MUSRUM (ERIC THACKER, ANTHONY EARNSHAW)

 From what the Mad Mane Machine has gathered, Musrum is a highly valued cult book. Considerately, that can be an apex for wrapping up book blogging—especially when a sought after style is nowhere to be found, few entries later. It would be doing the book much worse than good. Shit.
  Schizophrenic and experimental writing—these have managed to be checked before. Musrum ticks the weird-and-phenomenal-without-even-trying box. Reinstating all belying preconceptions towards meaninglessness, implied meanderings, and conclusive misconceptions. The existential world of Musrum. It may convince it is the opposite of a mind trip, yet its realization is an inimitable directory of how not to impose anything. As a rule, it just is—minus mere existence.
  For one, Musrum is a stretcher upon its course. There is a set of images eloquently re-arranged to match the written counterpart of its deranged and determined stylistic humour. The amount of logo creations up-fronts the number of word creations. Many of them recall to the Metal genre; where funly, they were related—as follows—to various sub-genres to an almost astounding precision.

Cover (07) — Death Metal. Very Morbid Angel distortions

COLUMBUS … (09) — Occult Doom Metal/any tribal variation. Woodcraft and symbology

THE ATTIC (15) — Stoner (Doom). Thick text in the vein of Sleep

THE IRON CASTLE (19) — Progressive Metal. Sharp/defined symmetry (far from Thrash’s)

THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD (32) — Atmospheric Sludge Metal. Coastline/Island indenting . . . since Pirate Metal is not really a genre. . . .

THE WEEDKING’S PLOT (37) — Raw/Atmospheric Black Metal. Fucking Groot

THE PURSUIT BEGINS (41) — Post-Metal. Cresting with wavelines/rendering to softness

IN ODESSA (52) — Avant Garde Metal. A funny ‘mess’ of objects living and non-living

MUSRUM  A PROLOGUE OF BANNERS — Gothic Metal

MUSRUM’S PLAN TO UTILIZE THE INDUSTRIAL SUBURBS OF THE ESTATE AS AN ARSENAL (69) — Brutal Death Metal heavy on Hardcore/Sludge Metal. Not very stylized, solid font. (Borderline Grindcore)

WHEEL-LORE (72) — Speed Metal. Thrash-like precision meets arrows

THE TREE TELEGRAPH (80) — Depressive Suicidal Black Metal. Trees; Pines in particular

PRINCIPLES OF FLOWERLIGHT (82) — European Power Metal. (Sun)Flower power

THE ELDER TREE (93) — Grindcore. Nasum spikiness with talons. Sweet perfection

PREPARATION AT THE CAMP (97) — Industrial Metal. Wtf  moment as human limbs spell it out



THE ISLE THROUGH THE WOODS (104) — Experimental Dark Metal. Which really is  Industrial Black Metal

THE MUD CASTLE (107) — (Progressive) Groove Metal. Ahem! Toning down/up from (19). The whole logo realized anew as a block




Unnamed (109) — Duckcore. Thank you so much Metal Duck. This would be limbo

THE IMITATION GARDEN (112) — Drone Metal. Beating dunes eaten by time? Fascinating arrangement

FEAR, AFFLICTION – AND STRANGE HOPE (124) — Technical Death Metal. A die; no cast—Hexahedron with impressions/layers

SPOILS OF WAR (129) — Experimental? taken. Avant garde? taken. How do genres start? Not cheating here . . . Boris belongs somewhere?

THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN TO INTERSOL (133) — (Viking) Folk Metal. Through a rugged mapping and sea-faring arises the the nation (and title)

SECOND MOVEMENT: BELLA: LA DAME GENOVESE (134) — Love Metal (hark!). Arrow-shots to the hearts of sentimentalization

THIRD MOVEMENT: ALLEGRO (136) — That Byzantine Metal should be a thing? All above (134), in mosaic detail. Also deduct arrow. Right, Batushka exists

THE WEEDKING’S PLIGHT (151) — Crust loving Powerviolent Grind. Sells itself as Botanical Metal. Caterpillar’s legs espouse the whole disappointing irony


THE WEEDKING’S FATE (155) — This sadly goes to Technical Brutal Death Metal. Fucking tech death heads horse-shitting the genre in alarming retardedness

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KnK—DEAD BODY MUSIC

  As an—Industrial—album dedicated to fear, it isn’t serendipitous to have Dead Body Music II have such an ominously terrific and imposing cover. It is fucking Charlie Chaplin and his fears about the film industry—his famous self depiction arrayed to the grinding gears. The same is now humourously birthing the earliest stage of an EBM band ravaging humans to create DBM. Fucking hell. Fuckin’ right. Let’s not get caught up in the music industry’s premonitions lest it will be generationally traced to pussyfooting 21st Century lost causes.
  Vocally, K2 sings and speaks—confronting topics revolving around existence. The band’s aesthetics are a fervent extension and the Empty Future video epitomizes the rigid aura. Industrial by principle and ajar to non scripting. That is the shit. Fuck what you heard. It is only on reel where high and low values permeate. But unlike that or Chaplin’s, The Mad Mane Machine needs a lot of noise. Some kinds.

 

  Sans romance playing advocacy to gothic tragedy,—Dead Ophelia is death. With its noise effects and sense of auditory attraction, DBM propels KnK‘s ground beyond Industrial. Sure, K1 and K2 proclaim to metal listenership, but it is more of a creative coincidence on the Industrial-wise Dead Body Music because—what C21 lost causes?—Gardens of Gehenna was crafting such words that saw the light at the millennial turn—and this was meant as a play for aggressiveness and EBM—especially on the non EBM side of things. Kill!

DOPPELGANGERS XXI

  So much music, so little time! 1994 and music have always been on a measured breath, once uttered together. For Hip Hop it’s the inescapable indispensable Big Apple boom bap—Illmatic. Out of countless imitators is an equal of listless (direct) influences.  This is a by no means exhaustive list.
  Some fun has been had.  And then some. . . .

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TIME TRAVEL IN FRANKENSTEIN UNBOUND

  A Timeslip stands no worse than a landslide—a fault in the spatial infrastructure. In a near-future world, there had been an ongoing war among opposing Western, South American, and Third World Powers who have been using nuclear weapons of increasing caliber—within the orbits of Earth – Luna system. 
  The effect of this is man learning a bitter lesson on the indivisibility of Nature. The short-lived relief that everyone hadsince it all happened above the stratospherewas all gone as timeslip hazards might as well be equated to fallout. Both space and time goes on the blink. On one hand, it’s still a null relief since nobody gained anything from the showdown, which managed to obliterate Moon colonies—something termed a doubtful benefit.

 

  Professor Ransome concludes that it came to be perceived as a hitherto undiscerned relationship between the planet and the infrastructure of space which surrounds and supports it. The infrastructure has been destroyed or at least damaged to the point at which it malfunctions unpredictably, and now the consequences must be borne with.

 

  Consequence one includes slipping either into the past or the future, as wherever one is standing could face a sudden geo-locational change. Consequence two is time-shock. Lastly; getting trapped in ‘The Present’ of the past or the future, as Joe Bodenland. 

 

  ‘The Present’ must be viewed with with increasing suspicions as T/timeslips increase—some timeslips are not timely enough to warrant a capital T. Herefore, these jumps can only take place in an Eternalist’s universe; since when Joe slips back in Time, the world is still unfolding as per that date. Remember how they say about alternate universes coming to save time travel from its paradoxes? Then, doesn’t that give it more power? Like merging a fictional lifeline to an existing one. A Timeslip eventful enough in length requires the chrono-marker to regard its time as Time, so Joe Bodenland does that, to events lasting beyond a few hours.

 

  Well, Joe the time traveler could sell his timepiece from the (eternalism, forbid a) 2020 U.S.A., traverse the past with a Felder, but a (alternate universes be damned) May 1816 Geneva needs some music.
Let’s meet the olde poets.

DEATH METAL—AVULSED

“Then it happened. With a crash of drums and a thundering bass, the sound of heavy-metal music came blaring from the loudspeakers.”—Sweet Valley High.
  At least at this point in their career, Avulsed no longer consider themselves an underground act, which is a well deserved feat. This is one of the most competent bands to grace Death Metal so far. It is beyond overwhelming that a given album can go from Slam to Doom Metal so  fucking effortlessly! Gorespattered Suicide. . . .

  Oh slamophiliacs, Goresplattered Suicide, Yearning For The Grotesque have the covers begging for ingestion. And swedeath is the magnet that holds Avulsed’s metal together. Ritual Zombi and Goresplattered Suicide have special moments of dragging guitar work drenched in atmosphere—sometimes achieved with keyboards. It shows the urgent need for further exploration of the same. And consequently, Famishgod! And this says a lot about Death Metal origins for incredible Death-Doom outfitsHooded Menace.

  Dave Rotten. I will not obsess about his vocals. But I could never wish for less.
Inhuman vomits—The best in the business.
Subhuman topics/artwork.
Anti-human lyrics.
—I denounce my humanity.

  However, I have yet to see them come out with their own distinct, Avulsed sound. But it’s still a journey. Alter Of Disembowelment is closer to being the identity they want to portray but damn goddamn, Avulsed kicks major ass.

BALLS-OUT HIT-‘EM-UP ACTION

  Expect more machinismo when the freaking Avengers return as showcased by Thanos lifting an iron glove from an automated holdersimilar to Yashida‘s ailing founder’s. It seems marvel is pro-dinosaur eye-candy and stuff in between such sinew. Tylosaurus, the great sea lizards, swim across Manhattan sky, in the name of Leviathan—huge-ass warships and assault crafts bringing forth the Chitauri beasts. Ultron masterminds a plan in the vein of Chixhulub impact.

Art… Art… Art… Art everywhere

  I’d say J.A.R.V.I.S. went full A.I. if it occurs that hiding is possible after an altercation with Ultron—not to mention participation in unaided finalization of Ultron‘s remainder.

  Ultron becomes sentient enough to leave his Virtual Environment to fashion a body for itself. Pretty funny, considering the human push for a physio-virtual mergewith Age of Ultron and Chappie shedding meagre light on A.I. and its possible downsides. That of course being not at the expense of the aforementioned balls-out hit-’em-up executions.
  Since Ultron views man as detrimental to his habitat; then there sure is another angle, and I’d be more fascinated by an apolitical A.I. because earth is beyond minuscule in regards to space. With that, what would such A.I. need planet Earth for? Political tendencies just hold humanity back in mighty frightening proportions.
 Addiction to the virtual world is highlighted in ChappieVincent Moore‘s Orgasmatron; the neuro-helm for controlling Moose—because man will have created A.I. better or parallel to him. And he will be engaging them online and offline. Will they allow man to control the non-sensitized robots again if they reach a level of pointing-out such or even the slightest disparity, or will man eventually become one of them and start making the closest biological versions of himself as he could. Is dystopia part of the myopia?

THIS WAS A METAL PRAIRIE

 The wind is soaring swiftly. Coursing the land, coasting with serpentine slither. One that neither touches but on its sheer gliding weight the ears and leafs sway mono-directionally — a sudden encompassing wave of roaring gust. But if they really do touch; one a breeze caressing the stalks and hairs as the airs fork between strands still merging from the splits; nobody sees it. Yet visibly alluring the unfolding effects.
  Until spirits from the netherworld are unleashed. An inanimate mosaic intertwined to protrusions of a lively spine. The heart of the spiraling machine. Firmly as put together by the seeds it sowed, and the fruits it reaped. The catch-22 it helped horn.
  Sometimes a hurricane emerges. Enough energy has been piled up. The howling void is whirling, pulling, tugging vulnerable flames. Building the ultimate fire and the belly finally gets tugged hard enough to release a sonic outburst. Gorging trenches and hellholes, upturning sods. Mangling the hay and the rusted needles.

  …
  Bordering the north a fiord; with increased trudge, snow is no longer a sighting. First it’s the subzero soils. Pebbles that see sun zero. Collecting patches and tracts until white engulfs all. The pines get lonelier and submit to dispersing. The sorrow is pictured by still monochrome clouds on fluid recurring crests, at-times-mist-engulfed lakes. The difference grays out with increased frost.
  Anchors of the steadfast ship spread the clawed tentacles into the deep reaches of the sea. Where years ago Viking ships rocked and pierced waves onwards to battlefronts. Leviathans became the guardians. How so! These ones were means of taming the wild. The Titan of them all. The demigod. It is not a myth.
  Further down draws warmth. Windy plains and buttes eroded to smoothness. Partly dustless at the plateaus with the flour sand particles pulled to the mire. Heavy as palm boughs sluggishly descending into the oasis. On still days, the smoke gets too thick to rise efficiently! The red vast-lands espouses its creatures come nightfall. This is not Mars.
  And suddenly the occult starts bending; once nightlife rears up. Astrology starts coalescing starlit auras with celestial measure. The secrets of the stars blending forth into the mystery. Onwards into the cosmos!