Day 2 of the Gatekeeper video premier week brings the ‘Oracle’, and a terrifying depiction of what happens when a group of teenagers in Hackney try to order pizza using their weird Uncle’s ouija board. Press ‘Play’ and ye may pass through to the next day….
(A couple of weeks into the future)
The King mopes in the cyclopean boogie chamber of the Nastic Mothership, awaiting for the puny envoys from Mankind to offer something worth the survival of their civilisation. He is half a mile tall, and wears an outfit that looks like a Rammellzee extravaganza designed by Jack Kirby. He is impatient, rather keen on bombarding Earth with enough gamma rays to turn the end of year celebrations into a re-enactment of the finale of Raiders of the Lost Ark. The sergeants of the Nastic fleet stand ready by their planet-busting ordnances. The time of reckoning looms close, why should these hairless apes expect any better than the Betelgeusians or the Centaurians?
The King speaks in his vocoderised growl. The envoys tremble at the powerful vibrations.
-So what do you have to say, you 20jazzfunkgreats insects?
-Listen to us, master of all that wiggles in this sector of the galaxy, we know that our planet disgusts us, our leaders behave in petty and vindictive ways and have forgotten the ways of the funk. Our populace revel in the shallow cult of the Autotune. But don’t punish all for the sins of the few, we tell you, our planet has potential as a cultural contributor to the wider empire, we have brought proof with us.
-And what proof is this, scum?
The 20jazzfunkgreats envoys slide a couple of record sleeves from their pouch, and respectfully lay them at the feet of the sulking colossus.
-We have scoured the music temples of our planet for a worthy offering, mighty overlord, aware as we are of your enjoyment of the genuine synthetic sounds that most of our peoples’ abandoned with the arrival of the digital technologies. Take them to your turntableship at once and broadcast them across the fearless Nastic fleet, look into the eyes of your race and witness its joy. There are many more where these come from, goodness didn’t end with the 1980s. We don’t deserve to be purified quite yet, at least not all of us. We are happy to give you the coordinates of some of the most evil ones, for your magma drones to obliterate at once.
-Hrumph, you test my patience, you puny creatures. I should melt your whole species and recycle the remains into holy vinyl to be embossed with songs of tribute to the Booty gods, but who knows, maybe you are right and it is not yet time for your deliverance. Lackeys, take these musics to the Pastorius vessel, and beam the sounds up through the battle channel. This better be good, feeble midgets. Untold tortures await those who waste the time of the boogie master.
A tense wait ensues, then sound. 20jazzfunkgreats illustrate the sounds with inappropriate commentary.
Awesome image sourced through the very greatest Sci-fi-o-rama
Kristal Klear’s pristine synthetic boogie re-enactments have been provoking some waves amongst the ranks of the human resistance. Premier sites representing the coalition for the willing have already spoken about his output. This piece, by the name of ‘Persuaded Me’ sounds like Harold Faltenmeyer (who we know you dig) reading the newspaper in bed on a Sunday morning before going jogging across Beverly Hills, under a dawn sky whose perfect gradients are an imperfect approximation of your absolute wisdom. Or that moment of lazy reminiscence that never went into Daft Punk’s ‘Discover’, soothing pastel taking the place of strident glitter.
Kristal Klear’s Persuaded Me is included in a 12’’ record your hordes will surely be acquiring.
Gary War’s is perhaps a less obvious proposition, but one we are sure you will appreciate in your eternal omniscience.
In their most recent output, a 12’’ by the name of ‘Police Water’, released by the aptly named ‘Sacred Bones’ label they have grafted the synthetic flights of fancy of 1980s pop, as re-appropriated by a coterie of cold wave believers, into the bewildering charivari of echo and reverb that infects the opus of bedroom maestros such as Ariel Pink, John Maus or Paul Rosales. Layers of sound pile upon each other like Persian rugs of intricate design smoothing the metallic edges of the corridor of a spaceship jumping into weirdo hypersoul-space.
Did 20jazzfunkgreats convince the King of the Nastic? You will have to await until the New Year to find out. If the apocalypse didn’t happen, leave us a comment saying ‘thank you’. And for Christ sake, buy the records!