“I am Batman,” said the five-year old imitating a Sinkers commercial she is watching in Times Square. This reminds her of the moment she finally jumped from limb-to-roof, conquering what she calls “Home!” As if every childhood memory were available in high-definition recall. And that bubble will eventually pop, erasing all types of thoughts from your min…
In a nutshell, No Mercy Bad Poet is the antithesis/antagonist of commercialism; ostrich-burger/-soup egg-roll. But a nutshell is impractical. No Mercy Bad Poet is more like an isolation tank. Let’s be realistic and say you left the shower on hot, closed the door for about three minutes [turn off the lights (and be careful)], and are now reentering the water closet, submerging with the steam. Your sturdy body in a shelter, in a city, surrounded by other cities, blocked by water that people travel across. Then [musician 1] sells you the bag of reefer you give to [musician 2] who’s confessing she believes [musician 3] is the new [musician ∞], but you think about how Gobby has been doing ∞ since before the Lantern EP. Y’all remember Lantern? ‘mad free shit’! Gobby been with us for a minute. That style keeps changing too. Imagine your sign-nif’s face while you pee on their razor by the drain in that sauna cocoon.
No Mercy Bad Poet is Gobby’s sensory deprivation. And shit can get grim. Modern living is so immediately isolating. But there’s always a way out of Brooklyn. Nobody has met someone who didn’t want their own private island. Gobby is presenting that as an audible offering. It’s color-by-numbers, only you do the counting. Or a game of peak-a-boo, but with ears instead of eyes. No Mercy Bad Poet is a tactical listening experience using layered sounds that increasingly tug at one’s psychology in a way that isn’t a minor note, but a stick in the mud waiting for its next adventure.
More about: Gobby
