Hear This While High: 'I Came I Sat I Departed' By aTelecine
Categories: Hear This While High
Listen to this while high: "I Came I Sat I Departed" by aTelecine (free download).
Behind the buzz: The musical appendage of model/porn-star/hype monster Sasha Grey's bid for media domination, this joint is off the band's LP debut, A Cassette Tape Culture, just out on arty NYC label Perdu. An industrial-punk hybrid drawing on the added talents of poet Anthony Djuan and musician Pablo St. Francis, the music reflects the model's no doubt sincere love of classic post-punk earwrack like Throbbing Gristle and Sisters of Mercy. Film critics scorning Grey for her skinjob lead performance in last year's Steven Soderbergh-bomb The Girlfriend Experience won't be consoled by this yet-another teenage wasteland.
Today's dank: A thumbnail-sized pinch of Romulan Kush, looking under magnification like the snow-capped peaks of Gliese 581g.
Psychoactive verdict: Against the widely held proposition that only hippies and gangstas blow gage and listen to music, I hurl my shoegaze-scorched ears on the table as Exhibits A and B. Weed does, as teaheads maintain, sensitize the ears to musical stimuli, making the toker a maximally competent listener. I find dense lashings of Stockhausen and My Bloody Valentine a pleasant way to achieve the fine-grained clarity of the world outside one's head that often leads weed docs to prescribe the stuff for depressives. Medicating as I do, for backache relief, and having the disposition of a puckish hyena anyway, I always believed anyone can enjoy this kind of dark sonic mulch without a predisposition toward wrist-slitting. Until now. Spark, if you dare, bud of any heft, and ingest a substantial part of this 6:32 swatch of designer angst.
The point where you wish you were higher: About 40 seconds in, when the rhythmic screech and doomy atmospherics conjure up nighttime at the cyborg-rendering plant. This is as good as it gets, citizen, and not bad at all.
The part when you wish you were lower: At the close of the third minute, when you realize the metallic groanings in the far background are actually vocals and not the distant sounds of a weedwhacker fucking a car alarm.
Follow us on Twitter @SFAllShookDown and @RockyRedGlare
Behind the buzz: The musical appendage of model/porn-star/hype monster Sasha Grey's bid for media domination, this joint is off the band's LP debut, A Cassette Tape Culture, just out on arty NYC label Perdu. An industrial-punk hybrid drawing on the added talents of poet Anthony Djuan and musician Pablo St. Francis, the music reflects the model's no doubt sincere love of classic post-punk earwrack like Throbbing Gristle and Sisters of Mercy. Film critics scorning Grey for her skinjob lead performance in last year's Steven Soderbergh-bomb The Girlfriend Experience won't be consoled by this yet-another teenage wasteland.
Today's dank: A thumbnail-sized pinch of Romulan Kush, looking under magnification like the snow-capped peaks of Gliese 581g.
Psychoactive verdict: Against the widely held proposition that only hippies and gangstas blow gage and listen to music, I hurl my shoegaze-scorched ears on the table as Exhibits A and B. Weed does, as teaheads maintain, sensitize the ears to musical stimuli, making the toker a maximally competent listener. I find dense lashings of Stockhausen and My Bloody Valentine a pleasant way to achieve the fine-grained clarity of the world outside one's head that often leads weed docs to prescribe the stuff for depressives. Medicating as I do, for backache relief, and having the disposition of a puckish hyena anyway, I always believed anyone can enjoy this kind of dark sonic mulch without a predisposition toward wrist-slitting. Until now. Spark, if you dare, bud of any heft, and ingest a substantial part of this 6:32 swatch of designer angst.
The point where you wish you were higher: About 40 seconds in, when the rhythmic screech and doomy atmospherics conjure up nighttime at the cyborg-rendering plant. This is as good as it gets, citizen, and not bad at all.
The part when you wish you were lower: At the close of the third minute, when you realize the metallic groanings in the far background are actually vocals and not the distant sounds of a weedwhacker fucking a car alarm.
Follow us on Twitter @SFAllShookDown and @RockyRedGlare
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