Artist: Discombobulated Gringo Postpeople
Title: Murmurs From A Faraway Planet
Keywords: Soundscape, Experimental
Reviewer: Alex Spalding
In space… no one can hear me scream. This is because I can’t scream that loud. Also, there’s the problem that the atmosphere on this spinning rock does weird things with soundwaves traveling within it. Oh, and that space is a vacuum and, thus, silent. Oh… except that I forgot that space is not an absolute vacuum, but is instead filled with extremely thin gas, meaning that sound can actually, technically travel in space after all. But only very loud sounds, and only for very fine-tuned, alien ears. Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that space-music albums are best listened to in the confines of your shuttle, or pod as the case may be. Discombobulated Gringo Postpeople have made such an album, perfect for any lengthy voyage through the darker avenues of the empty abyss that surrounds us.
Just one track, a length of 30:41. Above all, it is a strange journey. It begins with what sounds like a perpetual drum roll. Then space bells come in, then lasers. These were perhaps fragments from a nebula that exploded somewhere else a few hundred years ago, taking with it countless alien Edens. A woman’s voice enters our ears, lamenting the loss of her homeworld. Ghosty synths blow across our field of sonic vision, while particular remnants of star stuff trace and swirl around a black hole. The woman’s voice becomes more wildly erratic, unconsciously somnolent. But things are getting a bit too real. I’m hearing… blast off! Closer and closer we are getting to just kicking this shit into hyperdrive and leaving this place behind, before this dead world throttles us with it’s tendrils. Instead, the engine dies, and we’re thrust into the dark. Warped sounds from the netherworld bombard us from a nearby black hole. The computer chirps, letting us know it’s doing the best it can to get it’s ship together. We’re thinking, shouldn’t have gone with the cheapest model from the used starcruiser market. The receivers are picking up weird transmissions and signals and the isolation is creeping us out. Suddenly, the power comes back on in time for us to receive an alert. There’s something out there dying, and it doesn’t sound like there’s anything we can do to help. A massive, unfriendly starcruiser pulls up menacingly and blasts exhaust in our faces. Someone from elsewhere on our ship has decided to pick up a guitar and learn how to play quickly before our untimely demise, but their playing only seems to mirror the intense danger of the situation. Now we’re being boarded by men in zippered monster costumes, who are accompanied by a dirge of talking strings and the whispers of conquered worlds that enshroud them. Now, the metal holding the ship together is being tugged at by all angles and is breaking up under the duress of a tractor beam. The woman’s voice quivers, displaying and obviating our imminent doom. Before the shuttle can come apart, we enter the larger vessel and once again are swallowed up into darkness. Strange tones emanate from elsewhere in this new ship, there is electronic interference with our equipment. The computer is pretty much fried now, or hiding. We can hear the bang of the death drum and gargling alien babble from our captors. Then, silence, permeated by the hum of scanners. Who drives this ship? Cthulhu? Let us speak to your captain. All is for naught, however. There’s no way to understand what the hell is going on. They use dinging handheld devices that fill our head with loud, harsh sound waves to force our physical surrender. The effect is disorienting. As the signals fill our head, we hear that something has gone wrong somewhere on the ship. Another alert sounds and the warbling, Cthulhonic creatures begin to scramble. Suddenly, we are rescued by a coughing, throaty Ewok who arrived with a slew of other ridiculous creatures who hiss and whistle for us to follow them off of this terrible ship and onto there’s. We make our way quietly back to the hangar. There’s a pause as we wait for the doors to open and the computer operator to take us off. We make it, but are pursued by a gaggle of space gringos, singing songs of our slaughter to the stars. Then, it’s over. Over, that is, with a few ride cymbals signifying nothing.
This was a really weird album, and a really weird story that I just wrote. No, I’m not going to proofread it. It was written as it occurred, while listening to this epic space farce. Check it out for yourself at the link, and see if any of it fits: