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theotherjourney7 · 4 years ago

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“I was gonna leave The Week In Tory until Friday the 2nd October but at their current rate it'll be very long by then, and I'm worried about you, mate.

It's OK to get drunk on at 5pm on Monday the 28th of September, isn't it? Well, that's my recommendation anyway. Here goes...

1. In June UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson said to Black Lives Matter protestors: “I hear you”, and acknowledged the “incontrovertible, undeniable feeling of injustice” that “we simply cannot ignore”

So obviously, 40 Tory MPs refused to take part in unconscious bias training

2. The government shut pubs an hour early, seemingly under the impression coronavirus (an inert, sub-microscopic infectious entity with no brain or nervous system) can tell the time.

The government demanded we all follow the rules

The government exempted House Of Commons bars from the rules

3. Health Minister Helen Whately said “people who get drunk and leave the pub to keep on partying should remember their responsibility for the nation’s health”

Helen Whateley, who is *actually* responsible for the nation’s health, was sober when she said this. Presumably

4. After 6 months of world-leading “throwing apps in the bin but taking the cash anyway”, the government finally proudly released an NHS Testing App

It didn't work with NHS tests

Or on 18% of phones

Or in Scotland or Northern Ireland

And a report said only 10% of the us will use it, cos we don’t trust Dominic Cummings with our data

Nor should we: the Data Commissioner said Cummings' proposed changes to privacy law will see the UK barred from sharing global data, and cost the UK economy "up to £80bn"

5. Meanwhile the promise of 500,000 tests per day won’t be reached because, in news that should shock nobody, the government failed to order enough raw materials

So the government stopped releasing evidence of how many are being tested, cos if you don't look at it, it isn't real

6. The government, which only weeks ago was demanding we go back to work or all get sacked, now demands we all stay at home

7. Them the government said the reason the UK had the worst Covid response AND worst economy in Europe is because we are “freedom-loving”

8. And then government freedom-lovingly banned schools from using any materials that criticised capitalism

Not content with this, they also banned schools discussing “victim narratives”, which is going to make it tough to maintain their national anti-bullying strategy

9. And then a leaked report said the government was planning to freedom-lovingly deploy the military on the streets

10. Meanwhile, the government announced only 24% of businesses have done any preparation for Brexit, and only 30% of cross-channel HGVs have the correct paperwork

11. The government finally admitted what they’d been told repeatedly since 2016, and said Brexit would create 2-day queues of 7000 lorries at Channel ports

7000 lorries (at the average 16.5m each) is 1155km. That’s a queue over 70 miles long. Every day.

To solve this, the government announced a new internal border in Kent, helpfully relocating 70 miles of queues to London, Essex, Surrey and East Sussex instead

A month ago, Tory MP Sir Edward Leigh was demanding we “take back” Calais. Now we’re essentially abandoning Kent.

Because we only had 4 years to plan for this, our lovely new border will start on 1 January and be controlled by software that – and you should probably open a second bottle around now - won’t be ready until at least 4 months later

Oh, and border checks won’t be ready in Northern Ireland either

But we might not have a problem anyway: it was revealed there are just 2000 EU haulage permits for our 40,000 UK hauliers. That’s 5% of what we need, for any Govt Ministers struggling with the maths

12. And we don’t even have enough pallets for the goods we import, cos we currently rely on a supply we share with the EU, and have neither the wood nor the treatment plants, nor the required chemicals to make and treat our own

So now the government has to make a 200m border, a mechanism for policing it, an internal passport system, software, admin, buy 38,000 permits and grow enough trees for 700,000 pallets. In 3 months.

It had 5 months to add up some A-Level results, and that went swimmingly

13. I’m sure supply-and-demand won’t force prices sky high, cos it never does when you have 5% of the food the nation needs and a govt which boasts about breaking the law, but it was also announced tariffs will add £3.1bn to the nation’s food bill in Jan 2021

14. As a mark of confidence, Jim Ratcliffe, Britain’s richest man and a leading Brexiteer, buggered off to Monaco

15. And an unnamed minister was quoted: “We are stuck in a bind. If we try to cancel Brexit we destroy ourselves; if we go ahead with it we destroy the country”

16. The London School of Economics reported the long-term cost of Brexit will be 2-3 times the cost of Covid

So Rishi Sunak cancelled the budget, cos once again, if you don’t look at it, it doesn’t exist

17. JPMorgan shifted £200 billion out of the UK and into Germany calling it “a result of Brexit”.

At least 22% of our entire national economy depends on international banks based in the City of London, so when the largest one fucks off, it's a relaxing development

18. Former Prime Minister Theresa May said the government’s bill to break international law is “reckless” and “risks the integrity of the United Kingdom”

19. The Attorney General, who takes an oath to parliament, the Queen and The Bar to observe the law, said she was “very proud” to be breaking the law

The UK is a signatory and legal guarantor of the Good Friday Agreement, which brought peace to the island of Ireland after 3600 violent deaths. The Attorney General, who is sworn to maintain peace, says Brexit will break the GFA, and she is “extremely proud” of that too.

Turns out, the advisory Professor who told her she should go ahead and break the law and endanger peace in Ireland is the partner of Michael Gove’s special advisor. It’s amazing, these coincidences. Almost as if they don’t want to listen to anybody else

20. Speaking of which, UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s old friend and unfailingly irrumating backer (google it) Charles Moore, who has spent his life demanding the end of the BBC, and said the BBC causes "human misery worthy of Dickens" (does he mean Mrs Brown's Boys?) is in line to run the BBC

And it was reported ex Daily Mail Editor Paul Dacre, who shouts c*unt so much his meetings are called “the vagina monologues”, and whose paper is banned as a Wiki reference cos it lies so often, is going to be put in charge of Ofcom: ensuring decent and honest broadcasting

Oh yeah, and Boris Johnson tweeted “a free press is vital in holding the government to account”, which is probably why the people holding his govt to account are being replaced with his mates and cheerleaders

21. Tory MP and successful conscience-donor Andrea Jenkins got paid £25k from a thinktank that doesn’t exist

22. And because no list is complete without a disturbing nocturnal visitation from the smirking angel of death, Home Office Secretary Priti Patel was accused of incitement to racial hatred

23. Whilst Patel, Jenkyns and the Attorney General were busy redefining “the party of Law and Order” the rest of the govt took a wild swing at “the party of fiscal responsibility”, when it was revealed the government has wasted £3,895,556,000 since March.

This includes unsafe testing kits; face masks that don’t work; broken tracing systems; useless antibody tests; cancelled ventilator challenge; and inexplicable contracts to sweet manufacturers and dormant companies with no employees, to provide PPE that never arrived!

24. The government, which insisted schools and universities reopened, said it was now vital to lock down students and prevent them from mixing in large groups

And then the government said it was sanctioning class sizes of up to 60 which ... remind me, is that more or fewer than 6?

25. Health Secretary Matt Hancock said “we’re giving up to 11,000 iPads to care homes to enable residents to connect with loved ones”

“Up to” is a bit telling, but even if it’s 11,000, there are 21,700 care homes in the UK. I guess they’ll just have to share. Goodbye forever, nana!

26. And finally, if you feel all alone in despairing at this: you aren’t. Belief in Britain as a “global force for good” has fallen 10% since 2019. I, for one, am shocked to the core....”-Russ

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dustedmagazine · 4 years ago

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Dust Volume 7, Number 1

Phicus

Another year, another volume of Dust, which means we’ve been collecting these brief, pithy reviews for seven years now. This time around, we sample the usual cornucopia of genres, from ambient death metal to Iranian punk to noisy skree to shoegaze-y lookalikes to polyglot global dj grooves, with the usual stops in free jazz and improvisatory environments. Contributors include Jonathan Shaw, Bill Meyer, Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Bryon Hayes and Andrew Forell.

Aberration — S/T (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Aberration by Aberration

Not sure what “ambient dark death metal” is, but recently formed band Aberration claims to play it. The “ambient” bit may be a nod to the drone that sometimes resonates deep in the mix of the three songs on this 10” EP. Other than that, Aberration’s music sounds pretty typical of the death metal created by bands on the primitive, murky end of the genre’s sonic continuum. Some of the musicians are in other, more established projects: John Hancock plays guitar and provides vocals in the widely admired death doom outfit Void Rot, Dylan Haseltine plays bass and sings for the blackened death metal (mostly black metal, it seems to me) band the Suffering Hour. Those bands have much more specific musical identities, and their intense records express the players’ clarity of vision. Perhaps Aberration wants to live up to its name, presenting something unprecedented, an unpleasant mutation — and hence, perhaps, the decision to release the vinyl version of the EP on an unusual format. That’s sort of fun. The music is not. But that’s nothing new in death metal, and to be honest, these songs don’t warrant the announcement of a new sub-subgenre. They are just fine, if you like your death metal atavistic, cavernous and claustrophobic. But an aberration? Nope. Maybe a weeping pustule. In death metal, isn’t that enough?

Jonathan Shaw

Steve Baczkowski / Bill Nace — Success (Notice)

Success by Steve Baczkowski/Bill Nace

Dallas is synonymous with a sort of excess that begs to be perceived as success. Old TV shows, memories of oil, nation-splitting politics, you name it; it’s bigger, badder and gaudier in Dallas. A tape of a free improv show that was recorded at a Dallas bookstore might not fit your preconceptions of longhorn accomplishment, but go ahead and tell that to Steve Baczkowski and Bill Nace. If they answer at all, they might let you gently know that it’s your problem, and then pop in the tape. This 42-minute-long recording will hook you by the belt, take off into the stratosphere, drag you through an asteroid belt, and deposit your cindered remains by the bar (yes, The Wild Detectives serves liquor as well as literature) before the tape reverses. That still leaves plenty of time savor the duo’s mastery of transition, from stout-sounded duel to fading filigree framing the sounds of the cash register opening and closing. Yeah, that’s the sound of Success.

Bill Meyer

Aidan Baker — There/Not There (Consouling Sounds)

There / Not There by Aidan Baker

Unsurprisingly, 2020 doesn’t seem to have slowed Aidan Baker (Nadja, WERL, Caudal, Hypnodrone Ensemble, and many more) much at all. Of the many records released under his own name, the recent There/Not There stands out for being a surprisingly accessible entry to his personal metal/drone/ambient/shoegaze melting pot, even given the opening 20-minute title track. “There/Not There” marries some whispery shoegaze songwriting with a beautifully monomaniacal repeating drone. Over the course of the track, it does slowly transition until we get to a crescendo as intense as any Baker’s done, but even more so than normal the unwary might get lured in by the low key, blissful opening and the frog-boiling slowness with which the tension is ratcheted up. One of the other two tracks is really just a way to section off the real noise-squall coda of “There/Not There” but then “Paris (Lost)” offers a more concise, quieter storm version of the same framework. Like a lot of Baker’s work, it sneaks up on you, but when it hits it hits hard.

Ian Mathers

Ballrogg — Rolling Ball (Clean Feed)

Rolling Ball by Ballrogg

The Scandinavian combo Ballrogg changes direction once again on Rolling Ball. Founders Klaus Ellerhusen Holm (clarinets) and Roger Arntzen (bass), who are both Norwegian, started out reinvestigating the folksy jazz vibe of Jimmy Giuffre, then sought out a new home on the range by adding slide guitarist Ivar Grydeland. Now, incoming Swedish guitarist David Stackenäs and his rack of pedals have redirected the trio into a technology-enhanced future. Not the sci-fi imaginings of Sun Ra, but a future more like 2019 might look if you stepped straight into it from 1959; in some ways quite familiar, but in others, different enough to be disorienting. The Giuffre-esque and country elements are still there, but when punctuated by minimalist-influenced compositional flourishes and illuminated by the diffuse, digital flicker of Stackenäs’ effects, it suddenly becomes clear that those Viking cowboys didn’t put a key in the ignition before they drove out towards the horizon.

Bill Meyer

Bipolar — S-T (Slovenly)

BIPOLAR "Bipolar" EP by Bipolar

For a band named Bipolar, with a single called “Depression,” this EP sure is a lot of fun. Two of the band’s mainstays are apparently Iranian emigres, now seeking the more permissive environs of Brooklyn. (The only hint of that exotic origin is in “Sad Clown,” where there might be an imam exhorting the faithful, but who knows? I don’t speak Farsi.) One of them sometimes plays keyboard with the Spits, and in fact, the Spits are a pretty good reference point for these hard, fast, bratty songs. “Virus” pummels a relentless pogo beat, the one-two of the drums rocketing ever faster, the shouted all-hands chorus in tumbling sync. “Fist Fight” is even more exhilarating, with its blaring, roiling guitar blast and adrenaline-raising refrain, “It’s a fist fight. It’s a fist fight.” There’s nothing profound here, but it’s a good time.

Jennifer Kelly

Bosq — Y Su Descarga Internacional (Bacalao)

Y Su Descarga Internacional by bosq

Bosq, a globally omnivorous DJ formerly based in Boston (real name Benjamin Woods), recently moved to Colombia, perhaps to get closer to his source material. The Colombian influence is certainly strong on Y Su Descarga Internacional, which opens with a scorching “Rumbero,” featuring the Afro-Colombian star Nidia Góngora. Dorkas, another singer from Colombia, follows immediately with “Mi Arizal,” an intricately textured dance track which erupts with fiery bursts of Latin brass. Justo Valdez, whose Son Palenque did much to define the Cartagena sound in the 1960s and 1970s, drops by for two of the album’s best tracks: a rollicking “Mambue” and the hand-drummed, bass-thumping hand-clapping “Onombitamba.” And yet the album doesn’t just document the singers and artists of Bosq’s new home. Kaleta, a Benin-based Afro-beat artist who has worked with Fela Kuti and Eqypt 80, takes the lead on funk psych “Omo Iya” and the stirring, horn squalling “Wake Up.” Bosq knows how to pick collaborators, and there’s not a dud track on the disc, but wouldn’t almost anyone sound like a genius in company like this?

Jennifer Kelly

Deuce Avenue — Death of Natural Light (Crash Symbols)

Death of Natural Light by Deuce Avenue

If you are a lurker of the cassette underground, you may remember a West Virginian outfit called Social Junk appearing in the mid-aughts. This duo offered up crackling melodic scree, blown out murky fuzz and semi-coherent mouth sounds like an industrialized version of The Dead C or a new wave outfit newly recovered post-coma. Noah Anthony, the male half of Social Junk, has since moved on to releasing solo material under both the Profligate and Deuce Avenue monikers. The latter is the more recent project and is quite minimal compared to his other work. With Death of Natural Light, there are no cold wave rhythms and vocals à la Profligate. What’s left is a dank, steamy vapor. Contrails of filter-swept hiss slowly develop into a more enigmatic and darkened tonal palette. The ominousness continues to thread its way into the second half of the cassette, fittingly entitled “Blood Turns Black”. Loops of nocturnal jump scare fodder coalesce into rhythms that provide skeletal forms to foil the menace of the more oblique textures. Those who enjoy their horror in slow motion will latch onto these sounds like a facehugger to… …well, a person’s face.

Bryon Hayes

Fleeting Joys — Despondent Transponder (Only Forever)

Despondent Transponder by Fleeting Joys

Let’s start with the obvious. Despondent Transponder sounds a lot like MBV’s Loveless, with wild sirening guitar tones, waves of noise-y feedback, thunderous drumming and sweet, fragile lyrics engulfed in the swirl. “Go and Come Back” has the same fluttering guitar melody as the great “To Here Knows When,” while “Satellite” blusters with the dopplering, dissonance-addled grandeur as “I Only Said.” Fleeting Joys — that was Rorika Loring singing and playing bass and John Loring on guitar and vox — never made any secret of their love of MBV. Despondent Transponder was an homage right from the start. The album was the debut for this Sacramento-based twosome, released originally in 2006, then as now on Loring’s own Only Forever label. And yet, while no one will ever top Loveless, from an ear-bleeding psych-noise daydream perspective, this one has its own particular beauties. “Magnificent Oblivion” surrounds a lullaby-pure melody with a reeling, caterwauling mesh of inchoate sound; guitar notes stream off in bending contrails as Rorika murmurs sweetly into the mic. “Patron Saint” lurches to motion on a Frankenstein bass riff, but softens the brutality with calming washes of vocal hypnotism. It’s all super beautiful and, anyway, even after the reunion, there aren’t nearly enough MBV albums. Plenty of room for a band that sounds so similar.

Jennifer Kelly

Get Smart! — Oh Yeah No (Capitol Punishment)

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Push play: driving staccato guitars, rubbery bass lines, lockstep drums, declamatory vocals and it’s the mid-1980s all over again. Lawrence, Kansas trio Get Smart! — Marcus Koch (guitar, vocals) Lisa Wertman Crowe (bass, vocals) and Frank Loose (drums, vocals) — have that timeless mixture of English post-punk and American indie down. Then see that 33 years after it was recorded Oh Yeah No finally sees the light of day on the back of the band’s reformation. Time and the cycle of musical fashions are fickle beasts and in this case the wheels turn in Get Smart!’s favor. They sound both of their time and thoroughly in tune with the steady flow of recent guitar bands mining this lode of choppy, melodic indie. The Embarrassment, Big Dipper, Pylon and other regional heroes are being rediscovered and reassessed and, here’s the thing, Get Smart! are really good at what they do and this six-track EP is both a testament and, hopefully, a taste of what the future may hold.

Andrew Forell

Rich Halley / Matthew Shipp / Michael Bisio / Newman Taylor Baker — The Shape Of Things (Pine Eagle Records)

The Shape of Things by Rich Halley

If the bolt strikes twice, it’s probably not lightning. The Shape Of Things is the second successful meeting between Rich Halley, a tenor saxophonist based in the Pacific Northwest, and the current members of the Matthew Shipp Trio. The album is, like its predecessor Terra Incognita, a congress of strengths. Shipp’s trio follows the pianist easily into one of his classic roles, that of supplying sonic foundation and harmonic framing for an extroverted saxophonist. Halley fights right into the spaces that they create, rippling easily over the trio’s turbulent surfaces. He works within the broader jazz tradition, sounding equally at home patiently sketching a lyrical line and blowing raw, acidic cries. This ensemble plays achieves a state of centered abandon which feels wilder than Halley’s recordings with West Coast musicians, but fits right into the spectrum that contains Shipp’s work with the David S. Ware Quartet and Ivo Perelman.

Bill Meyer

A Hutchie — Potion Shop (Cosmic Resonance)

Potion Shop by A Hutchie

Hamilton, Ontario-based producer Aaron Hutchinson has his fingers in many pies. He nimbly dispenses free jazz, hip hop, outré pop and even more enigmatic forms of song. Potion Shop is his debut LP, although he is a long-time fixture in the Steeltown music scene. This immersion in a small, tight-knit domain has led to many fruitful collaborations. Hutchinson features many of his compatriots in these recordings, in which his music snakes alongside their vocal stylings. Mutant 21st century soul singlehandedly played by Hutchinson is a foil for the slam poetry of Benita Whyte and Ian Keteku, the latter of which the producer warps with a vocoder. Sarah Good’s vocals morph into those of a ghostly chanteuse among smeared strings, while the soulful Blankie swims beneath narcotic R&B beats. When imbibing these intoxicating concoctions, you will be immersed in a warmth of familiarity tempered with the unsettling yet exciting sense of the uncanny. Like absinthe, the disquiet is illusory while the intimacy is authentic.

Bryon Hayes

Imha Tarikat — Sternenberster (Prophecy Productions)

STERNENBERSTER by IMHA TARIKAT

Imha Tarikat’s principal member Ruhsuz Cellât (stage name of Kerem Yilmaz) breaks with black metal orthodoxy by musically engaging his family’s Muslim heritage. That’s a provocative move in an artform dominated by glib nihilism, rampant anti-religious sentiment and (somehow sometimes all at the same time) ardent claims of Satanist faith. And that distinction at the symbolic level likely doesn’t come near the intensities of being of Turkish descent, living and recording in Germany, in a scene that flirts (and at its extreme margins actively identifies) with fascism. Beyond those ideological and social dimensions is the music. Imha Tarikat demonstrates facility with tremolo riffs and song forms that twist and snake even as they hammer and pummel. But Cellât’s unusual vocal style cuts against convention’s grain, and it’s immediately apparent as album opener “Ekstase ohne Ende” commences. There’s a lot of grunting and hollering, but rather than contorting his voice, shrieking and croaking in mode of most black metal vocalists, Cellât goes for more straightforward intensity. He often shouts, and the lyrics frequently come in bunches, explosive and punctuated bursts of verbiage, but he makes no attempt to distort the lyrics or his voice. I wish my grasp of German were even halfway close to fluent, in order to report on the lyrics’ thematic content with some coherence — because Cellât clearly wants the words to be heard.

Jonathan Shaw

Jon Irabagon / Mike Pride / Mick Barr / Ava Mendoza — Don’t Hear Nothin’ But The Blues Vol 3 Anatomical Snuffbox (Irrabagast Records)

I Don't Hear Nothin' but the Blues Volume 3: Anatomical Snuffbox by Jon Irabagon

Never mind the blues; if you don’t exercise caution, when you’re done playing this loud-at-any-volume recording, you won’t hear nothin’. The latest installment in tenor saxophonist John Irabagon’s series of one-track, meta-blues recordings starts out with a spray of sound as bracing as Saharan sandstorm, but quickly solidifies into a veritable wall of sound. At the outset, Irabagon and drummer Mike Pride engage in a high-speed dance of charge and countercharge which, if heard without accompaniment, would sit comfortably on the same shelf as your Mars Williams and Mats Gustafsson records. But when you put guitarists Mick Barr and Ava Mendoza on the same stage and tell them both to start shredding, the effect is somewhat akin to putting the pyrotechnic specialists in charge of the circus. Subtlety, dynamics and even the oxygen you breath all disappear as everything catches fire. If any of the participants here have effectively bent your ear, you ought to listen all the way through once. By the time it’s done, you’ll know in your heart whether you ever need to hear it again.

Bill Meyer

John Kolodij — First Fire / At Dawn (Astral Editions)

First Fire • At Dawn by John Kolodij

Where there’s fire, there’s often smoke, and while this tape claims alignment with Hephaestus’ element, it’s more likely to evoke thick clouds. As the capstans turn, the murk of “At Fire” accumulates gradually, filling the room with an increasingly dense atmosphere. By the time you notice flashes of flame, it’s too late. “At Dawn” brings to mind a lesser conflagration — maybe the embers of the previous night’s campfire. John Kolodij (who has, until recently, recorded mainly under the name High Aura’d) pushes his heavily processed guitar sound into the background, where it lurks with a bit of birdsong, and leads with an unamplified banjo and acoustic guitar. Fiddler Anna RG (of Anna & Elizabeth) further bolsters the melody while some sparse percussion played by Sarah Hennies heightens the sense of moment. Once more, a mass of disembodied sound rises up as the piece progresses, but this time the effect is the opposite; instead of getting lost in sound, the listener finds a moment of peace and light.

Bill Meyer

Lytton / Nies / Scott / Wissel — Do They Do Those In Red? (Sound Anatomy)

Do they do those in Red? by Paul Lytton, Joker Nies, Richard Scott, Georg Wissel

“Do they do those in red?” The title may speak to the particular peculiarities of this combo, which is formed from several pre-existing duos, Joker Nies is credited with “electrosapiens,” which seem to be self-constructed electronic instruments, and George Wissel applies various items to his saxophone to modify its sound. Georg Wissel’s synthesizers come with some assembly required, and it would appear that Paul Lytton, best known for playing drum kits and massive percussion assemblages, confines himself in this setting to the stuff he can fit on a tabletop. What, you think your saxophone is prettier because it doesn’t have anything red jammed into a valve?

Moving on to the music, while the sound sources are heavily electronic, the interactive style is rooted in good old-fashioned free improvisation. Lytton’s barrage sounds remarkably similar to what he achieves playing with a full drum kit, and Wissel’s lines may be more fractured, but his alto sound has some of the tonal heft and agility that John Butcher exercises on the tenor. The electronicians’ bristling activity brings to mind a debate between opposite sides of the electrical components aisle at the hardware store, but it’s a lucid one, thoughtfully expressed on both sides.

Bill Meyer

Ikue Mori Satoko Fujii + Natsuki Tamura — Prickly Pear Cactus (Libra)

Prickly Pear Cactus by Ikue Mori, Satoko Fujii, Natsuki Tamura

Pianist Satoko Fujii and trumpeter Natsuki Tamura spent February 2020 touring Europe with their combo Kaze, which they’d augmented with the electronic musician, Ikue Mori. As lockdown wore on, they kept the connection going via Zoom chats between their abodes in Kobe and New York. After Fujii shared her experiences of trying to mic and stream her piano online, Mori suggested that she send some recordings. Mori edited what showed up and added her sounds; Tamura contributed additional elements to nearly half the tracks. Some of them are balanced to sound like live recordings, with Mori’s neon squelches and high-res, bell-like tones gathering and dispelling like real-time reactions. Others feel more overtly constructed, with the piano situated within a maelstrom of sounds like a view of a TV set turned on in a room with a party going on.

Bill Meyer

Phicus — Solid (Astral Spirits)

Solid by Phicus

Phicus is the Barcelona-based assemblage of Ferran Fages (electric guitar), Àlex Reviriego (double bass) and Vasco Trilla (drums). The line-up looks like a power trio, and if you heard them two seconds at a time, you might think that they were. Reviriego and Trilla each play in ways that convey a sense of motion, and Fages’ bent notes and serrated harmonics are just the sort of sounds to cap off a display of guitar heroics. But if you note that each track is named for an element or chemical compound, and that the album is called Solid, you might get a clearer idea of their concerns. This music is all about essential relationships, and its makers are more interested in making things coexist in productive ways than they are in re-enacting rituals borrowed from jazz, fusion or free improvisation. That means that even the sharpest sounds don’t hook you, nor do the fleetest charges carry you away. Phicus isn’t interested in settling for the familiar. But if you’re ready to observe that thing that looks like a duck making sounds that ducks never make, you’ll find plenty to ponder on Solid.

Bill Meyer

Quietus — Volume Five (Ever/Never)

Volume Five by Quietus

Quietus songs unfurl like cream in coffee, spiraling curlicues of light into dark liquid drones amid clanking blocks of percussion. The songs expand in organic ways, picking up purpose in the steady pound of rhythm, strutting even, in a loose-limbed rock-soul-psych way you might recognize from Brian Jonestown Massacre’s “Anemone” or Grinderman’s “I Don’t Need You to Set Me Free,” but quieter, much quieter, and seething with submerged ideas. The words are mumbled, croaked, submerged in surface hum, but when pushed up towards the surface, arresting. “This life can be sunlit hills turned all to their angry sides,” murmurs Quietus proprietor Geoffrey Bankowski in the relatively concise “Reflex of Purpose,” which sprawls anyway, notwithstanding its 2:36 minute duration. The music’s better, though, when it’s allowed to find its slow way forward, unconforming to any pre-existing ideas of how long a pop song should be. I like the closer “Posthemmorrhagic,” the best, as guitars both tortured and prayerful intertwine, and Bankowski breathes slow, moaning poetry into a close mic, and the song revolves in three-time like the last dancer on the floor, not just tonight but forever.

Jennifer Kelly

Ritual Extra — In Luthero (Dinzu Artefacts)

In Luthero by Ritual Extra

In Luthero was performed inside an empty water cistern, and the ensuing reverberations act as microscopic versions of the grander ebb and flow within which French-Finnish trio Ritual Extra operate. Percussionist Julien Chamla’s cymbal scrapes and tom hits form a backdrop of bomb blasts and shrieking, missives from some war-torn locale long since vacated by the populace. Steel structures seem to groan and collapse as they are rattled by percussive ordnance. This bleak setting is given a sense of color by Lauri Hyvärinen’s acoustic guitar. A stew of string scrapes diverges into discrete plucks, which morph into strums. The metronomic chords are enriched as they bounce around the walls of the cistern, folding in on themselves through echo, becoming a mechanical mantra. Tuukka Haapakorpi’s voice rises from the ashes, soaring polysyllabically yet wordlessly. As In Luthero begins to take shape, these vocalizations are almost inhuman: whispers and gurgles that come on in waves. Later, more anthropoid utterances take shape, yet fall just shy of coalescing into a discernable language. Across 24 minutes, Ritual Extra musically narrate the pre-history of humankind, the primordial essence from which everything good — and bad — about us originated.

Bryon Hayes

Subjective Pitch Matching Band — Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts (Remote Works)

Twenty-One Subjectivities in Six Parts by Subjective Pitch Matching Band

Chris Brian Taylor has trod a serpentine path on the journey that culminated in the creation of his first large ensemble electroacoustic composition. His roots are in punk and rave — he still DJs house and techno — but he recently shifted his gaze toward improvised electronics. Rather than stifling his ambition, COVID-19 and the ensuing lockdown encouraged him to think big: he would cast a wide net and compose a piece of music for as many people as he could get to participate. He reached out to friends, relatives, and internet acquaintances to assemble his orchestra, and borrowed the melody and chords from Pet Shop Boys’ “Being Boring” to act as the foundation of the work. Twenty people responded from a variety of musical disciplines, and all agreed to participate remotely. The composer gave each player audio cues to work with and encouraged the performers to respond subjectively. They could either stay true to the pitches provided, harmonize against them, or play ornamentally. Taylor collected the resulting tracks and structured the resulting thirty-minute piece of music based on what the respondents provided. Dense yet graceful, the composition unfolds like a slow-motion blaze. Flames of sonority form a sinuous body from which sparks of discrete sound leap heavenward. There is nary a moment of silence, as Taylor weaves a plethora of long tones together to form an undulating core over which stabs of piano, guitar and percussion materialize momentarily. Naivete didn’t keep Chris Brian Taylor from aiming as high as he could with this piece, and we are the benefactors of this ambition, rewarded with a rich and complex sonic brew to enjoy.

Bryon Hayes

TV Priest — Uppers (Sub Pop)

Uppers by TV Priest

TV Priest works the same corrosive, hyper-verbal furrow as Idles or, in a looser sense, the Sleaford Mods, spatter chanting harsh, literate strings of gutter poetry over a clanking post-punk cadence. The vocalist Charlie Drinkwater snarls and sputters charismatically over the clatter, a brutalist commentator on life and pop culture. The band is sharp and minimalist, drums (Ed Kelland) to the front, guitar (Alex Sprogis) stabbing hard at stripped raw riffs , bass (Nic Bueth) rumbling like mute rage in the back of the bar. And yet, though anger is a primary flavor, these songs surge with triumph as in the wall-shaking cadences of “Press Gang,” the blistering sarcasm of “The Big Curve.” This is a relatively new band, their first and only tour cut short at one gig by the lockdown, but the songs are tight as hell on record and likely to pin you to the back wall live. “Bad news, like buses, comes in twos,” intones Drinkwater on theclearly autobiographical “Journal of a Plague Year” against an irregular post-everything clangor, loose and disdainful and hardly arsed to entertain us; it’s as fitting an anthem as any for our lost 2020. But when band gets moving, as on the chugging, corroscating “Decoration,” it’s unstoppable, a monstrous thing bursting “through to the next round.” Sure, I’ll have another.

Jennifer Kelly

Voice Imitator — Plaza (12XU)

Plaza by Voice Imitator

Voice Imitator, from Melbourne, Australia, rips a hard punk vortex through its songs, ratcheting up the drums to battering ram violence, blistering the guitar sound and scrawling wild metallic vocals over it all, with nods to noisy post-hardcore bands like the Jesus Lizard and McClusky. “A Small Cauliflower” takes things down to a seething, menacing whisper, Mark Groves, the singer, presiding over an uneasy mesh of tamped down dissonance and hustle. “Adult Performer” is faster and more limber, all clicking urgency and sudden bursts of detuned, surging squall. All four members—that’s Per Bystrom, Justin Fuller, Groves and Leon O’Regan—have been in a ton of other bands, and the sounds they make here have the rupturing precision of well-honed violence. If you like Protomartyr but wish it was lots louder and more corrosive, here you go.

Jennifer Kelly

Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter — Grist (Ugexplode)

Grist by Sam Weinberg / Henry Fraser / Weasel Walter

Ornette Coleman once called a record In All Languages; these guys ought call one Any And All Possibilities. Saxophonist Sam Weinberg, bassist Henry Fraser and drummer (this time, anyway) Weasel Walter are scrupulous student of improvisation in all its guises, and they’re ready and able to use what they know. You could call it free jazz, for they certainly know how that stuff works, but they’re under no obligation to swing; that’d be a limit, you see. This music bursts, darts, expands and contracts in a sequence of second by second negotiations of shape and velocity.

Bill Meyer

Chris Weisman — Closer Tuning (Self-Released)

Closer Tuning by Chris Weisman

Chris Weisman is a Brattleboro, VT songwriter, in the general orbit (not a member but seems to know a bunch of them) of the late, great Feathers and one-time member of Kyle Thomas’ other outfit, the fuzz pop band Happy Birthday. A shunner of all sorts of limelight, he is nonetheless very productive. Closer Tuning is one of five albums he home recorded and released in 2020. You might expect a certain lo-fi folksiness and there is, indeed, a dream-y, soft focus rusticity to the tangled acoustic guitar jangle, the blunt down home-i-ness lyrics. And yet, there’s a good deal more than that in Closer Tuning. The chords progress softly, gently but in unexpected ways, a reminder of Weisman’s jazz guitar training, and the sound is warm and enveloping and every so slightly off-kilter, as if filtered through someone else’s memory. Cuts like “Petit Revolution,” with its close shroud of harmonies, its eerie, antic guitar cadence, feel like Beach Boys psychedelia left out in the garden to sprout, or more to the point, like Wendy Eisenberg’s brainy, left-of-center pop puzzles. “My Talent” is hedged in with blooming bent notes and scrambling string scratches, but its center is radiant, weird, astral folk along the lines of Alexander Tucker. “Hey,” says Weisman, in its slow dreaming chorus, “I gave my talent away.” Lucky us.

A.A. Williams — Forever Blue (Bella Union)

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There’s a dim and shadowy corner where heavy music, orchestral music and post-rock all meet, and A.A. Williams’ music resides there as naturally as anyone else’s. That’s what you might expect when you get a professional cellist who fell hard for metal as a teenager and then started writing songs after finding a guitar on the street. After an EP her first LP is the kind of assured, consistently strong debut that balances calmly measured beauty with the kind of crushing peaks that give that sometimes hoary quiet/loud dynamic a good name. At its best, like the opening “All I Asked For (Was to End it All)” and “Dirt” (featuring vocals from Wild Beasts’ Tom Fleming), Forever Blue is as gothically ravishing as you could hope for, and by the time it ends with spectral lament “I’m Fine” it might tempt even those not traditionally inclined that way to don the ceremonial black eyeliner.

Ian Mathers

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a-dinosaur-a-day · 5 years ago

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Balaeniceps rex

By Olaf Oliviero Riemer, CC BY-SA 3.0

Etymology: Whale Head

First Described By: Gould, 1850

Classification: Dinosauromorpha, Dinosauriformes, Dracohors, Dinosauria, Saurischia, Eusaurischia, Theropoda, Neotheropoda, Averostra, Tetanurae, Orionides, Avetheropoda, Coelurosauria, Tyrannoraptora, Maniraptoromorpha, Maniraptoriformes, Maniraptora, Pennaraptora, Paraves, Eumaniraptora, Averaptora, Avialae, Euavialae, Avebrevicauda, Pygostaylia, Ornithothoraces, Euornithes, Ornithuromorpha, Ornithurae, Neornithes, Neognathae, Neoaves, Aequorlitornithes, Ardeae, Aequornithes, Pelecaniformes, Balaenicipitidae

Status: Extant, Vulnerable

Time and Place: Within the last 10,000 years, in the Holocene of the Quaternary

The Shoebill is known from eastern central Africa

Physical Description: There is no other dinosaur quite like the Shoebill. It is one of the most visually distinctive creatures, with traits monstrous and familiar that make it difficult to really understand exactly what you’re looking at. They stand up to 140 centimeters in height, which yes, is the height of a human being on the shorter side. They can even reach 152 centimeters tall - the same height as a 5 foot tall person. They have very long, skinny legs, with giant toes on their feet that are widely splayed out. Their bodies are huge, with short tails and bulky torsos. Their backs are grey, and their belly feathers are white. Their necks are a lighter grey, and there is some dark speckling all over their wings and right beneath their necks. Their heads continue that light grey coloration, and have small tufts of feathers as a crest on the back of the head. Shoebills also happen to feature yellow, unblinking, perfectly circular eyes, which is unsettling at best. They have heavy eyebrows of feathers over their eyes, giving them a look like they’re always glaring at you - which is even more disconcerting considering the giant, wide, scoop-shaped bill that the Shoebill is named for. The bill is orange, and ends in a small hook, just in case you weren’t terrified enough.

By Peter Halasz, CC BY-SA 2.5

Diet: Shoebills feed mainly on fish - especially lungfish, though most large fish are acceptable. Amphibians, young crocodilians, water snakes, rodents, and young waterfowl are also fed upon by these giant terrifying creatures.

By Snowmanradio, CC BY-SA 2.0

Behavior: Shoebills are calculating bastards - they’ll hover around lakesides and swamps with low oxygen in the water, which forces lungfish to come up to breathe - so that the Shoebill can then lean down and scoop them up. They are loners during the hunt, carefully taking each step as they make sure to not sink too far into the mud and weeds where they live. Their lunging after food is hard to miss - their mouths open wide, revealing how huge those bills really are, and giving it a sinister smile. These lunges are usually startling, as the Shoebill is usually still for a very long time before it goes after prey. It is as if a statue had suddenly come to life. This is especially disconcerting when the Shoebill opts for standing on floating vegetation - just casually going down with the current as though they were a giant Jacana. They tend to defend territories for food, at least somewhat, not coming closer than twenty meters to another Shoebill during feeding. They don’t sense their prey with feel, but entirely by sight - making them very unblinking and focused, adding to their strange aura. Shoebills are also usually silent, which just makes their entire aesthetic even more terrifying. When they do dare to make sounds, they make very raucous cries - usually while they fly.

By Petr Simon

Yes, yes they can fly. Shoebills are some of the largest flighted birds today, which does not help. They hold their wings flat, pulling in their necks to their bodies to aid in making their flight more efficient. They have some of the slowest flaps of any bird, at 150 flaps per minute. They fly only a few meters at a time, and usually prefer to glide as much as possible. The farthest any Shoebill as traveled at one time seems to be 20 meters. As such, Shoebills are not very mobile birds, and they usually only move from place to place based on food availability.

By African Parks/Bengweulu Wetlands Photography

Shoebills begin breeding depending on the water levels of their habitat at a given time. They lay their eggs when the rains begin to end and the waters start to recede; as such, the chicks hatch and fledge late in the dry season. They nest alone, though there are possible reports that they may form some breeding colonies in South Sudan. They make nests out of grass in a mound that is three meters wide, usually placed on a small island or on floating vegetation amongst dense papyrus. They lay two eggs that are incubated for a month. The chickare cute, fluffy, and grey, with tiny regular sized bills. They then fledge a little more than three months later and, what’s more, usually only one chick survives. The chicks and parents will make whining and mewing to each other to get attention and beg for food. Sometimes, the young will make hiccups as begging calls. The parents are constantly with the young for the first forty days of rearing, only briefly leaving to get food and water or nest material. As the chicks age, the parents spend more and more time away, but they still bring food regularly. The chicks, after fledging, remain dependent on the parents for food for a few more years. They reach reproductive age at around three to four years. Displays often including mooing and bill clattering, which can be accompanied by the shaking of the head from side to side, which is quite the undertaking for a bird with such a large head. Breeding pairs stay together for the season, and break up when the chicks leave the nest. Shoebills can live up to fifty years, which is aided by the fact that they tend to not have predators after reaching full size.

By Hans Hillewaert, CC BY-SA 3.0

Ecosystem: Shoebills stick to marshes, especially papyrus marshes and those with reeds and cattails. They will also gather around marshy lakesides, especially near Lake Victoria. They go wherever they can find floating vegetation to stand upon, including ricefields. They tend to go where animals such as hippopotamus go, since the hippo can dredge up food that the Shoebill can then feed upon.

By Fritz Geller-Grimm, CC BY-SA 2.5

Other: Shoebills are currently considered vulnerable to extinction, with 5000 to 8000 birds thought to be remaining in the wild (though that may be low and there may be as many as 10,000). The reasons for this decline in population is partially due to habitat loss - the Shoebill is dependent on papyrus swamps and other wetland habitats, which are targeted by drainage schemes and other development activities. Animals being brought across these swamps and trampling their young also majorly contributes to population decline. It is a very unique bird and a very popular one, so luckily there are some conservation efforts ongoing, especially in zoos. Some hunting is also contributing to population loss. Despite these conservation efforts, only once has the Shoebill been successfully bred in captivity.

~ By Meig Dickson

Sources under the Cut

Elliott, A., Garcia, E.F.J. & Boesman, P. (2019). Shoebill (Balaeniceps rex). In: del Hoyo, J., Elliott, A., Sargatal, J., Christie, D.A. & de Juana, E. (eds.). Handbook of the Birds of the World Alive. Lynx Edicions, Barcelona.

Guillet, A (1978). "Distribution and Conservation of the Shoebill (Balaeniceps Rex) in the Southern Sudan". Biological Conservation. 13 (1): 39–50.

Hackett, SJ; Kimball, RT; Reddy, S; Bowie, RC; Braun, EL; Braun, MJ; Chojnowski, JL; Cox, WA; Han, KL; et al. (2008). "A phylogenomic study of birds reveals their evolutionary history". Science. 320 (5884): 1763–8.

Hagey, J. R.; Schteingart, C. D.; Ton-Nu, H.-T. & Hofmann, A. F. (2002). "A novel primary bile acid in the Shoebill stork and herons and its phylogenetic significance". Journal of Lipid Research. 43 (5): 685–90.

Hall, Whitmore (1861). The principal roots and derivatives of the Latin language, with a display of their incorporation into English. London: Longman, Green, Longman & Roberts. p. 153.

Hancock & Kushan, Storks, Ibises and Spoonbills of the World. Princeton University Press (1992),

Houlihan, Patrick F. (1986). The Birds of Ancient Egypt. Wiltshire: Aris & Phillips. p. 26.

Jasson, J.; Nahonyo, Cuthbert; Lee, Woo; Msuya, Charles (March 2013). "Observations on nesting of shoebill Balaeniceps rex and wattled crane Bugeranus carunculatus in Malagarasi wetlands, western Tanzania". African Journal of Ecology. 51 (1): 184–187.

Mayr, Gerald (2003). "The phylogenetic affinities of the Shoebill (Balaeniceps rex)". Journal für Ornithologie.

Mikhailov, Konstantin E. (1995). "Eggshell structure in the shoebill and pelecaniform birds: comparison with hamerkop, herons, ibises and storks". Canadian Journal of Zoology. 73 (9): 1754–70.

Muir, Allan; King, C.E. (January 2013). "Management and husbandry guidelines for Shoebills Balaeniceps rex in captivity". International Zoo Yearbook. 47 (1): 181–189.

Stevenson, Terry and Fanshawe, John (2001). Field Guide to the Birds of East Africa: Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi. Elsevier Science.

Tomita, Julie (2014). "Challenges and successes in the propagation of the Shoebill Balaeniceps rex: with detailed observations from Tampa's Lowry Park Zoo, Florida". International Zoo Yearbook. 132 (1): 69–82.

Williams, J.G; Arlott, N (1980). A Gield Guide to the Birds of East Africa. Collins.

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zef-zef · 4 years ago

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Motörhead - Ace of Spades from: Motörhead - Ace of Spades 7" (1980)

The "Ace Of Spades" is the dead man's hand, which was Wild Bill Hancock's hand as he was shot dead (he was an American sheriff who was killed during a game of poker). The hand consists of aces and eights, including the ace of spades.

“Ace of Spades' is unbeatable, apparently, but I never knew it was such a good song. Writing it was just a word-exercise on gambling, all the clichés. I'm glad we got famous for that rather than for some turkey, but I sang 'the eight of spades' for two years and nobody noticed. After playing this for years," (Lemmy)

Lemmy admitted he was sick of the song, but said he kept it in the setlist because, "If I went to a Little Richard concert, I'd expect to hear Long Tall Sally."

(songfacts)

#1980s #rock #hard rock #lemmy #lemmy kilmister #fast eddie #philty animal taylor #motörhead #ace of spades #rock classic #1980 #music #music blog

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caltropspress · 4 years ago

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FEEDBACK LOOP #6: Cargo Cults’ “Rammellzee”

Since these symbols and all symbols are drawn, infinity’s separation from all symbols must be shown through drawing. The only proof of such a separation of the infinity would be the understanding by the majority of the planetary peers. There is no other way.

—from IONIC TREATISE GOTHIC FUTURISM ASSASSIN KNOWLEDGES OF THE REMANIPULATED SQUARE POINT’S ONE TO 720° TO 1440° THE RAMM-ΣLL-ZΣΣ (1979, 2003)

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.

—from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland

Riding among an exhausted busful of Negroes going on to graveyard shifts all over the city, she saw scratched on the back of a seat, shining for her in the brilliant smoky interior, the post horn with the legend DEATH. But unlike WASTE, somebody had troubled to write in, in pencil: DON’T EVER ANTAGONIZE THE HORN.

—from Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49

1. I walk down the street and people look at me and say, “Who the hell are you?”

Cargo Cults (Alaska and Zilla Rocca) begin their track “Rammellzee” with the voice of the some-16 billion-years-old being himself. The song is an ode, an invocation. The organ sample provides a bizarre ride: a carousel of colors. We immediately plummet—into a well, a subway tunnel, a cosmos of linguistics. Not a nonchalant That’s deep, but a depth of knowledge where “cipher” means code, means Supreme Mathematics, means gathering with your rapfolk outside the Nuyorican Poets Cafe or in Washington Square Park: a deep connection. Mimicking Rammellzee, Alaska presents the listener with “swirling pages / forming mazes of [his] formulations” and subsequently “break[s] them down into a form that’s shapeless.”

2. Hip-hop is ageist….In blues, you ain’t official until you fifty. (Ka, Red Bull Music Academy interview with Jeff Mao, 2016)

The phrase …of a certain age has, historically, been used euphemistically to describe someone (typically a woman) who has existed for a “shameful” tally of years. Society is still undoing the stigma, but rappers have made strides.

In Adult Rappers, a 2015 documentary directed by Paul Iannacchino (Hangar 18’s DJ paWL), Alaska is [accidentally?] presented twice in the closing credits—like a double, a separate persona—which calls to mind the multiple personalities of Rammellzee: Crux the Monk, Chaser the Eraser, Gash/Olear, et cetera. Age allows for maturation, for building, for bettering. In Rammellzee’s case—and I’d argue Alaska’s—it allows for complexity to emerge organically through wisdom. It allows for reinvention, for many versions of one’s self. Age and development is how an aerosol can with a fat cap can graduate to customized deodorant roll-ons and shoe polish canisters.

It begins with jerry-rigging a nozzle and ends in diagramming a “harpoonic whip launcher/pulsating extendor” to illustrate the deconstruction of letter-formations in the English alphabet. The spirit of experience pervades the Nihilist Millennial album. As anyone who has ever sat on the couch knows, communication can also improve with age.

Artists and rappers like Rammellzee and Alaska rely on wild-styles, a self-made world that warps quantum physics and disregards notions of dimensionality. It’s dream-vision. It’s liberation. It simultaneously celebrates and critiques communication: like the image of a muted horn.

“Communication is the key,” cried Nefastis. “The Demon passes his data on to the sensitive, and the sensitive must reply in kind. There are untold billions of molecules in that box. The Demon collects data on each and every one. At some deep psychic level he must get through…”

“Help,” said Oedipa, “you’re not reaching me.”

“Entropy is a figure of speech, then,” sighed Nefastis, “a metaphor. It connects the world of thermodynamics to the world of information flow. The Machine uses both. The Demon makes the metaphor not only verbally graceful, but also objectively true.”

[…]

Nefastis smiled; impenetrable, calm, a believer.

The wordplay seems just that: play—that is, until you find the thread. Alaska cobbles together words like rubbish, W.A.S.T.E. Words appear daisy-chained together—flowery, ornate, and strung together by their stems: “fatalism, Fela Kuti, razor thin” / “smash the superstitions with acid tabs and some Sufi visions” / “deep dive Sonny Liston” / “Walt Whitman.”

The track reads like a codex. Something crafted in a scriptorium. His words are warfare—double-tracked/double-barreled—and he slips into braggadocio to prove it. It’s an authoritative posture of experience. Having started atomically small—from Breaking Atoms bedroom listening, to Atoms Family—Alaska’s flow presents nuclear now: maximum damage.

There’s a refinement to what this duo is doing: “Me and Zilla well-established with a lavish vision. / Both hands crusty with Ikonklastic Panzerism.” The boasts rely on royal diction: Camelot, palace doors, Prince Paul. Each man a king, a God, and each one should teach one. Mentor texts for the masses.

Rammellzee is an equation, And simply stated it’s the way of life I’m chasing. That’s why I praise the future-Gothic future-prophet. Gotta rock it, don’t stop it, Gotta rock it, don’t stop.

You find diversions on the song, exits into familiar chambers. GZA quotations (“I was the thrilla in the Ali-Frazier Manila”) and allusions to Main Source. Large Professor rapped “Dead is my antonym,” and if that’s to be proven true, money needs to be removed from the equation. The refrain of “Gotta rock it” not only calls to mind “Beat Bop,” Herbie Hancock, and Grand Mixer DS.T (or his later incarnation, DXT), but rockets—Afrofuturist angles, future shocks (Bill Laswell [Material], friend to Rammellzee, had a hand in all this). It’s not so much a “future-prophet” as a “future profit.” “Freedom in the process” means creativity without expectation, without the constraints of market value.

Alaska gives it to us straight: “I don’t care if you don’t like it, and I don’t care if you don’t buy it / ’Cause I find freedom in the process.” Despite becoming increasingly complex in his visual approach—like a heap of garbage that loses the definition of its component parts over the ages—Rammellzee understood time equals clarity of vision. A wasted world becomes a meaningful one. Of course, we got to pay rent, so money connects, but ownership of one’s art is about empowerment. “Selling out” is the opposite—an evisceration of one’s self and spirit. “We lost control from the second we sold the art,” Alaska raps. “We sold our future….We should be seeking enlightenment.”

The moment arrives, epiphanically: “I find freedom in the process so I’m grateful, / And that’s my main source: it’s my friendly game of baseball.” For Alaska and Zilla Rocca, it’s not a job—it’s a passion, a pastime.

5. Nascent imagination deep inside a battle station.

Post-9/11 meant luxury apartments displaced Rammellzee’s Battle Station loft, his living museum. But the art has been excavated and exists posthumously. His Gothic Futurism and Ikonoklast Panzerism seem at home archived on the internet—a network that appears more like a chaos cloud. Rammellzee deconstructed and transcended language—junk monk scripts and calligraphic cut-ups of consumerism. His art is the empowerment a recycling arrow-triangle could only hope to be. Recycle is also rebirth. Rammellzee’s career path is circuitous, deep-tunneled (subway-esque), eternal.

Similarly, Alaska’s multisyllabic patterns are an endless barrage, like weaponized letters tilted sideways, like bottle rockets angled into a bottle’s neck: “Armament / Now my names are built like a BattleBot / Locked inside an ad hoc Camelot, I rather not / Tangle with a rabid lot, hop inside a rabbit hole.”

Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice “without pictures or conversations?”

Boredom can make trouble, but boredom can also breed creativity. Alaska rather not spar with trolls under ISP bridges—though he’s equipped to. Instead, he channels his energies into material.

6. Our culture is done. We lived it.

Near the end, Alaska paraphrases Rammellzee: “I’m not the first or the last to don the mask. / I see it as a title, I’m monastic with these raps.”

Living a life of art—making it regardless of accolade or monetary payment—is the highest form of creativity. Live the art and die by it, like Stan Brakhage, poisoning himself at a slow pace as he applied toxic dyes to celluloid film. Like Rammellzee executing graffiti pieces maskless, huffing the carcinogenic fumes.

MF DOOM (née Zev Love X)—a Rammellzee descendant—taught us how to revel in anonymity, the importance of not spotlighting yourself, but instead seeking out the shade, secret passageways, and the trapdoor in the stage floor. Not all of us heed the advice, but some do, and they feel the throb of real success, not the sort that shows up in bank statements and 401(k) plans.

Images:

“Beat Bop” test pressing, Rammellzee and K-Rob, art by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1983 (detail) | Rammellzee black-and-white portrait photograph (unknown) | Ikonoklast Panzerism diagram from IONIC TREATISE GOTHIC FUTURISM ASSASSIN KNOWLEDGES OF THE REMANIPULATED SQUARE POINT’S ONE TO 720° TO 1440° THE RAMM-ΣLL-ZΣΣ (1979, 2003) | Page 34 (muted post horn) in Thomas Pynchon’s The Crying of Lot 49, Bantam Books edition (1966) | “A scribe at work,” from an illuminated manuscript from the Estoire del Saint Graal, France (Royal MS 14 E III c. 1315-1325 AD) | Herbie Hancock, Future Shock cassette cover (1983) | Grand Mixer D.ST comic book image (unknown) | Stan Brahage at chalkboard (unknown) | Stan Brakhage, Mothlight celluloid (1963) | “Beat Bop” test pressing, Rammellzee and K-Rob, art by Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1983 (detail)

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alysemeadfad · 4 years ago

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Grandmixer D.ST.

Derek Showard, better known by the stage name GrandMixer DXT, is an American musician, one of the earliest to use turntables as a musical instrument in the 1980s. Renowned for his scratching techniques and his showmanship on stage, such as breaking in to dance or scratching records with other parts of his body other than his hands

Early in his career, he was known as Grand Mixer D.ST, a reference to Delancey Street on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, New York City. He was featured in the influential hip hop film Wild Style.

Widely recognized as a pioneer, Grand Mixer DXT is credited as being the first turntablist. He was the first person to establish the turntable as a fully performable and improvisational musical instrument. Especially important is his technique of altering the pitch of the note or sound on the record.

He is also credited with helping to popularize DJing through his scratching on Herbie Hancock's single "Rockit", from the Bill Laswell and Material produced album Future Shock. He is featured in the 2001 documentary, Scratch.

D.ST’s original group was The Infinity Four MC’s consisting of Kingpin Shahiem, Mike Nice, Baron and Legendary female rapper Kimba.

While working with the Infinity Rappers n 1982, he was part of the first hip hop tour to Europe with Afrika Bambaataa, Rammellzee, Fab 5 Freddy, Rock Steady Crew, the Double Dutch Girls, and graffiti artists Phase 2, Futura, and Dondi.

Phase 2

In late 1972, Phase 2 first used an early version of the "bubble letter" or "softie", a style of writing which would become extremely influential and is considered a "giant leap" in the art form.The puffed-out, marshmallow-like letters drawn by Phase 2 were soon copied by other artists who added their own variations.

Phase 2 quickly embellished on his original form, creating and naming dozens of varieties of softies, such as "phasemagorical phantastic" (bubble letters with stars), "bubble cloud", and "bubble drip".He described the thrill of tagging subway cars as "impact expressionalism".He is also credited with having pioneered the use of arrows in graffiti writing around this same time. Hip-hop journalist Jeff Chang has noted that Phase 2's canvasses from 1973 have "been widely recognized as defining the early genre."

Futura 2000

He started to paint illegally on New York City's subway in the early 1970s, working with other artists such as ALI. From 1974 to 1978, he served in the U.S. Navy and traveled all over the world. In the early 1980s he showed with Patti Astor at the Fun Gallery, along with Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Richard Hambleton and Kenny Scharf.

Futura painted backdrops live on-stage for British punk rock band The Clash's 1981 European tour. In 1985, he was on the first meeting of the graffiti and urban art movement in Bondy (France), on the VLP's initiative, with Speedy Graphito, Miss Tic, SP 38, Epsylon Point, Blek le rat, Jef Aérosol, Nuklé-Art, Kim Prisu, Banlieue-Banlieue. More recently, he is a successful graphic designer and gallery artist.

One of the most distinctive features of Futura's work is his abstract approach to graffiti. While the primary focus, during the 1980s, of the majority of graffiti artists was lettering, Futura pioneered abstract street art, which has since become more popular. Conversely, his aerosol strokes are regarded as different from those of his peers, as they are as thin as the fine lines usually associated with the use of an airbrush.

Dondi

Graffiti became a serious part of Dondi's life in the mid-1970s. He tagged using "NACO" and "DONDI", and worked on refining his style, gradually moving from simple tagging to building more elaborate pieces. Using the name Dondi (a version of his own name) was considered very risky at the time, as the Metropolitan Transportation Authority and the New York Police Department (NYPD) were trying to crack down on writers. In 1979, Dondi officially adopted his name when he painted a giant piece on the roof of his house.

He became a member of TOP crew (The Odd Partners) in 1977. In 1978, Dondi formed his own crew, named CIA (Crazy Inside Artists), which included other prominent artists such as his good friend DURO. For the next 20-odd years, Dondi became recognized as the stylistic standard, influencing generations of graffiti writers.

Dondi pioneered many of the styles and techniques still used by modern graffiti artists. Though he would often do wildstyle pieces for the benefit of other writers (like the famous 2MANY piece), he wanted the public to be able to read and enjoy his work, so he would focus on readable letters with intricate fills and characters.

scratch

Scratching, sometimes referred to as scrubbing, is a DJ and turntablist technique of moving a vinyl record back and forth on a turntable to produce percussive or rhythmic sounds. A crossfader on a DJ mixer may be used to fade between two records simultaneously.

While scratching is most associated with hip hop music, where it emerged in the mid-1970s, from the 1990s it has been used in some styles of rap rock, rap metal and nu metal. In hip hop culture, scratching is one of the measures of a DJ's skills. DJs compete in scratching competitions at the DMC World DJ Championship and IDA (International DJ Association), formerly known as ITF (International Turntablist Federation). At scratching competitions, DJs can use only scratch-oriented gear (turntables, DJ mixer, digital vinyl systems or vinyl records only). In recorded hip hop songs, scratched "hooks" often use portions of other songs.

Graffiti

In the early days, the ‘taggers’ were part of street gangs who were concerned with marking their territory. They worked in groups called ‘crews’, and called what they did ‘writing’ – the term ‘graffiti’ was first used by The New York Times and the novelist Norman Mailer. Art galleries in New York began buying graffiti in the early seventies. But at the same time that it began to be regarded as an art form, John Lindsay, the then mayor of New York, declared the first war on graffiti. By the 1980s it became much harder to write on subway trains without being caught, and instead many of the more established graffiti artists began using roofs of buildings or canvases.

The link between hip hop and graffiti evolved as a competition, much like the dance moves of the hip hop culture. Graffiti began to show up on subways in New York and other cities as a form of expression of the culture who listened to rap music. Graffiti distiguished by "tags" or distinguishing marks of the originators and a way to distinguish or stand out from other graffiti artists. Graffiti quickly spread and was picked up by others.

Graffiti is viewed as a form of artistic expression by some and trash by others. Graffiti has been seen adorning the album covers of some rap artists, on sides of buildings, on busses, on clothing, and various imaginative places where you sometimes have to stop and wonder, "how in the world did they manage to get up there?"

Young rappers growing up and wandering the city streets still see graffiti all around them. For some, graffiti represents decay, but for hip hop culture, graffiti provided the visual inspiration that encouraged other forms of creativity and expression, such as emceeing.

Ed Piskor

Ed Piskor is an American alternative comic book artist. He gained his first fame illustrating stories in Harvey Pekar's 'American Splendor' series. Among his original works are the satirical comic 'Wizzywig' (2011) about hacking culture, and the educational graphic novel series 'Hip Hop Family Tree' (2012-2016), which deals with the history of hiphop. In 2017 he created another historical passion project, 'X-Men: Grand Design', a nostalgic look back at the history of Marvel Comics' 'X-Men' franchise.

Hip Hop Family Tree

In 2012 Piskor started a monumental project, named 'Hip Hop Family Tree' (2012-2016). It narrates the history of hiphop and various legendary artists and groups, among them the Sugarhill Gang, Grandmaster Flash, Run DMC, Schoolly D., the Beastie Boys, Ice-T, Public Enemy, Dr. Dre, Rakim, Will Smith... Piskor said he was inspired by Robert Crumb's biographical comics about old blues and country artists. Just like Crumb loves music from the interbellum, Piskor is a hardcore hiphop fan. Even as a child he'd try to dig up the oldest singles by certain hiphop artists, particularly trying to find out where a certain musical sample came from? He is so well-educated in the genre that he felt he would be the right artist to make a comic book about the genre. As a bonus he would learn more about its roots too. 'Hip Hop Family Tree' doesn't just focus on the historic facts, but Piskor also illustrated many fascinating and occasional funny anecdotes about certain artists. Graphically Piskor gave the stories a yellowish newsprint effect to match the "old school" feeling.

From January 2012 until December 2015, the stories ran weekly on the website 'Boing Boing'. Fantagraphics later published the series in comic book format. In 2015 'Hip Hop Family Tree, Volume 2' won the Eisner Award for Best Reality-Based Work. It also entered the New York Times Best Sellers list, landing the artist an interview in Time Magazine. Rap legend DMC (of Run DMC) praised 'Hip Hop Family Tree' with the words: "I'm happy this book is here, because it tells a truth." Fab Five Freddy (Grandmaster Flash) shared a panel from one of the comics on his Facebook page and stated: "Being in an Ed Piskor comic is cool enough to freeze hot water." Chuck D. (Public Enemy) also tweeted favorable comments about Piskor's work.

As a huge fan of comics and hiphop since childhood Piskor also saw a correlation between the two art forms. Both are trash pop culture, initially scorned by true art lovers but eventually gaining more critical respect. Many cartoonists and hiphop artists take pseudonyms to give themselves a different public persona and alter ego. Both rapping and cartooning are often said to be easy. Most importantly, Piskor noticed that both hiphoppers and cartoonists have a tendency to borrow material, or sample, from their predecessors and colleagues. It motivated him to pay more homage to other comics in some of his panels.

Hip Hop album covers

Idea influence

vision boards

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shikkearu · 5 years ago

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Part 23 : Best day of the year

She felt warm lips on her cheek and she woke up to the darkness and her husband caressing her side. - "Happy birthday, Perona." He whispered and littered her with soft kisses. She tried wrapping her arms around him, but he chuckled and got out of her grasp. -"Just a moment," he smiled and left the bed before coming back and softly putting Zoro on top off her chest. "I think he wants to congratulate you too." - "My precious little prince? Thank you Zoro." She started to unbutton her shirt. - "As usual leave everything to me. And I mean everything. No nappies or stupid things like that. Just the best he can offer for you. Today I'll bake you a cake and Moria said he would be over. You know for the-" - "I know." She smiled. "For the best day of the year."

Perona sighed.

Even if she had promised in her mind to start fully living, somehow she wasn't really feeling like starting it just yet. Making arrangements for the anniversary party was making her feel gloomy. She wasn't really feeling it even if everyone she had invited were encouraging of it.

Hancock and her family was invited too. Dragon had offered to barbecue there and Shanks had promised Mihawk he would film the thing. Shanks had a lot of memories of Mihawks son even if the two of them weren't that close. Perona felt bad she had not known earlier, she would have invited him at the wedding and the funeral, had she known, though Mihawk did say that Shanks didn't feel bad about it, but she would apologize anyway the next time she'd see him.

A year was closing in of her husbands death, but there was one thing even closer: Her own birthday.

Any other year she would have advertised it and kept noise, but not this time. She didn't want to have it at all. It just meant she was ageing while he was frozen in time. She was older than him already and now...

She felt sick just thinking about her birthday. Last year they had excitedly just spend the whole day together and celebrated as usual. She hadn't even gotten a present from him, since they had decided to save money, just in case there was going to be a rainy day. Now most of what they had saved had gone into the funeral and bills. Her balance right now would be near zero had not Mihawk stepped into the picture.

She owned him so much.

Not money, that he had made sure for her to understand, but still she felt indebted to him. He had helped her financially, provided food and shelter, been there as emotional support. Yet through it all he didn't ask for anything back. Even to be supported back, he didn't ask for, but he definitely needed it. She wanted to somehow pay him back, but it felt impossible. Even though they had celebrated his and Zoros birthdays, she wasn't giving him the same opportunity. She felt bad about that too, but no amount of feeling bad would make her want to celebrate so she kept silent.

To avoid it, she tried keeping herself busy and the birthday might just fly past. No problem at all. Maybe Mihawk might ask later if they missed it, but she hoped he wouldn't notice. Right now today was just another day of hanging around the house with Zoro, tending to his needs, doing the chores, getting a little bit of time for herself, which she honestly didn't need as she would have just thought about her past birthdays and the happiness she had had. Why had she been so big on them in the past? Big parties, lots of advertising, OH WHY!? Just the memories were making it so hard this year.

- "Mommy." Zoro snapped her out of her thoughts. - "So what's the best you can offer for me today?" She kneeled beside him as he was on his potty waiting for her to whipe. -"Poopie." He said as he lifted his bottom a bit to let her do her job. - "It smells like one, doesn't it? Smells like eww." - "Eww."

His playful mimicking made her smile as she pulled some new diapers on him and then went to clean the potty as he look from the side sucking his thumb a little. She picked him up and put him on a stool by the sink. He held his hands out while she washed them for him.

- "Humgry." He announced as she dried their hands. - "Pappa will be home soon. Is it a big hunger?"

Zoro nodded leaning out his tummy slightly moving from side to side.

-"Biiig hunger." - "You want cookies?" - "Yes." Zoro nodded and patted his tummy. - "Cookies it is."

They made their way into the kitchen and Perona gave Zoro a cookie on his plate before lifting him on his chair. From the fridge she took out a carton of milk and poured some for him in his sippy cup. She watched as Zoro ate and sipped his milk while waving his chubby legs in the air.

She felt content with this day being mundane. Even if everything else would turn badly, she would still have Zoro and she would do her best to keep him with her. He was keeping her happy and busy. She wouldn't need anyone else than him to live a joyous and fulfilling life. A lie she told herself, slowly making it reality.

She sighed a little. She wanted to see Moria at that moment, but at the same time didn't. He was always there for her birthdays, but this year she wished he wouldn't be. She dreaded the idea of Moria coming over, when she was feeling so weak. She had kept her mouth shut, hoping he'd forget in his rush. So many needed him and she played that fact to her benefit.

Today just couldn't feel like a birthday, no matter what. She wouldn't be able to deal with the guilt that joy would bring.

- "More!" Zoro demanded. - "Aren't you being a little glutton?" she laughed and went to get him another.

Normal quiet day was enough.

-----

- "I'm home." Came Mihawks calm, but strong voice. - "Welcome home." Perona greeted back.

She was in the living room with Zoro just watching him play as he would make angry noises if she tried to take part or if she didn't watch. So she kept on watching kind of getting lost to her thoughts at the process so having Mihawk back home was a welcome change. He was another welcome distraction. Trying to pass her birthday quietly was getting to her.

- "Hello!" Zoro waved before continuing playing. - "How was work?" She hummed.

There was a strange bit of silence, so she turned to look at him. She could have sworn there was a bitter sorrowful look to him. Like he was regretting something.

- "That bad?" she asked and Mihawk nodded. - "Hughf!! Mommy!" Zoro tapped Peronas lap. - "Yes, yes. I'm looking." She laughed and turned back at him.

She could hear Mihawk slump upstairs. She wondered what had happened.

Maybe... maybe he knew about her birthday?

Perona shooked her head. - "Brrrrr a doggy!" Zoro laughed and shook his head. - "Just like a doggy." she smiled feeling bit less uneasy. - "Pat pat. Pat dog." Zoro stood up and patted her head. - "Wof wof" she barked.

- "So will it be dog food for todays meal?" Mihawk was back down to ask.

Perona kept barking feeling her heart a little cold. No, today she should have... Just no.

- "Hmmm?" He cocked his head and walked up to them. "Zoro, what do you want?" He patted Peronas head. - "Cookie. Big hunger." Zoro said gleeful. - "Thats snack, not real food." Mihawk hummed. "Guess I'll just think something myself."

He was just about to go when the doorbell rang, so instead he headed for the door. Perona knew who it was and braced herself, while praying to herself that it wasn't Moria.

- "Oh Moria? What are you doing here?" Mihawk looked at the giant of a man.

Perona wanted to crawl under the sofa.

- "What am I doing here? Kishishi, you must jest." Moria snickered, but after getting a blank stare back he frowned. "It's Peronas birthday, of course I'm here."

Mihawks eyes grew wide for a second and he turned to the livingroom and walked straight up to Perona and Zoro. He stared at her and Moria got in a bit awkwardly. They didn't need to say anything, just Mihawks burning gaze to the back of her head was enough to break her.

- "I don't want to celebrate." She said meekly and hugged herself. "Not when he... I just don't."

This was enough for Mihawk to understand so he sighed and looked over at Moria.

- "I see. Then I'm just visiting my grandchild." - "Right on time, I was just asking what to make for dinner." - "Hmm, how about spaghetti?" Moria signed towards the kitchen. - "Sounds good..." Mihawk looked a little confused but nodded.

He gave Peronas head a pat and Moria picked up Zoro while they all went to the kitchen. Perona stood up and went for her room. She laid on the bed and covered her face.

It felt awful.

Why were they so understanding, when she had denied them the right to celebrate her birthday? She would have been pissed off beyond belief any other year, but right now she just felt hurt. She was hurt because they both just gave up so quick, but also thankful they did.

- "I'm an idiot." she groaned. "Stupid idiot."

She sulked there and listened to a cheerful explanation from Moria, but it got covered with Zoro going buck wild. It was not everyday dear Boo was over. Perona sighed and got up. Like Moria had said, he was just there to see his grandson, nothing more. So there was no reason to sulk like this. She walked to the kitchen and gasped feeling tears rise to her eyes. Moria was making bagels while, Zoro and Mihawk looked from the side.

- "You've got an interesting birthday tradition." Mihawk smiled to her. - "You shouldn't have-" she started to grumble, but Moria cut her short. - "Of course I did! I've done you your birthday bagel every year and I'm not going to miss it this year." He stated.

Perona just broke into tears and went to hug Moria.

- "I'm sorry, dad." she rubbed her face against him. - "It's fine. We understand why you wouldn't want to celebrate, but do you think he would have wanted you to stop, when he knows how much you love birthdays?" - "No, he wouldn't, but this year... It hurts." - "We'll just keep it small." Moria rubbed her back. "Is that ok?" - "Yeah, thank you." she looked up and smiled. - "Happy birthday, Perona."

They got to the table to give the bagels a taste. Perona cried as they tasted just as good a they had the first time she had ever eaten one.

-----

The people around Perona were beaming. The weird doctor was happy too as he was explaining things. The purple onion man was the happiest.

-"You're getting out today, isn't it grand? I got you new clothes, but we'll keep the old ones too." Onion gave her a shiny toothy grin.

She tugged her gown with pastel coloured bears on it. She looked up at him and smiled.

- "Ah not that one. The ones from before, ah never mind. You'll remember them eventually. Do you like this one?"

Onion held up a bright red dress with white collar and she jumped and squealed. Yes, she loved it. With a little help from him she was in the red gown. She jumped up and down happily. She was very happy. She grabbed onto onions out stretched hand and they started walking. Walking out of the pale room with coulourful pictures and her bed. She could see the other kids wave and she waved back. But when they were at the door, she grabbed onto it's frame and wouldn't budge. Onion looked worried.

- "Did you forget something?" - "Scary." - "Oh there's not going to be any tests today. You're getting out, remember." Onion smiled and knelt down. - "No tests?" - "No tests. We're going to walk down this aisle all the way to the doors and then we'll go outside. Outside might be scary but you've been there before so there's nothing to worry about."

Onion patted her head, and let her hold his hand again. She was happy to go. Tests were scary even if the ladies were nice. Onion was the best. Onion was safe.

- "Oh Perona, are you getting out today?" A nurse walked towards them. She nodded and the lady looked happy. - "Good, I thought I might have missed you going. Hold still, I've get you a gift."

She knelt down and slowly combed Peronas hair with her fingers. She reached into her pocket and took two red ribbons. She tied them onto her hair. Perona shook her head and laughed as two big tails swung and bounced.

They were getting nearer to the exit with every step. She had a vague idea on what to expect, but remembering things was hard. The doors slid aside and they stepped outside. It was bright and loud, overwhelming really. She grabbed onto onions leg and he laughed. Onion started taking big steps with her clutched onto his foot and she too started laughing. They made it to the car and she bounced excited as she got front seat. It was her first time inside a car.

They stopped at the yard of an old creaky house. She looked up and down excited but anxious. Together they stepped inside. She explored the house with onion and eventually they were together in the kitchen. He was making something that smelled so mouth watering. She had never ever smelled anything so good had she?

-"Here's for you, a hot bagel."

He put it in front of her and she wasted no time as she devoured it. He chuckled amused.

- "Was it good?" He asked. -"Thank you, Onion." She nodded profusely. - "Ah, no no, It's Moria remember. Not onion, Moria."

Perona laughed as he tried to make her understand. Onion was funny.

----

- "I hope you're not angry." Perona said to Mihawk as they were sitting in his study. Moria was on his way home and Zoro was sleeping downstairs.

- "I'm not." he answered and looked at his collection of wine bottles. - "You should be. We celebrated yours and Zoros, but I would have just let mine go by quietly." She said depressed. Mihawk sighed deeply and took a bottle. - "I'm not angry if you don't want to do something painful. If anything I'm only a little annoyed I couldn't get you a present." he opened it and poured some into his glass. - "Having Moria over was enough of a present." - "I think so too." he offered it to her. - "I don't want that." Perona gave him a pout. - "Amuse me." he hummed. "I want an honest opinion on the taste." - "Ugh, fine."

She took the glass and gave it a sniff before taking a good sip. She crunched up her nose.

- "I don't hate wine but this is undrinkable." she groaned. "Don't tell me you like this." - "No, I had it as a present from a person who I knew loathed me. Its been years now." - "And you haven't tasted it yet?" - "Because I knew it would taste awful." He gave her a mischievous smirk. - "Ah! I didn't deserve that you baboon." She looked at him absolutely betrayed.

Mihawk just laughed at that and left to clean the glass.

- "Hey! Aren't you going to say you're sorry!?" She followed. - "No." His answer was curt and amused.

He was happy, that her gloom hadn't gotten the better of her.

#MihawkxPerona #dracule mihawk #mihawk #perona #one piece #OP #onepiece #ミホペロ #mihopero #mirona #Irreplaceable #fanfic

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