Posterior Vitreous Detachment
(Nyahh) 2xCD $16.75
"Beyond timing, past masterfully braided timbres, the six sides and 128 minutes of Posterior Vitreous Detachment aren’t just gorgeous musically, they are the lost sound library of Alexandria itself, an indefatigable degustation, squirming sushi along an undulating conveyor one glutting morsel climbing onto another, the eaten eating, a rising gorge of nascent hunger so that somehow there is room for all of it. S*Glass sustains 20-minute tracks without once tiring or sating or abusing the supple insides of the listener. Restraint is his secret. The admission of sampled speech sets the leg spasming at the phantom itch of language context. But it’s gone just as quickly, mind’s fading laugh, oh, then back again! And gone. This music is pieced together from silent scavengery. Found objects fleeing a burning field, spotted with a falcon’s eye, neatly picked off and tucked into their place, adorning a monstrous nest. There are scenes here we’ll never see for all the choking smoke. Search your thoughts as you listen and you’ll find you simply aren’t there. This is demonic music, a hologram in sound and sense, the parergon unseen, flushing us out. Beyond sensory immersion there are conceptual analogs to all these tracks as wide in sweep as the sound and timbres are deep in fathom. You’ll feel but never know them. Look into the face of this incalculable dimension, hope it returns a glance, trying your best for neoteny so it won’t snap, or, worse, ignore you. Hope the world keeps communicating its dimension, keeps probing you through the epidermal veil, hope for a buzzing plane above, distant screams of strangers behind, unstartable motors, raving expectorations, yes, tuneless ragtime against a church-steeple carillon, ache for a rusted car door, radio sizzle, diving-board rebound, stammering phonemes. What does it want? What is wanting?" —pHarmar Histamine
See and hear "See You 'round the Internment Camp" here: https://youtu.be/sMqmOIL18z4?si=yVN2dDUl344CSY45
Make Holidays
(Chocolate Monk) CDR $7.00 (Out-of-stock)
COMING IN NOVEMBER. Fresh off a two-year stint in Iceland and a two-week holiday through Austria and Germany, Buffers is back with four servings of summer-encrusted collage. German supermarkets, Icelandic harbors, and heatstroke radler abound, topped off with a needle-stuck art song loop. A fond farewell to another blistering summer. Edition of 50
JULIAN BRADLEY / KAREN CONSTANCE
Wall of Girl
(Chocolate Monk) CDR $7.00 (Out-of-stock)
COMING IN NOVEMBER. Beautiful electronic miniatures which have, much to the surprise of Wilma Bones, “a distinct musical bent to them. These ‘two of little words’ serve it all up in an evaporating broth of bird chirps and voltaic wheezing. Floating magnetized dust particles enshroud dinky wee loops that crepitate and bubble. Frequencies wheeze and serene noises bloom. Guaranteed to soothe and reduce your frothing.” Edition of 50
The Sounds of Silage: A Brief History of Poetrie Concrète
(Chocolate Monk) Magazine + CDR $13.00 (Out-of-stock)
COMING IN NOVEMBER. Two musical miscreants, both with fillings missing from their sandwiches hold hands so that we can huff up the audio and visual goo they excrete. On the audio side Welch’s vocal jabberings and percussive schwack get processed through the sonic snarfle of Ortmann's magic boxes, resulting in two tracks of hyper focused concrète gubbins. A finely stitched patchwork indeed. The accompanying booklet brims with gaudy collage, ink scrawlings and digital eye farts all suitable for perusing while you sit on the naughty step. Edition of 50
Jazz Isn’t Real
(Chocolate Monk) CDR $7.00 (Out-of-stock)
COMING IN NOVEMBER. Mike Holland and Paul Margree fiddled with their usual cheap junk and lo-fi blurt, waited 12 months, thought about chopping out the good bits for a quick and dirty bootleg style release, waited another year, and “whaddayaknow, all that cavalier cut and splice has morphed into finickity micro-edits, sauced with some entry-level software splutter and a few more of dollops of the street-weird utterances that exert a gravitational pull over Holland’s chromosomes and phone mic,” says Magree. “Here we are then. Not that we’d ever want it to sound nice or good or professional or anything like that. But maybe our aimless migraine drift has taken on a bit more shape and structure. Dirty puddles rather than grey clouds. Ready to go? Back to bed.” Edition of 50