The house dips in and out of the frenzied waters of the late 20th century property market like the obstinate detritus of a calamitous shipwreck. If you examine its contractual life, you will find a recurring pattern over the decades: property title found in the state of the late A, bequeathed to B, and eventually sold to C. Property title found in the state of the late C, bequeathed to D, eventually sold to E. Rinse and repeat, a vaguely unsettling transactional drone that should prick the ears of anyone listening, like the buzz of a carrion fly crawling over your pillow.
Alas, those who would listen won’t, state agents rewarded for throughput rather than customer satisfaction, oblivious to the preposterous ranting of an old man in a retirement home, the warning notes tremblingly scribbled and stapled to the property title of the house, as it precipitates back into an unwary property market.
What might have happened in the house stays in the house, and connecting the dots between the ‘might’ and the ‘did’ would require some sleuth work that few have the time or patience for.
That is what your 20jazzfunkgreats detective squad is for, and these are some musical insinuations of what happened in the house.
(image by Paul Tragus)
Brassica’s remix of Gareth Cheshire’s Galaxia (out soon in Audio Parallax Recordings) suggests forbidden exchanges between the house’s first owner and mysterious correspondents in mostly mountainous and wild regions of Europe, the southernmost extremes of South America, dishevelled outposts in the boundaries of deadly African deserts.
It rattles like heavy parcels being delivered to the house, and fearful complaints from the couriers that handled them, and neighbouring families soon after, about bad dreams, about strange lights shooting from the house and into the sky, about strange lights shooting from the sky and into the house.
It echoes of disquieting sermons in the local church about those who congress with devils, and act as conduits for a cosmic plague.
It foreshadows the disappearance of the puritan pastor that uttered them, and the finding of his mangled remains in the distant fields.
It screams like he did when the strange lights caught up with him.
It’s such a tune.
Go to Gareth’s Soundcloud for more superb stuff.
Mirror Mirror’s New Horizons, and their The Society For The Advancement Of Inflammatory Conciousness album were recent and definitive hits in 20jazzfunkgreats’ cultic circle, daring (and having the wisdom) to go beyond the abstraction of many a witchcraft apprentice and budding warlock to articulate in words (rather than chanting) and wonderful 1960s psychedelic tropes the commandments of a post-hippie, pre-new age religion where mystique melds into emotion like the psychic aftermath of a Roman Polanski hallucination. If Krzysztof Komeda’s theme tune for Rosemary’s Baby had had lyrics, Mirror Mirror would have been the ones to summon them from the place whence such subtly satanic things come from.
Which makes it rather meaningful for them to be the next participants in IGETRVNG’s forward thinking mythological FRKWYS series, featuring personnel from Ike Yard and Young Marble Giants amongst others. Nau Sau Ser Bil Uma Rah Rab, which we are leaving with you today, may well be the climax of a mass of impossible colours taking place in the forbidden cave complex which stretches under the house which is the theme for this post, like the roots of a tree made strong by cosmic rays way beyond our puny sun.
Go and get it here