Book a life upgrade with Placely, and forsake your past, no worries whatsoever. Our patented algorithm matches your personal preferences (as mined from your social media and consumption portfolio) against a set of career and lifestyle preferences, and delivers the optimal PlaceSure for you with a margin of error of ± 15% Utility. Slide into a new job, apartment and social network within the next 24 hours.
Of course, your life-cense fee will depend on the level of demand for your PlaceSure. As you’ll understand, we need to minimise the risk of urban and labour market congestion in those funky, urbanely buzzing places that everyone aspires to live in nowadays.
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If none of the options feels right for you, you can always try life out there, in the real world. But remember, life out there is hard and deadly. There is no climate control, and the population isn’t security vetted. Drugs, food and cultural content haven’t been quality assured. Life out there is weird. They have a strange super-accelerated evolutionary process going, sometimes we send trend-watchers and recon staff to check out what is going on, not all of them come back.
Those that do bring us things, do you want to have a look?
Here at Placely, we wouldn’t want you to go out there without knowing what’s waiting.
Follow me, look.
We know it’s a total cliché, at least in these parts, to talk about songs as artefacts from an alien civilisation. That is normal state of affairs in this blog. If things don’t sound like they were delivered by shapeless envoys droning in a psychic wavelength out of joint with – or even orthogonal to – ours, then what’s the point.
We seek absolution by trying to elicit the source of that alien-ness, or its socio-cultural dynamics as encoded in the music.
In the case of SHACKLETON’s latest release, the tremendous ‘Music for the Quiet Hour/The Drawbar Organ’ (out on Woe To The Septic Heart), we are surrounded by riddims evoking biomechanical rituals that we aren’t yet cognitively prepared to see, and synthetic glyphs hovering curious/threatening like gigantic dragonflies.
And then we have our throat sheared by a fractal-bladed boomerang, our blood poisoned by the hallucinogenic excretions of a Rorschach back toad – alien artefact hurled by an alien predator of savage grace whose lineage is subtly human, albeit adapted to the Cretacean jungles that await in some branches of our future diaspora.
SHACKLETON – Music for the Quiet Hour Pt. 5
Acquire, in vinyl.
Lust for Youth’s droid bounce pays twisted homage to the joyous frivolity of the Rimini super-mannequins, although with all the shine and gloss removed by the abrasive cat tongue of time and entropy, the discrete tininess of the quintessential italo beat broken down into a brown gruel which would be the staple diet for City 17’s worker drones… if the Combine wore more mascara. In vocal duties, we find an emaciated crone, all that’s left of your standard leather-disco-stud, it’s unclear whether he sings from this side of the Styx, or the other.
We collapse from Olympian cocaine heights into a quagmire of decay, looking for beauty.
Lust for Youth – Cover their Faces
Aquire Growing Seeds, in Vynil, from AVANT!.