Pro-dubbed C120 (track repeats both sides) with all-over onbody printing and printed O-card case
It’s like when our minds are volcanos, just blasting out neurons.
I’m not quite sure how to describe this release - the latest by Blue Tapes supergroup The Blue Tapes House Band - which I think is a good thing. I mean, I could say that it sounds like a column of white-hot star matter scrolling at lightspeed into the gaping maw of a black hole, which is TOTALLY what it sounds like to me, but that would probably be quite pretentious, and actually maybe that isn’t how it sounds at all, but rather how I interpret it when I listen, volume cranked to infinity, eyes clenched shut.
Light and heat and antimatter and void.
We can probably agree that whatever this 57 min blast of energy is comprised of, the way it is heading is UP. Utterly indefinable noise and not-quite shapes being sucked upwards forever, while two sentient forces swirl within, bound in some cosmic hate-ballet. These wormhole angels are played on this recording by Oxbow’s Eugene S. Robinson and Map 71’s Lisa Jayne, whose spoken word utterances throughout this infernoscape feel locked like horns - simultaneously at odds and of a piece.
This is the most intense recording this label has ever released. The only thing matching it in terms of sheer transdimensional horror is Jute Gyte’s epic avant-black metal reading of 20th century American poetry on The Sparrow.
It doesn’t appear to contain a note of music. Which is weird, because I know there are some in there - because I committed many of them to hard drive via my BC Rich guitar when I sent the seeds of this piece to Matt Collins. My only explanation for what could have happened to them is that Matt expanded each riff and scrape and lead out and out until he could see and poke in amongst the individual atoms, and then smashed those atoms hard into each other in some kind of globe-traversing particle accelerator.
And then probably the ‘music’ is just him making a field recording of that, I don’t know.
We’ve been keeping ourselves to ourselves to a while, conscious of not wanting to take up too much room. But fuck it, it’s 2019, Blue Tapes is back, and we got obnoxious as hell. Jack in to these sounds, incinerate your mind, transubstantiate.