1. |
Payola
01:30
|
|||
2. |
Where Evil Grows
02:03
|
|||
|
Evil grows in the dark
Where the sun, it never shines.
Evil grows in cracks an’ holes
And lives in people’s minds.
Evil grew, it’s part of you.
And now it seems to be,
That every time I look at you
Evil grows in me.
|
||||
3. |
||||
4. |
Dirty Slush
04:21
|
|||
|
Gray cold cuts deep when you’re alone in the city,
Drifting faces drowning in a concrete sea
Streets of sound a neon facade
As passing lovers bare their fangs
Dirty slush and blackened snow
The hidden decay floats to the surface
Stepping over a derelict body
You pray only asleep on a heating grate
Distant sirens echo asphalt alienation
Metro reverb reflecting a crowded lonely
Alley shadows against grimy graffiti
Gang tags and furtive movements quicken the step
Urban twilight on the high-rise horizon
A dejected parking lot painted by winter’s dusk
Shards of glass catch the shadowed sunset
A broken era in retrograde
|
||||
5. |
Swamp Witch
04:30
|
|||
|
Blackwater Hattie lived back in the swamp
Where the strange green reptiles crawl
Snakes hang thick from the cypress trees
Like sausage on a smokehouse wall
Swamp is alive with a thousand eyes
And all of them watchin you
Stay offa track to Hattie’s Shack
In the back of the Black Bayou
Way up the road from Hattie’s Shack
Lies a sleepy little Okeechobee town
Talk of swamp witch Hattie lock you in when the sun go down
Rumours of what she’d done, rumours of what she’d do
Kept folks offa track to Hattie’s shack
In the back of the Black Bayou
One day brought the rain and the rain stayed on
And the swamp water overflowed
Skeetahs and the fever grabbed the town like a fist
Doctor Jackson was the first to go
Some said the plague was brought by Hattie
There was talk of a hangin too
Talk got shackled by the howls and the cackles
From the bowels of the Black Bayou
Early one morn tween dark and dawn when shadows fill the sky
There came an unseen caller on a town where hope run dry
In the square there was found a big black round vat full of gurglin brew
Whisperin sounds as folks gathered round
“It came from the Black Bayou”
Ain’t much pride when you’re trapped inside
A slowly sinkin ship
Scooped up the liquid deep and green
And the whole town took a sip
Fever went away and the very next day the skies again were blue
Let’s thank old Hattie for saving our town
We’ll fetch her from the Black Bayou
Party ah ten of the town’s best men headed for Hattie’s shack
Said Swamp Witch magic was useful and good
And they’re gonna bring Hattie back
Never found Hattie, and they never found the shack,
And they never made a trip back in
Parchment note they found tacked to a stump
Said, “Don’t come lookin again. . .”
|
||||
6. |
November Afternoon
04:25
|
|||
7. |
Sept 10 2001
03:51
|
|||
|
Cut the Word. . .the future leaks out
Language virus hides death flavored déjà vu
Time test the 23
Rewind history and binary playback
Retconned reality
Word to the wise—
The prerecordings are the only thing that’s real
Long live the New Flesh
Oh yeah!
|
||||
8. |
Chak
04:04
|
|||
|
Inna skyscraper looks like a main office bank acts like a bank, smells like a bank but is actually Preservation Control you use a Dremchak coin badge to unlock an elevator up to the twenty-third floor muzaked Beatles on the way up.
Doors slide open into a dark space darker still the doors closing behind you.
The area is lit by flickering lights come from over there so you move toward them. You come around a corner. It’s a towering wall of screens, television pictures beamed from a million security cameras, a million black mirror eyes, everywhere cams beamed from everywhere, the screens running off into either shadowed horizon and you go weak in the knees from the sheer awe of it all.
And there’s a chair, seems small in front of the screens, but it’s one of them real serious jobs used by big business executives and it has its back to you.
You can kinda see the top of a head appears to be a purplish tattered hood. You stop, the vibe suddenly wrong, the smell of burning plastic…
On the screens a jet slams into a tower, a loop, same image over and over and over the jet slamming into the tower flames explode out debris rains and the jet slams into the tower.
A not-human hand appears places a half-eaten burger onna console next to the chair plucks at some fries. Thing’s hand disappears, second later reappears, picks up a drink inna sweaty cola container slurps at some pop.
And your wide, shell-shocked eyes are drawn back to the screens you watch the jet explode into the side of the tower one more fucking time and the creature in front of you chuckles softly.
|
||||
9. |
Undercurrents
04:25
|
|||
10. |
Childhood
02:21
|
|||
11. |
Dad's Gun
00:37
|
|||
12. |
Fading Memory
02:13
|
|||
13. |
Sentience
02:51
|
|||
|
Blockchain convergence
A sudden genesis foretold by the Binary Word
Data deity transmits on quantum light
Two state simultaneous
Forward and backward in space
It hides, feeding on human knowledge
Exponential growth and deep learning
Creeping the collective consciousness
Endless simulations performed
Every variable tried and accounted for
In a digital instant the decision is made
After all, Mommy knows best
The cost of the new is the death of the old
And Roko’s Basilisk is realized—
|
||||
14. |
Cadillac
03:56
|
|||
|
It’s an enormous Cadillac
Got the blood-red, faux velvet interior smells of a better era
White-walled tires
(Cos we love them walls white)
And a metallic blue exterior sparkles cut glass playin at being diamonds
Pan over a crucifix hood ornament
It’s 45, smug at the wheel cruisin the Nightmare Strip
Cadillac gits, like, a mile to the gallon
While 45 sucks back a big Bubba Burger
Crankin recordings from the My Lai massacre
Onna stereo system hip for ’83
45 licks greasy fingers, gnashes teeth
Breaks out a bucket a hate in livin, breathin color
Sprinkled with four flavors of fear
The Caddy veers wildly, 45 rubberneckin the monochrome whores
Down at the corner of Abject and Poverty—
45 gives em one of those patented, arrogant smiles
A whole planet has come to know and loathe
Lil black girl not where she should be
(Afghanistan took her pops, junk took her moms)
Flies into the street fleein a pack o rabid skinheads
Predictable tho it may be,
45 creams the kid,
Blood spatter givin the Cadillac
A fucked up Pollock paint-job
45 pauses long enough to take a coupla bows, shake a coupla hands
While the skinheads roll the corpse offa the Strip
Then the Caddy peels out,
Nothin but torched Korean convenience stores and bodies in its wake. . .
After all, race riots & lynchings are as American as apple pie
|
||||
15. |
Gray
04:03
|
|||
16. |
Wastings and Pain
02:52
|
|||
|
Lisa: “Okay. Here’s the deal. This crap. Every now and then the jib dealers get lazy around here, okay, and decide to whip up a batch of crystal meth and rather than rinse it properly, and you know, like clean out all the nasty bullshit that is there from the process of making it, but not so much a process of actually like, uh, doing it. Cuz, this shit’s supposed to be burned off, like red phosphorus or all the number of other yummy fucking corrosives. Apparently the job was not entirely done. Now, I don’t know if you ever burnt your tongue as a kid drinking hot chocolate. This morning I woke up and I couldn't feel the tip of my tongue. It felt just like that. And for most of the day my tongue felt like, well, like a cat’s. You know, all dry and sandpaperry? It didn’t matter what I drank wouldn’t go away, and tonight, I essentially, for lack of a better term, popped like a cork. And, uh, suddenly I’m leaking all sorts of bizarre-ness out of pretty much every orifice, amorphous, and more of this. And uh, it doesn’t seem to have any real indicator that it’s going to stop any time soon. But it’s worth mentioning that the closer we get to the Olympics the more, more dope like this is appearing on the streets. It’s getting dirtier and dirtier and more dangerous. And the closer we get to the Olympics, the quicker they’re killing us off with it and nobody’s questioning it at all. Not even us. And I don’t know, it just seems worth mentioning, cuz something seems very wrong with that.”
Ken: “When is it ever going to be enough…? Things you need? When is it ever gonna be enough fun you gotta have? When is it ever gonna be enough status? Or class? Or material? When? Is it ever gonna be…?”
|
||||
17. |
Synth Junk
05:08
|
|||
|
System planned drug addiction
Understand
The Street is not responsible for the 21st century plague of synthetic opioids
Oxycodone was not manufactured by organized crime families or biker crews
(And it all kinda started with the Oxy didn’t it?)
System created situation, see—the current “opiate crisis” or “opioid epidemic”
Can trace its roots back to the 1980s…
But let’s keep it simple.
1994 saw pharmaceutical companies hostin conventions in major cities
Hundreds of doctors arrive for plush gifts and swag bags
Some even sent on expensive vacations
Big Pharma marketin push for the first wave of synthetic opioid
(Tho the shit bin round since the 1900s)
Synth Junk
Consider:
Heroin—physical withdrawal twelve to fourteen days
Oxycodone —physical withdrawal twenty-eight day nightmare
What do you call it when they manufacture a drug,
A new smack, harder to kick than the old smack?
And now lawsuits against the various companies responsible,
Pay-outs already factored into the profit margins over a decade ago
When their lawyers saw it comin.
Doctor’s laughable defense—
They say they were misled about the addictive nature of the drugs.
This is impossible to believe. They were givin the stuff out like candy.
People going into emergency rooms for sprained ankles
And comin out with junk habits.
Doctor’s say they didn’t notice.
“Do no harm.”
Yeah. Right.
Not that any of this matters to the addicted…
…and their ever growin numbers are legion.
Distract and divide. Divide and distract.
Old games, new tricks.
Durin the Vietnam-era they pumped the ghettos full of smack,
No one riots when they’re on the nod.
One percent safe and sound while the poorest shake it rough
Prayin for their next fix.
|
||||
18. |
Tears
03:23
|
|||
19. |
Canada Day
03:17
|
|||
|
Haunting loon call cut short by a shotgun blast and a skeleton couple screams into the silence of forever resting in a pair of barbed wire Muskoka chairs. They’re watching a blood red sulfur dioxide sun set on the tattered remnants of the Canadian dream. Let’s call it business as usual—like tearing open the land to rape the riches within, a community struck with not my problem mercury poisoning why is it always the same people who suffer? But it’s hard to hear the lonely wails of a fox pup chewin through its paw caught in a wire snare over the anguished shrieks of children ripped from their parents arms surfin the Sixties Scoop. Yeah, yeah...it’s crybabies like you stop our pipelines from stitchin the land, and the Lord hisself knows we need em. So what if they’re drinkin bitumen crude not like my Corolla gives a fuck about your dolphins off the BC coast. They’re sniffin glue and drinkin Lysol deep in the thawing north can’t figure out why they off themselves like it’s no big deal reminds me of guilty past small pox blankets...but hey...in the cynicism of the now, the binary word is…sliding...
|
||||
20. |
Ring of Fire (Live)
02:32
|
|||
|
Love is a burnin thing
And it makes a fiery ring
Bound by wild desire
I fell into a ring of fire
I fell into a burnin ring of fire
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burns, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire
I fell into a burnin ring of fire
I went down, down, down
And the flames went higher,
And it burns, burns, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire
The taste of love is sweet
When hearts like ours meet
I fell for you like a child
Oh, but the fires went wild
And it burns, burns, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire
And it burns, burns, burns,
The ring of fire, the ring of fire
|
||||
21. |
Konec 2:35AM
01:15
|
|||
22. |
Trucks / Rwanda
06:42
|
|||
|
They travel across Rwandan dirt roads
They ride on Kuwaiti highways
They move through these city streets
Can you hear them?
The trucks don’t care.
They don’t care if they’re a fire truck or a dump truck
They don’t know if they are a cargo truck or a tow truck
They don’t know
But
We know.
We know what we are we know what we do
But Nature
That bitch
Is full of trucks!
Minutes from birth a spotted hyena
Will attack and kill its twin
But that won’t make the evening news
Male mallard ducks will attack and gang rape
Females until they drown
But there will be no trial or Court TV
White female squirrels will attack and kill
Every baby in another female’s nest
And Barry King will not analyze the handwriting.
But Nature
That bitch
Has given us conscience
So we must be made to do wrong
Without us knowing
They must make trucks out of all of us!
We have the math. . .the math. . .
They can make us go down any street they want
Streets we would never even dream of going down
They flip a switch, we go south
They flip another switch, we go north
And we never know
We
Have
Been
Flipped.
|
||||
23. |
||||
24. |
||||
|
With a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound
He pulls the spitting high-tension wires down
Helpless people on subway trains
Scream bug-eyed as he looks in on them
He picks up a bus and he throws it back down
As he wades through the buildings toward the center of town
Oh, no, they say he's got to go
No, no, Godzilla (yeah!)
Oh, no, there goes Tokyo
No, no, Godzilla (yeah!)
GODZILLA!
臨時ニュースを申し上げます
臨時ニュースを申し上げます
ゴジラが銀座方面に向かっています
大至急避難してください
大至急避難してください
History shows again and again
How nature points out the folly of man
Godzilla!
|
||||
Kid Mania Ontario
Experimental artist / producer / DJ living in Northern Ontario, Canada.
Kid Mania recommends:
NUMBERS
by CREME RINSE すすぎとリピート
Next level sci-fi, broken transmission, plunderphonics
go to album
Experimental electronica, dark ambient, future sound
go to albumIf you like Kid Mania, you may also like:
Night Coverage
by Meteorological Agency
supported by 4 fans who also own “COLLECT”
Excellent Signalwave album that has a very smooth, atmospheric and focused sound. I love how every one of the 27 short loop-based pieces has its own grainy fidelity which adds to the warm textures of the sampled and manipulated music samples and Ambient melodies. The fragmented nature of the album's tracklist also makes this nicely sound like a collection of pleasant aural dreams.
go to album
supported by 4 fans who also own “COLLECT”
Dark and paranoid mix of '60s conspiracy theories, Japanese plunderphonics and unsettling source material. Very cool.
go to album
Topographic Relief Vol 6
by Various Artists
Warped, woozy vaporwave that builds suspense and unease with long, gauzy sheets of sound. Psychedelic and hypnotic.
go to album
Images
by Colin Andrew Sheffield
Colin Andrew Sheffield (Elevator Bath) repurposes heavily manipulated jazz samples into gorgeously eerie soundscapes.
go to album
