It rained on the first and last day that I was with him in his native land. That morning I was to return home, the winds ominously wailed. Those gigantic trees shivered with anger as they were violently pushed around by the warm wind. His large hand gripped mine as we mournfully walked, my heart sinking with every step. A bell shouted the arrival and, in an instant, I could no longer breathe. I stepped unto the train’s platform, my eyes swelled with scalding tears. Once seated, I stared at the window and observed his reactions. Painful. Sorrowful. Tearful. And when the train pushed off the tracks with intense ferocity, I fully understood that we had said our final goodbye.
**Premiere: Ricky Eat Acid - “Alone”**
Ricky Eat Acid returns with another spine tingling, soaring track. After the lovely, soft sounds, a gentle pounding beat, there’s a sort of hesitation. A shyness that builds to a violin bursting crescendo - a cry, a yearning yell. Just when you think it will break from pining, it placates itself.
During the running time, I was whisked away again to those train tracks. Saying goodbye again, seeing the land whir, blur, and fade before me in tear-filled vision. This time though, for that brief moment, the farewell is dulcet.
♪ File under: electronic, soundtrack for imaginary films
Stumbling upon the one man project Househeld Objects is a bit like stumbling upon some old forgotten record in an abandoned attic. “Receivered” is super lo-fi, early ’60s balladry track complimented by a high, nearly nasal, heartbroken voice. In essence, it is a dusty, forgotten tune with a “specter*”-esque melody. Your heart breaks just a little as he sings more. The bass thumps. Your heart melts. I am not sure if he’s going to make more music or not, since his myspace states that he “may or may not resurface”. Here is hoping he does, as he’s truly captured my attention. A charming, ghostly track for a ghoulie prom.
I left everything behind in hopes of being with you. At night, I left in secret, crossing the river of fog. The murky, black waters played in the moonlight. Underneath my clothes, I cradled the money I had saved up to buy my freedom, our new start in the world. As we left under the pitch black sky, we moved like mad marionettes - compelled to move in predetermined directions. Once we met, on that decaying bridge, we would vow to remain together in a natatory nuptial.
I’m constantly mesmerized by how striking I Do Not Love’s voice is. While he croons over dark and haunting synth lines, it sounds as if he is about to burst at the seams with heartbreak, pain, and anguish. They ooze like an atramentous baritone, murky, inky and black. These are dark pop dirges - lamentations and aspiring for something greater, something lost. The guitars jangle, the drum machine pounds, all while the pained prince bellows out intonations for the lost.
In an instant, everything I worked for collapsed. My hopes, my dreams, my promises all vanished under the weight of it all - a drifting, cold collateral now my sole burden. This was our downfall, our familial unraveling that we could not erase. If I had the voice to transmit my feelings, I would not have to be so silent. You would have understood everything without having to think twice. My intentions were too quiet for you to hear and too misunderstood to make sense out of. Our pact would have come to fruition. And that river, which we so dearly loved as children, would have been ours again and not have been our aquatic coffins.
Fostercare’s “Cold Light” is glistening, icy dark pop - a mesmerizing, glacial track accompanied by pounding frosty synths and avalanching drum machines. It skates on layers of fluttering, ascending sounds while the vocals cooly coo, tempting you with a stinging siren song.
It was a private ceremony - only meant for a certain chosen eyes to witness. Hands would claw, clamor, and pry in hopes of possessing a memento of the momentous, horrific occasion. Pupils would dilate and shrink as eyes languidly adjusted to the growing darkness; they no longer needed to squint to distinguish shapes. There they observed and cried out, ripping their out hair ecstatically as they wailed. Some fell to the floor in a euphoric seizure while others piled on top of the fallen bodies in hopes of catching a glimpse. And there we were, silent and cocooned, committing an eternity to a diabolic sacrament just for two.
Wild Eyes perform a brand of doom pop: synths sinisterly undulate and pulsate while vocals slyly sing out impending doom. If it isn’t bombastic, energetic doom, it is slow impending catastrophe waiting to happen. Drum machines rattle and stutter, fading out like the sound of a vanishing pulse. Vapor-like vocals become ghostly yet robust, carrying you above a divine calamity. Teeth gnashingly good.
The flowers would bloom where your footprint so lovingly and delicately stepped. At your command were the thousands of spirits - the forest kin. Playing hide and seek with you, they’d run joyously through the trees, clicking their heads in delight. When night fell, they would gather along the branches and rocks to watch your metamorphosis. You would grow into the stars, your skin transparent and glowing, accumulating the night. Clicking in amazement as you walked over the lands - the land’s neon starlit deity.
Fielded is an artist I am enamored with. An ethereal sorceress, her voice carries softly - like the sun sweetly commanding the earth to wake up. With hushed and restrained tribal beats, and soft, ivy-like synth sounds, “The Pebble Dare”, is simply astonishing. There is a gentleness in this track, a tender stretch that remains throughout and never vanishes. This was the first track she ever made and it definitely was a sign of fantastic things to come.
We were to sustain each other’s hunger: for love, acceptance, and sustenance. Seemingly far fetched, something I believed no one would agree to, you were willing to oblige. There we were housed, in that lonely, claustrophobic, womb-like room, lustful, ravenous, enamored souls. Clawing at each other, biting, consuming, all tender and all consuming entities. And, in the darkness, I crept. Hoping to not disturb your slumber - an amorous cannibal ready to devour our fleshy, physical love.
Red Psalm is back again with “Monster City” another darkly romantic pop song. Fuzz, a jangly guitar line, and his signature deep vocals kick in and instantly hypnotize you. Synths play out like dark clouds rolling in and everything slowly comes together - intertwined with warm static and a monstrous moaning session. Ready to consume you - an edacious, romantic flesh-eater eager for his latest sampling.
There I sat, alone, on the bathroom floor. The lights coloring my skin an iridescent hue, my veins visible and bursting with gushing blood. I tried to remain as quiet as I could, my ears at the height of attention, listening for every little noise. Would I be found? Would anyone try to come to my aid? This was my doing, mine alone, and I wanted to remain in control of it. Every laceration, every claw was a release that would further compel me to continue. Behind all the tissue and muscle, there was a hidden beauty that was slowly coming into view.
Moderno ”Down On Yourself” is an atypical seductive dark wave pop - a witch’s bossa nova track - about boy meets self. A rhumba-esque beat builds, stops, then starts again as he sings about his disappointment with the night. He then slyly suggests his alternative and it morphs into an ode to the act of self-fellatio (again). Gentle, lullaby melodies play halfway, sweetly luring you into a more relaxed state and then fades out - a self inflicted seduction.
Desire to meld caused our brittle bones to break. As we gripped each other tighter, our bones would pop and crack - our fragile skeletons crumbling. Our eyes would close, as our spirits were lifted towards the stratosphere. Looking down, we could observe everything occurring below us. If we were pleased, we both felt it. If we were angered, it rattled our core. The heart we shared would beat faster, slower, and stronger than before. United, intertwined, one content sublime entity.
Enjoy Sun (Gregory Sheppard) just sent me over this gorgeous, floating track and I cannot come back down to earth. Soaring, whispered vocals and escalating, echoing guitar work, create a warm, radiant, languidly effervescent track. There is a slow build and then the pay off - a ethereal clangorous meeting of sounds. An ode to the dusk as witnessed by a tongue tied scholar. Euphoric.
You had to play with that puzzle box. Your curiosity and desire for the unknown would eat at you until you possessed that taboo, forbidden item. As you cowered in darkness, you sat, isolated and gleeful, lustfully running your hands over the box, hoping to reveal its secrets. You wanted, so badly, to have all the classified information, the concealed information we mortals were not granted access to. When the secrets came pouring out, lacerating and slicing your skin, you became owner of all the painful paroxysms, the afflictions, and joyous agony you never knew existed.
Gobble Gobble’s latest, “Nemo”, is like obligingly being gutted by subaquatic goblins. Ripping out your organs, only to garaland themselves with it, they dance in the electric red you have made. You watch, powerless, unable to make sense of what is occurring. Voices scream and warble, synths pulsate like your heart, while underwater imps garble and click jubilantly. They’re enamored with your downfall, your demise, your humanity. And while you become closer to the white light, they strive to own you, exuberantly pulling you limb from limb.
Official download - here. This song will be featured on a mix TBA later this month.
A pair of teenage girls head to the city for a rock concert. Before the start of the show, the duo hope to score some marijuana to add to the experience. Little do they know, they don’t get what they had in mind…
What is so striking about the soundtrack is how out of place it truly sounds. During the most torturous, anticipatory scenes, you’re met with this super 70’s soundtrack complete with funky basslines, bongos, and strings. Other times, the music is down right hokey, sounding like some crazy jig band. I suppose it makes matters even funnier knowing that one of the villains in the film composed the soundtrack.
It would have been easy for us to remain complacent. Had I not shed my skin, we would have remained stagnant forever. I would look back at those days fondly, where you and I were at our peak, holding everything we wished to have in the palm of our hands. It was no secret that we felt we were invincible - we were beyond worldly destruction. We were blinded to the fact that we were slowly unraveling ourselves. As you pulled the fabric of my very being, so did I tug at yours, until we slowly started to come undone. We could’ve gone on in that fashion for eternity, content to remain exposed and translucent, until there was nothing left.
Stoned Boys’s “Dead Friends” is immersed in echo, throbbing beats, and star-ridden melodies. A bit dark while possessing sacchariferous elements, it is a track that makes you feel as if you’re floating in comforting darkness. You’re on the brink of the universe and all that matters, at that time, is the sound in your ears.
Fine Penduncle is pure neo-soul pop madness. Exuberant and fluttering, rich in vibes, and a killer vibrato that oozes luminescent, childlike innocence. At times the tracks are a mish mash of oddly lush, building block nostalgia mixed with come hither falsettos. Hairs stand on end, toes curl, and your body moves involuntarily to the pulsating beats that hurt so good. With references to nostalgia (Reading Rainbow, Mr. Rogers, Mariah Carey to name a few), you can’t help but adore this. Like dripping sugar, whirling lollipops, and pop rocks mixed in a neon rainbow waiting in Candyland, just for you.
He wasn’t aware of what was ahead of him. I had convinced him of my adventure, of my exploration where we were not allowed. I conjured up this fantastic story, waving my hands wildly as I spoke. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t hesitant, he was, but trying not to be outdone by me, he decided to take the plunge. Of course, I would be right behind him, I said, because it would be better if he went first. And why not? Isn’t it easier to direct someone when you have a clear view? Crouching down, he started to crawl: crawl amongst the filth, the bugs, the mud. As soon as he hit the ground, I took off - giggling and cackling in a triumphant staccato rhythm, knowing full well I had no intention to guide him.
Forest Dream - stuttering, dark tribal rave from San Francisco. Somewhat ominous and playful, like mischievous “bad seed” children at play - pulling and taunting, stopping and starting, dark and airy. Post darkcore.
We sat at the edge of the universe, discussing all things. From the tails of the comets to the brightest stars, we talked about everything in great detail. Would we have been swallowed by the black had we kept walking - been swaddled in giant cosmic arms? I looked around and saw the moon dust falling in your hair, gently showering you in a glitter. You laughed, almost demonically, tilting your head far back, as to digest the moon. Puzzled, I feigned understanding and laughed in unison with you until we were joyfully engulfed in pure darkness.
Magic Places is a mystical beat conjurer - taking you to astral realms through infectious, starry beats and nebullalic synths. There are starts and stops while samples float by as if they were carried by cosmic dust. And just when you think you can’t get any more celestial, the rhythms will drift gently downward - returning you back to earth.
I stayed in bed - paralyzed in fear - watching, staring, observing the figure before me. Cloaked in all black, it stood near the edge of my door, perched and ready to pounce. My eyes shut tight in hopes the apparition would suddenly fade. As I quickly opened them, I see the figure still there. Its shoulders were high and strong and its arms were long and menacing. I wanted so desperately to scream yet no sound would escape my throat. How long would he remain in watch over me?
Pregnancy Pact ft. Thieves - “777” is gorgeously atmospheric. Building upon layers of synths and vocals, it slowly builds to a supernatural celebration. The syrupy, echo laden voices float over the darkly kissed sounds. It hovers and waits like an apparition gently creeping at night. Eidolic artists performing shadowy sonatas.
the sound of the wind frightened me to my very core. a devilish hissing escaping through the cracks, beckoning me to listen; luring whatever demons exist in the darkened room to venture out.
believing this to be the case, i withdraw under the covers. seeking solace in the saint-like image i have created, comfort me from these gusty goblins, o fair one, protect me from you.
kissing my fingers as if they were your lips, touching my cheek as if it was you, hushing me, lulling me to a state in between dreams an consciousness, there is nothing there but the shadows, there is nothing there but a memory.
and the memory is all i own, for you no longer exist in this time or place you have departed from my existence, from my hopes and dreams you are no longer there to protect me, leaving me trembling and exposed.
Four Visions, from New York, play a heartfelt, intimate brand of “forest folk”. There’s echo laden vocals, soft strumming banjos, and soft acoustic guitars. The output is starkly minimal with only the main focus being the lyrics and the vocals. Inspired by the irrationalism that follows when one falls in love, the tracks ache, commemorate and reminisce. Spellbinding.
I’m under the weather so I’m cutting straight to the chase.
Ʌ covering Francoise Hardy! A witch house cover of a classic 60s ye ye song - yes, please. Dark and haunting, I feel as if I’m gently falling into this blackened void and do not wish to be saved. Vexing and pining for love.
Get the album at bandcamp (and listen to the starkly different original).
♪ File under: dark wave, witch house, francoise hardy oh la la
We played in the moonlight, our skins silver from the full moon above us. We danced through barb wire fences and giggled, like cherubs, as we disobeyed all warning signs. The wind was cold and slapped our cheeks - nature was disapproving our rebellion. Twigs snapped beneath our feet as looped around large trees. Our journey would soon be over and, when it finally came time to return, we howled like wolves.
❖, wtchmn, sounds like everything you would associate the name with. Dark, vexing, ominous, chilling, engaging, haunting, ad infinitum. Although the usual superlatives may apply, that doesn’t take away from the engaging and atmospheric tracks. The synths boom and burst to the point of deep distortion while lush layers play like imps at dusk. Like lamentations for nightfall as it ritually leaves at dawn, wtchmn’s shimmer sinisterly.