Blood Money

We didn’t sleep this weekend. We spent it chasing a coven of witch CEOs across the streets of the City at night. You know how the master puppeteers of the world share membership in a dense cobweb or secret societies and the like? Well, some of them are about more than secret handshakes and wearing fancy purple gowns in secret rendezvouses after everyone has gone to bed at that yearly shindig in Davos. Some of them are about human sacrifices, necromancy, thaumaturgy and all sorts of cruel shit. You know that 20Jazzfunkgreats endorse a lil’  bit of carnage of that kind, it is after all necessary to keep those ties between the spirit world and ours running, and blood is the potent oil that fuels this particular engine, so that the highway through which the muses launch their blitzkrieg of inspiration upon you unsuspecting weirdoes might remain open. But these guys, these guys, I tell you, their thing was just too much.

Everyone in the esoteric network knows that the yearly accounts of many a big firm are signed with human blood. We have been too busy to deal with this kind of thing, small fries as it were. But since the meltdown in the global financial system, a few cultist leaders in the top echelons of the corporate world have decided to step up their ante, fearing that the collapse of their shares is a punishment from a forever hungry God Mammon furious at the lack of tributes piling at his bloated feet. Hence the reports about squads of black-clad goons rounding up people in the streets, and driving them to those frightful towers of power with roofs covered in pentagrams, to be tortured, and dismembered, their life forces offered by frenzied executive boards as a late sacrifice to those sneering deities, oh please sort out our balance sheets and purify our toxic assets, powerful ones.

Appalled by this massacre, and well aware of the impossibility of using such means to turn the wheels of a financial catastrophe for which very human lust and greed are more to blame than the designs of the supernatural, we decided to take a night train to Victoria lugging bulky leather suitcases packed with the usual set of remedies, Gurkha knives and custom-made revolvers loaded with silver bullets, ancient scrolls covered in spells of vanquishing. We are now back after a night which was somewhere in between the Evil Dead, Wall Street and Die Hard, weary but satisfied with a job well-done, Having stashed the sacred weapons in the cellar, I am off to the launderette with a big bag full of blood-splattered clothes. I leave you with some songs I was playing in my iPod while fulfilling the role of a wrathful God across pristine corporate halls, enjoy!

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Chicago’s finest GATEKEEPER continue enthralling us with their macabre reveries, blood-curdling sound vistas of cancerous urban landscapes you can actually breakdance to if you are our kind of guy. Bring out the knives.

GATEKEEPER- Optimus Maximus

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Rude 66 makes filthy electro and acid tinged cold-blooded industrial music with ghoulish gusto, it’s not a coincidence that his new album is called ‘Sadistic Tendencies’. The tune we are posting today is a glorious piece of high-energy undead disco which would have surely made all those meatwagon party leeches at the beginning of Blade spin delighted under blood-spurting sprinklers.

Rude 66- No One Had a Clue

Cheers to Simon Thisisnotanexit for the tip.