Living with Hyperbole

An appeal.

As many people who work in ‘the biz’ will know, press releases are full of half-truths and exaggeration. In some countries it is actually law that an official press release should contain at least 60% bullshit, and many States have now set up Government funded watchdogs to ensure that these fallicentric dockets represent artists’ work or careers with all the realism of a Matthew Barney film. The British department is located in a grey town, somewhere on a drab industrial estate, on the most tepid floor of a jaded office block. There, upon a depressive swivel sits a deflated hump, a dissolving presence which once bore a resemblance to the definition of a man.

His name is Mr. Albert R Tasteamacher. Years of rewriting fact into rabidly fantastical overstatement have rendered his hands into Goyaesque lumps of modernist bone structure, his eyes now vacant pinpricks, broadcasting emptyness like the dying gasps of a cathode ray tube.  Eternal decades of compulsory embellishment have driven his once youthful and lucid mind into a soggy ditch of permanent linguistic garnish, where the tyres of his sanity spin frictionless in the mud.

Mealtimes in the Tasteamacher household are at best, an ordeal. It was the usual scene at this morning’s breakfast in his drab suburban yawnpit, his long suffering wife Elsa prepares while Albert sits, rocking, staring at the wall with the whispered voice of Edward Bernays liasing internally with his inner monologue. Staring considerately into the open fridge she asks her husband

“What would you like on your toast this morning Alb, Jam or Marmalade?”

Albert’s rodent eyes light up and he springs into action.

“Jam please! Have you heard about Jam? It’s already shaping up to be one of THE preserves of 2010 and has already been featured on the likes of toast, cakes, scones and yoghurt!”

Elsa sighs.

“Albert, we need to talk.” She begins to cry. “I don’t know who you are anymore, I feel like you don’t love me……”

Albert interjects

“I Feel Like You Don’t Love Me’ is the hotly tipped new comment from Elsa Tasteamacher and is highly anticipated to be completely ignored by husband. Recorded over breakfast in a semi-detached in Neasden, this heart wrenching new release from the lady who brought you such epic tearjerkers as ‘why don’t we talk anymore’ and ‘Albert, I’m leaving you’ is set to be as big in the clubs as it is on the radio…….”

Thousands of people like Elsa have to live with Hyperbole everyday. Some receive no help from family and friends and are forced to cope with this terrible disease alone. Hyperbolics can be cured but it is a long and arduous process. Can you help? You need not send money. All that we ask is that you take most things you read with a pinch of salt. If enough people do this then people like Albert will be out of a job and freed from Hyperbolic stasis for life. Together we can reunite Albert and Elsa and rid this world a world of a dreadful affliction.

Let’s begin now. Even though we’ve been co-opted by ‘the man’ their 0% stake wasn’t enough to cover our semi-annual budget deficit of £0. This means we had to foreclose on this quarter with a net profit of £0 which we will now have to use as equity to secure a loan of £0 in order to continue on the next quarter with a healthy margin of £0. What this means in practice is that we don’t have to send our reviews to Albert R Tasteamacher for proofing and editing just yet. But when the Modest Mouse CDs starting turning up in a Jiffy Bag (TM) with a gram of coke, we will let you know.

Paul A Rosales – Crimes

Someone else already posted because we’re slackerzzz. But we love this guy and we look forward to his album very much. Paul collaborates with R Stevie Moore dontchaknow. This leads us to wonder why we never posted RSM before so we will be writing this wrong in about 3 sentences time. ‘Crimes’ is exactly the sort of thing we wanna hear when we’re selling out, its unselfconsciously wrought unplanned energy is our 20 inch rims, its atonality is our leather dashboard which we caress whilst cruising illicit street to do deals with shadowy figures who hand us parcels full of the highest grade low fidelity shit which we now sell to you at the vastly inflated price of £0. Crimes 7 out now, Wonder Wheel 1 is out in a few weeks. Both on Care in the Community.

About 3 sentences ago we decided it was time for some R Stevie on 20jfg.

R Stevie Moore – I Wish I Could Sing

Is everyone familiar with RSM? Do we need to write about how influential this guy is? When 20jfg was 14 and learning the guitar we wish that we had known about R, perhaps our life would have taken a somewhat different direction. Maybe we would have realised at an earlier age that making music is only about the pure expression of one’s personality, and the rest is just a construct. With a back catalogue as full as Scrooge Mcduck’s money bins, we really should do an entire RSM feature soon. In any case, these short words pay are meant to pay as much homage as we can squeeze in today.

When we’re up in our Ivory Tower picking off peasants with our solid gold shotguns, we need to find something soothing to play in the background.

Hype Williams – Problem Chalice pt 4

Sometime ago we introduced you to vast creative empire of Hype Willams. Lucky enough to escape the curse of being tarred with the Drag/Chillwave/Whatever-Lazy-Journalists-Want-to-Come-up-With-Next brush, they finally have some waxes out. Problem Chalice 4 is taken from a 12′ out now on Carnivals and is frankly where it’s at for your resonant psychedelic-yacht-rock needs, an inexplicable vocal cast away across a sea of shimmering Sade pads. Just Blaze.

Oh and if you’re going to be in London this August, you could do a lot worse than visit their first solo show at Space gallery. We don’t pretend to know much about art, but this is big tings apparently.