Saturday, February 18, 2012

The aGitator - c44 I Had An Accident Records


No scratch-and-sniff J-cards with this release; I Had An Accident Records compensated for bullet drop to put this tape right in your mouth. The release is packaged in a gray cassette with a blue case with artwork by the aGitator. The tape begins like a brutal wedding thumbing its nose at the dead bodies sitting in pews and turns watery on track two after they all drank the cyanide-laced grape juice.



This music is the residual memory of a dark abandoned subway rave. Hypnotic beatwork; sounds filter and ricochet like rusted saw blades pushed and pulled in a slaughterhouse. It is in your head, in your mouth and wants to get out. A quarter of the way through the first side, I'm in a lobby waiting for a clerk to bring me a ledger with a sheet metal cover while someone else's bride paces back and forth. Dad is in a chair getting a shave with a straight razor. He's trying to laugh at a leather strap hanging on the far wall without getting cut by the razor.



The sound nearing the halfway mark on side A takes on a stumbling beauty like old citrus trees potted indoors and watered with mineral oil. They wake up, look around the room thinking who the fuck just put that in my soil? And we begin to stutter, drinks in hand, paper cuts wider and deeper from sheet metal pages. Pulling balloons out of our chests through our mouths, remarking, "The light seems so old around all these antique police scanners." Turn on the TV when eating a microwaveable poultry dinner. The track "Western Theme" appears and looks back at the carnage. It's beautiful and makes the stainless steel horses happy. 20 light years back I changed flights.



Side B. The morning after a honeymoon trip. There are other people in the room who don’t care. Someone brought their kids so we order room service and ask for waffles with edible silver decorations. It’s not Christmas; we got garland? Wipe the grease off the model skeleton. The kids want to decorate it with the garland, but we have to leave soon and drive up to the mountains to see glaciers in the only van on the road. Not sure why it’s called a “mountain pass” because it seems to just dead-end at the top... We parked and sat listening to the slow crack and creak of the glacier’s crumbling rock bed. Listen to it mimic our pulse. The kids want to play pick-up sticks on top of the glacier. They have their jacks, old metal typewriter keys, old silver fillings, pick-up sticks; fresh paper cuts from a travel guide’s sheet metal cover. “Does the glacier have a cavity?” It keeps cracking its teeth on the ground.



The track “Farmhand” provides transplanted rural memory near the glacier. It might be too unstable to bother climbing on top of to plant scarecrows. This tape is unsettled bliss, nightmarish honeymoons, beautiful decay and swollen glands ecstatic with amniotic fluid birthing miniature metallic orphans; a slowly melting glacier exposing half-launched swing sets and entombed instruments of torture. It’s one of those “must have” tapes on the I Had An Accident Records roster.
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