Under a blue moon almost imperceptibly hanging in a brilliant blue sky, on a patch or golden grass we find the listener seated in contemplation. Stretched out before them they casually observe the vast network of intertwining roads that lattice the valleys and hills that stretch towards the screaming black horizon. Each road, holding a stream of endless possibility. The choice seems impossible, the journey through that vast matrix of options infinitely terrifying. And so the listener rests back into their position on top and between the blades of sun bleached grass, overwhelmed and not a little tired.

The sun descends, abandoning the sky to the omnipresent moon and bathing the land in an amber glow not unlike backlit 70s Horror Films – but alas this is a world that has never seen a reel of 16mm. This is a world of monumental architecture and deserted plains. Tiny figures dwarfed by the elemental forces that play out under the gentle hand of cosmological physics. A world being readied for the coming of the night.

The listener commands their body to rise and forces their legs down the third path to the left as the last rays of sunlight pick out the bell tower up ahead. As the sun drops lower the sky fades away into a pulsating disco of stars (the preferred collective noun in these parts). Footsteps counting out time as bells ring in the distant towers. Water from seas beyond the mountains lapping in echo off the purple sheets of rock. From out of the last golden flecks of the clouds a cyclopean suit emerges for a faceless instant from the point the sky meets the land. And it is gone.

The journey continues. This path seems marked by a procession of totems worshipping Teutonic gods. The path a few hundred meters to the right is lined with ancient oaks. The path on the left is measured in feet and glistens as the moonlight glances off the steel and brushes the Detroit concrete. Yet this path draws the wayward listener back with its chanting sirens, for it is they that command the bells. They that form the nucleus of the arpegiators. They that draw the listener onwards and inwards.

Thee Four Horsemen bring their exquisite remixing skills to bear on another member of the XXJFG extended family. Allez-Allez’s Hideous Racket gets transported to the shores of Brighton Hove (actually) to be re-recorded as a vast diagram, accurately describing the inner workings of the metronymic machines that powered our 70s overlords. A song so sprawling, so eager to flirt with ascension, that only four paragraphs of sub-Borges metaphor could even attempt to describe it.

This is big.

Allez-Allez – Hideous Racket (Thee Four Horsemen Remix)

This remix appears on Allez-Allez‘s forthcoming remix EP on RVNG. Check it out along with the video for Weird Science below.

Inch of Air begins in a helicopter, clacking wooden rotors holding it aloft, skimming over a midnight Michael Mann cityscape where a well enunciated narrator ripped from Severed Heads’ Dead Eyes Opened guides us through end-of-movie waves of synth chords.

Attention held in a vice by the growl of Sam Herring’s steadfast invitation to call on him. For when he says he’ll be there always it’s a monolithic promise not a threat. A rock of a persona, shooting up like a skyscraper between the delicate percussion and rolling organ waves.   Synth stabs skipping like stones across the sky, spotlights struggling to reveal the depth of sincerity burning behind the glorious, glorious reprise.

This, too, is big.

Future Islands – Inch Of Dust

Inch of Dust is taken from Future Islands‘ In Evening Air out on Thrill Jockey right now.

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20JFG once again journey to the big city to occupy The Old Blue Last between the hours of 8-1:30 on Saturday (13th). Your two Brighton scribes will be joined by our beloved brother from Berlin, Genuine Guy.  It’s free.  Come and say “hi”.
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Pretty obvious full disclosure: one of the founder members of XXJFG is also a founder member of Thee Four Horsemen and we love him and them dearly.

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This post is tagged with Genuine Guy old blue last xxjfg