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Rating: Ferdinando, tighten that rope.
They don't make music like they used to, now we can only cry.
Colossal nonsense isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind. And never trust a first impression no no no nonnoronno there's no limit.
Today, we have musical styles unimaginable 30/40 years ago. The thirst for complaint is such that it's never enough for us. It's not enough that Constellation is approximately 10 people for 20 groups, each better than the last. It's not enough that Hydrahead churns out metal that was once inconceivable. It's not enough that Zorn and his friends, cronies, and disciples destroy staves only to reassemble them upside down. It's not enough that Southern Lord melts metal into mercury. It's not enough that Warp does things unrelated to anything that came before them. And it's not enough that everything that was there before still exists, with new groups quietly doing revivals but doing them splendidly, so it's not enough that Small Stone isn't enough, Rise Above isn't enough, no no no it's not enough, so we can bring out Sweet Nothing but even that isn't enough, then we turn to Jagjaguwar but still it's not enough, the 60s/70s were better damn how much I miss Lou Reed even if today there's Relapse, Rocket, and Music Cartel I want some good old-fashioned rock aired worldwide by EMI not Devin Townsend who overhauls rock hard heavy and non- year after year with new projects every three months, no no no.
Because it's not enough. All that's left is to cry. My despondency is so great I cite the example of this band of poor bastards from Boston and their album from twenty days ago. Composed of ten to sixteen people between those who play and those who work on the sound machine or pen the lyrics. So many types of guitars you could open a store, violas, violins, cellos, basses, double basses, contrabasses, clarinets, clarinets, trumpets, trombones, and damn it, even the French horn; next to the guitar shop, you open a percussion shop that makes a corner with the third: the one for keyboards and synthesizers. And if that's not enough, they retouch, cut, sew, and sample in the control room, not counting that they too are part of Zorn's friends, disciples, and cronies. Ah no, but it's not enough, damn how much I miss Lou Reed who now sells the rights to Satellite Of Love to make a nice bunch bunch piece damn I miss him a lot, I'm really so disheartened, sad and debilitated, give me an activia because I need regularity.
Rock from the 60s/70s has already said all it could in terms of innovation, it's a logical and obvious thing for quite some time now. If the question isn't "Is Rock dead?", the question might be "when do we decide to turn the page to read the exciting sequel to its amazing adventures under the new name of Music?". Well...
Open-mindedness isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind. Let's see, maybe... Toby Driver is a huge level-headed guy? Uhm... now that's the right word and when it's right I would say damn-if-it's-enough, so as Dan Peterson used to say: "Mom, throw in the pasta".
Ferdinando, but did he tighten it?
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Gemini Becoming the Tripod (10:43)
The portraiture within me rose up
To meet a constellation
Borne on psychic waters
Geometry showed me its dark side
And showered me with its arcing plumes
The lovers met in deepest dreams
Tourmaline eyes glinting in the non-light
I bring to thee an orchid I picked
Once as a human from my spiral garden
I held the holy tripod and all the nothing held its breath
Gemini solemnly split themselves
The world closed its eyes
Supreme love in the opposite
The world hid in clouds
From a severed two came on
The world quaked in fear
Galaxies slow, and ammonites
The foe e'en trembled in his darksome cave
03 Aura on an Asylum Wall (07:44)
Almost condescending it looks on from inside
I feel strong, this day will never wither!
In sorcery is my most ancient thought
And I thought the sorcerer was right
It creeps behind a dusty mirror
They, in an attic I dreamt of once
Flow through me again, wrathful one
I feel strong! Throw the tapestry o'er the oracles!
Belong to me innocence...
The shears cut cleaner than a child's first sin
I chose the grave in blasphemous
It fell away a hundred times before
But orisons scratched veiled glass
"Though art I," says cast away
And I am in an attic
I feel weak, this night will never bloom!
I am I - now you're mine, my cunting child
05 Amaranth the Peddler (14:07)
"A thunderbolt in the northern sky...
...and the roaring of a lion"
Swept up by the downy wings of angels
Made from a heaven-laden voice
I float with all the weight of ether
It pilots an aerie merchant ship
Across the phantasmagoric main
Courses waged by hermit to lonesome starry shoes
Bequeath their secret entryways
Lighthouses watch fervently the horizons of the soul
But Amaranth the peddler waxes poetic to Mnemosyne
His unmasked eyes deliver lunacy
It is a countless hour stealing further into landscapes seldom drawn
Even in a demon's troubled head
He sells his wares to vampires
In bottles cork'd by woe
Dreams in liquid lift their eyes
To Morpheus enthroned
Upon a poppy field breathing
Slight all alone
Feather from a lofty wish
Fail on their own and fall wearily to Earth
A stirring by the nightstand causes the lamp to lift its voice
"Alack, a purloined dream
Again distills thy trembling eye!
What mystery remaineth ever so?
Amaranth, a curse doth write itself
Upon thy spectral frame
A thousand lives, a thousand days
Disgraceth thus thy name!"
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