Egg Meat // st TAPE
Alien Jams:
Egg Meat is a new project from London based artists Tooth Rust aka Laurel Uziell and Georgie McVicar, their self-titled EP features poems spoken by Danny Hayward.
THIS IS NOT A SPOKEN WORD TAPE. Though the voice at its ultimate origin emanates from the vocal folds resonating inside the throat of the poet Danny Hayward, the source of such rarefactions does not mean that some relation of identity can be drawn between the speaker, the sounds, and their segmentation into words. Maybe the words are spoken, but they do not speak: chopped and screwed and slopped and crude, worms writ(h)ing themselves through the loam, at times surfacing as meaningful utterances, at others buried Under dense sonic matter.
NUDE JUBILATION. The EP opens with the speech-jammed text skittering across an insistent rhythm which would like to hold back these petit airs as they intimate the violence to come, albeit in absurd and enigmatic guise. The manipulations of Hayward's voice are at times so extreme as to render them indistinguishable from the clattering electronics that engulf them. Punctuating the electronics are two tones that ring out impatiently like an unanswered phone call.
A STILLNESS CAME. On 'Earth Inside Them', a bass ostinato worms its way down to the soil inside your ear canal. A voice, not only a portent but an active agent of the fear it tells, is at times cracked and hammered by a shelling from above before being sucked back up into the vacuum where sound still tries to force itself to resonate.
REASON IS A STATE CREATED TO BE ANNIHILATED. An interlude which provides no respite. William Blake's prophetic voice not remediated but rather re-mediated through Hayward and within the fabric woven from the artefacts of error, clipped signals and saturated grains buzzing across the plain.
WIND FROM OTHER PLANETS. In 'Climate & Resilience', Hayward's words reach their textural limit. They are twisted, denaturalized, extended, condensed, cut, reunited, and made to work against itself. way a violin glides and trills above an orchestra. At points, the words are imperceptible. At others, they jut out in horrifying flashes, like the music of the escalator that “gnaws its tumour through Los Angeles” or smoke breaking out from a “ van's dark scabbed over windows”.
THE MORGUE SMELLS IN THE NICE PART OF TOWN. The EP's final track, '395', mourns another scene of desolation. The warm hums that surround the piece bellow out like pretty mushroom clouds, barely shrouding the racket of gunshots and mechanical clutter. the detritus we hear of “forgotten instruments”, “dead horses”, and “a blood-stained overcoat”. The piece, and the EP as a whole, ends with an ambiguous promise: “Don't worry”, Hayward assures us , “we'll be back.”
Egg Meat // st TAPE
- Availability:
Experimental techno artist Egg Meat from London, EnglandIs a cassette released in February 2023 from London's leftfield dance label Alien Jams with a limited edition of 2.
It's an experimental approach, but it contains 5 broken techno tracks that keep the groove. Comes with DL code.
Alien Jams and other worksplease use this form. ///Click here to see more Alien Jams releases available at Tobira.
----------------------
Includes DL code.
Alien Jams:
Egg Meat is a new project from London based artists Tooth Rust aka Laurel Uziell and Georgie McVicar, their self-titled EP features poems spoken by Danny Hayward.
THIS IS NOT A SPOKEN WORD TAPE. Though the voice at its ultimate origin emanates from the vocal folds resonating inside the throat of the poet Danny Hayward, the source of such rarefactions does not mean that some relation of identity can be drawn between the speaker, the sounds, and their segmentation into words. Maybe the words are spoken, but they do not speak: chopped and screwed and slopped and crude, worms writ(h)ing themselves through the loam, at times surfacing as meaningful utterances, at others buried Under dense sonic matter.
NUDE JUBILATION. The EP opens with the speech-jammed text skittering across an insistent rhythm which would like to hold back these petit airs as they intimate the violence to come, albeit in absurd and enigmatic guise. The manipulations of Hayward's voice are at times so extreme as to render them indistinguishable from the clattering electronics that engulf them. Punctuating the electronics are two tones that ring out impatiently like an unanswered phone call.
A STILLNESS CAME. On 'Earth Inside Them', a bass ostinato worms its way down to the soil inside your ear canal. A voice, not only a portent but an active agent of the fear it tells, is at times cracked and hammered by a shelling from above before being sucked back up into the vacuum where sound still tries to force itself to resonate.
REASON IS A STATE CREATED TO BE ANNIHILATED. An interlude which provides no respite. William Blake's prophetic voice not remediated but rather re-mediated through Hayward and within the fabric woven from the artefacts of error, clipped signals and saturated grains buzzing across the plain.
WIND FROM OTHER PLANETS. In 'Climate & Resilience', Hayward's words reach their textural limit. They are twisted, denaturalized, extended, condensed, cut, reunited, and made to work against itself. way a violin glides and trills above an orchestra. At points, the words are imperceptible. At others, they jut out in horrifying flashes, like the music of the escalator that “gnaws its tumour through Los Angeles” or smoke breaking out from a “ van's dark scabbed over windows”.
THE MORGUE SMELLS IN THE NICE PART OF TOWN. The EP's final track, '395', mourns another scene of desolation. The warm hums that surround the piece bellow out like pretty mushroom clouds, barely shrouding the racket of gunshots and mechanical clutter. the detritus we hear of “forgotten instruments”, “dead horses”, and “a blood-stained overcoat”. The piece, and the EP as a whole, ends with an ambiguous promise: “Don't worry”, Hayward assures us , “we'll be back.”
THIS IS NOT A SPOKEN WORD TAPE. Though the voice at its ultimate origin emanates from the vocal folds resonating inside the throat of the poet Danny Hayward, the source of such rarefactions does not mean that some relation of identity can be drawn between the speaker, the sounds, and their segmentation into words. Maybe the words are spoken, but they do not speak: chopped and screwed and slopped and crude, worms writ(h)ing themselves through the loam, at times surfacing as meaningful utterances, at others buried Under dense sonic matter.
NUDE JUBILATION. The EP opens with the speech-jammed text skittering across an insistent rhythm which would like to hold back these petit airs as they intimate the violence to come, albeit in absurd and enigmatic guise. The manipulations of Hayward's voice are at times so extreme as to render them indistinguishable from the clattering electronics that engulf them. Punctuating the electronics are two tones that ring out impatiently like an unanswered phone call.
A STILLNESS CAME. On 'Earth Inside Them', a bass ostinato worms its way down to the soil inside your ear canal. A voice, not only a portent but an active agent of the fear it tells, is at times cracked and hammered by a shelling from above before being sucked back up into the vacuum where sound still tries to force itself to resonate.
REASON IS A STATE CREATED TO BE ANNIHILATED. An interlude which provides no respite. William Blake's prophetic voice not remediated but rather re-mediated through Hayward and within the fabric woven from the artefacts of error, clipped signals and saturated grains buzzing across the plain.
WIND FROM OTHER PLANETS. In 'Climate & Resilience', Hayward's words reach their textural limit. They are twisted, denaturalized, extended, condensed, cut, reunited, and made to work against itself. way a violin glides and trills above an orchestra. At points, the words are imperceptible. At others, they jut out in horrifying flashes, like the music of the escalator that “gnaws its tumour through Los Angeles” or smoke breaking out from a “ van's dark scabbed over windows”.
THE MORGUE SMELLS IN THE NICE PART OF TOWN. The EP's final track, '395', mourns another scene of desolation. The warm hums that surround the piece bellow out like pretty mushroom clouds, barely shrouding the racket of gunshots and mechanical clutter. the detritus we hear of “forgotten instruments”, “dead horses”, and “a blood-stained overcoat”. The piece, and the EP as a whole, ends with an ambiguous promise: “Don't worry”, Hayward assures us , “we'll be back.”
artist: Egg Meat
label : Alien Jams
Experimental techno artist Egg Meat from London, EnglandIs a cassette released in February 2023 from London's leftfield dance label Alien Jams with a limited edition of 2.
It's an experimental approach, but it contains 5 broken techno tracks that keep the groove. Comes with DL code.
Alien Jams and other worksplease use this form. ///Click here to see more Alien Jams releases available at Tobira.
----------------------
Includes DL code.Alien Jams:
Egg Meat is a new project from London based artists Tooth Rust aka Laurel Uziell and Georgie McVicar, their self-titled EP features poems spoken by Danny Hayward.
THIS IS NOT A SPOKEN WORD TAPE. Though the voice at its ultimate origin emanates from the vocal folds resonating inside the throat of the poet Danny Hayward, the source of such rarefactions does not mean that some relation of identity can be drawn between the speaker, the sounds, and their segmentation into words. Maybe the words are spoken, but they do not speak: chopped and screwed and slopped and crude, worms writ(h)ing themselves through the loam, at times surfacing as meaningful utterances, at others buried Under dense sonic matter.
NUDE JUBILATION. The EP opens with the speech-jammed text skittering across an insistent rhythm which would like to hold back these petit airs as they intimate the violence to come, albeit in absurd and enigmatic guise. The manipulations of Hayward's voice are at times so extreme as to render them indistinguishable from the clattering electronics that engulf them. Punctuating the electronics are two tones that ring out impatiently like an unanswered phone call.
A STILLNESS CAME. On 'Earth Inside Them', a bass ostinato worms its way down to the soil inside your ear canal. A voice, not only a portent but an active agent of the fear it tells, is at times cracked and hammered by a shelling from above before being sucked back up into the vacuum where sound still tries to force itself to resonate.
REASON IS A STATE CREATED TO BE ANNIHILATED. An interlude which provides no respite. William Blake's prophetic voice not remediated but rather re-mediated through Hayward and within the fabric woven from the artefacts of error, clipped signals and saturated grains buzzing across the plain.
WIND FROM OTHER PLANETS. In 'Climate & Resilience', Hayward's words reach their textural limit. They are twisted, denaturalized, extended, condensed, cut, reunited, and made to work against itself. way a violin glides and trills above an orchestra. At points, the words are imperceptible. At others, they jut out in horrifying flashes, like the music of the escalator that “gnaws its tumour through Los Angeles” or smoke breaking out from a “ van's dark scabbed over windows”.
THE MORGUE SMELLS IN THE NICE PART OF TOWN. The EP's final track, '395', mourns another scene of desolation. The warm hums that surround the piece bellow out like pretty mushroom clouds, barely shrouding the racket of gunshots and mechanical clutter. the detritus we hear of “forgotten instruments”, “dead horses”, and “a blood-stained overcoat”. The piece, and the EP as a whole, ends with an ambiguous promise: “Don't worry”, Hayward assures us , “we'll be back.”
artist: Egg Meat
label : Alien Jams
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