dividesbyzero BEA ULL

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Well looks like a few days late on this, (probably would've forgotten entirely had mecca not reminded me. Thanks mecca), but better late than never. I've been pretty regularly busy as of late, and that does not appear to be changing anytime in the near future, but I can always find time to get a few albums in, and hopefully make a little time to post about them here.

Anyway, I'll start by summing up yesterday: I started with something that I've been continually forgetting to listen to since it was recommended to me by brun027 like a week ago:

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Mestre Ambrósio by Mestre Ambrósio
Which I enjoyed immensely. Lyrically, based on the little I could glean from some sloppy google translations, there appears to be a focus on social injustices suffered by a northeast Brazilian lower class. Their points appear to be well-articulated, (and are certainly delivered with the kind of passion one would expect based on the content), but being painfully monolingual as I am, the lyrics were hardly my primary focus here. Musically, a bright and active fiddle motif atop a diverse percussion arrangement immediately drew me in, and I remained hooked throughout what proved to be a pleasantly varied collection of sounds traversing over sonic territory ranging from guitar-centric vigorous rock riffing, to Arabic influenced world-music sounds. I only wish I spoke Portuguese... anyhow, terrific album, and one which I plan on revisiting.


Next, I've been listening to a lot of this lately:

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Flowers For My Father by Sadistik
I gave this a cursory listen when it first came out last year and didn't really give it much thought. I'm not entirely sure why but for whatever reason my first listen proved to be anything but memorable; I don't know why I decided to revisit it but I am glad I did. Midwest hip-hop that sounds something like if Eyedea (with whom Sadistik was close friends during his life, as alluded to by the eulogy of a song "Michael") recruited Blue Sky Black Death to produce a more direct and serious version of "The Many Faces of Oliver Hart". His inflections can seem odd at times, but it's something I've come to love. Also, damn. Sometimes, his internal rhyme schemes are just...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBqfZgDc7vk&t=4m6s


Next I decided to spin this

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Schools Of Thought Contend by From Monument To Masses
Local post-rock band. Instumental, but with heavy use of samples to push political messages and the like. A decently unique sound that manages to be fairly unpredictable despite a more than predictable prominent GY!BE influence. Dynamic, long-winded songs that can, at the very least, hold interest. I think I much prefer their earlier release, "The Impossible Leap in One Hundred Simple Steps", but I'll likely be returning to this album soon enough.


Aaaaand then a friend came over to visit. He's incapable of shutting up about Warped Tour. He put this on:

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So Wrong, It's Right by All Time Low
I'd rather not talk about that...


Anyway, after he left, I cleansed my ears with this

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Rooms With Walls And Windows by Julie Byrne
One of my favorites of 2014 but a lot. Perfectly executed intimate folk music with psychedelic influences. Calming yet immersive. A good way to end the day

[Norman Bates]

First post, two on the wishlist. Keep it up!

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Didn't have time for much listening today. Unfortunate. Equally unfortunate is my being too tired to really divulge on my listening experiences, but whatever. I finished this a little while ago

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Thank You For Giving Me Your Valuable Time by Kaada
meccalecca rec. Insanely enjoyable. A broad range of samples selected from any number of sources (both live instruments and electronic production), and blended in a way that feels completely natural and seamless, not to mention catchy and fun as all fuck. Gets pretty wild at times, and just flat out soulful at others. Good shit. Thanks mecca.

Aside from that, I've been out most of the day, and have only really been consuming singles here and there. Not much to speak of on that end. To make up for this lack of content, tomorrow I am embarking on a journey: I will begin a long delayed quest into listening to every album present on the chart of the late The Poe, which of course begins with this

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Daughter Of Darkness by Natural Snow Buildings
Mark my words I will listen to this shit from start to finish, no interruptions. Stay tuned as I chronicle my experience

[drakonium]

yeah its cool and all but what about your battle against defago

[meccalecca]

[Mercury]

This is great so far, you beast of a man! Keep it coming.
_________________
-Ryan

ONLY 4% of people can understand this chart! Come try!

My Fave Metal - you won't believe #5!!!

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It wasn’t entirely unprecedented, his inviting me into his home, in which he lived a notoriously reclusive existence. The cryptic letter arrived on a Sunday evening, leaning at the edge of a patio leading up to the weathered single-bedroom apartment in which I lived alone. I can only infer that The Poe delivered it himself.

He didn’t have many friends, at least, not many that I knew. He held a passing acquaintanceship with any number of individuals who happened to stumble in and out of his periphery ever so often, but they seemed more interested in The Poe as a spectacle of social intrigue than as someone with whom they had any actual interest in directly associating themselves. The Poe was my friend, though it is a title whose significance he only ever acknowledged through a kind of tacit understanding. We said very little, but what exchanges we did make bore a weight of peculiar significance, more so than any of my other -admittedly few- regular social interactions ever carried. I never fully understood why I, of all people, filled this rarely occupied space in the life of The Poe. We didn’t necessarily have similar interests, at least, not in the traditional sense. Really I think our connection was maintained by our residing within a deceptively simple paradigm: he was drawn to strange and interesting things, and I was drawn to strange and interesting people. And so we got along, perhaps not in a way such as most would envision when thinking of “friends”, but we got along. Regardless, for anyone, including myself, to receive any indication of The Poe’s having interest in them, as an individual, as an object of intrigue, as being tantamount to any one of the strange and mystical paraphernalia to which he was drawn… the occurrence was an anomaly, though not one with which I was entirely unfamiliar. If The Poe’s attention had been directed towards me, it meant that he had something to show me. To any such invitation there was only one response

I kept a vague mental outline of the intersects and boroughs leading up to the sparsely populated district in which The Poe lived. 40 minutes into the drive the pavement covering the road expired, as did any recognizable trace of what could be called a “road” soon thereafter. I arrived at the almost invisible structure, cradled within a curved mass of land, resting at the base of an oblong hill of wilted grass and vegetation. By the time I arrived at the door the sky had already become caked with blackness.

The dark within the house was somehow more intense than that which had fallen without. I fiddled for the lightswitch as the front door (which was never locked, nor did it ever need to be), swung to halting close behind me. Rather than a switch of any sort my hand caught something unidentifiable but undoubtedly imported, fragile, and expensive. I grimaced and awaited the crash of pottery on floor, only to hear a mild series of thuds that echoed down an adjacent corridor. Rubber. The Poe did collect all kinds. Looking down the corridor I saw an open door leading into a room that appeared to be dimly lit. I abandoned my search for the switch and proceeded towards the orange glow. I paid little mind to my surroundings as I made my way towards what I can only gather The Poe intended to be my destination: a massive, almost exclusively empty room. Responsible for the light was a newly lit candle, residing atop the room’s only feature, a simple, small, black table. Entirely non-descript, it held on its rectangular surface only the flicker of the candle, and what appeared to be, of all things, a small hand mirror. The Poe was not a vain individual, so I knew that this mirror, which I had at this point taken into my hands, held value either in the form of deep sentiment or great rarity; in either case I knew to take utmost care in handling the item. It was an elegant design; embedding the entire curvature of the mirror, from the base of the handle to the apex of the curve was some kind of clay encasing, clearly pressed together by hand, exhibiting an asymmetrical pattern of solid points tassels that hung from and jetted off the sides of the mirror, as if the edges had been whisked at with a calligraphy brush before being pressed into consistency. The left side of the mirror displayed a clean porcelain surface, while the right side bore semblance to a fragment of petrified ebony. I turned the mirror over and over, moving my finger across every crevice and indentation. Time always seemed to move strangely whenever pertaining to The Poe; the flame that had seemingly only just a moment ago been hovering over the surface of a glass container was now residing at the base of the same container, beginning its slow flicker into oblivion. I turned the mirror over one last time and for the first time caught my reflection on its clouded surface, just long enough to watch it wither away. As the last traces of my face snaked away at the edges of the mirror and flickered into nothing, I felt an unmistakable pressure build from behind my eyelids, which quickly erupted into a sensation blinding, and ultimately, painful. Without thinking I hastily pressed my open palms onto my closed eyes and reeled towards the ground; I realized all too late I had done so at the expense of The Poe’s mirror. Again, I awaited the crash, and again, for however long I waited, I heard nothing. The pressure behind my eyes had vanished. I moved my palms aside…

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Daughter Of Darkness by Natural Snow Buildings

Whiteness. Not blinding, nor dull, just unmistakably present. My feet found what felt like solid flooring but my eyes told me otherwise. Above, below, and to each side of me I found only the same stark whiteness. There was no horizon, no edges of any sort, no way to gauge distance or location, no way to determine if my erratic footsteps were even getting me anywhere. I stood silent in this limbo long enough to have forgotten the look and shape of anything other than the inside of my eyelids. At some point, I have no way of gauging after how long. Something began a slow movement towards me. Or I towards it. Or perhaps it was right before me and was simply slowly growing in scale. I became lost in my own questions long enough for the object to come into focus; it was simply a pane of blue-tinted glass, making it’s steady approach to my current position. I felt no inclination to make way for it, and as it would appear, I wouldn’t have to. The felt nothing as the glass moved over me, first encasing me in its silent embrace and eventually pulling apart into innumerable fragments of floating translucence, molding and shifting in shape and texture as they were pulled through and across my body into the nothingness behind me, and from that same nothingness a second pane approached, and the same phenomenon occurred, and again, and again… As soon as one slipped out of my presence another would come to take its place, leaving me perpetually bathed in a pool of suspended blue fragments that would mold into shapes not quite at random, but seemingly by their own will, or something akin to will. If it was will, it was a will whose abuse I could not have anticipated.

After long periods of gentle flowing and peace, the panes began to change in nature. First they came with greater frequency. Before long the whiteness that had before been all I could glean was entirely encased in a blue tint. Next to change was the nature of that tint, as the panes became darker, approaching a foggy gray. I could feel these ones. Just slightly. I could breathe them, inhale them, and each time they would leave me coughing in a struggle to find breath. This progression continued towards a predictable intensity of an unpredictable nature, and before long, the varied hues and tones that made up these clouds of intangible matter that enveloped me for so long melded together into one solid blackness. Unlike the white expanse that preceded it, this blackness held weight, and I knew at once the origin of the pressure that had built up from behind my eyes, eyes which I was once again reeling at with erratic open hands. I would become very familiar with the darkness of my closed eyes for what may as well have been an eternity. By the time the pressure lifted, I had retained no memory of the black nor the white, and opened my eyes, slowly, to something possessed by neither...

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Daughter Of Darkness V by Natural Snow Buildings

[Antonio-Pedro]

Great no.... amazing loving it so far, and wow^...........
Like what a great reading DBZ, thanks or should I thanks anyway it's amazing keep that way up!!!
Also great ULL This will entertain me while Vacation week boredom
_________________
Top 100 Hits you must hear before the u... of beauty

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What the fuck was that. Don't listen to NSB high kids. Or do I guess. I don't really care. Do actually. Someone's gotta finish this... um... story? Jesus...



well that was fun





/log