Ok so we have been thinking about the 2.0 revolution and everything it means for the world. Everyone knows how any movement is just hype until 20JFG gives it its seal of approval, it’s all a bit like, if a tree falls in the forest and 20JFG haven’t posted about it in their lo-fidelity blog, discussing the implications of the whole thing for the London scene, well, you know what buster, then it hasn’t happened (caresses his tape recorder and stares wistfully at the forests out of the window, we hear Ed Banger is remixing the tree falling tune, we’ll keep you posted).
Anyhow, we have been thinking hard like we do, and we have decided that in order to endorse this whole movement, which as all the pundits know is going to change the face of the world, cure AIDS, stop global warming and erradicate that vermin Vernon Kay from the face of the Earth, we need to get on with it and become more interactive, more like, user generated and emergent, give you a chance, yes U, the most important person in the world according to Newsweek, to have your say outside of that half-assed comment box down there, but an afterthought in the crazy dreams of the fools who designed Blogger, let you make this place yours and, through some sort of crazy serendipitous process reach that moment of singularity when we’ll all become Elementary Particles of hyper-intelligent grace criss-crossing the information poly-dimensional spaces like enlightened bees from an egalitarian, ever fluctuating network hive.
We have gone to the myspace!
Hum.
We are starting a 20JFG wiki were everyone can write and mess around with the html, and correct our orthography and add links and info and shit, and tell you about that band Genesis P-Orridge started with Yoko Ono, five cats, a chainsaw, and tube of K-Y Jelly.
No, just joking, we are, on a merely experimental basis, and within the technical constrains the good people of Google impose on us from their algorithmic Deathstar, giving you a chance to become interactive with Jazzfunkgreats2.0 by choosing how this pandora box of musical emotion (*retches*) will determine your mood each day, kiddo. We are posting a few tunes today, but you should only listen to one at a time, first thing in the morning as you munch your buttered bread and sip on that insipid coffee, depending on how you feel like feeling on the day in question. It’s totally guaranteed that by doing this you will be using the new interactive features of jazzfunkgreats2.0 to interact with your life, and hence being totally 2.0, nay, 3.0: generator generated content strikes users back via loser generated dorksonomy, it’s a winner, and a revolution in the making, you read about it here first my friend, now get active and wait til tomorrow to make everything be the way you want it to be, and without the need to resort to automatic weapons, ah, the sheer glory of this whole scheme inebriates my foolhardy spirit with unbridled whateverness.
So make your day punk…
Get Mephistophelic!
Spread those leathery wings and let an impenetrable shadow which grasps the heart and chokes the spirit cover the tall buildings of this township, like this was Murnau’s Faust, gaze at the terrified citizenship with eyes that are of a red beyond blood and into blood and beget blood, precipitate into the abyss and rise like the bitter ashes of Phoenix to claim a few wretched souls, it’s not a bad life being bad.
Earth’s Slow motion doom drone music’s black heart shines for a moment with a glimmer or hope, or perhaps that’s just the light of the silver dead moon reflected in the merciless eyes of a black mastodon stepping out of a primeval mist to eat your heart. Hibernaculum spreads and engulfs and masticates and spits the puny listener on its devastating wake, we hadn’t posted cough syrup grindcore for a while, what better way to return to the lair of the snake dragon than with this asphixiating symphony.
Get feral!
And jump from that hole under a rock, climb a tree in three fast leaps and hide under the cover of leaves, which the sunrays penetrate like the shards of an organic estroboscope, catch your breath and blend with the green, sense the stupid campers approaching down below, leaving a stinking path, making loud noises which pierce your highly developed sense of hearing, ululate intermitently to keep the rest of the pack informed about the activities of tonight’s dinner while scratching lazily the mighty eternal wood with wicked claws which will soon pierce soft pink fatty flesh, these humans are but walking corpses which shall soon disappear devoured by a forest they shouldn’t have dared treading.
Racoo-oo-oon slayed it mighty in their Psykick Dancehall gig at the Hope last week, it’s a shame the sound limiter wastedevice didn’t let them go as loud as they were itching to, still their mighty bear tap-tap-tap-BANGING percussive psychedelic stomp, criss crossed with bristling white owls of noise and swirling analogue melodies filled the black space surrounding us with furious winds from a hidden place of raw power. This is from their Behold Secret Kingdom demo. Call that thing that steps in at min. 3.04 of Mirror Blanket ‘bassline’ if you fucking dare.
Get demolishing!
Disimpale yourself from that bed of nails where you rest in the putrid sewers, wind up one by one the legion of fiery red gremlin automatons you have spent decades designing and assembling from scrap metal, discarded clock mechanisms and barbed wire, and send them on a mission to weaken with their sharp teeth the foundations of the buildings of hegemonic institutional, financial and societal control above the ground, which rest fat and content, inadvertent of the apocalyptic fate that awaits them. Now that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are away in the bucket of unremembered 80s nostalgia, no-one is here to stop you, mr. Senior mentalist!
The Locust- Full Frontal Obscurity
The Locust grind the fuck back with New Erections, in it they disembowel time space and what lies between with that neon-clad spastic rage of theirs, they totally are the institutionalised psychopatic scarified S&M offspring of Devo which to us heathens sounds like the second coming, or something.
Get Hungry!
Get up with a hole in your massive green belly, it’s huuuunger, it’s that little imp down there scratching the chloroplastic walls with very very sharp teeth which make you wish you could move from your pot, get something to eat, but you can’t! you’re but a plant, only your merciless jaws can move, but there’s nothing to bite, not even a puny fly, and you’re starving! Thank God you have that goofy human Seymour to fulfill your desires and bring some food, look at the fool slepping over there on top of his desk, probably having dirty dreams about that bimbo shop assistant, he doesn’t understand the hunger that torments you, wake him up and get him to go and capture some, fresh, hopefully warm meat from the skid row, Seymour, I’m STAAAAARVING.
Where Mr. Fred Katz crafts a gloriously thrilling soundtrack for one of my favourite films ever, forget the 80s remake, the 50s Corman Get fucking the best!
You get up on the morning and streeeeetch, don the silk robe and tip-toe into the patches of light which spread gentle over the floor of your gargantuan bedroom, golden angels and mythological figures stare at you approvingly from their pedestals, you walk towards the balcony and gaze over the resplandencent Miami skyline as your machiavelic brain starts devising cunning schemes to strengthen your organisation’s control over the criminal underground of this city, isn’t it nice to know the world is yours??
Justus Kohnke- Elan (Prins Thomas Version)
Now isn’t this just lovely, two of our favourite artists get together cozy and warm for what might well be the best 12” I have listened to in the whole year, this A-side, where http://www.discogs.com/artist/Justus+K%C3%B6hncke” target=_”blank”>Justus’ gorgeous Elan in an epic progression to absurdly dramatic vistas of disco heaven reminds me of the Salsoul Orchestra and Get Feline!
Put on that human suit and walk into the streets nimble & smooth like a good shave, people better step out of the way if they don’t want to get their heads bitten off yeh, head to the disco and keep your mouth well shut as (a) you don’t want them bouncers to see your yellow blood encrusted fangs and (b) your breath smells like fucking panther, yeah, we know you could totally wreak havoc in the door and it would all be for a good cause, still, it will be better once you get inside with the funny lights, the prancing idiots and the wack sounds from the desktop djs, slide off the stupid and cumbersome suit and let your tail stretch free, stripes spreading like a stream of very bad vibes, let it rip like this was the kalahari and leap behind the decks like this was a disco scene shot by Michael Mann, brap, the DJ is now a mangled corpse over his friend’s cloaks, oh dear what a mess, now you’re in control and the jam is JUNGLE RUMBLE.
C.L.A.W.S.- C.L.A.W.S. Theme (Curses! Remix)
Where super-hero Curses! (alter ego you might recognise in the B.A.S.S.) takes one of last year’s favourite tigerbass party crackers-body snappers by classy gentleman C.L.A.W.S.leaving the addictive riff and the wobbly bass in place, the rest is simply a massacre of shuffling beats and ruff-neck styles which puts all the competition to shame, this tune is coming to a disco near you soon, to bite your ass.
Get rest!!
After this apology of violence, carnage, bloodshed and terror we feel we should perhaps let you rest for one day, I mean, if God did this, you are allowed too, that’s one of the beauties of the whole Web2.0, it puts you at the centre of the universe, kid. Perhaps instead of playing a song this morning, you should just refrain from getting up at all, stay on your pajamas and make a revolutionary statement following the glorious example of the Nation of Ulysses.
Get BONUS
Our buddy Congorock has a swell podcast in his site, check it here, it’s called the End of Irony, which as you know we’re always wishing for. Italians do it better, everyone knows it.
Get GOING
Tonight at Concorde2, So Loud! wiz kids be bringing french Miami Vice Thrills to Kill Kavinski, 20JFG & winning Do certified badmen will be rocking the Hipster Burchillstown Massacre at the Bar early on, come and say hype.
Sunday Do motherfuckers are bringing genius Furry aliens Grabba Grabba Tape to the Engine Rooms, you know how Devo de Daft Punk da way to go yeh, dere.
Furries are people too.
If in Paris go to this on Saturday…we’re coming for a visit sooooon!!!!!
Flèche d’Or
102 bis rue de Bagnolet Paris XX
Minuit-6h00
Free entry
with Cosmo Vitelli (I’m a Cliche)/GEORG BAR (Gomma)/HEKO (OD Records)
Salut & have a nice weekend!
Epilogue -This post is tagged with prog
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