#this album is the perfect combination about anxious about the state of the world and desperate for love and human connection

[aaronstveit]

DOOM DAYS BY BASTILLE + QUESTIONS

#bastille #doom days #bastilleedit #doomdaysedit #music #musicedit #lyrics #lyricedit #userdiana #userchlo #userbie #** #mine.graphic #graphic #this album is the perfect combination about anxious about the state of the world and desperate for love and human connection #clearing out my drafts #album: doom days

[brianmight]

In Another World

In another world under another sky I see another story waiting to be told

Summary: 70s Brian wakes up from what he believes is an innocent sleep at Ridge Farm--- except he now suddenly finds himself in a trailer that belongs to one Gwilym Lee. Aka, both Bri and Gwil become the human embodiments of the “I am confusion” vine.

I was asked to tag @wirkmood @brianmayplease @hysterical-qween

A distinct lack of animal noises greeted the guitarist’s ears the moment he became conscient. The somewhat ominous silence was hardly noticed though, as his senses still dwelled under the narcotics called sleep. Lazily, he brought a pair of fingers towards his eyes, yawning as he did a fruitless attempt to wipe the weariness away. Ironically enough, the gesture only seemed to blur Brian’s vision more. He shifted and allowed his legs to dangle over the sides of what his numb brain assumed to be his bed, but anyone present would have correctly identified the piece of furniture as a leather sofa. Not Brian, though, who found himself on the thin border between reality and a subconscious dreamland. The rest had been well-deserved after sleepless nights of recording, which was all they could do to limit the exceedance of the album’s deadline. Stress was evident all day long at Ridge Farm and nested into the backs of their minds, only to emerge to the surface in the shape of yells and frustrated sighs. Quarrels became more common by the minute. Recording drained all his energy, turning the atmosphere even less agreeable. Surely, there were pleasant moments too among the quartet; instances of laughter, amity, and relief. But they had become rare and were usually overshadowed by the abundance of arguments.

Another yawn fled his lips, only just evading the man’s nearing palm that was supposed to suppress the flow of air. He slowly raised himself from the surface he’d been sitting on. For the first time since he’d woken up, Brian fully opened his eyes instead of gazing through tired splits. They instantly widened. His reflection in the glass of a horizontal window gazed back at him, omitting an equally surprised feeling. Carob curls were a tangled and utterly untamed mess upon his head, particularly as one side was slightly flattened due to the pressure it suffered during the brief sleep. It wasn’t his appearance that perplexed the guitarist, though--- it was the window itself that caused his brows to knit together in bewilderment. It shouldn’t be there. Nor did he recall the soft cream walls it was connected to. Nor the potted fiddle leaf fig before it. It took far too long to dawn upon him that he found himself in an entirely different room than where he’d drifted off. Where were the old-fashioned embroidered curtains? The slightly cracked wallpaper? The bed with its squeaky mattress? Now, there was a simple yet comfortable couch in its stead. The dimly-lit bedroom was completely replaced by the bright interior of what Brian guessed was some sort of caravan, and he was absolutely certain he’d never been there before. The gears inside his head slowly awoke and attempted to make sense of the situation. Had intoxication played a part? Did alcohol prevent him from remembering how on earth he ended up where-ever he was? No, that couldn’t be it--- Brian seldom imbibed enough to affect his memory in such a severe manner. He preferred to keep a clear head. Sleepwalking, then? Unlikely.

A door opened behind him, briefly allowing noises from outside inside the trailer before dimming them again. Brian peeked over his shoulder before completely turning around. At first glance, the sight that greeted him seemed nothing more than an ordinary mirror; just another perfect reflection like the window had given him. Indeed, both figures shared the very same touch of confusion on their identical faces. Upon further inspection, however, Brian came to the unexpected and somewhat unnerving realization that there was no glass. Nothing to reflect his image, which could mean only one thing: an exact duplicate of him stood in the trailer. Copy nor antecedent moved for what felt like minutes, frozen at the sight of the other soul. Baffled to the very core, Brian broke the silence with one whispered syllable: “What-”

As if his voice had been the trigger, a Heineken can, which the other man must’ve taken from the minifridge next to the door, slipped free from the guy’s fingers and fell straight on the oaken floorboards. Time instantly melted from its frozen state and continued with rapidity. The familiar stranger sighed and managed to pull himself out of the bewildered trance - unlike Brian - by bending one knee to clean up the mess on the ground. “Christ, you scared me there for a second!” he mumbled with relief spreading across his features in the form of a lopsided grin. There was still a tinge of uncertainty visible in his eyes, though, as if there was something he couldn’t quite fathom. “I didn’t know I needed a stunt double. What is it you have to do? Crowdsurf?”

While the other continued as if nothing odd had occurred, Brian stood nailed to the floor. Unblinking eyes studied the fellow, gazing at the long curls, the mouth and jaw--- a combination he before had only seen in photographs of himself. Not to mention the other man’s outfit: a navy varsity jacket. Jeans. White wooden shoes. Apart from the slight lack of velvet, it would not surprise Brian if he had those exact garments in his own closet. Merely one factual error did he spot: the eyes. Those irises were far too blue. It reassured him slightly and soothed his perplexity to the extent where he could breathe normally again. Muscles relaxed when Brian arrived at the only conclusion that seemed somewhat logical: it was nothing but a prank. It must be. Typical Roger. The clogs were a finely added detail with a mocking undertone.

“.... stunt double? I’m no stunt double, mate,” he dismissed with one raised eyebrow, handing the kneeling guy the kitchen towel that hung on the armrest of a chair. “Did Rog set you up to this? How much did he pay you to dress up as me?” However much Brian tried to come up with a rational basis for whatever was happening, none of it would make sense. Was this all part of the jest? Creating a copy of him, emphasizing how replaceable his role in the band was? An odd tinge of irritation arose beneath Brian’s skin as he rose to his feet at the same time as the other guy, who appeared to be equally puzzled. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about.” Denial. Of course. This was exactly how his bandmates would play it. Brian clenched his jaw, reminding himself that it wasn’t the stranger’s fault and it wouldn’t be fair to blame him for his colleagues’ awful sense of humour.

“Or was it Freddie?”

“Freddie, as in Freddie Mercury?”

“The one and only. Well? Was it him?”

Silence. If confusion were to be personified, the living and breathing prototype was standing right in front of Brian. Something in his demeanour hinted that his bewilderment was absolutely sincere, but the guitarist tried to look past that. If he was genuinely surprised, that would mean Brian’s hypothesis about the prank was incorrect, and he couldn’t give any other explanations for what was happening without being labelled a madman.

“If you’re not a stunt double, who are you? And how did you get in here?” the replica asked, evading Brian’s inquiry as he tossed the towel on the chair again without breaking eye contact. The question seemed innocent enough. To Brian, however, it was just another sneer against his individual self; a joke gone too far. A joke. That was all this was. Even if it wasn’t, it would be if he just kept repeating that idea in his head. A stupid prank. Nothing that harmed his sanity.  

“Who are you?” the man repeated, the frown on his forehead indicating that he was already aware of the answer but refused to accept it without the ultimate confirmation; almost as if the truth was far too surreal to be true. “You’re not actually….     - you look identical to him. I have watched God knows how much footage of him and you look exactly…. ” His stammering voice was gradually reduced to silence. Disbelief was firmly established in the stranger’s eyes. The situation was much like how Brian imagined a fan to react after running into their famed idol, but it seemed improbable that was the current case. Queen was not that famous. Perhaps it was the hair that made him more distinctive. It didn’t matter: Brian was still no closer to clarification and at this point, he felt like he was hovering on the thin edge between confusion and insanity. He bit on the inside of his cheek, soon tasting the faint rust of blood, which was received with no alarm as his mind was far too occupied with other problems.

“I’m Brian, if that’s what you’re asking,” he confirmed and immediately wanted to fire another question at him, only stopped by the audible gasp that escaped the other’s mouth. Where the guy’s lips had formerly been shaped in a perplexed oval, they now transformed into a careful yet no less bemused smile. Brian sensed another surge of bafflement and felt simultaneously startled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re… actually young Brian May?”

“Relatively young, I suppose, but---”

“Is this a dream? Pinch me.” The stranger, still sporting the paradoxical amusement, slowly extended an arm in Brian’s direction. That was it. The guitarist took a firm step back as the anxious feeling in his stomach arrived at its boiling point. Breaths grew heavier, and he only just suppressed a raised voice as a pleading question filled the air. “Can you please tell me what the hell is going on here? I feel like I’m going utterly mad.”

The other man’s smile vanished somewhat. His eyes were wide once again.

“--- I share that feeling, believe me. Though not as much as you do,” he added quickly, again lifting his arm but this time for an amiable shake. “The name’s Gwilym. I ---- -     play you.” Clearly, the sentence hadn’t been thought through before being uttered, for the hesitation in Gwilym’s voice nor the puzzled expression on his features could hide the awkwardness that the verb brought along. Brian frowned and slightly shifted his head to study the other from tip to toe once more. “... in which sense of the word?” He shook Gwilym’s hand with caution.

“As in portray. In a film.”

“A film about me?”

“About the band. Freddie, mostly.”

“Do you mean a promotional video for the new album?” His own suggestion only confused Brian more. It made zero sense to use actors for such a video. Besides, half the songs weren’t even recorded yet. He rested his hands on his hips in a slightly pensive manner while waiting for the ultimate answer that would make everything comprehensible.

Gwilym paused, visibly unsure what to reply. He cast a quick look at the window as if signalling for help, or at least some sort of guidance in the peculiar conversation. After several seconds of stroking his own chin, he rolled his eyes and let out the following words in defeat: “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Without saying another word, he stepped towards the door, tugged it open and stepped outside, leaving a baffled Brian behind in the trailer. The guitarist hesitated. See for yourself. There’d been something mischievous in Gwilym’s tone, as if he knew he was messing with something he shouldn’t be meddling with. Altogether, that only made Brian more tempted to follow him. He looked around one last time, desperate for something familiar to cling onto and turn everything back to normal again. A failed attempt. The inviting door stood ajar, begging to be opened, and it took only a few seconds before he gave in; his hand rested on the latch, and for some reason he could not fathom he closed his eyes as he pulled the entrance open.

Brian did not know what to expect. Outside air, perhaps. Voices. People rushing around. When his eyelids parted, there was nothing of the sort. Only the old wallpaper, the murky curtains, the knitted blanket underneath which his numb limbs lay. The shrill of a rooster pierced through his bedroom window, announcing his return to the present. He let out a laugh of relief as his head fell back on the pillow. It had been nothing but a foolish dream! The captivating details of his vision had caused him to consider it reality, and still was his chest beating in anxiety.

Both Roger and Deaky were sat at the dining table, devouring their breakfast while engaged in such a deep conversation they didn’t notice Brian entering. He rubbed his temples as he made his way to the fridge, in his passing catching two fragments of their chat:

“------    and that was when the chap with the perm introduced himself as Joe.”

“That’s one messed up dream, but I bet it was nothing compared to mine.”

#queen fanfic #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #my fics

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Vol. 3, No. 1

Robert Millis

We begin our third year of Dust with, as usual, more good music than we can hope to write about, making the difficult transition from albums we were unable to get to in 2016 to albums that we really ought to say something about in early 2017.  There’s a little of everything here -- artists as well known as Justin Broadrick and as little celebrated as Philadelphia lo-fi outsider Brandon Ayers, albums that are coming out for the first time next week and albums that have moldered undeservedly in obscurity for decades, music of many genres from free jazz to Iranian-flavored electronics to vintage Ohio fuzz.  Contributors this time include Bill Meyer, Patrick Masterson, Jennifer Kelly and Ian Mathers.  Happy new year, and onward to whatever music 2017 brings. 

Robert Millis—The Lonesome High (Abduction) 

Some people can sum up their lives on a business card; Robert Millis needs a whole deck, full sized, both faces of each playing card, and you’re still liable to miss something while he shuffles. Filmmaker, photographer, guerilla ethnographer, collector and sharer of 78 RPM records, weaver of multi-layered ambiences, improviser, annotator, jokester, traveler — and now comes The Lonesome High.

It turns out that Millis is also a sardonic troubadour, quite capable of bending verse/chorus song forms to his will. While he’s definitely played plenty of tunes with Climax Golden Twins and AFCGT (that’s the A-Frames + Climax Golden Twins), his commitment to working within that form sets this record apart from anything else he’s done. Millis sings them with a gruff and knowing delivery that effectively imparts the faithlessness, guilt, and befuddlement of his protagonists. He sounds like Howe Gelb might if he weren’t so comfortable with desert spaces. There’s something rather claustrophobic about these tunes, a sense that the characters are closed in, and even the guitar solos that punch through the songs’ walls can’t knock them down.

The record’s production plays up the entrapment described in the lyrics. Millis uses Foley artistry, musique concrete backdrops, and some good old-fashioned echo to imply that beyond his character’s myopic enactments, there’s a lot of less-bounded action going down. But the people in the songs don’t know that; they’re as trapped as some mope in a Twilight Zone episode.

Bill Meyer

Waldemar — Visions (Self-Release)

Another missive from the northern woods that produced Bon Iver, Gabe Larson’s Waldemar builds big anthemic songs around personal reveries. This four-song EP is mainly about his grandpa, and yet, its layered vocals hint at shared euphoria, its giant rock crescendos lift off towards universality. “Brotherly” stirs to life in misty threads of drone, cymbal rolls, silence and Larson’s voice cresting upward with a Jonsi-ish mix of religious chant and pop. Folksy jangle intersects with mysticism, a la fellow Wisconsites in Megafaun, and, as you may have come to expect from Eau Claire outfits, there are infusions of brass and band instruments from the jazz talent nearby. “Visions” is, maybe, the most striking of these four cuts and the one that will remind you most of Justin Vernon. It takes shape slowly and sparely, mostly mournful vocals at first, then bursts into locomotive life with drumming, guitars, counterpoints and brass. This is the biggest, most fully realized, most ready for prime time self-release I’ve heard in a while.

Jennifer Kelly   

John Lindberg Raptor Trio—Western Edges (Clean Feed) 

Despite the album’s name, this trio has deep roots in New York City. Bassist John Lindberg first encountered baritone saxophonist Pablo Calogero in the 1970s when they were both teenagers eager to break into New York’s loft jazz scene. Lindberg has gone on to accompany Billy Bang, Anthony Braxton and Wadada Leo Smith, as well as lead his own ensembles, but he hasn’t forgotten his old mate. Calogero moved to Southern California, so when he moved to San Diego to teach at CalArts he called up his old buddy and the drummer who played next office over from his. The combination of 40+ years of friendship between two members and utter newness between Calogero and drummer Joe LaBarbera likely contributed to this session’s combination of empathy and freshness. Both old buddies contribute compositions, and they cover a fair bit of ground. On “Ashoka” the trio adopts an early 60s Coltrane stance, stately and heavy; “Twixt D and E” is an intricately tied post-bop knot; and “Raptors” flies free, but with oft-glimpsed melodic intent.

Bill Meyer 

Pari San – Frozen Time (Pari San) 

“Pari San symbolize [sic] a collision of two worlds.” This is how Iranian-born, Düsseldorf-raised vocalist Pari Eskandari and Berlin synth hound Paul Brenning collectively describe the Pari San project; the worlds presumably colliding here are Eskandari’s rural singing styles and Brenning’s thoroughly urban European electro influences, though it’s also worth mentioning the contrast between Berlin and Parisan, a town that consisted of 37 people for the 2006 Iranian census. Working in the capital for their self-released Frozen Time EP – the duo’s first official release as best I can tell – Eskandari and Brenning revive a strain of mid-2000s electronic music almost singularly cornered by The Knife’s Silent Shout. This shouldn’t feel noteworthy in 2016-17 given the wide-open landscape FKA Twigs, Aïsha Devi and even The Knife’s own Shaking the Habitual have pillaged since, but Pari San succeeds in part because its two members aim for a more pop-oriented sound – each of Frozen Time’s five songs is in the three-minute neighborhood and the hooks are plainly evident, even addicting, despite the substantial electronic gimmickry. “In the Smoke” is the most brazen Silent Shout descendent and “Polyhorns” features co-production from Bpitch Control and Monkeytown Recs vet Robert Koch (aka Jahcoozi’s Robot Koch) for a spot of relative star power, but “Two Perfect Lovers” is the duet to die for here, a slow-moving serenade gracefully threading the needle between 1960s teenage love ballad and contemporary electronic abstraction. Extremely promising EP from a group mining territory you might’ve previously thought exhausted.

Patrick Masterson

Hexa — Factory Photographs (Room40)  

FACTORY PHOTOGRAPHS by HEXA

Hexa is Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart and Lawrence English, who after meeting in 2009 decided to collaborate in ways which would take them beyond their usual musical practices (which, yes, means this sounds little like Xiu Xiu or English’s drone work); Factory Photographs sees them issue a “sonic response” to David Lynch’s photographs of, well, factories. All three artists have distinct enough oeuvres that you can pretty much tell whether you’re interested just from the resumes, but Stewart and English have definitely offered a distinctive and worthwhile slate of roiling industrial noise, whether it’s the more overtly aggressive likes of “Ring Bark” or the slower building waves of “Sledge.”Factory Photographs is consistently bracing but climaxes with the best and most interesting tracks here; first the restless, anxious washes of “Over Horizontal Plains” and then “Body”, which just barely lets some sort of brighter melody peek out from behind the relentless grinding of the rest of the song. 

Ian Mathers  

Warhaus — We Fucked a Flame into Being (Self-release) 

We Fucked A Flame Into Being by Warhaus

Arch, urbane, a bit decadent, here’s an album that slithers in on the scent of foreign cigarettes, insinuates sex, betrayal, bare shoulders and drunken tangos to late-night jazz combos. It’s an album that makes you feel like a blockheaded rube who’s been let in on a joke, still hopelessly literal and stupid but for once seeing irony and ambiguity and the primacy of style over sincerity. Warhaus, you should know, is the solo project of one Maarten Devoldere whose main gig, the band Balthazar, has sold a surprising number of records in Belgium (without raising much of a ripple outside Northern Europe). Here he sings in a voice that makes everything sound like an indecent proposal (and honestly, some of it is). A younger, less whispery Leonard Cohen with a slightly wider range might be the best point of reference, and like Cohen, he’s found of spare yet varied accompaniments, a Sinatra band pared down to essentials, a choir of bored girls singing something like gospel. The single “The Good Lie” with its twitchy guitars, tense hand drums and murmured imprecations is good, sexy stuff, but my favorite remains “Against the Rich,” which both is and isn’t a rallying cry contra income inequality. Instead it finds ambiguity in a life that has acquired the trappings of success, an accountant, a nutritionist, a girlfriend with a law degree, and asks, “When my friend did I make this switch, how I tried to be against the rich.”

Jennifer Kelly

Council Estate Electronics – Arktika (Glacial Movements)  

Arktika by COUNCIL ESTATE ELECTRONICS

Riddled with implication, Godflesh and Jesu lifer Justin Broadrick teamed up with frequent collaborator and Jesu bassist Diarmuid Dalton under the Council Estate Electronics banner for the first time in four years this past October to pay tribute to the Russian nuclear-powered Arktika class of icebreaker (helpfully, the liner notes clarify that this is for the new LK-60YA Arktika class rather than the outgoing Arktika ships first launched in the 1970s). The eight songs herein are a rusting hulk of open arms for crudely constructed boats in two halves – “Urals” opens with nearly 11 minutes of minimal dub-techno throbbing and the kind of immersive (submersive?) white noise with which Jesu fans will no doubt be accustomed. It continues through songs like “567 foot 33,500 ton” and “Rosatom,” which could easily double as field recordings of the vessels’ construction from inside the hull. Reminiscent of material you’d find on Blackest Ever Black or Janushoved rather than Milan’s Glacial Movements, a label that’s served up Loscil and (most recently) the celestial sonic icescapes of Aria Rostami and Daniel Blomquist, this seems headed for a dark, industrial turn into the far reaches of the frigid north... But with “50 Let Pobody,” the vibe of the record suddenly shifts to a still-unsettling yet considerably more subdued tone. By the end of “60 megawatts,” you’re left thinking this release is most in line with the eerie, engrossing electronics of Pye Corner Audio. Chilly and chilling, Glacial Movements has hit another one out of the dry docks.

Patrick Masterson 

Tommy Jay—Tommy Jay’s Tall Tales of Trauma (Assophon) 

You can’t live down the past, so you might as well blow it up, and in the case of Tommy Jay’s Tall Tales Of Trauma, more turns out to be more. Harrisburgh OH resident Jay is a longtime mate of Mike Rep and Nudge Squidfish, and he shares with them a contradictory aesthetic. On the one hand, his homemade recording and unexpurgated song writing are serious barriers to any sort of mainstream success. But his reference points, as indicated by covers of Joni Mitchell’s “Dreamland” and Lou Reed’s “The Ocean,” are ambitious ones, and he does his best not to dishonor them. Sometimes, anyway — Jay’s muse might inspire him to make a low-rent, early Who-style epic about the Battle of Fredericksburg one moment (“I Was There”) and a cheap rhyme-stocked portrait of a “Village Idiot” the next. If early 1990s Guided By Voices tended more towards finished songs and uncomfortable truths, they might have made a record like this one, but James made it instead. In 1986 he could only get it out on tape, and it took two decades for it to make it to LP. That first pressing is long gone, so Assophon has stepped in with a 30th anniversary edition that includes thirteen more songs close enough to the first 12 that collectors sitting on an early copy will probably want  this one too.

Bill Meyer             

Brandon Can’t Dance — Graveyard of Good Times (Lucky Number) 

Graveyard of Good Times by BRANDON CAN'T DANCE

Brandon Ayers is the classic lone wolf bedroom troubadour, a Philadelphian who works nights as a security guard, cares for an elderly relative during the day and lives a rich creative life within his own head and home recording space. Brandon Can’t Dance dabbles in fuzz-rock, lo-fi disco, anti-folk, regular folk, synth pop and noise, refusing to settle anywhere, yet all reflecting a highly individual talent that has not been sanded down too much by contact with other people. Sequencing feels a little haphazard, so that the superlative shoegaze romantic blare of “Headspace” sits right alongside an excruciating dance-pop falsetto cut called “Smoke-Drive Around” (which, weirdly, is one of two downloadable singles, so it’s probably not a parody). Much of the album gives off a 1990s lo-fi aura – GBV is the obvious reference, though “Fuck Off and We’ll Get Along,” has the undercooked poetry of certain Sic Alps songs, the synthier bits recall Blank Dogs and “Freak of the Freaks,” sounds fragile and surreal like a Tobin Sprout off-track. “Angelina,” the other single, has a country swagger to it, a brash, abrasive acoustic vamp with a fuzz guitar solo bursting through it. It feels like the most finished, structured song on the disc, and so stands as a highlight. That’s not to disparage the beautiful fragments, half-pursued ventures and jotted messy impressions that surround it; these are integral to experiencing Ayers’ alienated, discontinuous but intermittently lovely world. If you flipped over Car Seat Headrest or just harbor a fondness for melodic hiss and fuzz, you’ll like this.

Jennifer Kelly 

Andrew Pekler — Tristes Tropiques (Faitiche) 

Tristes Tropiques by Andrew Pekler

Pekler’s work here feels like some deliberately uneasy mix of remix, field recording, the kind of ethnographic forgery that Can used to do, and abstract electronic music. Certainly the cultural history of white people playing/homaging/being fascinated by the music of other cultures, whether it’s called exotica or ethnography or anything else, is a tricky one. Pekler titling this album of original compositions (which just sounds like it’s maybe the products of aliens messing with and bouncing back various jungle-based music and natural sounds, although it’s really just him working with what he calls “the electronic means that I have at hand”) after Claude Levi-Strauss’s ambivalent and searching book that’s as much about the author’s own methods and engagement with the natives he’s studying as it is about the study indicates that he’s aware of that, even if the work doesn’t directly engage with that history. Pekler’s more interested in getting something interesting and evocative and he’s constructed a rich, broadly constituted stew to do so with (as a song title like “Humidity Index/Khao Sok (Chopped and Screwed)” indicates).

 Ian Mathers 

 Greg Kelley/Bill Nace —Live At Disjecta (Open Mouth)

Now here’s a name we don’t see enough these days. When trumpeter Greg Kelley (nmperign, Heathen Shame, and Cold Bleak Heat) moved from Massachusetts to Washington State a couple years ago his touring profile east of the Mississippi took a hit. But this proved to be the West coast’s gain, since this record is an artifact of an eight-date tour, which is a substantial number for any noise combo these days. His partner here is guitarist Bill Nace (Vampire Belt, Body/Head), and the zones of broad amp protest and brittle brass fatigue that they explore together will likely awaken pleasant memories of Heathen Shame’s hellish squalls. But while the sound is similar, the dynamic is very different; where even the Shame’s most free-falling moments embraced rock gesture, this set’s energy is more elemental. At some points the two men’s waves of sound attract and repel like magnetic fields, at others they arc like two bolts of lightning headed for the same weathervane. The jolts are welcome indeed.

Bill Meyer

#dust #dusted magazine #robert millis #waldemar #john lindberg raptor trio #pari san #hexa #warhaus #council estate electronics #tommy jay #brandon can't dance #andrew pekler #greg kelley #bill nace #bill meyer #patrick masterson #jennifer kelly #ian mathers

[djzena]

Halloween Songs For Children

Dungeon disco, poltergeist punk, and ghoulish storage make Deadboy's essential Halloween selections. The police in some components of Britain give out 'No trick or treat, please!' posters for individuals to display on their door on the night of Halloween. Similar to that tune is ' The Halloween Theme ' that youngsters like to sing and dance to, perfect for classrooms! There are full color worksheets together with printable songs that children can colour. However in this class you may discover some memorable songs that not only rhyme, but in addition make you snort! When the winds shift and you scent cinnamon and apple cider, see the autumn leaves within the wind, watch as the night time gets longer and feel crisp air nip your nose, you know Halloween is on its means. Their songs are much like many other instrumental rock http://www.entertainmentearth.com/hitlist.asp?theme=Universal Monsters and roll bands of the interval, but also included spooky sound results and vocal parts meant to conjure up a temper that was definitely suited to Halloween. Music additionally places youngsters in a optimistic state of mind for learning , and offers a multisensory learning experience and makes studying simply plain fun. They've action video games, jigsaw puzzles, online colouring footage,search a phrase video games, story builders and word guessing video games which can be great for ESL/EFL courses. The tune is a great Halloween monitor, with its menacing nature and dark textures. I now sing it to my two daughters yearly at Halloween however noone has ever heard of it! This is the first time we've traveled to Disney - or on this case, with Disney - throughout Halloween. Ask the children to check by saying out http://www.preschooleducation.com/smonster.shtml loud witch, cat, hat and bat, that witch doesn't rhyme with any of the other words. The Monster Mash has been a Halloween traditional ever since it came out as a 1962 novelty song, but it's all the time had the slight downside of not really being that scary. They actually have a stay album of considered one of these Halloween exhibits titled Hallowmas Stay at North Six. There are several different designs of Halloween bingo cards so you may be sure you find one you like. If there are ghosts, they seem to be melancholy ghosts or ghosts come to warn, but nothing actually scary about them. In reality, the show has featured THREE totally different songs thus far: Wasting Away , I Need the Good Occasions Back , and Daddy's Little Angel In my view, Wasting Awaystays the best of the bunch. Your teen may not know precisely who Freddy Krueger is, however they hopefully won't thoughts whenever you sing alongside to this catchy tune based mostly on the 1988 hit film, A Nightmare on Elm Avenue four: The Dream Master. Free Halloween Songs HD Professional is an entertaining music song app designed to offer a gentle present to the standard creatures monsters related to the celebration. Precisely named Halloween Party, it includes ofover 50tracks like Hotline Bling by Drake, Sugar - Remix by Maroon 5 and Nicki Minaj, and last but definitely not least One Direction's Drag Me Down. A number of individuals like to pay attention such songs which is generally based mostly on the theme of the Halloween day so we convey some songs of that scary nature too which you'll be able to hear in your free time. Behold, the ever-catchy grandfather of the Halloween Novelty Tune - The Monster Mash. This timeless recording is still performed around Halloween yearly by rock stations worldwide. Nonetheless, of all those great, nice Cramps songs to choose from, What's Behind the Mask?, a query a lot of people will likely be asking at drunken Halloween events the world over, seemed essentially the most acceptable. Happily, Ray Parker, Jr. is here to remind us all the true which means of Halloween: busting makes us really feel good. The Remedy have tales and tales of darkish, bleak synth-rock, much of which delves means further into the black than Seventeen Seconds appears to go. However, this album provides a subtler brand of scary Halloween music, which may be more practical if performed proper. I added some of the verses (the ones I liked greatest) onto the Halloween Music Lyrics page. Young youngsters often go trick or treating with mother and father or with an older brother or sister. Since we specialise in putting collectively customized playlists for businesses, we pulled collectively the best Halloween playlist for a enjoyable and spooky evening out.

I too was a bit anxious about how far the halloween theme could be taken however thankfully it was very much toddler friendly - the costumes aren't scary (see photos in the post). The creepy halloween song went to #2 on the pop singles chart within the US and was certified gold. Entwistle got here up with the song after an evening of ingesting and making up goofy names for animals and insects with Rolling Stones bassist Bill Wyman , which might explain why is voice is so scratchy. So for these cute and charming youngsters' mates, we specifically convey some Halloween songs and theme music checklist for teenagers in order that they will get maximum enjoyment with their friends and family members. Martinibomb and the Coconut Monkeyrocket have carried out an incredible job in capturing the essence of Halloween with their remix of the traditional Munsters theme tune. Fascinating and so properly thought of. Halloween might be so playful and your concepts are fearful. Little Combine's lady-group take on bringing the boys to the yard - with just a little 80s aptitude - resulted in one of many more cheerful Halloween songs on this roster. Halloween is one night time when all the skeletons come out of the closet without hesitation! Lately, our buddies at Billboard compiled a list of the highest 10 Halloween songs. However it's important to agree that the sentiment is appropriate and the track is just so enjoyable. AC/DC are the masters of great heavy rock music and this one does not disappoint. Put Halloween candies in a jar and get the Ss to guess how many there are and share them out afterwards. You understand which actions are appropriate to your children and/or the children underneath your care and are accountable for these kids's security. Nonetheless, Tim Burton's cease-motion fantasia did produce one of many vacation's final theme songs, a spooky showtune so evergreen (everorange?) that it is the only song to look on this listing in two separate variations. Spider on the Flooring is the e-book companion to the popular kids's track by Raffi. Take a Halloween related word equivalent to: Dracula, Frankenstein, Jack-Lantern, and so on. From the album of the identical title, this music makes me buy a red leather-based jacket and dance with my friends in the course of the streets. The music was Rihanna's sixth high 20 single from colossal breakthrough Good Lady Gone Unhealthy. It definitely sends shivers each time one hears it. Once you watch it on YouTube the storm music begins on the three:38 mark.