Earth
Extra-Capsular Extraction

There are two types of television possible, daytime television and nighttime television. Italia 1, Canale 5, Rai Uno, all consoling morphine, educational, seemingly simulating primordial prairies of life but with fences stuffed with social matters, very much on this side of Good and Evil. Soap operas for thirteen-year-old teens are considered cathartic and multi-coitus mass works, patriotic empathy awakens every 4 years for shoddy guys in shorts, modern-day hemorrhoidal gladiators.
“We won, we screwed the Frenchiii, toooo!!! Bastard Gay French Assholes of shittttt” no, you are the one who has been screwed with blatant emotional remote control.

YOU haven't won a damn thing, and while they take a sacred bath in Chicolò champagne of '64 and screw the Polish model, Brazilian, English whore model of the moment, YOU! still shovel tons of shit for your shitty underpaid salary, endure your plump hairy wife infested with headaches (strictly timed before nightly sex), and dream that the blue telephone service takes a break at least one day a year so you can beat up the two shitty kids that your whore wife cow has crapped out.

But you have won, and you feel the warmth that has released in the body after the penalty shootout lottery, and the beautiful tricolor flies proudly in the wind and floods the heart with blue joy, an unforgettable night of car horns and clogged streets. WORLDSSS CHAMPIONNSSS, Zidane is an idiot AH AH AH we did it to the bastard OH OH OH. Go to hell, more you than Zidane! At least he, a neurotic national idiot hero, tried to physically eliminate it by headbutting, you guys didn't even do that! Ahhh the beloved daytime TV, the one for which time no longer offers the mid-season, the one that proposes so much charity and faces of unfortunate anorexic starving kids toothpicks who however suckle from the big breasts of wise and good VIPs with a heart so big, “Ehh they are rich but they help, Good” Yes yes really good, good idiots!

Another damn communion face that blabbers the most rhetorical and ball-dropping bullshit of this earth: “You betrayed his friendship and friendship is the most important value in this world” Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap Clap dead people applauding, dead people sucking each other cannibalistically. It is a tacit fight of mutual blowjobs in this placid TV illuminated by the day rays. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day“ “Help the filthy tramps with some money if you have it, so at least you give a smile hahahaha” “Wash your hands before eating” “Even if he is a gay bastard son of a bitch taking it up the ass he deserves all our respect, different gay soap collector but it's right to respect him” “Don't say cat until you've got it in the bag” “Although women are bitchy whore bastards and daughters of bitches, it's nice that there was feminism ^_^”. Shit channeled without filter and re-crapped to future generations without filters. And honestly, we are a little fed up with all this.

Let's get to the TV of the night. Channel 59, immaculate, milk white, not yet sodomized by social matters, a post-atomic madness of gray, black, and white performing bacchanalian orgiastic rites. It's the channel that is preferably abandoned in exchange for words and little stories about thrills and first kisses of 12-year-olds commented on by housewives dyed red in menopause. Well, I say: this is the channel of the future. Incomprehensible, repetitive like Oriental tradition, diluted and spiritually vibrant in its deliberately mass absence of meaning.
Visually the channels not yet colonized are what the Earth by Dylan Carlson is in music: an eternal drone flow, a lover's murmur slowed down heavily by drugs. In Earth there's a paradoxical lack of precisely what their name means: the earth. It's floating, alien music, it's like many gray balloons absentmindedly flown away from a child's hands. "Extra Capsular Extraction", first EP that precedes the sonic chaos of "2" , focuses the electron microscope on details of hard rock, turning the detail into the entirety of the work.

The single riff, which in rock tradition has the role of a micro-part within a broader and articulated meaning, acquires in Carlson's band, after a game of frenzied reverberation, the value of the whole. The La Monte Young of heavy rock, music stationary, constipated of obvious communication, constipated of meanings: interpretable. Compared to "2 (Special Low Frequency)", the first EP has a minimal injection of more dynamism due to a drum that, despite the nocturnal eye bags and heaviness from drugs, loses the floating entirety of the following. Minutes and minutes of the same round deformed in the DNA, hard rock disfiguring itself and disguising itself as avant-garde intimate music. Reverberated darkness to the core and interpretable Earth Vs Daytime TV.