A couple years ago, I spent a day in a car with Keith Rankin driving across 9000 mile-wide Kansas listening to YouTube documentary clips on Area 51, Bob Lazar, and some military dude who worked with J-Rod. I was left terribly shaken and excited and was all set to go off and start telling everyone The Truth but something inside me said, “No, dude. The CIA will have you taken out and you’ll never get to see these beautiful Kansas interstates with their cornfield Jesuses again.” Ever since, when someone talks aliens near me, I get all misty and unleash a torrent of misinformation on them that could fill Groom Lake. I finally looked up the wiki the other day to re-up on my knowledge and learned that Bob Lazar was a con-man who now runs a fireworks company that keeps getting busted for selling illegal explosives and that he probably never graduated college. Or that’s all just a CIA plot to discredit him and Wikipedia is under their control. The truth is FAR OUT THERE.
Whether we believe in aliens or not, we can all agree that 43% of the aliens that exist are known as Greys. Whether we believe there’s a handful of them at Area 51 or not, we can all agree that Belarisk’s new tape on Moss Archive is proof that some of them escaped. How does a Grey escape from an Air Force base in a Nevadan desert? Fucking modular synthesizers is how. Track 1, the aptly titled “623y5, 35c493d,” sets us up in a blacked out bus, takes us right on through the dozen checkpoints, drops us in a very air-conditioned room and undoes the blindfold. We’re like, “oh shit, what did we have to do all that for? We’re fucking scientists from fucking M.I.T. Just show us the aliens,” and some meathead scowls, muttering, “it was supposed to be a surprise,” and puts us on an elevator that descends for like 7 minutes of “N) v)lc3, n) d4747,” eventually opening up to a room that’s more dimly lit than one might infer from the defense budget.
Here, synthy fifth chords clang off each other for whole minutes of our disbelief at what we find in front of us. Snack machine?? Fritos?? We pop in our wrinkled bills and watch the little snack-pack swivel up to the edge and teeter there, massively relieved as it departs its snacky sanctum and plops into the load-out zone. We bend down and stick our hungry hands inside and “T4c7ic41 W38” comes on and we get shot the fuck up with lasers and now we’re dead.
That’s how the story goes sometimes. You spend your whole twenties learning a bunch of calculus and getting good grades and they finally award you that top-tier military clearance your roommate always wanted and an alien kills you before you get a good look at it. Luckily for the rest of us, Belarisk and the Greys use their beyond comprehensible synth tech to GTFO for another seven tracks of spitfire waveform telepathy and disc-shaped earth-departure which get downright violent at times. After the noise subsides, get that cassette and get in that ship and just glide away to Alpha Centauri where everything’s chill and humans are still stumped by space-dust. Take a couple weeks to recoup but polish up those probes, they’ve not seen the last of you.
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