Wednesday, November 28, 2007  12:55 am 

2.O Jazz Funk Greats / Commemoration

This place is about surprises, aliens stranded in the white beach of the Hawaiian islands decide to throw a party under the umbrella of a neon reticule powered by the last functioning lasers protruding from the silvery hull of their crashed spaceship, it might sound a tad strange to some of you tinfoil hat wearing humans, but Black Dice do the kind of music Daft Punk would if they had come over from Betelgeuse instead of Alfa Centauri, it’s a totally different scene over there, seen?

Black Dice – Cone Toaster

Arthur Russell, classically trained cellist made of the stuff dreams and genius are made of puts together the most life-affirming piece of disco not disco ever to come out of the wise streets of New York City, rays of Sunday morning sun illuminate that derelict penthouse where Lou Reed used to write love letters to Nico, funny thing she ended up singing them to us all and he barely got any.

Loose Joints – Tell You Today (12″ Version)

Inbred motherfuckers who survived the mum bum bad haircut apocalypse documented in The Hills Have Eyes managed to raise Flipper, a cadre of death head funk commandos who came down the dusty roads of hell leaving a trail of dismembered coyotes on their wake to deliver a garbled message which sticks to your ears like James Chance’s hyperactive jizz, sorry for the metaphor but it had to be done.

Flipper – Sex Bomb

So in spite of whatever formal differences you might find in the three songs above, and all those we have posted in our almost three years of feeble existence, we think and hope there’s a coherence to what we do, a certain balance in the mystery zone we try to create in this humble zine of ours (and yours), a balance always on the verge of tipping over folding our battered perceptual space-time continuum upside down and sending us into the malevolent flip side of the ellipse, but then that’s part of it too, it’s all about love, weirdness, sex, dance, space, fear, change, surprises, that gasp and that illumination, stuff you find in music, different sides of a diamond clashing, rotating, not quite fitting, sliding into place if only for a second, and that second makes it all worth it, it is someone telling you something, and something else too.

And kittens.

And Bruce Campbell’s cyclopean jaw.

And the Great Cthulhu oh so tenderly cradling H.P. Lovecraft’s eternal soul while awaiting patient in a villa of the underwater city of R’Lyeh, the stars advance slowly intent on the right position.

Heaven, Hell, and everything beyond our solar strataspherical existence knows that 20JFG can talk the talk, but can they walk the walk? They may bang on about what influences their favourite artists and also what influences the molecules in their ears that sends the signals like neon tentacles to their pyramidical brains in order to open up The Third Eye. But they hardly ever bother to post these musical totem poles of jagged metal and raw crystal.

Italian masked marauders from 3O12, Goblin stand true as dapper knights of the round blood-soaked bourgois Italian-designer table. They ride out on cybernetic horses, you are blinded by the searing flash as the fire from your burning village reflects off of their wayfarers set perfectly in front of their red LCD eyes. You dance to their macabre refrain of a battle theme tune, your village is destroyed, your family dead, no one can save you now.

Goblin – Goblin

But wait, here glides in high ruler of Saturn, Giorgio Morder Esq. on his glitter-guzzling Delorian spacemobile to whisk you away from all the heartache and pain. He extends a beautifully manicured hand and you take it, soaring upwards into the stars, your tears dried by the in car heating system. His bushy moustache angles up at both sides which you take to be a smile, and you trust this galaxy striding disco love-trojan as he sashays across moonbeams to the sound of all his greatest hits.

Giorgio Moroder – The Chase (Original Dance Mix)

Oh no hang on, your actually fucked, cos here comes John Carpenter, the great demi-god of all encompassing icy monotonal death. Whats that shapeless mass shifting around behind him – oh fuck its all the monster and killers from all his films (yeah even the miasma from Ghosts Of Mars!) and they are out to get you in some sort of Thriller killer dance-off but in the end you actually do die, it ain’t no girly dream. How do you meet your sticky end? Alice Cooper impales you on the handle-bars of a bike round the back of your local Satan-harbouring church to the sound of sinister bass drones spun from a synth in a black liquid vacuum of space behind a mirror of Hell.

John Carpenter – Prince Of Darkness (Opening Titles)

(ps, yes, we know we posted John Carpenter a few weeks back, but that was Halloween so it was different) x

labels >> 20jfg, Love Love Love

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