TLASILA on the Brink of an Ellipsis...

Getting kinda psyched about the upcoming mixdown session. It's gonna be a long 'un, two weeks plus of continuous tweaking... Manhattan will be broiling.

We recorded over five hours of material for the album, and we've been sifting through the sick fucking lot of it in proscribed fits and starts since December. Three songs quickly emerged as favorites (at least as items to be red-flagged and monitored by our internal policing arm), and we'll focus our initial efforts on rending them from their moorings. We need a Brooklyn 2002 feel, and we want it tomorrow! (Failing that, Linz '87 will suffice. Or, a dab of the old Abbasid dynasty vibe, 750 CE.)

Two of the afore-slandered three were performed at N**se Against Fascism (not that we or anyone else ultimately noticed). Oy vey, such a mess. Don't get me started...

TS

Comments

ommyth said…
That's what I said to the band! Enthusiastic, but also disinterested! I was fired, and replaced by the dude who replaced Hagar in Van Halen. Symmetry is golden.

TS
ommyth said…
Hello Roe (and Elaine!),

Gary Cherone was just a little too hardcore for my tastes. (His band were named Extreme for a very good reason... I prefer listening to raindrops falling on my window sill, or the quiet oscillation of the ceiling fan in the front room of my grandmother's lakefront house. Anything louder than O-Town and I fucking flip!

Best,

Mello T
ommyth said…
Roe, doll, my new fave combo is Stewed Carrot and the Baby Laxatives. They are followed closely by The Sublime Still of Nothingness. Trailing in third, Satanfest Has Moved into a Triplex. And I still have a soft spot for Where Did I Put My Keyes, A Smaller Portion, Please, and Thanks in Advance for the Inhaler.

In other words, the old tropes ("intensity," "harshness," "brutality," "ripping the very fabric of...") no longer impart intended meaning. They instead signify weakness, stultification, banality.

I am indeed too old to "rock," if "to rock" means to embrace the dead. There are young, lithe bodies of context and signification out there, and I want to have my way with them. I prefer not to waste my precious bodily fluids on a corpus of putrefaction. Just as the incohate thrust of early punk (for argument's sake, let's put it somewhere between 1969 and 1974) was a jab in the eye of a bloated Bunuel/Dali donkey too dumb to know it was dead, so too do I reject. Everything. I am so sick of it all, and I want a major house cleaning.

Love,

Tom
ommyth said…
I feel ya, Roe! Thanks for the loan of the Vicks Vap-O-Rub.

Best,

TS

Popular Posts