Piggity Pink spurts, stews, bumps, boils, and gleeks. Its breath is a falling apart, a rash on the skin of a creature rock-hard and warted. The monster retorts, “I never asked to be born like this.” The advocate suggests they might try, “I never asked to be born into this,” because we can all (mostly all) understand the pains of a world of contradiction. Yes, acute daily pangs provide a mirror, and although it is warped, it serves a function. Mostly, the monster feels fine. The monster sleeps, eats, shits, and thinks.

More about: Old Maybe

Although by most accounts they never made it big, Dallas five-piece Bedhead spent just under a decade carving out their own space in the hearts of a charmed few. In its short seven-year existence, the act quietly released three outstanding records that were hushed and consistent at a time when the underground was anything but stable. With a few pedals, chords, and a stable simplicity of form, brothers Matt and Bubba Kadane knitted textural tones from layer upon layer of endlessly-pounded guitar, only to retreat back to a sluggish, downtempo torpor.

More about: Bedhead, The New Year

“Wait… At certain moments my body is illuminated… It is very curious. Suddenly I see into myself… I can make out the depths of the layers of my flesh; and I feel zones of pain… rings, poles, plumes of pain.”
– Paul Valery

1.

What does not fade is a feeling of alienation & discomfort. & the more vague & imprecise, the more poetic. As if in a world after the end of the world.

More about: Sophiaaaahjkl;8901

The man in the skin bag has leaned some organs on the table top in front of me and is lipping some words my way. We’re sitting in the coffee shop, and it’s pretty quiet, but I can’t understand a single word from this big man.

He is a big man. He is broader than me in shoulder and timbre, and you can see the brain veins on his scalp under the clipper-kissed lines of fuzzed black buzz. His haircut is good and probably bi-weekly. His skin is darker than mine, his lips are fuller, his cuticles more attended to than my asymmetrically-manicured dirt mines.

More about: Pharmakon

Still alive. First the vacuum fills with a warm something, like an organ hum or the static of recorded space. There are the chimes from the clock on my grandma’s wall, ringing on the hour all through the night, even when no one could be expected to be listening. Then there’s the idea of Kara-Lis Coverdale’s contributions to my two favorite Virgins tracks (“Live Room” & “Live Room Out”).

More about: Kara-Lis Coverdale

Elephant in the room: Yes, the DJ Screw comparison is inevitable, and yes, a simile along the lines of “Undone Harmony Following is like a Screw tape unearthed from the rubble of a boiler room explosion” would be apt. However, aside from playing with pitch sliders and taste for bottomless bass, the sonic similarities are limited. Instead, we should direct our focus towards DJ Screw’s conceptual legacy.

More about: Diamond Catalog, Expressway Yo-Yo Dieting, Indignant Senility, Pat Maherr