Right now we are at the chrysalis stage, an as yet undisclosed shape metamorphosing inside a pulsating cocoon, perhaps to become Slake Moths, feast on human, animal and xenian souls, and shit bad dreams over the spires of New Crobuzon.
Or maybe something else.
Stare at the black slate that we are and wonder what will come next. But while you do so, impatient with the absence of some basic usability features in our minimal skin, do ask yourselves why the hell would you need more. We have always been about the music and the words that they inspire, we appreciate the potential of the other many platforms into which we can project our tentacles, but at the same time, we enjoy our basic niche, it’s cosy here. It requires more work on your part, we know, the holy books of the internet tell us that for every additional click needed to reach the aleph state, a fraction of our potential audience fades into the ether of somewhere else.
Are you like that, whimsical amoebas floating in the multimedia ocean, forever pushed by ADD winds into whatever source will give you more zeitgeist bang for your temporal buck?
We don’t think so. This was never meant to be easy. This was always meant to be for the seekers.
But don’t worry, we will change. It’s going to take time. In the interim we revel in our purposefulness and simplicity. And keep doing what we have been doing since day one.
Planet Earth is hollow, under its surface lies another black sky illuminated by the proto-sun at the core. During the cold war, the clashing super-powers experimented with inter-tectonic ballistic missiles meant to cruise these underground spaces, and destroy enemy bunkers from below like blind sharks incensed by the scent of ideology. In the same way in which our forebears stared at the sky with fear, those aware of this secret walk the streets staring at the ground, terrorised by the potential rapture, like a claustrophobic version of Tyrone at Gravity’s Rainbow. This feeling of precariousness has inspired a whole gamut of cultural expressions and novel twists in well-known modalities of psychosis.
Of course, California is ahead of the game.
Staring with alien eyes into the masses as they march down underground corridors, we become aware of the patterns that underpin this mundane ritual, parcels of energy and information carried by drones fighting a losing war against entropy. This is the daily clash of a decentralised empire where a low signal to noise ratio sends one hand against the other most fratricidally. Via parallel lines embroidered in an illusion of complexity we advance, in monotonous dirge.
But we have the advantage of a collapsed infrastructure and sonic beacons leading us to strange places like a predator hunting in a decaying jungle. It is Thread Pulls who guide us today down orthogonal folds in the belly of the beast with their martial barrage, mechanic yet alive like a neubauten dream set in Nocturnal Arcadia, like This Heat rearranging their Twilight Furniture for some spirit dancing.
We look forward to listen to their debut album in September.