Wednesday 18 March 2015
Tuesday 17 March 2015
moDernisT
Test
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V.2
"moDernisT" was created by salvaging the sounds and images lost to compression via the mp3 and mp4 codecs. the audio is comprised of lost mp3 compression material from the song "Tom's Diner",
famously used as one of the main controls in the listening tests to develop the MP3 encoding algorithm.
Here we find the form of the song intact, but the details are just remnants of the original. the video is the difference between uncompressed and compressed versions of the original tom's diner music video (1987 a capella version). thus, both audio and video are the "ghosts" of their respective compression codecs
The ghosts in the mp3
Atari Teenage Riot - Reset Tour Live Set (2015)
1. Revolution Action
2. J1M1
3. Activate
4. Reset
5. Collapse Of History
6. We Are From The Internet
Bug Notes (Melbourne 15/3/15)
I made mistakes, tech probs occured, It wasn’t as overwhelmingly loud as our normal sets, it didn’t have the light assault we normally employ, YET it absolutely rocked, cause the good ppl of Melbourne that showed, gave us maximum energy…Big yourselves up indeed……It was a psychotic rollercoaster at the 'Railway Hotel' last night…we dug it, and Manga was almost literally on fire as he rinsed the mic...
Major shout to the 'Echo Chamber' crew for sortin last night's show at 4 days notice, it was an incredible effort, + cheers for fillin the house with a sick crowd & the sweetest reggae/bass/junglegrime sounds...
I guess me and Manga really did fuck up Melbourne...It was pure madness...Crowd were incredible...Max energy. Madman victory !
Hilarious that Manga saw two women literally rip off their bras and throw them in the air, whilst I saw another girl literally clinging on to the bassbins for most of the set..The people they expressed themselves proper...hahaha... Sorry it couldnt have been as intense an experience as we generally like to detonate, but actually it was still a blast..!
And yo, can the fucker that stole my shades, plz return them, as my weakass blue eyes will fry in the sunshine down under...
(Great selfie by Manga)
Via
Monday 16 March 2015
I see you, Jeremy Clarkson. I fucking see you
I see your gnarled head and your grumpy face, like an elephant's scrotum stretched across the trunk of a haunted tree. I see your thinning perm, like an irradiated Labradoodle fighting to hold on to your face. I see your enormous torso and wide shoulders. I smell the petrol and I hear the engines, Jeremy Clarkson, and I see you clunking around the Top Gear studio like a massive menopausal gibbon. I hear you weirdly emphasising and pausing after every other word, Jeremy Clarkson. The new Lamborghini has a gearbox... like a spaniard... full of hammers, does it, Jeremy Clarkson? I can see why you're so indispensable.
I hear you being a Lad, Jeremy Clarkson, as you banter with your friends by putting them all down. I see you chain smoking and gulping down steaks. I hear you laughing, a great jolly rumble, like a rhino farting across the face of the establishment. You're a maverick, aren't you, Jeremy Clarkson? You're a maverick, and it's fine, because it should be alright to offend people. Everyone's too bloody PC, aren't they, Jeremy Clarkson? All the lesbians and the ethnics and the disableds. God, and the disabled ethnic lesbians. They're just the bloody worst, aren't they, Jeremy Clarkson? They're all too bloody PC, and it's your duty as a phenomenally rich white man who's never experienced real prejudice to take a stand against it.
I see your every controversy, Jeremy Clarkson. I see you and Richard Hammond and James May tearing around the globe, while May shakes his sad hairy head and Hammond hangs on your every word like a shiny-toothed tagnut in the bum-beard of your ego. I see the long day's filming, Jeremy Clarkson, and I see that you're exhausted. I see that you're grumpy and fed up. After all, you drove a Ferrari for three hours today and they only paid you fifty thousand pounds. It's a fucking indignity, isn't it, Jeremy Clarkson? They better have cooked you a hot meal after all that gruelling work. It's just ungrateful otherwise, isn't it?
I see the assistant producer gesture to the catering tables, Jeremy Clarkson. I see the cold ham. I see the cold bastard ham, Jeremy Clarkson. I see the corner of your eye twitch, your rage building. What the hell is this? You drove a Ferrari for three hours today, and they only paid you fifty thousand pounds, and now they have the fucking nerve to serve you cold ham? Disgusting, perfectly fucking edible cold ham? Fucking hell, Jeremy Clarkson. I see that you are angry. And they're not going to like you when you're angry, are they, Jeremy Clarkson?
I see your hands balled into fists, Jeremy Clarkson. I see the veins bulging in your neck. I see Richard Hammond whimpering, bounding away on all fours to hide behind a bin. I see James May roll his eyes and pour himself another glass of red wine.
I hear your clothes stretching and popping at the seams as you roar, Jeremy Clarkson, your frame distorting and growing. I see your flesh turning blue, your eyes turning into shiny brass buttons. I see the stonewashed stitching of your new skin. I see you, Jeremy Clarkson, now twenty feet tall and bundled muscle, a murderous goliath of rage and denim. You are nothing but jeans and fury, Jeremy Clarkson, and that ham-serving prick is doomed. I bet he reads the fucking Guardian.
I see the producer scream, Jeremy Clarkson. I see his knees knocking together as he pisses all down his own legs. I see you towering above him, howling your hot ale-and-fag breath into his terrified face. I see your great blue hands pounding him into the ground. I see his bones shatter and I hear his screams cut short. I see him reduced into nothing but pulp and gristle, Jeremy Clarkson, a soggy puddle of crimson and organs that soaks into the fabric of your trembling Levi fists. I see you flinging his remains into the air, Jeremy Clarkson. I see half a mandible splash into James May's wine glass, spattering him with Cabernet Sauvignon. I see him tut, and carry on drinking anyway.
I see you pounding your chest, Jeremy Clarkson, and I see you crashing around the studio, toppling lights and flipping cars. I see the production team scattering to get out of your way. I see The Stig picking an intestine off his shoulder, his helmeted head shaking in annoyance. I hear Richard Hammond whining behind his bin.
I see you ripping the roof off a Porsche, Jeremy Clarkson, the jagged metal tearing the thick denim of your hands. I hear you howling with sheer, unadulterated rage. You're offended, aren't you, Jeremy Clarkson? And you can't offend a Lad without getting pulped into mush. That's just not how offence works.
Oh well, Jeremy Clarkson. You may have reduced a grown man you've worked with for fifteen years into a bloody puddle just because he didn't sort you out a steak, but I'm sure you'll have your job back next week, once you've calmed down and turned back into a human. After all, what's one murder at the BBC? It's only a fracas. A silly little fracas.
I'm appalled, Jeremy Clarkson, but then I remember that you also punched Piers Morgan once. And even I have to admit that you may have had a point there.
I see you, Jeremy Clarkson. I fucking see you
The Bug & Manga - Live @Railway Hotel Brunswick Melbourne (15/3/15)
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Click arrow to download
Firstly BIG up to Jason and the Echo Chamber crew for suggesting and organising this gig at such short notice. Was a real pity that volume restraints were put in place by the landlord of the Railway Hotel but the bass in your face was just what I needed last night. Also kudos to the young woman who held onto the rig last night and just got lost in the sound. Women respond to bass apparently. Big thanks to Kevin and Manga for last night too
Photos: JasonH
Sunday 15 March 2015
Jack Bruce Band - In Concert (OGWT 6/675)
Drums – Bruce Gary
Electric Piano, Synthesizer – Ronnie Leahy
Guitar – Mick Taylor
Organ, Synthesizer, Electric Piano, Mellotron – Carla Bley
Vocals, Bass, Piano – Jack Bruce
Cabaret Voltaire - VPRO including Live @The Paradiso Amsterdam (9/12/83)
Crackdown
The Dream Ticket
Animation
In The Shadows
Gut Level (Version)
Over And Over
Mercy Man
Safety Zone
Just Fascination
Product Patrol
Outro
(VPRO Broadcast)
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Saturday 14 March 2015
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Friday 13 March 2015
The Bug - Skeng (Live @Amoeba SF 9/9/08)
+
The Bug ft Flowdan, Daddy Freddy & Miss Red (Live @The Roundhouse, London 30/03/13)
Skintologists - I Never Glissed before
Space funk for Daevid Allen featuring:
Mr Diablo Bass guitar
Mike Taylor Keys
Fritz Catlin Drums/Percussion/Melodica/Glissando
Mr Diablo Bass guitar
Mike Taylor Keys
Fritz Catlin Drums/Percussion/Melodica/Glissando
Daevid Allen on his mother's death
...I was left alone in the room and the atmosphere there was amazing. There was a mixture of stillness and joy in the air and I felt as though my senses were melted with Helen's. I knew she felt my thoughts and impressions as if they were her own just as I felt I knew how she was feeling to be released from the dulled consciousness of a dying body to be freshly dead. There was an increased aliveness, sensitivity and awareness that was astonishing. The slightest whisper sounded as if it were being amplified by a huge PA. I whispered to her in my softest voice: "Congratulations darling ..you've finally made it at last! Your body is dead!". Her response was the vibe of an excited little girl in a lolly shop.Via
My limited memory of the Tibetan Book of the Dead together with some promptings from Maggie on the phone told me that the time -from 20 minutes after the moment of death to 50 minutes after- is a very important period in the process of harmonious dying. Firstly: just as my aural experience was demonstrating so vividly: the hearing is still acutely active so the ears of the body should never be touched. The slightest contact is felt by the soul as an extremely unpleasant & deafening impact. (For this reason, the body should not be touched anywhere for at least an hour.) But the important thing is that the Soul or Spirit should be helped to leave the body via the psychic gateway at the top of the head there to hover just above the head and wait for further guidance from within. Remembering what Wendy Purdey had taught me about how to see someone's aura, in that dim light I was startled to find that -altho I was normally not very clairvoyant- at that moment I could see Helen's etheric body very clearly and that there was a cluster of luminous energy above her solar plexus. So very quietly I whisperingly asked her to imagine she was going back up along a passageway towards her head where she would see a source of beautiful light.
I encouraged her to go into that light where she might well find my father Wally waiting for her and even her mother who had died when she was only 6 but was thought to be the spiritual beacon of the family. Simultaneously I creatively visualised the energy cluster at her navel to be shrinking and transferring up above her head. For the next while I repeated this sequence until after about fifteen minutes, the abdominal cluster had visibly flattened and the light above her head was much enlarged. Soon after this, an extraordinary clarity came into the air and I knew by this that she was now out of (and clear of) her body. I now felt clearly that this part of my work was done & after staying another half an hour or so I found I could communicate clearly by simply speaking silently to her in my head. After some further communication it occurred to me that wherever I went I could connect with her and that I didn't need to stay with her body any more. So I expressed my intention to go back to the flat and having paid my respects to the astral guardians of her physical body and thanked the night nurse, I walked back up High St. under a full moon and sparkly clear winters night sky. As I entered her flat the moonlight was coming through the window and before I turned on the light I could clearly see Helen sitting in her favourite chair. "Why have you taken down the paintings darling?" she said. "Its because you've died, I've just come back from the hospital, Helen. It may not feel like it but you're actually dead now!". "Ohh!?" she replied, "'Really? Well that's good isn't it?"
You Can't Kill Me
(Thanks Fritz)
Divided Alien's Exit Pod
13 January 1938 - 13 March 2015
Via
The Flying Teapot took off on its final journey at 1:05pm today here in Australia
Daevid Allen R.I.P.
Now... You go find your flying teapot and pothead pixie clan and find a way to float around planet gong causing anarchy the best way you know how.
xxx
From Melbourne to Ramadi: My Journey (Jake Bilardi)
With my martyrdom operation drawing closer, I want to tell you my story, how I came from being an Atheist school student in affluent Melbourne to a soldier of the Khilafah preparing to sacrifice my life for Islam in Ramadi, Iraq. Many people in Australia probably think they know the story, but the truth is, this is something that has remained between myself and Allah (azza wa’jal) until now.
My life in Melbourne’s working-class suburbs was, despite having its ups and downs just like everyone else, very comfortable. I found myself excelling in my studies, just as my siblings had, and had dreamed of becoming a political journalist. I always dreamed that one day I would travel to countries such as Iraq, Libya and Afghanistan to cover the situations in these lands. I was intrigued by the conflicts in these countries and I was bent on understanding the motivations behind violent political and social movements. While the rise of the Taliban in Afghanistan, Jabhat al-Nusra and the Islamic State in Syria and Ansar Dine/MUJAO in Mali occupied my mind day-in-day-out, I also took interest in the rise of violent street gangs in Mexico, El Salvador and Brazil. Through my research I found a common link between all these organisations, they are made-up of oppressed and neglected people seeking their own form of perceived justice.
But let’s go back a little bit further…
MORE
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Thursday 12 March 2015
Wednesday 11 March 2015
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