Experimental evidence of massive-scale epic state contagion through oneiric networks

Featuring : Leisure Birds


Epic states can be transferred to others via oneiric networks, leading people to experience epic states without their awareness. Oneiric contagion is well established in religious experiments, with people experiencing epic sensations and epiphanies through oneiric networks.

Data from an all-encompassing astral network, collected over a 5000 year period suggests that longer-lasting states (e.g., enlightenment, transcendence, damnation) can be acquired through networks [Jodorowsky A (1973) Alahzred (700)], although the results are controversial.

In an experiment with people who sleep, we tested whether oneiric contagion occurs in out-of-body experiences through increasing the amount of epic content in the dreamscape.

When epic expressions were augmented, people experienced further epic reactions and behaviors, including enchanted-artifact questing, summoning of familiars from the netherworld, and construction of glowing palaces made of singing diamonds. These results indicate that epic states in oneiric networks influence our own epic states, constituting experimental evidence for massive-scale contagion via oneiric networks.


The experiment manipulated the extent to which people (N =689,003) were exposed to epic expressions in their dreamscape. This tested whether exposure to epic emotions changed people’s epic states, in particular whether exposure to epic content led people to act in ways that were consistent with the exposure. When a person entered into REM state, each dream-situation had between a 10% and 90% chance of being boosted with epic motifs including glimpses of scenes described in the Sword & Sorcery literature, Skyrim, and Boris Vallejo and John Buscema, as well as psychedelic motorik drones selected by the council of Elders, chaired by George R.R. Martin, Michael Moorcock and invocations of Robert E. Howard, Fritz Leiber and Angela Carter (see exhibit).

Exhibit: Tetrahedron


Leisure Birds – Seven Spirals

The sounds of Leisure Birds’ Tetrahedron exist in a dimension rubbing and, every so often, intersecting with ours. When it does, the sensation as if you were the sun dancing through a battle-cat’s cradle of megalithic constructions, or, in Seven Spirals, a puny unit of humanity splattered over a beach, just as the god-hand arrives with the gift of thunder.

You can acquire Tetrahedron from Moon Glyph.

The Hated Squeak of Seagulls


(art is by Michelle Lanter.)

Though this blog cut its disco teeth on the mean streets of Brighton, gosh, it actually has been a bit of a while since we actually gave you lot a heads up about any hometown sounds.

(My theory about this is that because of the way thinks work now, it actually takes a much more concerted effort to limit your output to one population, whether its a geographic, ethnic, or even subcultural population group. Sure, in 2004 we might have known who all the cool bands in Brighton were, but in 2014 we and everyone reading this blog are just as likely to know who the cool musicians from Bhutan are. Music disseminated via the virus of social media is like dark secrets looking for light.)

But Brighton – it’s been a while since national magazines were touting it as “the new Seattle”, largely off the back of Electrelane and Eighties Matchbox and British Sea Power relocating here.

The things that have happened since have been small, and few and far between. This is not a bad thing. Because the stuff seeping through now is genuine and musical and bravely unscene.

There is Collectress.

Collectress make super-special chamber pop. Consummately played, poetic, and perfectly-pitched – it’s not overly-decorative, twee or muso, which I think is sometimes what people assume when they see the phrase “chamber pop.” It’s just gorgeousness. Sometimes slightly ominous gorgeous. That cello a dark, circling undertow. Their songs are like little tone poems that map the psychogeography of Brighton – the violin even approximates the hated squeak of seagulls sometimes!

Collectress – Pumphouse

Collectress – Goodbye

Collectress’ members have played with Bat For Lashes and Mary Hampton, and bolstering the Brighton connections, their excellent debut album Mondegreen was recorded by Rob White of Demons Are Real records and Joe Watson formerly of Stereolab.

If you like them (and you will) then you will also like Timbre Hollow, the sole album by Threnody Ensemble, released in 2000.

Threnody Ensemble – The Machine

Buy Mondegreen from Peeler Records

The T-word

Featuring : Paco Sala


Trip hop’s allure was its cryptic intimacy.

The feeling of intruding into someone’s psychic chambers, into their memories, obsessions and desires, there yet never fully articulated, shapes swirling in the shadows, breaking through the surface of consciousness like killer whales of emotion, muffled sighs and dark moods universal in their abstraction.

Of course, one can have too much of a good thing, and that’s what happened with Trip hop, turned coffeehouse and ad cliché by a myriad me-too-acts who turned its wasteland of feeling into a cookie-cutter ‘electronic music + lady (or dude, I’m looking at you JJ Johanson) singing’ formula.

It is a testament to the strength of that backlash that the T word is seldom mentioned (as if it would be an insult) when describing many contemporary acts whose music conveys the same mood of melancholy, abstracted alienation, return to the cocoon of the self in the face of a social + economic environment of multiplying complexity, and filmic aspirations.

Yet it is there, we see its imprint, and we don’t think it’s anything to be embarrassed about. Sonically, this new generation of pensive pathos-geographers draws on the millennial descendants of trip hop’s influences, dub (dubstep) and hop hop (via J Dilla, Boards of Canada’s drum OST for pseudo-scientific uncanny-land, and Juke’s voodoo spectre).

Some examples? Flying Lotus, Hyperdub’s forthcoming (and spectacular) 10.2 compilation and many of the artists therein contained, Laurel Halo. Also the protagonists of today’s post, our beloved Paco Sala.

In their new Digitalis release, ‘Put Your Hands on Me’, Paco’s Antony and Birch take us inside that psychic room, its stained-glass windows shuffling through potential use cases for this music – social media-mediated heartbreaks, Metal Gear Solid’s next theme tune, that gently suicidal night drive through conduits of neon, shot in Michael Mann-vision.

The melange of analogue flesh, cf. 1970s porn-classicist artwork, and digital layers, juke throb and multidimensional reverberations makes it timeless plus futuristic, dense plus dazzling, alien and weird plus strangely human.

Like exploring an emergent pan-human psyche brimming with strange colours, pillars of luminescence, a complex lattice of vectors describing the trajectory of holographic sirens caught in a strange loop, randomly exploding into flocks of bird-memories straight out of a William Gibson reverie.

Definitely T.

Paco Sala – Peace Keeper

You can get ‘Put Your Hands on Me’ digital/pre-order vinyl from Digitalis.

Aesthetics are Godlike

Featuring : 200 Years + 20jfg


(art is by Anna Oguienko)

As much as – for  while at least – communal listening experiences seemed to be dominated by the shuffle function (you’d be round someone’s house and there would forever be a mac or iPod on shuffle, plugged into speakers, rather than an ‘album’ proffering a soundtrack) – one thing digital music collections can never quite replace is the “ohmigod! I forgot I had this!” factor.

For some reason, shuffle isn’t quite as good at “hiding” music as physical things are. Even when they’re big physical things, like 12″ records? And then when you find it you’re like: AHA!!

That AHA!! moment never happens with Spotify. Not hatin, just sayin.

So it was this weekend, when I uncovered one of the LPs from my subscription to Grapefruit Records’ first year, lurking about in the squish and dust of my record collection and had one of those moments. The concept behind Grapefruit is simple – you pay a subscription and spread across the year you will receive four vinyl LPs from them, featuring exclusive new works by relatively known artists, that cannot be bought elsewhere.

The LPs are great. And the aesthetics are godlike. It’s fair to say Grapefruit had a slight influence on our own Blue Tapes.


The magenta record from that first year is by 200 Years – the duo of Ben Chasny and Elisa Ambrogio.

200 Years – Erred

It’s a piece of psych-folk mayhem that record shops would inevitably describe as “wonderfully out there.”

Looks like since I bought those records, Grapefruit have done three more years – though 2014 (the final year?) is just records by The Dead C.

2011 was 200 Years, Richard Youngs, Lambchop and L. Eugene Methe. I think that year had the best covers too.

Here’s a mixtape of some other music we were listening to around then:

XXJFG – 2011: A Drone Odyssey

 You can buy the Grapefruit releases here

The Man with Two Brians

Featuring : K Leimer


The time that this has been sitting in our inbox seems inconsequential when compared to the 30 odd years it’s been in existence. After all, what’s a few months between friends?

Maybe the 21st Century approach to neglect shall be measured in internet time. Thus being missed by months is the new decades of obscurity. Which one has the more damning psychological effect I wonder. ‘I’ll go viral any minute’ versus the hulking machine of popular culture slowly heaving itself out of view like some gigantic, unmountable slug.

Thankfully we have a tonic for the wrongs wrought on these silent heroes and that tonic is RVNG.

K Leimer made loop-based music back in the late 70s. Partially inspired by Eno (as you’ll hear explicitly below) — who had a similar lack of musical training — Leimer started making ambient loops and putting them out on his own label.

Lonely Boy is the only out and out pop song on RVNG’s luscious compilation of Leimer’s work. And boy does it sound like pop-Eno. Not just the sound of an American doing his best British accent (which is pretty spot on actually) but that delay drenched piano floating in space.

What perhaps saves this from mere pastiche is twofold. The squelchy synth that skitters about underneath bring the whole an edge of post-punk running through its veins. The other thing, is quite how reverent it is. There’s a longing embedded in its very title. As if Eno and the energy surrounding him is out of reach. Denied to Leimer by oceans and time.

No Faustian pact with U2* for Leimer. No hook up with David Byrne. No Atmospheres.

Leimer still makes music and was involved in the re-mastering of this.

K. Leimer – Lonely Boy

RVNG released A Period of Review back in May. You can get it from them here. We must be well on the way to being the official RVNG mouthpiece by now. I hope we get a badge. And maybe a hat. A hat with a badge on it and some sort of uniform.  If only they stopped putting out so many great records.

*Brian Eno also still makes music and we’re definitely not setting up some either/or dichotomy, spiced with a fetishism of the obscure. We love you Brian. It’s just we were never sure about that whole U2/Coldplay thing.

This is not Science Fiction

Featuring : Constantina + Dustin Wong


(photo taken from Chris Jordan’s series from the Midway Atoll on how disposable plastic is killing seabirds.)

Swirling like Jupiter’s eye in the middle of the Pacific ocean is a lost land.

Its landscape and topography are unlike that of any known in the solar system. Bright colours. Strange edges. It has been conferred immortality by its makers, and will outlive all civilisations on Earth.

It is ridges of pelagic plastics and gullies of chemical sludge. It spans an area the size of Texas.

It is not Atlantis. It is the Pacific Trash Vortex.

First predicted in 1988 – with an accuracy that correctly guessed even where it would materialise – by 1997 the Pacific Trash Vortex was a reality. A great expanse of plastic garbage that even when ground down into particle level remains stubbornly infinite and non-biodegradable.

The smaller the plastics get the – fatally – easier they are for consumption by birds, turtles and whatever other marine life is clinging desperately onto life in that floating wasteland.

“For me,” writes photographer Chris Jordan, “kneeling over their carcasses is like looking into a macabre mirror. These birds reflect back an appallingly emblematic result of the collective trance of our consumerism and runaway industrial growth.”

Jordan’s photographs look like the creations of a warped imagination – the closest art they recall are the creepy hybrid sculptures we saw at Jan Svankmajer’s recent Brighton exhibition. Possibly not even he could have calculated chimeras of animal remains and manmade detritus that were so mournful and disturbing.

This is not science fiction. This is our pale blue dot.

Constantina conceived of their wonderful Pelicano album – recorded in 2007, but released in 2014 – as a tribute to the pelican. The music is gentle, persuasive and determined. In combination with Chris Jordan’s haunting photography, though, those long lovely guitar narratives translate as an elegy for the pelicans, albatrosses and other non-human species who now resemble sigils of bones and plastic, and who will eventually be just plastic.

Constantina – Pelicano

Maybe that’s a grim juxtaposition for music so warm and otherwise comforting! We’re sorry. It’s a reminder for ourselves, as much as anyone.

For wishing a better world into existence, listen to Dustin Wong’s 2012 album Dreams Say, View, Create, Shadow Leads, and by the time it has finished, think of one thing you can do to make your own world a better one.

Dustin Wong – Pink Diamond

Buy Pelicano from Bandcamp