The sky’s on fire

aurora by eri@si

Sitting in a pre-fab living room, cold light rendering the wooden walls anaemic, he lifts the empty glass to his lips.  The ground begins to move.  Dust rises, smudging the crisp blue light in a haze.  His dogs bark outside as the chain fence rattles in the rising wind.  Muffled shouts and screams compete for spectrum with the dogs, the wind, the metallic scraping of the fence.  He drops the glass.

Shotgun draped over one arm he gingerly pushes his porch door out against the still rising wind.  The dogs seem quiet now, unable to compete with the onrushing cacophony they resign themselves to silence.  The air: battering everything; reaching a deadening grey equilibrium.  The only contrasts in this deafening blue scene, the faint multicoloured flashes from the horizon.  They light the far off hills with the temporary intensity of failing lightning.

White light brushes his face through the dust.  Its engine unable to compete with the wind, a truck makes its way silently towards him.  Turning slightly he sees the approaching vehicle.  Steadies himself against his creaking home and waits.

Our lord and master Mr Gavin Russom visits us once more with his skin-walker synths and apocalyptic siren calls.  This time he’s in the company of Berlin/NYC’s Palms.  While their gloriously creepy original slaps the dread into place with totalitarian drums here, Russom unleashes an end-times maelstrom.  The stop-start percussion and vocal mirroring of the original – purified in the cauldron of disaste.  We’re given the briefest of preludes (those sirens freed to herald Nadja Korinth’s pitch perfect cold-wave words) before everything is bent to the growing bubbling claustrophobic build.  A build that lets vocals and sirens sing to each other under a burning sky of deathly analogue synths.  And like fire it rages, vast and consuming until it can feast no more and we are left with the perfectly arranged cinders, their true form visible only from above in the tape hiss stratosphere.

Palms – Boundary Waters (Gavin Russom remix)

[The label’s requested that we only stream this one.  This is undoubtedly one of the remixes of the year and we had to share somehow.  The EP this is from also contains remixes from Bradford Cox and Josh Dibb among others, it’s on Rare Book Room Records so go get!]

Travelling in the open back of the truck, gun sitting across his lap, the engine still silenced by the delirious wind, he gazes towards the approaching horizon.  The lights still indistinct – their origin still unknowable – nonetheless increasingly dominate his vision.  He breaks their gaze momentarily to glance at his neighbours: weathered old men, grimly determined.  Their heads, all turned, tracking the multicoloured horizon ahead of them as they race towards these amorphous multicoloured sirens.

The indistinct blue light of the cloudless dusty night now beaten back by these pulsating shapes as the men near the foot of the bordering mountain wall.  The lights, high above: unknowable.  Their forms so large they feel close enough to touch and yet, they speak of distances further than the mind can comprehend.  Dropping his empty weapon to the floor of the truck he leaps with youthful vigour onto the hard earth.  Obliviously his neighbours join him their heads moving as one, perfectly tracking the dancing colours in front of them.

And then around them.

Fuck Buttons return with Tarot Sport a staggering, looped, disintegrating celestial masterpiece of an album.  A soundtrack to the apocalyptic birth of interstellar flight.   A transportive hour of raging beautiful music that includes this epic jam, Space Mountain.  Perhaps the most destructive ode to a Disney ride every put through speakers (until some future archaeologist finally unearths Throbbing Gristle’s ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’).  Synths and waves and waves of fed back guitars coexist tumultuously Their heart beats set by a dancing floor tom.  The whole menagerie moving inexorably towards some fearsome chimaera straining to achieve escape velocity.

Until it does.

And it’s beautiful.

Fuck Buttons – Space Mountain

Two of your humble 20JFGers will be helping to celebrate the birth of another album-of-the-year at Joakim’s album launch party at Cargo on Saturday.  Given that it’s free before 11 you really can’t lose.


If you’re not coming along to watch your fine 20JFGers play some outre-tunes tomorrow you could do far worse than check these guys out: