Physical Therapy - Record Sales

A golden dance for the never more alive. The visual display of their future and after the future decades - after death and after that. The physicality of fully conscious destiny. Listen to producer Physical Therapy’s mesmeric “Record Sales”, with his release Safety Net coming June 19th via Hippos in Tanks. 

Naked bodies with heads endlessly seduced by the after death. They lay on some somebodies floor in the most conscious state they’d ever explored. The most romanticized body turbulence takes to them. Unknowingly swaying with their oscillating destiny. Gold and amplified their fantasies empty into their physicality. Visible physical therapy for the nude and curious bound-to-be’s. 

Hypermagic - Spell Inside

Bloody nose leaking into the throat. Surprising his wasting of time. He looked at his reflection in a mirror made of neon-light signs, grinning at himself like a childhood sweetheart. The opaque red looked like transparent purples in the depthless electricity that poisoned the indistinguishable street. His breath frosted the window veil between him and the neon electricity, and in his breath he traced the mirrored sketching of his blood on his cheeks. His papery lips looked pleased, when he leaned back on his heals and out of his reflection, and his nail traces matched his memory. There was a spell inside that night. “Spell Inside” is the first hypnotizer on Hypermagic’s nine-song Sugar.

Peh Per Ghost - When It’s For You

A tilting silence between two ghosted over strangers, and the indefinite strangeness of their indifference towards speech. “When It’s For You” is the watered down pleasure by Peh Per Ghost. This track comes from the three-man curated project DOPEWAVE IS REAL, via Smoke Don’t Smoke, Head Underwater, and Flashlight Tag. 

Rained on skin upholstered like a mud-coated mudslide mountain. Through zig-zagging suspended waves of rushing people I plummeted towards corners and curbs with my thumb out my fist. Hitchhiking in a yellow-carred city with water inflated city air, only to find someone to sit enclosed in prolonged nothingness with. In a vague hour he turned his undefined shoulder toward my thumb, I sat in and he drove me in diagonal lines negotiating with himself the subtleness of his glances. Retracting and protruding his swanny neck he peaked at me again and then again. We drove in diagonals as inconsequential strangers with unfastened seat-bindings, remembering the twists of shadows on the others face as the car vibrated with the shrewd rain. Slight hallucination, aberrant fascination, we didn’t once speak or question our lack of speech. 

Linear Bells - Solar Flare In My Mouth

Continuous until uncomfortable. In the 6 minutes and 44 excessively magnetic seconds of “Solar Flare In My Mouth”, permanence is caught. French composer Linear Bells’ An Island is now available via the Swedish tape label Zeon Light.

The linear electric sound of a light on midway, split hair ends skittering between shoulder blades, sunned vision that makes vision look like semi-transparent felt, the cleanliness of ill people holding spaces, the eternal roar of city beepers, the ghostliness of commonplace conversation. The uninterrupted loop, unending until uncomfortable. 

Cupp Cave - Waver

The blankness between thought that lasts decades. The Belgian beat-hypnotizer Cupp Cave recently released his noise decomposing full-length Retina Waves via Ramp Recordings. 

Street danced on broken wineglass on streets of broken pain reliever capsules swimming down gutter oceans. The cave of blankness between thought jumped into light that lightless night. Dance run down by the skittering of absolute reality. The cave of blankness between thought that was scribbled over by mindless thought to make less blank. The yellow morning that lasts decades. 

Anenon - This is What I Meant

Into the picture postcards we disappear. “This is What I Meant” when I said getaway. “This is What I Meant” by Anenon is off of the newly released Inner Hue from Non Projects founder Brian Allen Simon, available for pre-order here. 

Vanished into ambiguous picture postcards of tropical dynasties. The pictures on 4x6’s with the unidentified goddesses and nameless sand grains crowded onto a continual shoreline with too little space for the grains and the goddesses. With the frail exotic birds creating air traffic. The bright blue plate of sea with the dirty rim dirtied with the expelled sand and cigarette smoke of a postcard onlooker. The onlooker who vanished from the airplane roar-over nowhere’s and vanished into the ambiguous abyss. 

Mister Lies & Different Sleep - Vermont (Baptism)

A baptism for the masses under slivered silver rain, on a melting mountain the baptism took place. “Vermont (Baptism)” is the point of departure on Mister Lies & Different Sleep’s four-track exploratory Mass EP. Mass EP was released yesterday by my and Flashlight Tag’s label Absent Fever, find it here.

A black hole was in the making, pressed in like pressed pencil led, silver slivers of dusty rain swarmed the mountain top tidal pool. The barely borns and the barely livings sunk their toes into the melting mountain. The mothers and the dirty dishes, the babies weeping in the raining park, the barely’s weeping in the raining park, the synthetic juveniles together fleshed in backyard pools, the inward between the wall hiders scrubbing between their ring finger and the middle every hour… this dunk in the sprinkling splintering silver rain was their baptism. Their toes crawled into the melting greenery. Mud went to their knees and the liquid dust rain met it there. The mountain melted with them.

SELA - ericofsyracuse

The bed-time stories that don’t go to sleep. The sage green colored mystery dreams. The mystery 5 song tunneled-in melody release from SELA, take Men Have Secrets, But No Mystery into your own hands, here.

Swallowed in by a sage green dream with an adult bed-time story. Undersea a tunnel who sank all night in submarine light. Humid and motionless and time in between in absence of the noise of wheels and children and shuddering plates of the earth noise. Slurred drunken jazz swayed words were whispering out of my hollow eyes like upside down illusions or right side up secrets. Tentatively tunnel lights fluttered like moth wings or imitation stars. Seventy hours later, or less, in one smooth move I rose to my feet soles and swallowed the dream itself.

(Source: portalsmusic.com)

Cavalanche - Red Mama

The house was like a suburban youth apparatus, filled with religious smiles I stared at through my shuttered window sometime last week. Sometime Last Week is the 3 track debut from LA’s Cavalanche. Listen to it here.

The white meager sheet wouldn’t get away the white noise and white light stinging suburbia like a sunny bumble bee. I swung my neck round to get the look outside it was asking of me. Veiled by the cotton was a woman no more than five feet tall and two feet wide with a stomach full of a baby almost double the size. The fake air from the vent on top slapped the meager sheet, and the slap made the woman’s head throw back in my veiled view, which made her look smiling. Almost a religious smile, a throw the head back smile tilted between the folds. An unannounced wind walked in and the sheet flew behind my head. It stuck there like some mummy man. Turns out she was really smiling. Until she walked into her catholic house with shutters and scooters and tricycles and bicycles, stuck behind jail-ish pines, doll houses, cocker spaniels, 4 by 4 plastic urine pools, and an array of badminton birds that turn the grass into a sea of white pool balls on a green pool table - the house was like a suburban youth apparatus. I went back to sleep. 

Teen Suicide - Salvia Plath

Patting, straightening, arranging, all before breakfast. But instead I bit my tongue. “Salvia Plath” is Teen Suicide’s contribution to the label/collective Unlimited Free Milkshakes‘ compilation art week 2012. The writing below is inspired by Sylvia Plath. 

And darkness whipped me out like chalk on a blackboard. And I pressed my temples like they were little electric buttons. And through the slits of my eyes, which didn’t dare open too far or too fast, I saw the backsides of my eyelids, which looked like bruised craters of the moon, but pink. And I heard the white isosceles triangles of paper napkins being opened like gifts, and crooked teeth dive into hard boiled eggs, and the straw slurp of a protein shake disguised as a milkshake. And instead I bit my tongue. 

The Wandering Lake - Laughing Friend

The never-ending road trip and the laughing friends that aren’t your friends. The wandering lake that showed up like the unexpected guest at every out the car window look about. “Laughing Friend” is one of 6 road trips on Ashame by Arkansas’ always comforting The Wandering Lake, shared with me by Stadiums and Shrines.

I rolled over onto my stomach and squinted at the view out the east-side window. A glassy haze rippled up from the fires in the bushes and on the picnic grills and the heat on the road from itching tires and foot escapes, through the curtain of foggy water haze I could make out a smudgy skyline of factory stacks and bridges and the wandering lake. Three times successively unsuccessfully I blinked hard like closing steel gates to try and get the sky smudges to go away. Silver fishes that looked like silver hair jumped from the wandering lake. And when they couldn’t fly I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed. He wouldn’t slow down on the gas to let me watch. We passed people and flying trees flying through my moving view, and the people all had puffy and bruised faces in all the wrong colors, and the lake that was being scribbled on by hectic little fish kept moving. Small children of various sizes and paleness wobbled along the shadow of the flat lake like religious followers. I rolled onto my back and buckled the three seat buckles around me - the chest, the stomach, the ankles. I decided to watch the sorry cotton coated car ceiling because it wouldn’t wander and because I didn’t want to figure out where we were, because I couldn’t, because it all looked the same with the smudgy skies and pale child footsteps and trees. 

Steezy Ray Vibes - Empty City 

Finally, he wasn’t where he had been, always was, always thought he’d be; the streets that knew all his whispered confessions, in the empty city. “Empty City” is the first we hear from an upcoming collaborative EP between Dan Casey of Yalls and Adam Myatt of James & Evander, together as Steezy Ray Vibes. 

Confessing out the streets, he walked like a fractured wire hanger, bent. Confessing nothing but as fast and steadily as the rhythm of a rocking chair. In humorless protest of his doldrums, he burrowed out of bed with wide-sized rolling eyes. Confessing to the retired pavement, the bald between the high-rise sky, in some unknown and forgotten orange and white striped booth outside the city past the unknown bridge he walked over, he drank whiskey from a wine glass. Finally, he wasn’t where he had been, always was, always thought he’d be. 

Theo Bass - Mr Stellakis

The salt sea stones shuffled, like dice, or peanut shells, or foreign money, or sharks teeth, or whale bones. The shuffling in the palm was the same shuffling in the sea. And it all sounded alike. “Mr Stellakis” by Theo Bass makes up for 1 of 10 songs on the sampler from the collective called Cadence. 

The kid squatted a few feet from my feet. He lifted an oval purple stone and pitched it at the nearing sea salt. The salt sea swallowed it and its reverent plop. The kid squatted again a few feet from my feet and shuffled unsmooth stones in his kid sized palm. Like the shuffling of dice, or peanut shells, or foreign money, or sharks teeth, or whale bones. The kid squatted a few feet from my feet, but this time a few feet further, like he didn’t know me. And the salt sea he had been aiming to stone reached out like an old hand. 

(Source: easttowestblog.net)

North Bay - Thorough Masterminds

This is North Bay. 

Anxious nouns and unripe adjectives blocked by teeth, verbs that vibrated like a vibrating plane, their heads went crowded as fast as the navy spotlight of the moon went swimming. They negotiated with the buzz and the smudged faces they saw when the buzz took to long. They took two capsules neither knew a thing of, their eyes went pebbly, and there teeth got out of the way. Like the seagulls with the ashy overcoats go flooding by, whistling pressure and the fuzzy white words that fill anxiety went plunging. In a subway car somewhere towards the north bay.