•
Rating: The mockery of Baphomet right from the cover, with the album title and all those "horned" metallic structures in the background and the Fool (Trubee) in the foreground, is a comforting vision for a radiant future without psychic whisperers, cast off by a "bastard" celestially-grounded Verbal-cacophonic release, annoyingly "off-key" yet effective in uncovering musical sophisms that each of us carries within.
The mockery is conscious and compact and advances throughout the album with strange blessings that send the "devils" fleeing, revising condemnations for non-existent guilt. Amid prank calls, burlesque jazz rock, bum cabaret funky, labyrinthine ambient, foolish conversations, chatter and random noises, the paradisiac/stomach-turning echoes, with their unexpected heat, crack (in every sense) the crust of unaware "scraping by."
The enlightenment presents itself as caustic, acidic, nauseating, opening up to an auditory discomfort essential for salvation, yet always postponed with suicidal lightness by most. The temptation to drive away as many people as possible is always there, but it pursues a corrosive celestial goal; places are limited after all. The aim of "few but good" necessarily must be the goal, the race to heavenly endurance of "eco/referred" diarrhoeas prompts encouragement to take this holy laxative when the right spark is ignited in the eardrum.
The fiery execution is monstrous, as are the musicians who, in the shadow of satanic electromagnetic supports (the shape of the pylons shamelessly recalls Eliphas L.'s goat), are devoted there to not fall into temptation, with enormous courage in facing the fall into Hades that technology, with its malevolent gadgets, attempts. The cherubic balance of the album lets us taste the confusion of control it has in handling lightning where the underground flash concretely "solves and coagulates" and cooks unrelentingly.
With this performance a plaid is thrown over the black mirror (today televisions and mobile phones) and it's short-circuited in its own non-reflection, inviting a divine eclecticism where one saves their ass by not attending that "all this will be yours", chewing and spitting out the sinister attempt of absorption. At most, autographs are signed with the left hand for non-existent fans, this is certainly the right way to jollily cut off one's "noggin." Master? No thank you, not here, here it's not considered, it's observed, fortunately.
"Satan Pukes On The High School Cheerleaders": already in 1984 warnings were launched for awakenings towards the Light with the gnostic logic of this musical mishmash. Now the omelet is made, "the Truth will be shouted from the rooftops!", rien ne va plus. Everything must restart differently and John Trubee, covering his ass by deriding the deceptive electrical discharges of a non-existent free will and "shouting" against them at full volume, was already ahead by eons. The other "cojones", meant as the near totality of (pseudo)humanity, that the last suit is a suit without pockets, foolish ones.
Darned phonies, the scrappage of your "little soul" into coal for the imminent hell awaits you. Suckers, this time the compensation is "collective", there are no discounts, a nice blow is coming. Meanwhile, warehouses are full of millions and millions of black bags with zippers for the coming corpses, unimaginably many, many: size 36x90 inches (verses).
Put your (lost) soul at peace, mass graves like pouring rain will manifest instead of the Grace of God, after all (Dantesque) this was the reckless choice of the silent consent of billions of subhumans to the assembly of lies.
Justifying that you were "deceived" will only worsen things in the face of the Truth. Wrong Decision & Game Over, but who knows you, who has seen you, has seen you dear zombies... John Trubee removes himself from the general loss of sanity by mystifying dadaist voodooism with this crystalline work.
Come on, even if at this point it won't be able to help you here is the right light, sinners that you are. Before the end (yours that is) listen to this album though... Amen.
Loading comments slowly
