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Rating:
I associate with these "phenomena" words like: aseptic, odorless, formaldehyde, synapse, changing, fustian, cobalt...
The industrial par excellence that misleads with its molecular clangors, distant yet complementary to the superb mechanical-psychic atmospheres of the Second Annual Report.
Mortiferously impersonal, robotized-lobotomized-taxidermized in the yearning for the transformation of organic parts but not thinking of replacing them with mechanical-metal elements, but by evolving biological tissues to become more "antennas" to receive more beyond.
It is an alienating sabbat that with their hypnotic prayers ruthlessly seeks to reduce the distance between body and soul, stripping the psyche as much as possible through bloody mantras where dwells an ohm of resistance, impedance, and reactance that gives nothing to consoling new age justifications and does not feed the reflections of lies with its operational short circuit.
A deception that is combated by deceiving it with nonexistence, where those group smiles with souvenir photos from the moorland-cliff of the cover, cut the ties with superficial good sentiments and an impending putrefaction announces that truth does not always smell like roses.
And the pleasure in listening is new, where that part of enjoyment we know to be similar for so many lived experiences is missing here, and the association we need to materialize the feeling on this "music" does not coincide much with that "jazz-funk" we thought we knew.
The aseptic Christmas gift of '79 is served, the extent of the produced mystification surpasses the mystification itself. Literally leaves us with a pleasant bitter taste in the mouth that does not trigger reflections.
Obsessive in the purging of attractiveness and in fleeing predictability, they delight us with an impalpable softness where challenging the darkness that possesses us turns into whispering to the psychic whisperers recited distortions of liberating psalms from random rigor mortis.
Being flooded by this fluxus, without prejudice, puts us in the saddle of a UFO that promises us the memory of the abduction and guarantees us the vision of our internal organs. Our consent to this is mathematical given that the band's members themselves have eviscerated themselves to show the mystical guts.
The macabre tranquility produced only further electrifies this sex change, in the bloody intimacy of the androgenous revelation of each of us. A conscious tear coldly falls on the cheek as we realize the nonexistence of free will that suggests living life even if at the expense of others.
But life is not made with life, just as music is not made with music, that is why with these "fulminating erections" we are in an iron barrel of perpetual indispositions towards the identifications that surround us.
TG "bring you" nihilistic inseminations. The obscene and the pathological all together and all at once: Cosey not really Everyone...
Tracklist Lyrics Samples and Videos
03 Still Walking (04:44)
still walking
share of thee water
in its element
like all of us
like a book
spell of semen
wall of silence
or too?
this end
or all of us
he said
all of us do it
each time asleep
each time he said
especially again
especially item
the totem was his
the uncle was his
every time it fell open
at the same ritual
every time she said
the words he cried
and no one saw
that's how it is
he said
that's the whole problem
each time
she said
05 Convincing People (04:48)
There's never a way
And there's never a day
To convince people
You can play their game
You can say their name
But you won't convince people
There's several ways
There's several ways
To convince people
It's the name of the game
It's the name of the game
Convincing people
Convincing people
There's several ways
There's several ways
To convince people
And there's several days
And there's never a way
To convince people
There's one way though
That you'll never convince people
And that's when you try
To be someone
Who's not telling
And who's not trying to compel
Who's trying to tell you
What you ought to be
Convinced of
So there's several ways
And there's several days
To convince your people
And you are the people
Convincing people
Convincing people
There's never a way
And there's never a day
To convince people
There's several ways
There's several days
We don't want to convince people
Let me tell you
I'll tell you what I want you to do
It's no way, no way, no way
To convince people
08 Persuasion (06:34)
Persuasion
You gotta get some
Persuasion
You gotta get some
Look at me I touch your breast
Look at me I touch your knees
And I persuade you
Like always I persuade you
Like always I persuade you
Persuasion
Look at me I touch your head
I say the words and you go to bed
My sister and my mother
My father and my son
Do everything I want them to
With persuasion
One lot of persuasion
Like always persuasion
Now there's lots of ways to persuade you
I could do it with money
I could look at you
I could show you all that
You might as well do it anyway
You might as well choose to play the game
After all you've seen yourself before
What difference does it make if I take your photograph?
What difference does it make if someone else sees it too?
All your friends do it
I mean nobody will know it's you
Anybody, it could be any body
I mean, these magazines, you know,
They only go to middle aged men
So why don't you do what I suggest
I persuade you
With words I persuade you
Persuasion
I've got a little biscuit tin
To keep your panties in
I've got a little biscuit tin
To keep your panties in
Soiled panties, white panties, school panties, Y-front panties
By the canal, by the canal
And I persuade you
Like always I persuade you
Look at me
Look at me
There's a certaing word and a certain touch
A certain way and a way too much
There's a little bit here
And a little bit there
When you've done it all it's too late to care
Oh I persuade you
Like always I persuade you
Look in my eye
Under your covers
I touch you
And tell you what to do
Do it because I tell you
Do it because I love you
And I persuade you
Persuasion
11 Six Six Sixties (02:04)
I am one of the injured
A tear blurs flesh
Dissolving
Like an injured dog
Like wasted limbs
Get smaller
Pain is the stimulus of pain
But then of course nothing is cured
This is the world now
Move a fin and the world turns
Sit in a chair and pictures change
Try to eat us
And get trapped
Or injured
Just
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By egebamyasi
Their multimedia performances were gruesome and sadistic, with projections bordering on horror.
It’s man swallowed by the machine.
