Yesterday we recorded some really far out music! The primary piece was titled "OBLITERATION" (instrumentation listed below).
We also recorded several short pieces with just John on electric guitar and
So... I don't really know how mp3 posting is going to work. It will be some time until I can get rough mixes. Du Yun and I will be mixing some time in July. Maybe I can post some of the shorter pieces soon...
UNTIL THEN, listen to some of Du Yun's music HERE (or here)!
1 comment:
Hey man-
It sounds like your recording project is off to a seriously noisy start! I checked out Du Yun's link - cool!
This project is really exciting - it's like an inside out band-tour, the precise antithesis of Rolling Stone, Bono clubbing babyseals in the Negaverse.
GUILD OF BIRTHDAYS!!! It's shouted from the foam-flecked lips of a thousand new-age red-guard teenyboppers from surburban armpits in the heart of the vast and pitless empire.
GUILD OF BIRTHDAYS!!! The call scorches the air like a Death-worshipping eagle made of earsplitting hypersound, the call hits the canyon walls, mansions tumble to the ground like girls at a beatles concert, bikinis shrivel up like shrinkey-dinks in a hot toaster. The echo bounces back like the slow voice of a sadistic planet-eater and hits our ears. Instantly all life as you know it stops instantaneously and every molecule in your body explodes at the speed of light. A hyperactive dancing animatronic puppy appears on the stobiscopic stage of your mind and says in a woofish voice "ROLL OVER" and you find yourself tumbling down, down, down the warbling throat of Witney Houston as she vaporizes your soul with trebel heavy cosmic kitch-love, down into the sewers of Stenchmore where Gandhi and Jesus' shits dance the Macarena in fast forward, down into the depths of the Slobberithian mines where nine headed dwarves mine fruitloops and sourpatch kids from the Adimantium substrate, down until down goes down no longer and you spin in iceskater sick circles, growing heavier and darker, heavier and darker until the barely detectable field that used to be you collapses in on itself, swallowing everything in it's reach, cars, bars, guitars, stars, even light, even sound, even the internet and the universe becomes empty and timeless and youless as your wormhole becomes a pupahole and then a butterflyhole and you are born again into the computerworld, reincarnated as a blog, reaching the plateau of creation, the ultimate manefestation of buddhahood, the epitome of every stadium-rocked moment since the big-bang:
GUILD OF BIRTHDAYS!!!
GUILD OF BIRTHDAYS!!!!!!
GUILD OF BIRTHDAYS!!!!!!!!!
So you go off to spread your teachings to the blank-faced robokids from New Jersey to the rings of Uranus, like a record rolling through the wandering country roads, winding a spiral of sound around a mad spinning core, then turning around and rambling on home to bring us the sounds of far-off mystical crystal lands, complete with scum, skips, scratches and screams, a trail of innocent-eyed children following you in bare-feet, clapping their hands and giggling as they climb aboard your fire-engine red rocket, and when the countdown hits zero they open up their utopian-lined throats and let forth a barrage of melody that paralyzes the evil old toads and moldy old breadcrumbs and a flower blooms in every pottymouth and slopsbucket in the word and that's when you curtsy like a big pink lady roll because the guild of birthdays has been completed.
But until then you've got work to do! Because you are the Kerouac of the lost and lonely myspace mulitverse, a seriously back-to-the-land hippie nature music cyber-guru with a car full of radioactive high-tech gizmos and rough-and-ready sci-fi sonic doohickeys, beating the drum of progess and tooting the horn of horniness as you trundle down the lane towards the harmonic convergence. Vrooooooooom!!!! Let the spacejunk vaudeville begin, and shoot Greeto in the balls!
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