Sinister: Splash Culture and Dream Rhizomes

[Michael Jones]

Well, bind my wrists and call me Suzy, it's been a funny old week.

First up, we're told that the Antarctic's gone all melty and by 2200
the first floor flat above the butcher's on Glossop High Street will
be the only dry place left in Britain.  Unless I can decorate the
place myself, I'd rather drown.  The Minister For The Next Ice Age (a
former associate of mine: we used to co-edit Gehirnglasschlacke in
the 70s - "the magazine that talks to people as if they were stupid")
was forced to resign in some disgrace and no little confusion.  I
told him to give up the booze and the one-night stands, find some
quiet little town and forget about everything.  I used to think it
was so easy...

Secondly, I carelessly threw a tin of Sun-Pat at Isobel Campbell at a
fun-fair and knocked all her teeth out.  Every single one of them -
even those hard-to-reach fellas at the back.  I think *they* went
down her throat.  No, hang on - I've never been to a fun-fair in my
life.  Oi, Starry - are you beaming stuff into my head again or what
?  Stop it - it makes my nose tingle.

Onto happier matters...

Though the Belles have been quiet for a while (too long), their
influence continues to spread, slipping its tender tendrils into the
most unexpected places.  Three gems I'm currently giving headspace to
bear the Mark of Murdoch:

"Hospice Epiphany" by Malediction Gnostic - their third release for
the OxBlood imprint, a single-sided 10" of amusical chaos,
asphyxiating dread and tape-death.  Three minutes and forty-six
seconds in, the clammy fog lifts briefly and a grief-stricken bassoon
chews its way across the stereo image.  It pauses, distressingly
clogged, and a cardigan zipper can be heard.

"nu beleef" by Nixxy Cashwreck & DJ Dispute - a shockingly intense
slab of Granular ShamGlitch, which seduces as it unravels.  Sure to
be a big noize with the Controv set for the Teresa Gorman sample
alone, it's opaque slink-beat lets up just long enough for a young
male voice to syrup-coo an ode to a salesgirl at BHS.  The flip is
the usual fleshy cackola from DuckDuct - avoid.

"Drizzle On The Fens" by Ghyllis Sourhardy - at first I thought I'd
struck gold: that rare 1977 Sanguine pressing of the late
tenor-flautist's most miserable work ?  The one withdrawn shortly
after release following concerns over the insufficiently dour
sleeve-art ?  No - it was the reissue, lovingly packaged on SupaDense
vinyl, complete with Sourhardy's original essay "Friends are just
strangers you've learned to hate".  But the '98 bonus track -
recorded shortly before Sourhardy's fatal encounter with a puma -
reeks of bouncy trumpet and choppy guitar, hesitant recorder and
nervous cello.  It's a lovely, sunny piece, though one is reminded of
the endless indeterminacy of meaning here and there.

I want to go home now.

{st'e'a-d-y} mik'e.
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