Electroplating The Dead (1891)

Burial? Cremation? How about electroplation? How could you resist being made metallic for eternity with a brilliant red copper finish of exceptional strength and durability? Relatives could stand you in the corner of their living-room, until they die and your nieces and nephews are left with the problem of whether to keep the metal you. Let's face it, they'd consider that a bit weird, and probably...do what? Give you to a charity shop? Imagine that! You could end up in the window of Oxfam (what price would they put on you?), and be bought by a collector of strange objects. That or you get chucked in a skip by a house clearance team... 

Who better to provide some suitably metallic music than Daphne?

The Rise And Fall of the Music Blogging Empire

There's a good debate here called The Rise And Fall Of The Obscure Music Download Blog, which I read whilst listening to a free download called Fullerton Collage Tapes recently culled from the Internet Archive. This sound collage of US under/overground hits mixed with electronic effects and tape manipulation naturally echoes earlier works of Henry, Schaeffer, Parmegiani and James Tenney, whilst pre-dating the plunderphonic exploits of John Oswald and The Tape Beatles. The creator is Frank Long, about whom there's no info on the Net.

Whilst Long's sampled and spliced tunes played they mirrored perfectly the state of mind induced by so many files filched from download blogs. As Eric Lumbleau of Mutant Sounds so eloquently puts it, our experience of music today does feel like being 'inside this cyclotron of atomized information' which produces 'a palpable sense of vertigo'. He speaks from a blogger's perspective, but the same must be true of those reaping the rewards.

Reading the debate reminds me of so many discussions about musical 'golden ages', whether in the realms of Jazz, Jungle or just about any other genre that's since become calcified in time and treasured by fans. Who could have imagined, during it's peak, that file sharing would eventually have it's own classic era? Despite infamous crashes and shut downs, the impression we get is that the internet offers All Things for Eternity, whilst, ironically, perpetuating the feeling that nothing is permanent amid the ever-tumbling cascade of digital info. Music now is akin to information, such is the scope and quantity of it; a blizzard of bytes forceful enough to make anyone's head spin.

Yet, even for a relative newcomer to file mining like me, it does feel as if the golden age is well and truly over. Since the death of Megaupload, bloggers at best make valiant efforts to re-up some files, often with the help of their audience. Whilst others have simply given up due to the ever-changing specifications of hosts. Those of us who missed out on the good ol' days are more likely to find sites as mausoleums filled with hundreds of dead links. And as mentioned in the debate, the search today is frequently hampered by having to navigate spam whilst enduring a storm of prurient pop-ups, only to finally be confronted with the dreaded phrase 'this file has been deleted'.

However, as I remind myself time and time again, I do have plenty of music to listen to without needing more. Oh yes, the dilemma of the downloader who cannot resist the hunt, just as the shopaholic cannot resist another pair of unnecessary shoes. Like you, probably, I have great albums stored which I hardly know except through fleeting visits which prompt reminders to 'Listen properly'...another day.

Like democratic capitalist countries, we bask in this freedom to consume ourselves to death, whilst inhabitants of some tiny communist state (vinyl-only buyers, perhaps) look on, shaking their heads, and laughing whilst we endeavour to quench the insatiable desire for sound.

If blogs offering 'classic' obscure music (how's that for a contradiction in terms?) really are dead or dying, perhaps it's for the best. As options close down we're forced to re-examine what we already have, and to treasure what came so easily. For those of us old enough to have straddled the old vinyl and new digital eras, that shouldn't be so hard, should it?

The ABC of Space (Independent Television Publications, 1969)

For all you lunartics. This annual is a spin-off from the much-loved UK TV show, Magpie. Bet you can't guess what 'A' is for. OK, but you probably wouldn't have guessed that 'V' is for, amongst other things, Velcro, yes, Velcro, of which there were 773 square inches on the floor of the 'Moonship' to provide footholds. Who said space travel is a waste of money? Without it, we'd never have Velcro straps or patches on jackets which, as I've found to my cost, are also great at ripping knitwear to pieces...so...thanks for that, NASA. What happened to the Jet Shoes idea? And The Hopper? They look so futuristic in a Dan Dare kind of way.

Space Hopper

Pictur Show - Altered Book

Realists Manifesto - Overthrow The Human Race

Next Blog

Ah yes, the blogging universe...what happens out there? I decided to take a trip using the 'Next Blog' button to explore the multi-dimensional manifestations therein. Having done this before, I fully expect to be bored within five clicks...but this is the randomly selected world of blogging...

3 cat and a couple of rabbits (cats, eh? we just can't get enough of em!)

'The house is about finished...'

Good news, I'm sure you'll agree.



Ordinary Enchantment (onto rabbits now, which are far more interesting than cats, of course)

'You may have been wondering lately what these Rabbits and I have been up to. '

Funnily enough, I haven't, but do carry on...




Bunny Blog    (hold on, what's happening here?)

'So.... I was saying to myself the other day, "Gee, you don't have enough to do with your free time.  Why don't you take up sewing again?" '

Indeed, sewing is an admirable pastime...



The Whitmer Family (you just know this is going to be interesting)

Told you...

'Rory Beckett Whitmer was born April 19th at 5:05 pm'

Join me in congratulating the Whitmers on the birth of their son...we don't know them, but they're telling the world and will be surprised that you know...



All About Addy - My Pregnancy Blog   (christ, another one...humans insist on breeding like rabbits...cluttering up the planet...)

Look at me!


'Well, tomorrow is the big day. At 6 am we will be checking into L&D to be induced.'

I'm being induced towards saying something mean...and shall resist...after all, she isn't blogging with a view to me seeing her pregnant, is she? At this point, I'm feeling like an unwanted voyeur, but I blame Google and their 'Next Blog' facility...




Sing To Jesus   (I'm not making this up, honest)

'This morning I took my parents to the Wieliczka Salt Mine in Wieliczka, Poland.'







Er ...........

This girl has 102 followers...what am I doing wrong?







Paranoia   (hello, things are looking up)

Come on, support struggling artists...(I'm not commenting on his work)






Graphic Novels Challenge  (I don't read them, but this could almost be interesting and is a definite step up from babies and rabbits...)

Fatal Error     (this works actually looks good)

So I'm ending on a high note.

I'm sure you've found this journey fascinating (especially the rabbits). In the end, we went from the cradle to the grave, more or less.

Gabriel Saloman - Adhere (Miasmah)

By chance this came along as I was in the process of making pieces of paper adhere to one another, and has been a constant in the soundtrack to making the booklet. It suits the mood of the texts and images perfectly. I don't suppose that kind of adherence is what Gabriel Salomon had in mind, though.

I got moody after all that book-making and collared some street urchins who, for the price of a cup of tea and crusts of bread, set about cutting and pasting for me. It's like Warhol's factory here, minus the glamour. OK, it's more like a Victorian workhouse as I patrol the floor, swishing my cane, barking orders, and generally seeing to it that the work gets done properly. After all, it's my concept, the making of which should be left to the lower orders, one of whom cried 'What's that noise, mister?' whilst this album was playing loudly. I struck him a swift blow about the ear and he soon shut up.

What is this noise? I don't know how to describe it other than as a moody, mesmerising collection of militaristic percussion, piano, electronics and guitar, all melding into what feels like one long cyclical trance-inducing trip of epic proportions, epic in feel, that is, rather than sonic overload. Little melodies on a large canvas; deceptive simplicity masking more content than is apparent at first. This album wormed its way into my brain  after several plays and is still doing so.

For Sale: What Remains of Words

A project I've been working on over the last few weeks.

Handmade

Full colour

173mm x 240mm

20 100gsm Vellum Laid pages

Limited edition

UK price: £15

Overseas: £18

PayPal preferred.

All enquiries via contact email address on the right.

Images below are details, not complete pages (apart from the cover)

'What remains are words and images from an author trapped between the worlds of fact and fiction, myth and reality. He meditates on the meaning of both words and his very existence – is he real, or fictitious? But who is The Author? A hero of film noir mythology, a writer, detective, or all three? Do these words belong to him, or someone else? 

Through quotations and collaged prose culled from long lost sources, What Remains of Words presents a world where nothing is definite, and there are no answers. This is a mystery that will never be solved; a case that will always be open. 

These remaining words create nothing like a conventional story; instead, they offer fragmentary images and impressions. Readers are free to imagine the narrative behind the remnants created by a soul who is lost amongst the pages...

What remains of writing fades in the making...'

Word/Image Collage Assemblage

As yet untitled. 

A5 (approx) hand cut. 

Limited edition.

Selling worldwide.

Price: TBC

Details coming soon.

Sod Art, Sell Henry Moore

Farewell then, 'Old Flo'. Tower Hamlets Council is selling Henry Moore's Draped Seated Woman and taking the filthy lucre. So it moved from a London housing estate to the green fields of Yorkshire (where it currently resides) and finally into the hands of whoever is rich enough. This is how it must be in a world where money means more than idealistic notions of Art For The People. The dumb proles didn't deserve it anyway.

Independent mayor, Lutfur Rahman, overruled his councillors and set a fine example for the country and others in his position. There have been so many cuts in council funding that any artistic treasure within the bounds of a borough is begging to be sold. Sold for better bins, road markings, signs and, at a push, affordable housing, perhaps. Sold for the sake of boosting the council's coffers. Sold because Art is worth so much, the cost of everything  being more important than its true value.

Everything must go. Sell that which supposedly represents the antithesis of mere material wealth because Art today is a market place like any other. Art is not for The People to either make or appreciate. It is a specialist product manufactured by the few with good agents and rich buyers. Like celebrities, like football stars, like Pop stars, The Artist is one more manifestation of what it means to be a Success in the Western world, success being measured in the accumulation of wealth and all the glittering prizes it buys. This the age of the pragmatist, not the dreamers who petition and plea for reason based on lofty ideals.

Pawn shop politics will see councils cashing in all their useless treasures, such as statues that have cluttered the streets for years, where they are vandalised and rarely appreciated, because what do the plebs know of Art? They only know of jobs and housing, football and tabloid gossip. Which of them would miss a statue? What do they dream of and aspire to other than being famous? Teach them a lesson and let it be this: a lump of bronze called 'Art' can be worth millions, and that is what matters.

L'Immaculee Conception by Andre Breton and Paul Eluard

Tate Modern Exhibition 2002

Mushroom Existence (Sampled Texts)

                                  

                                        So here he was, bleeding all the time and lonely.

                                                        "Not to write the life of a man, but only life, life itself."

                                             I don't believe in influences, I sometimes think 

                                                             (at around 6 o'clock in the evening) of a spirit common

                                                to the period, but I declare myself an enemy of explanatory criticism

                                                                                            and of objectivity.

                                       'Do not be afraid of being wrong, just be afraid of being uninteresting'.

                                                                 Jesus Christ, he thought, either I've really

                                                                 gone off my rocker or I have just fucked a ghost.

                                                        It began to get dark. I wondered how I could ever

                                                   have thought cops-and-robbers an exciting game.

                                                 BENSON HF HAS BEEN INTERFACED.

                                                 IMPLANTED DEVICE NOW READING EEG DATA

                                                 AND DELIVERING APPROPRIATE FEEDBACK.

                                                  Is it I who is going to lead this mushroom existence?

                                  I was in that place where one finds onseself after having left 

                                  time and space: the infinite eternal, Sir.

                                            Waking to a morning of gullwhite bombers

                                              skytrails white & fleecy as the tails of lambs

                                             I died with the first onslaught of black bombs. 

(JP Sartre, T Carl Whitmer, Michael Crichton, Thomas Disch, Ray Bradbury, Roderick Mann, Pete Brown,  Alfred Jarry)

                                            

                                                          

Masters Of The Colour Print - E. A. Verpilleux (The Studio Ltd,1927)

Having told LJ to send in a search party if I had not returned within 30 minutes, I entered the bibliographic domain. Such a precaution was necessary, believe me, for in that place there are many perils. For instance, I could be crushed beneath books which stand more precariously than a house of cards. The shop is small, yet the density of paper within and the volume of words and images they contain are such that it seems quite possible to become spellbound and lost in time, for all time. There is order, or rather, remnants of order abandoned long ago once the shelves became full and chaos began its reign. It is reminiscent of that popular TV programme, The Hoarder Next Door, no less, and therein must lie the appeal for the collector, who may identify with, or feel superior to, the owner, depending on their own domestic disorder. 

In blatant defiance of the pristine environment common to high street booksellers, this place flies the flag of anarchy, revelling in it's disarray. Likewise, it defies the digital domain more intensely than even the normal bookshop, for what could be more contrary to the click of a purchase and words on a screen than this? Here one must soil the fingers in search of treasure, and heave books aside which are not even stacked, but lay sprawled where the last book hunter left them. 

As for those who work here, 'eccentric' does not do one of them justice. On my last visit, he declared his sole purpose to be to 'Just get rid of the stupid books'. He was wily  applying cunning reverse psychology by suggesting I would probably find nothing, to which I replied by letting him know I understood the game he was playing. A good half-hour's worth of such banter ensued. 

This day, there was no time for banter. I made for a shelf where I had suspected there were treasures on my last visit before running out of time. Sure enough, I found a collection of prints by E.A. Verpilleux, but no sooner had I pulled it from the shelf than the cover became detached. Having flicked, I noted the price, a mere £4.50, but had the audacity to suggest a reduction due to its condition. The assistant agreed to lower that sum by one pound, having asked another in the shop who had decided that price. He suggested someone else. I knew I had found a bargain, despite its condition. As you can imagine, I left the shop a happy man. Since the prints are pasted onto the pages, I decided to leave them framed. I do hope you enjoy them. 'St Paul's From Cheapside' was the first colour print ever exhibited at the Royal Academy. All reproductions are 'Blackmore Tintex Prints - a new method unique in the history of colour printing'. So now you know.  

St Paul's From Cheapside

St Pancras Station

Malines

The River From Waterloo Bridge

The Last Furrow

Evening On The Bure

The Sower

Entrance To The British Museum

Lee Gamble - Diversions 1994-1996 (PAN)

Describing Raime as sounding like Source Direct records slowed down last week I could not have realised how prescient my put-down would be for lo and behold what turns up but this study of Jungle breakdowns from old mixtapes - that's how absolutely With It I am, chums (ha-ha).

Truth is I'd never have checked this out if not for a tip-off from a friend who thought it would be my kind of thing, and he was right, for no sooner had I ran through a few samples than I knew I had to get it. Tip-offs from friends are better than sales hype, of course, unless said friend is a Footwork fan, in which case, you'll ignore them.

See me as a friend, please, because that's how I like to see you, unknown reader. Yes, I know we rarely speak, and yet - nothing.

Oozing atmosphere, Lee Gamble's Diversions 1994-1996 is the aural equivalent of scrap metal art, or scrap Metalheadz (!) - cue 'Rufige' (and Goldie taking time out from TV show appearances to claim royalties). Rarely do breaks make an appearance, which is the whole point. The album plays out like a dark ravers worst come-down. In another light, it collects parts of your favourite tunes, the ambient promise of fierce rhythms to come, where expectation is all. 'Emu' is particularly effective in this respect, lifting as it does the beginning and middle part of Rod Hull's hardcore gem, 'Shaolin Puppet Master' (I think it's from that, don't quote me), and creating over 5mins of moody brilliance. 'Dollis Hill' (oh 4 Hero, where art though now?), although immediately appealing as an obvious plunder from Jungle, is one of the least interesting tracks. The album works best in extracting and amplifying those parts before and between beats. Detached from their bodies, these ghost limbs gain a visceral kind of power. Witness 'Razor', a fragment from the past which resonates more from being made of less. The same could be said of the whole project.

Photo Effects By O. R. Croy

Yes, we know photo-trickery existed way before Photoshop allowed us plebs to play with the idea. So here's Dr O. R. Croy from The Complete Art Of Printing & Enlarging (1950, The Focal Press) showing us the potential in 'melting of emulsion', photograms, photomontage and cut and paste. I do like the cover, reminiscent as it is of Dali's work for Hitchcock...quite spellbinding...

Dariush Dolat-Shahi - Electronic Music, Tar and Sehtar (Dead-Cert)

Electronic Music, Tar And Sehtar by Dariush Dolat-Shahi has just been reissued on vinyl by Dead-Cert, yes, those trendy bastards. The sleeve's hand-assembled by children paid in old Finders Keepers t-shirts, vinyl remastered at a Berlin whorehouse by the cleaner, who used to work at the Nordwestdeutscher Rundfunk studio in Cologne, as a cleaner, but he picked up a few tips whilst sweeping up Herbert Eimert's chewed-up fingernails, apparently. So you know it's going to be quality. Only 50 copies pressed, so expect it to appear on eBay early next year for double the price, without being sold, because what really sells on eBay are spare nuts and bolts, make-up, handbags and prints of photos signed by Gary Barlow - I should know, I've reposted Killer Kazakhstan Cinematic Grooves (Finder Keepers 075) three times with no takers, only two watchers. Asking price was only £40...I'm not bitter, mind...

So who is Dariush Dolat-Shahi? No idea. This has been knocking around as a file for years, though, so avid followers of the more interesting music blogs will know it - those evil bastards...destroying the music industry by sharing out-of-print CDs and albums, and worse, records which poor eBayers used to be able to make a living from by feeding the needs of rare vinyl junkies - criminal. VJ's can get their fix now, thanks to Dead-Cert.

Honestly, when I was a teen I couldn't have dreamt that vinyl would be so expensive, but hey, if the cottagers, sorry, cottage industry can get by remastering old records, good luck to them. I had to make do with products of vast corporate crypto-fascist organisations like CBS spreading Herbie Hancock around the world. Even Punk labels, whose products were stuck together with snot and glue, didn't charge more than the majors. Still, they sold more than Dead-Cert, I suppose.

I like this album a lot. It's lean, electronically-speaking; an ethno-electro-acoustic fantasy created by an American-Iranian going back to his roots having nicked a load of kit from the Columbia-Princeton Electronic Music Center, plugged it into a generator in the desert and started jamming, if you can 'jam' with a Tar, which seems unlikely. Ancient to The Future (as dreamt of by studio boffin sound pioneers), it's trance-inducing, mesmeric, mind-altering, you might say, as we're swept from string-driven thing to the warble and woof of techno shadings pulsating, along with samples of birds and thunder storms. Quite magical, but not quite THE GREATEST ELECTRONIC RECORD EVER MADE that sellers would have us believe.