I, the author of this listicle, rarely if ever use the expression “This owns” or “[something] owns,” however presently this album is in possession of my ears’ attention for the duration of its playtime. So, in that sense, it “owns.” But I’m moreso lending my ear attention to it because it rocks (and owns) and goes well with my life as it exists right now, which is to say sitting around and not doing a lot. Do you like to sleep every night, and party every day? And also have some nights where you replace sleep with rock and roll? No? Me neither.
Gorgeous sounds. Thom Yorke’s voice is so soothing to me and my ears. Thank you Charles for pointing this one out to me. I wonder if somewhere in the universe there’s a planet with floating rocks (and islands?) like in the movie with the giant blue-skinned alien cats — what was it called? I think “Mrs. Doubtfire” but I could be wrong.
Dang! Melodic neo-mathrock?! I’ll take a massive serving of this. I think my upstairs neighbors are fucking right now, or otherwise rhythmically shaking their furniture while moaning.
This is some psychedelic glitch hop on a new level. So very crunkulated.
I’ve become a huge fan of long, 11+ minute tracks. Like ELP’s “Tarkus” (A side), Brian Eno’s “1/1” from Music For Airports, Ariel Pink’s “Trepanated Earth,” and so on. Set it and forget it. I’m just now feeling like I’m getting a hang of producing reasonably solid 2+ minute long songs; I can’t imagine producing something much longer. Anyways, I think I like long music just for the fact that it’s long and I can carve out a solid 15-20 minutes of time to do stuff, just by pressing play on something. I don’t believe in free will but I also kind of don’t believe in fate — I feel like I am in charge of making the decisions that ultimately direct me towards my fate, but the “me” in charge of making the decisions is probably my brain, and how is my brain not a deterministic machine? Not that it really fucking matters, I still have no interest presently in killing myself or going outside completely naked and doing yoga in the middle of a busy intersection, or just randomly punching somebody in the face, so the machine that controls my being / identity is aware of local laws and customs, and acts accordingly. Uh, beyond that, I dunno. I’m talking to myself. Thank you for reading. Have a solid day. Death awaits. Not just your death, but the eventual death of the universe, whether it continues to expand until the gaps between individual units of matter are infinite going on infinite, or if it flips the script and all comes contracting and imploding in on itself only to start again, completely wiping the slate clean, rendering all things we humans have known — including this “blog entry” — lost forever. Who knows or cares? My stomach hurts and I have a cold, I’m assuming that’s informing this blog entry. Seriously, never visit this website again. Again, I’m talking to myself. Please click here for free.
Man, this rips. That chorus riff reminds me of the chorus to Hot Snakes’ “XOX,” but both are rippers. Rockabilly is where punk goes to retire. You know — vintage Vegas, Elvis, bowling, hot rods, martini glasses, having a 1-year-old who you dress in Ramones onesies, impending death, 401k tattoo, etc. You get the picture. This entry is dedicated to Logan. Thanks for the text message yesterday pimp.