unholy rhythms

♫ The Long Wives - Odd Funerals For New Beasts

O, how my pleas fell upon deaf, unwavering ears. Stern and standing upright, towering before my shivering, quaking knees, you delivered your frightful sermon of injustice. Your voice boomed and thundered, as your spiteful tongue pushed out toxic psalms. Placing your engorged, calloused hand upon my sweat-ridden brow, you changed to intonations of removal - desiring to sequester that which I had become. As a mountain before me, you gesticulated your desires and propositions. Soliciting. Shrieking. Shouting. Spitting. Stomping. Striking. Unable to withstand the pressure building in my brain, my neck began to mimic writhing, serpentine movements. Fully fatigued, my cervical vertebrae finally snapped in two. My eyes rolled entirely in the back of my head as my arms flailed and danced. Overcome with extreme, enraged bravado, you applauded wildly. Bedeviled, demented disciple - phantasmagorical devouring.

The Long Wives is the solo work of one artist - Brandy St. John. She creates vexing, intriguing goth-folk compositions with little more than a guitar (sometimes a piano) and a rich nebulous voice. On the edge of breaking - near enthrallment - crooning and cooing to entice the malignant spirits which cavort and frolic in promise of possession. A tortured troubadour recalling remorseful, tales of woe and captivation. 

Bonus:
♫ The Long Wives - Holy Water

♫ The Long Wives - Spun Gold

Soundcloud.

♪ File under: dark folk, goth folk, freak folk, my kind of folk

♫ Taps - Fluttersad

I will confess how taxing writing short pieces of prose can be. With every piece, I find myself trying to fit the music - to conjure a story which fits the mood, the lyrics, or even artwork. This entry for “Fluttersad”, is a different story all together. It feels a little silly trying to create a “serious” composition when staring at artwork of a small, timid, teary eyed yellow pony that represents “kindness”.

The track itself sparkles and undulates with pitch shifted, warbling samples begging and reassuring, “fluttershy, why are you sad? don’t you cry..” Clandestine, small shrieks interject - squeaking and chirping - bleating over pounding beats. Truly addicting.

Get more here |

♪ File under: electronic, my little pony, pretty pony

♫ Basketball Camp - Culverss

Frustrated by the lack of urgency, the cloak of contentment, I began the rush to resolve the situation that bordered on the edge of destruction. That pounding sense of justice, the drive of freedom, further propelled my actions. As I could only utter so many stuttered words, limited by my hushed and muted vocabulary, I sought resolution in my actions. The brutal carnage, the violent invasion, the glorious tear of flesh from bone - every calculated dance of duress - a cavorting assault accompanied by rufescent, gore drenched knives and shattered bones.

Basketball Camp creates dark electronic music accented by pounding rhythms and fluttering synths. Samples, cut and placed in the right spots, accent the track like misting, impish stops and starts. Like glitched out patterns of speech - faltering and failing to fully portray what you wish to say. Inarticulate, tongue-tied, vanquisher - reduced to unpronounced, unspoken jargon.

Soundcloud

♪ File under: dark, electronic, free throw line

♫ KnO▼1edge - Dvvn There

Engrossed in my grotesque transformation, I would pick the scabs that began to manifest on my once delicate, nimble, pink flesh. The new, scaley skin would easily break as I squeezed and pulled. Hoping to eject every drop of poisonous blood that was now coursing through my translucent veins, I created a nightly sanguine ritual. Afraid of digesting the vile, contaminated liquid, I would expectorate fluids until it was tinged red - splattering the porcelain with crimson, Pollock-esque drops. As I rose to survey the specks, I could feel the hemoglobin slowly disintegrating - what was once aqueous was now lose and gritty. I was constantly flaking, shedding and discarding the greying skin off my saddened and desperate body.

KnO▼1edge’s “Dvvn There,” is a deeply textured track which flirts with a darker, vexing side. Accompanied by claps and bewitching, distorted samples, they play out like a gradual unraveling of what once was. Impish voices taunt and play - coaxing - begging - wanting desperately to appease - until you have no choice but to succumb to whatever urges you so desperately longed to deny.

♫ File under: electronic, dark

♫ Mokadem - Dunt U

One bitter, cold winter morning, I saw you cast my bones into the cleansing fire. After sending your deepest well wishes, your would hurdle my femur, my scapula, and fibule into the sparkling embers. You held my mandible in your right hand as you uttered disembodied mantras of protection and damnation. Ashes and crimson, glistening organs, housed in your knapsack - you departed far into the woods - to bury our secret, our vulgar and divine cryptic service. Your varicosed, blistering feet could barely hike the daunting incline which was so cruelly taunting your efforts. Deciding to rest, you unraveled the cloth and plastic. Kissed in rufescent hues, you admired the now intestinal carmine flower, blooming before your eyes.

Mokadem’s minmal track, “Dunt u”, climbs to a slow build while sampled, pitch shifted vocals flutter alongside the heart-heart thump of the bass and ivy-esque beats. And then, as if to interrupt the cosmic mediation, a muted, distorted synth disturbs the foggy, stellar shroud. The track never fully breaks but hangs in this measured, tempered limbo. Like a celestial, empyrean, out of body experienced touched by languid realizations of what is to be.

♪ File under: electronic, minimal

♫ TEMPLE DE∆TH - LINES ∆ND NOT LINES

Upon introspection, I came to the realization that you were my unwilling savior. Donning that mask, composed of uneven pieces of cowhide, you were a caricature of humanity. When spoken to, you would answer only in grunts and growls. As was custom, you would signal the start of our feast with your guttural, gnarlish vocabulary. Your singing instrument of destruction held high over your head. The glorious, victorious pose - twisting and twirling - set against the backdrop of the blood stained sun. How the overpowering, humming filled my ears - the horrific, hellish buzzing - the cracking of bones underneath the rusty bone saw - the squishing and squirting of the cocktail of flesh, blood, and push. An overture of anguish. Grizzly gourmand. 

“Lines and Not Lines,” by TEMPLE DE∆TH, creeps and crawls like hesitant ivy alongside an abandoned building. It inches and pauses only to met with an urging oh and ah - a sign of assurance - of reluctant security. As the claps boom and pound slowly against the screaming, distorted imps, it regains it composure - set proudly in its serpentine stature. Mystic magnetism - wanton wizardy.

♪ File under: witch trance

♫ Mask Man - Bitch

I watched the words fall lovingly from your pale lips. As you spoke in a slow motion, I stood mesmerized and paralyzed before you. You would put your tremoring hand on my sweat-stained forehead - baptising and anointing me in a crimson, syrupy solvent. I could perfectly map out the pastel blues of your serpentine veins and the majestic, enlarged tendons that swelled and deflated with the movement of your haggard, gaunt hands. The stained cloth which served as your concealing gauze, would slowly start to unravel with every movement, exposing your bruised flesh. Your gaping wounds were visible; they would ooze murky blood and milky pus. Your fibrous ligaments, lacerated and split, could barely house your failing construction. Inching closer, I gasped in amazement at your level of functioning - your driving resolve. Speaking words of adoration through your tongueless and cracking lips, your warm and foggy breath traveled down the length of my tilted neck. Striving to fuse, amalgamate - my ingenious, intoner idol - scintillating, severed, serenader. 

Mask Man, from Britain, creates turbid, misty witch house. Synths wail and screech while throbbing, pulsating beats flirt with aching melodies and distorted, subaquatic impish voices. The familiar, impeding sense of doom, calamitous intonations, crawls and creeps until it meets with its welcome destruction - an embodiment of the abraded and accepting. Uniting in mellifluousness, bedeviled kismet.

♫ Bonus: Mask Man - Wigi Boards

Get the whole set here.

♪ File under: dark, electronic, witch house, no face 

♫ BLZRS - W3 AR3 BLZR$

My breathing became shallow with every push - the cracking of my broken chest. Your virulent stance, pressing and oppressing my feeble, near splintering sternum, grew more triumphant as the pressure swelled. Stifled and squirming, I desperately struggled to escape your sadistic flirtation. Asphyxiated amour - succumbing to the shattering sound.

BLZRS is not for everyone. Those that have a particular aversion to distorted, blown out ear-to-the-speaker beats, will find most of BLZRS’ sounds loathsome. The bass throttles and pulsates - bombastically and defiantly - as if they are striving to escape their restraints. Grimy, ashy, writhing, mellifluousness housed under intriguingly mangled rhythms.

BLZRS is playing tonight alongside Born Gold & Old Arc in Santa Cruz @ Pioneer.

BONUS: ♫ BLZRS - FASHION CRIMES

Soundcloud | Bandcamp

♪ File under: distortion, pulsating, sample, blownoutsounds

♫ Lana del Rey - √1D∑Ó G∆M∑$ (M∆DD3N refix)

I would maintain my composure as the verdict was laid to rest. As the crowd shouted exclamations of disbelief mixed with those of support, I was escorted, gingerly, off the stage. Soft, reassuring hands would wrap around my wrists - leading me to my doom. They would place me at a table - blindfolded and bandaged - urging me to partake of this vexed foodstuffs. Unable to swallow, I nearly began choking upon the disgusting sustenance they disguised as a reward. At this moment, I truly understood their intent. In all their deceit and niceties, they begged me to reveal the deeply hidden secret that I had buried deep within my psyche. Paralyzed with anguish, I watched them throw the provision on the floor. Ravenous, rabid hounds tore into the fodder - howling and shaking with delight. One by one, those coaxed, frightened witnesses jolted out of the wooden pews shouting name in hesitant decloration. Forsaken fidelity - my gorgeous overseer now doomed.

M∆DD3N’s dragged out refix of Lana del Ray is perfect, slow-motion, Lynchian love song. An invitation to succumb and surrender - to forsake all that is reality and submit to the fantasy. 

Listen to more here.

♪ File under: dark, drag, refix

♫ Cold Love - Other Light

Almost as if on cue, the grotesque internal transformation began. Days soon gave way to weeks, and I could feel my insides stretching and twisting at every turn. Organs entangled and intertwined - helixed and spiraled. My innards were your fodder; you began to feed upon my body. Devouring the gastric acids, chewing and sucking on the white blood cells, nibbling and feasting on my liver, my kidneys. At times, I could not withstand the intense pangs you frequently subjected me to. I would vomit vile, crimson liquid until I fainted away from the sheer force; exhilarated yet repulsed by the invasive aftermath. Kicking and punching, I could feel your desire to escape manifesting in your vehement reactions. What joy you would derive out of ripping apart my intestines - plucking them intently like a harp. If I did not see to your inner whim, you would flick my lungs and tickle my heart. Squeezing and pinching. Pulling and squashing. Parasitic predator - invasive alien. 

Cold Love’s darkly lush sound ebbs and flows - reaching and then gently pulling back. It teases and satisfies; intensely, softly, and majestically. The tiny hint of vocalization, the hushed and masked urging creates a hazy shadow of something greater than originally anticipated. Textured layers stumble and start - tripping, falling, succumbing into murky, nebulous arms. Atramentous affection - dark delight.

You can download the other 3 previously released songs + “Other Light” here. 

♪ File under: dark, electronic, oh my heart

♫ Killorgiveup - Blind

Aware of your persuasive powers, I began to document your fallacious allegations. As the poisonous words rolled and tumbled off your forked tongue, those around you would slowly succumb to the noxious proverbs. Oh, how you would raise your arms high above your head, your black eyes darting manically until your whites swallowed them - eclipsed and shadowed. Your body spasms as it frantically convulsed while the venom darted through your veins. Once the fit was complete, you began spewing vile and vulgar expletives directed at the ones I had called family. Your boney, crooked finger would point in accusation as you spitefully disclosed the visions expelled by the soothsayer. Those planted memories, conjured by ill-wishing shamans, were brutal, boorish, and wantonly pornographic. You would shiver as you recollected the tawdry vignettes of your deceptive, delusive past. And I, powerless and rageful, would allow you to expound your tales of victimization while I quietly concocted my plan to assassinate the familial charlatan. Severed sister - discarded descendant.

Killorgiveup, a duo from Estonia, is composed of Spicemouse (Laura Vunk) (featured nearly 1 year ago on U/R) and Felix Bondareff. Together, they create languid, opitatic electronic music with a glimmer of somber, aphotic touches. As the vocals hazily clamor over synthetic hand claps, there is a pulsating, pounding sense of lurid urgency. Mellifluous, distorted vocals are juxtaposed over thunderous, roaring synths. And in a matter of minutes, you have found yourself fully surrendered and unrestrained - falling at the feet of those persuasive peers - gesticulating your welcome. Conglomerating communion.

Get the 3 song EP, “Winehoused”, here.

 ♫ Bonus: Killorgiveup - Desire

♪ File under: electronic, dark wave, narcoticcore 

♫ Magic Fades - Endless Summer

We shared vicious, inhumane idiosyncrasies. Holed away from the rest of the world, we saw to it that we only carried out what the other desired. As our numbers began to multiply, we began experimenting for our survival. Our joy found in our cruel discovery - boiling, slicing, exposing what we truly were. Hermit-like, solitary savages - enclaved and enraptured.

Newest track from one of my new faves - Magic Fades. Once “Endless Summer” kicks in, suddenly, nothing else matters. As the vocals dreamily swoop in amidst the familiar, calming sampling, the celestial glistening of starlit instrumentation, you are instantly transported to a place enveloped in sound - pure warmth. Trance inducing, blissful jam on a smooth r&b vibe.

♪ File under: electronic, freefalling

♫ TWIN-GEMZ - Dark Thots

After countless rejection, I found the perfect companion in bits and pieces of my acquaintances. Convinced I was not meant to remain in isolation, I set my plan in motion. Over time, I began to map out the construction, the blueprint of adoration. Setting aside my sharpened, sanitized instruments alongside my crude sketching of human architecture, I eagerly awaited the fabrication of my sutured suitor. My anticipation knew no boundaries. With every stitch, I could feel my heart swelling as I manipulated your weakening skeletal structure. The fragile and soft bones soon gave way as I tenderly carved out the unnecessary gore which restrained your inner beauty. Bludgeoned and taut, I cleared away the warm rust-like substance that filled the gaping orifice in your now hollow cranium. Fascinating framework - patchworked partner.

TWIN-GEMZ conjures up entrancing witch hop. With near mantra like rhymes and verses, TWIN-GEMZ’ “Dark Thots” intermingles with goblin-esque confirmation and hypnotic paranoia. Questioning, quasi-confrontational curiosity that begs for further investigation of those menacing musings. 

♪ File under: electronic, witch hop

♫ Koban - Down in the Well

I would cloak myself in the darkness of the night. Banished and tormented by the voices that possessed me, I sought solace in the pitch black surroundings you had cruelly bestowed upon me. Once a virtuous angel, I know bore the brand of one led astray. Night after night, I began to seek an escape from my prison of darkness. My sepulcher - kissed by demons - was not my true domain. Slowly, my frame became more skeletal. Bones protruded from my hips. Elbows enlarged with pure cartilage. No longer did I maintain my familiar characteristics of my childhood; my once thick head of hair now claimed a few, slimy strands. The veins of my formerly smooth skin - ever present beneath my rice-paper, greyish thin flesh. Possessed and maddened, I no longer had the need for worldly goods. Your symbols of freedom - your grotesque, divine protection - was met with disgust and complete hatred. For I saw the one you cherished as my enemy and I was the one now entrusted with his demise.

Koban’s “Down In The Well”, features buzzsaw guitar work and pounding percussion to create a sense of impending doom. Tension boils as the instrumentation mixes with nonchalant male vocals and near screaming female vocals. Whip-like snares signal for your attention as it lashes out again and again - a little muffled yet ever present. Like awaiting that punishment you are now accustomed to receiving.

Get more here.

♪ File under: dark, goth, down here

♫ People at Parties - Say

Wanting to explore the darkened landscape and valley below me, I decided to venture off into the unknown at dusk. Packing only what I thought was necessary, I slowly crept out into the inviting surroundings. I would drink in everything I could - from the sound of the creaking twigs screaming beneath my feet to the screeching sounds of the birds hidden from my view. As I climbed through entangled branches and across moss laden rocks, I felt myself lose my footing. Tumbling, my once strong and graceful leg broke neatly in two. My ankle was lovingly, firmly held by the forceful grasp of needy roots - ensnared - intertwined. Certain I would meet my demise, I began shaking and trembling, my entire body erupting in a fit of madness. I would hear the sounds of curious creatures sauntering - surveying the now easy prey trapped before them - a sacrificial lamb waiting to be devoured. They would cackle with pride and giggle with gluttonous glee. Alone, I awaited my horrible, undeniable conclusion. The forest, in all its cordial and enticing beauty - my open casket. Catacomb of catastrophe. 

People at Parties - dulcet, dark pop for the doom generation - gothic pop soul for those disciples draped all in black. Pulsating, pounding synths that rightfully nod to the sounds of yesteryear while remaining fresh and tenebrous - foggy effervescence. Synths creep and stroll alongside demanding, dusky vocals. “Say” is summertime anthem darkly cloaked in defiance. And in spite of the circumstances, you are ready and willing to risk it all.

♫ Bonus: People at Parties - Control

People at Parties Facebook | Video for Say

♪ File under: dark pop, 80s pop, new wave - be brave 

♫ D▲N▲S▲R - WiTCHKRFTKiLLS

I could feel myself unravel as I slinked far back into the night. Ashamed by the unprovoked, unwanted undoing, I began an attempt to remain intact - to push myself in further. As my insides began to shake, I held steadfast - determined to remain whole. My organs slowly began to slip outside of me - creeping, slinking, oozing crimson red. Pushing, determined to not implode, I held my glorious guts in my trembling hands. That which fueled my tormented body soon betrayed me. Expelled. Expunged. Letting out one last frightful scream, I finally disentangled into a wretched pile of glistening filth. My sheer shame - unlaced and exposed.

D▲N▲S▲R is, in essence, a soundtrack for a haunted (witch) house party. A vexing euology for those apparitions of the past while remaining a caliginous celebration for all that is sinister and unknown. An impeding warning - calling and commemorating calamity.

Get it here.

♪ File under: dark, witch house, celebration of concealed forces

♫ White Horse - Trouble With The Horses

Mauling and scratching your crimson skin, I lacerate your flesh with great intent. Soft sounds of inviting anguish escape your parted lips as my body overwhelms yours. Mouths distort with distress. Brows furrow. Eyelids tightly fold. I strive to amalgamate - to have our fiber eventually deliquesced. Unable to abandon my tormented memories, you begin to disintegrate. Your sharpened nails, now owned by mine, penetrate your pallid, glistening skin. Membranous unity. Turbulent melding.

There are times when I really love an artist’s work but choose to not showcase it for whatever strange reason I may have. I would love to take this opportunity to help spread the word on an upcoming show featuring a truly phantasmal artist, White Horse (aka Ben Chisolm). White Horse creates vexing music for seances - like a musical medium for those no longer of this earth. By using distorted, ghostly samples midst snaking, pulsating backdrops, White Horse is the fine line between the living and the dead. Like playing for and channeling a growing gathering of demanding apparitions.

With a growing body of work, White Horse has released three volumes of THE REVENANT GOSPELS (two released this year) and 4 other compositions. He will also be playing in San Francisco’s disCuLtuRe with Penthouse and Friendzone on Aug 20 at Truck. You can read more about the night here.

Bandcamp & Soundcloud

Bonus:
From Relevant Gospels III: “Nothing was beautiful and everything hurt”

♪ File under: music for seances  

This is important information for all you fans of Kuhrye-oo out there! Please reads this about the current status of his tour and if you can, please, please donate! Buy a shirt, too (I know I am) and just send overall good vibes to one of the kindest beings ever.

Please reblog, blog, and get the word out.
———————————————————————

KUHRYE-OO TOUR UPDATE: STOLEN LAPTOP/PASSPORT

dear friends,
I have the unfortunate news to report that I got my backpack, which included my laptop and passport, stolen from me in San Francisco. Since the Kuhrye-oo set is performed entirely from a computer I’m gonna have to cancel a good portion of my tour.

Its a pretty big bummer BUT, I’m in the process of replacing the laptop and getting my backup files. I’m hoping to be back on the road by the 28th (cross your fingers).

In the meantime I could use your help in a few ways…

1) Buy shirts!!!
I’ve got a box full of Kuhrye-oo shirts and it would help me a ton to sell a few.
They are $20. If your in North America I can ship one to you too ($5 shipping).
s,m,l American Apparel. Paypal to fourwallsstudio@gmail.com

2) A place to crash in San Francisco. I’ll be couch surfin the next week or so.
hit me!

3) Laptop! you selling or know a dude? I’m buying.
Looking for a macbook pro 2010/2011

THANKS!!!!!

here’s an updated tour itinerary…

8/17 - Oakland, CA - CANCELED 

8/18 - San Francisco, CA - CANCELED (although I’ll be hanging out)

8/19 - LA, CA - Lot 1 - CANCELED

8/20 - Tijuana - Don Loope -CANCELED

8/21 - San Deigo, CA - Tin Can Alehouse - CANCELED

8/22 - Irvine, CA - CANCELED

8/24 - Santa Cruz, CA - CANCELED

8/28 - Santa Fe, NM - VFW Hall - §

8/29 - Tucson, AZ - Solar Culture Gallery - §

8/30 - Phoenix, AZ - Rhythm Room - §

8/31 - San Diego, CA - The Soda Bar - §

9/02 - Santa Barbara, CA - Velvet Jones - §∑

§ - Purity Ring

∑ - Yacht

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

kuhryeoo@gmail.com

You can read the original post here: http://kuhryeoo.tumblr.com/post/9049296453/kuhrye-oo-tour-update-stolen-laptop-passport

♪ File under: bummer, help - he needs somebody!

♫ Mellow Grave - Don’t Deliver Us

He would emerge from isolation, victorious and tumefied. His bloated, distended belly would jiggle as he would trample proudly through the manor. Placing his hands on his hips, he would let out a cackle like drunken raven - intoxicated on his own imperious libation. Aware of his presence, I would withdraw into my chamber until his engorged vessel passed my hall. The thunderous shaking, his shrill and vile laughter, caused my skin to become prickly - goosefleshed and icy. Pulling my shivering knees to my chin, I hugged myself tightly. Whispering to myself -calm mantras of protection. Wanting nothing more than to be granted a repose. Silently urging the cessation of your mortality.

Nearly one year ago, I posted a song from Auckland’s Mellow Grave. It pleases me greatly to discover they are back with a 9 track obsidian-esque work entitled “Smoke Filled The Room, We Slept”. As synths signal and hum a vexing, stygian demise, beguiling and luring vocals invite and tempt. Cloaked in foggy synths and tattooed with jangling, strumming guitars, “Smoke Filled The Room, We Slept” is like a slow build to total dissolution. Enchanting, cajoling - atramentous pied piper.

Get it here.

♪ File under: darkwave, electronic,