Mar 30, 2007

Negative Kite - Hey Little Know 7" Freek 1993

With that cover I had no clue what this was going to be like. I heardtell this involves a member of Vibracathedral Orchestra, who I've taken a gander or two at. So why not? Even if it does look like it might be a His Name Is Alive single.
Well, His Name ain't alive, because this is the sound of arterial blockage. I'm a little taken aback since I'm used to these twice-baked screechy drone affairs to be about 6 weeks long but, being a 7", this is barely a piece of my day. Somehow they crammed almost 9 minutes onto each side, though, which seems absurd. I tell you what, that's a packed side. Side A takes a bit to develop, but it's got a lovely down the block quality. I kept thinking the record was blank and the neighbors were practicing. But, no. Oh, there's an insert. Here's the text for Side A, complete with fussy line breaks:
startled rabbit/liquid container years
a young family's hopes for
their new home

hymas imperial broken amp

Not exactly expository. More like one of them offhanded allusions. They follow the trail marked SONG PROPER as far as they feel like it, taking their time and eventually come to a clearing where there is only primordial slate. Here's Side B:
outdoors in stimulated natural
habitat mediums give demonstrations
of their powers

more vicious body gesture

walking down satans boulevard

Sheesh. It's a party record for glaciers. If you can tell me what half of the instruments are, I'll buy you a pound cake because the line between rattling percussion and whupped axes is as slight as can be here, thereby qualifying the sunken boombox production. Ha! Production! Negative Kite crawls out of the past to laugh in my mark-ass face. Well, that laugh don't reveal much either. As soon as you think you understand the landscapes they're dragging your mangled body through, they drop you in a ditch and hop in the van. No concern for your life, your fulfillment of melodies left incomplete & elusive. The last thing you hear is the sound of them running over your copy of Stainless Steel Gamelan and peeling out into the night. Weren't stainless no more, buddy.
Good for a spin in the stinky darkness.

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