Artist: Crown Larks
Title: Blood Dancer
Labels: Spacelung / Landbreathing Records (CD/LP/Digital), Already Dead Tapes (Cassette)
Keywords: Experimental, Art Rock, Cat Passions, Drone, Fabulous Thunderbirds, Free Jazz, Minimal, Noise, Polyrhythm, Prog, Psych, Space Music
Reviewer: Alien Spalding
“Hello Yeah I Know it Sucks!
Wanted to share our new record and music video with you guys, thought you might dig, in the vein of stuff like Boredoms, Soft Machine, Broadcast, Can, Pere Ubu, Spacemen 3, Deerhunter, CAVE…”
We have received your primitive electronic transmission, humans, and are currently preparing ourselves to dig. We have prepared the veins of the peculiar arrangements of other humans you specified for micro tunnel entry. We also wish to thank you for your gifts. We, too, shall share, in words, and leave hyperlinks for other travelers to enter into your dimensions of image and sound.
The recording begins with chunks of rhythmic bass frequencies and we are detecting the unique sonic patterning of a saxophone as it imprints the ear-field. The harmonics have an intensity that is difficult to describe in your human language. We are currently basking the specimens of our births in these fluid configurations of sound, strange jazz / prog expressions, electronic waveforms, and studying the genetic mutations they are imbued with as a result of these bizarre free-form undulations. Our Receivers are likely to find the sensations stimulating, as the pulse quickens toward the end.
‘The Timebound Bloos’ rends within you an awareness of the mortality of your feeble species, with its purely logical dissonant guitar and shamanic drum pounding. There are utterances from within this void of noise. Every sound urges your inner primate into blood frenzy.
Next, we will begin tapping into your interior consciousness to implant neuro-linguistic circuitry that will further divide your chakras into zodiacal decans for more precise cognitive functions. Place your palm against the fishbone penis sigil below, while we attune our instruments to describe the sounds you will be hearing on ‘Blood Mirage’…
… yes, you can no longer avoid the truth, as the feedback swells. All of reality is subjective, much like the statement that this piece of music is perhaps your alien author’s personal favorite at this particular moment in space/time. There are soft frequencies, a heightened rhythm… an organ of unknowable import has been donated, implanted into the mix so that your body must accept it. We hear your screams, and offer you only cold black eyes and an understanding beyond anything you may ever recognize.
You will find a return to humble roots of superstitious explanation comforting in ‘Fog, Doves’. Electronic piano, low bass, sizzling with the use of lower technological amplification devices. Sticks move upon stretched plastic, reverberating against steel rattles. Soothing, poetic voices lull you into security, while jagged sonic instruments are allowed to distort your immediate environment. Brass begins perturbing the consciousness with moody scales. We have begun watching your reactions and recording them. They will be sent to our homeworld, where they will be broadcast purely for our entertainment on a posttelekinetovision show hosted by Beelzebob Saget.
Brain-wave surveys report that you are experiencing some very strange shifts in emotion. ‘Defector’ sends low electrical pulses into your hips, causing a unique swaying motion in many specimens we’ve observed. We have noticed a continued quality of audio being streamed through the wireless organisms we employ to read your emails to us. Breakdowns surge through; self-aware malfunctions, through which many noises spill out, variables we cannot excise from our report. As you Earthlings say… “and all that jazz.” We are unaware and do not care whether we have used that phrase correctly. Do not laugh at us, human! We have much yet to show you… prepare and attach the visualization nodes!
*a human-like voice is projected into the mind’s ear* Hey, it’s Alex. It might be a bit of a belated thing, but sorry for not forewarning you that I was leaving my alien clone to write a review in my place this time around! Hope you haven’t had any bizarre probes inserted, yet. That happens sometimes. They love that for some reason. So, uh… what you are seeing here is ‘Chapels’. From tall grasses emerge what the makers of the music refer to as a “ghostly Butoh dancer”. I’d say that describes it perfectly well. There are painted hands playing keys. Red lips speak behind a mask of many eyes. The figure appears to sit in a room filled with televisions, and some of you may find the image vaguely evokes a recollection of the opening of the film Begotten in which God, insane, sits among dereliction and disembowels himself, whereupon his blood and seed are taken by Mother Nature to form life in his mad image. The dancers, of which there are now two, move among scenes of desolation. There is an angel, caged. The slow, contorting movements of the two dancers are captivating and surreal! In a dark basement, one pours dirt upon the floor. One seems to pull the other, blindfolded, by corset string. Nearly twins, they often appear to symbolize something like disequilibrium. The music, in its jazz-inflected and delirious style, fits perfectly with the imagery of flux and chaos… by the way, I thought to myself that I’d take a minute to talk about how the group name-drops Can. It’s like, one of those things that I feel like I rarely ever see, and then when somebody does it, the immediate mental response I receive is to feel like, “OH, how cliche, blah blah”, like… “you must think your indie pop music is so Krautrock!” but, what I like about this group is that I got the vibe, upon listening, that they definitely are into some really cool and weird music and, most importantly, have internalized a lot of it. So, I feel like it shows in the arrangements a lot better than I would have expected with many other groups. I’m sure you know the other types… like, those artists who will churn out some conventional, middle-of-the-road sound, but an engineer in the studio turned on a few effect pedals and now their publicist expects you to believe the band’s really into some obscure cult group from 20 years ago. I’m glad this is not like that. Hmm… I kind of went on a tangent there, whew! Spaceships always make me chatty. Anyway, I shall return you now to your, uh, alien captors and hit the lounge for some space coffee. Later!
Ah, you have awoken. The process has nearly come to an end, but there is one final step in your spirit’s alteration. ‘Overgrown’ begins with tube guitar strings struck in emptiness. Listen, as the voice dispels your fear, quiets the anxious confusion of the senses. Can you feel us descending? We are returning to your homeworld now. The chemicals will lift like a fog, and the clinical light of our spacecraft’s human testing lab will be replaced by the softer hues of your Earth’s atmosphere, or whatever lighting you use in the decoration of your brick hovels. You must feel us picking up speed, now, the spinning of sounds should give much indication at the velocities we are capable of maintaining at our will.
We have arrived.
I am sure your physical body needs nourishment at this juncture, so we’re leaving pancakes for you and have provided you with a link by which you can return should you have need of any further biological improvements. We will leave it in your care… don’t forget to phone home every once in awhile.
Oh… and your weird Earthling friend Alex wanted us to tell you that you should also share this experience with as many of your fellow Earthlings as possible, so that strange things would happen. He also says he’ll be back to talk about more music later, and to take good care of the toilets while he’s gone.