fractured dreamy glee that i dig. and anything can be pink if you believe, as a goofball philosophy, is a pretty great one.