Hey losers! So at some point in the late 10's I must have sobered up somehow and it was either stay in Philly and try to drink my way through to next year's Siltbreeze barbecue or go loiter somewhere else. Don't even ask me how things went so wrong that I ended up in Northern Ireland, but I'm here for the foreseeable future, crashing at Kali’s murky hovel.
Yeah, I guess I literally just showed up back in this degenerate little town one day and went looking for Kali ‘girl with the MOST cake’ Kalvall’s old place. We used to have sick shows in her attic. The neighbour on the right was a shift working drunk who didn't care cos she gave him cigs and booze when he ran out. On the left was some dead old shop so nobody cared how loud we got up there. Too busy bombing each other probably. Those were the days, running and breaking shitty mp3 players through the massive amplifier she stole from the Christian rock dudes. Chainsmoking and painting and writing abstract symbols into the logos on our t-shirts. Days of drink and hash smuggled in petrol tanks to give it that extra kick. Hotboxxed in, droning away as we faded in and out of consciousness, aspiring to create new genres of mental illness and talking absolute trash about all the bumpkincore redneck rock douchebags that constituted this stupid little town's idea of a music scene.
But even though literally nothing changes in a shithole like this, it took me a long time to find her old place. I guess it looked a lot different in the cold light of day and with all the graffiti gone. I scoped around for ages until I found somewhere that looked about right, although I wasn't sure if it really was the right place or I was in some sort of Rue d'Auseil situation. I knocked the door and got nothing - but it was 4pm and she wouldn't usually be up by then anyway. I spotted somebody walking by who it looked as if I could bum a smoke off and asked them. He said it might have been the place, once, a long time ago, but that the 'trampy old witch' who had lived there was gone ‘many a year ago’ and that if I knew where she was, I 'was to tell the landlord' because she skimped out with months of unpaid rent due. Sounded about right. He then told me I should 'seek the LORD' and called me a 'tauntress', whatever that means, so I got the hell out of there.
So I trekked on up the rocky road (their roads are windy gravel muck paths with horses and carts going up and down them and mangled car crashes with dead joyriders crawling out of them and you have to spin the wheels of a stopwatch and whisper your destination to the wind to make them work or else you'll get trapped on one that goes on FOREVER). I found some wastrels who were drinking down by the river and asked them. One of them remembered her and said she had 'gotten all stuck up' and didn't drink anymore and 'thinks she's better than ye'. I had assumed she'd either be dead or sober by now so it seemed like a promising lead. He pointed me in some general direction in words I could almost decipher. Also, luckily, what these people call 'towns' are about the same size at what we'd call a very small street with some bushes and fields around it, so eventually I found her new hovel. Where was the graf? The boarded up windows? The cig butts? It looked too clean but I recognized her old boots hanging off the electricity line.
Last time I saw this binch she was a disassociated wreck making a living off her primo welfare scamming skillset and other unmentionable means. She'd arrogantly sway about the place, telling everyone she was gonna finish that album someday, shoving boxes of tapes and paper scribblings at you and chattering on about the concept until you just let yourself out of the room. Everyone just thought she was a stupid fag. But she was really climbing that hypomanic mountain back in those days and probably didn't notice, so full of life and positivity she'd make you fucking sick. A shambolic unemployable wreck of a wench. Now? Well still pretty disassociated and trashy but she's trying to go trad! Works 56 hours a day and comes home to weep in front of her scrying mirror and laments her cursed birth and falls to her knees clutching her rosaries before a neon vaporwave statue of the Virgin Mary that she beheaded and put at the foot of her Kali altar. Was she pleased to see me? Whatever, who cares. She's mostly at work these days. Boring af. I just hang here and taunt her that she's not getting enough sleep and it's time to go back to work soon.
But when she gets into one of her moods, damn, I just leave her to it. She starts to drone and gurgle and goes into a catatonic trance and wanders around muttering to herself writing words like BLOOD, KNIFE, TRUTH and HOLE on things. She thinks the statue moves but its really just sleep deprivation (and the lil microdoses of acid I put in her estradiol vials lol). But she does literally owe me room and board because I was nice to her once in 2008 or at least I didn't bully her so hard at least one time or if I did it was because she was being a dork or something, idc. Whatever. I'm here now. Try kicking a disembodied anime ghost-bitch out of your home and see how that works for ya, or ye as they say around here.
This truly is a suckass country, I can see why they're all such miserable drunks cos it rains literally everyday here. They're all dour and folksy about everything and they're too over-friendly in that way that would get you thrown on a psych-ward if you lived in a city like a normal person. Fucking white people, amirite? Honestly idk what the hell I'm still doing here. But I guess it's maybe kinda nice to live somewhere where nobody does anything anyway, but the nothingness sure does drive you insane after a while.
Yeah, so apparently Ireland is two countries? One is called Northern Ireland even though it’s British and they hate being called Irish but some of them hate being called British but you can’t always tell which is which so they paint themselves and their streets and walls different colours. And they were killing each other about this a lot and now they aren't as much, but they might start again or something? Some sort of post-colonial hangover? Imperialists against nativists? Idk. She tried to explain it to me but I wasn't listening cos it's boring. And it's hard enough to understand a word these fucking bumpkins say anyway, even though it’s apparently supposed to be English. They add about 5 extra vowels onto everything and talk like pirates. And the cis-women here haven't really discovered eyebrow sculpting yet either so you know. They're not very hip. It's like some 19th century pastoralist nightmare. Last time I was here I was trashed like all the time so I guess I didn't notice as much.
Kali is just in a sulk because the locals burnt down her zombie farm and chased her out of bandit country and back to her hometown. She says some of the zombies were in on it and her moidhand betrayed her by not doing proper opsec and it was probably an inside job because a lot of staff left before it happened and everything she had stashed on the blockchain went missing with them. Well cry me a fucking silage pit binch this is what happens when you're too dumb to go to college. She acts all pure now but I remember her back in the day, crashing around the bars when she should have been studying. Very funny to watch her try and make up for it now, I keep telling her it's too late and her brain is too fried and she'll be lucky to scrape a career flipping burgers with the zoomers in Mc'Donalds or whatever budget ass extra-carb alternative they have here. Speaking of junkfood, let me tell you, this binch is pretty fuckin’ far from achieving trap mode aesthetics, but she HAS given me an empty room to lie on the floor in and stub cigarettes out on my arm or the wall or whatever so that’s cool. She is proud of being ‘technically a landlady’ although I don't think illegally subletting to a literal anime woman like me really counts. I guess her thing now is hyperconformity and making herself angry at rich commies on twitter. I guess that’s the price you pay for going straight. She sure does have some good drink still stashed away though. She wont even let me smoke indoors. I thought this was a joke but the new 2020 Kali Kalvall is pretty fuckin’ neat and tidy. I guess when you were that much of a waster you got to really overcompensate to not end up dead from it. Anyway, they don’t got good healthcare over here, you have to go to Southern England for that, so I might see if I can get that Irish passport and become a Euro. Maybe they have real doctors who I can pay to get my tinnitus increased so it’s loud enough I can record a harsh wall out of.
Kali told me ‘there is lot’s to do here as long as you’re into farming, alcoholism, fundamentalist Christianity and depression’ and she was right. It’s like the Pacific Northwest only even rainier and more pointless and they’re even more suicidal. You should hear their music! If you like drudgerous alt-rock that would have sounded stale back before Nirvana even existed, oh wow, is this the place for you!
She wishes she was as skinny as that lmao. Bitch has a tokomak reactor on her roof yet she can't even keep the heating on in the drone roost or remember to fill the oil trays and some of them fled and went feral.
So let's get something out of the way first, Kali made this bullshit discogs entry for me that literally summoned me back into her life from the nether-realm and now everyone's talking about it and trying to track down stuff from it. But it's completely fake. Literally every single thing on there is WRONG because I have retroactively withdrawn, destroyed and deleted everything I ever put out except one thing which isn't even on there.
In 2016 I had become artistically unsatisfied with my corpus, so I bought up all remaining copies and threw them into cheap blenders and destroyed them over the course of several weeks, putting fresh contact mics in each time and wiring up the crappy ass bargain store blender units for sound. I then spent the next 3 years assembling those tapes into a field recording of the recording of the event, and once I had pressed a single copy which spanned about 73 cassettes I released it independently on a print run of 2 but changed my mind and sent the wrong masters to the pressing plant then burned it down just to be safe.
The only reason I ever did those stupid fucking collabs with the moids on there in the first place was so I could use my feminine wiles to seduce them and then once the record had been finished, I would turn around and suddenly and viciously scream at them, total BPD shriek-out style - and gaslight them into thinking it was utterly shit despite me having previously been all 'wow!' and like soothing and stroking their egos and flaunting myself at them the whole way thru and acting all oh gosh omg! at their utter genius. I did this in order to narcissistically break them and induce a terminal crisis about their own abilities. Idk why, I was bored or something. Later I decided I was acting out of revenge for the unsung heroes of the scene who would never even be allowed on the big noise labels of the day because they were all in psych wards or on street corners.
So Kali's discog entries are a buncha bs, but if you’re a real alien you should send me money to purchase the albums which I wont send to you tbh but you should still buy them just to buy the concept, which is this vaporware shit she's into personified I guess. She shoulda known she would summon me by fucking with that dark energy and crediting shit to me I hadn't approved.
Anyway, so, I guess I'm back. I was quiet for a few years, it’s true, but I was hibernating, and then I was in mourning for the loss of Scissor Shock. And then I took a long post-mourning holiday. Kali says I am a relic from the glory days of Rapidshare/Megaupload and the great FBI raid of kimdotcoms palace which sealed our doomed fate as a movement. We reminiscence about the last embers of the noisepunk scene of yore, the endless fractal content blooming of the great blogspot pirate curators and that moment when we all drowned in a deluge of filesharing that glutted us with wonders on a quantity that broke our rhythms and expectations, but you could find literally everything you'd dreamed of hearing as you scoured the ancient zine imports and heard tell of strange horrifying wonders from unreachable exotic paradises like SoCal and Toronto. She says I am a demonic stress induced egregore summoned by her guilt at being renowned for her DIY punk ethics while stealing every album she could find and not supporting a single one of the starving artists, but she was always looking for something to feel guilty about. I tell her I am here to save her, which is to say to relapse her, cos she's earnt enough credit in the straight world for one final blowout. But she bristles at this then loses her shit:
"I gave my life to the scene but nobody cared! I was there, sneering at those who sneered at that Dave Keenan article, fore I knew they knew even less than he did. I was there, in that strange moment when the DIY scene of old, with it's physical formats and not yet fully digital ways had decayed from rockist OD dna damage into glo-fi murk, ambient ethereality and regressive dark age tape hiss oblivion and nobody knew what to do next and everyone was too scared that Ferraro was being ironic and couldn't follow him the whole way into the new age. I was there when the first shards of digitality blossomed through and hypnagogic pop turned into proto-vaporwave. I saw it all coming before it happened but reality was too slow for me! I was all dressed up for an apocalypse that didn't have the decency to arrive! I was the only other goddamn noisepunk in this shithole and one of the very few who made the successful transition from the urban-industrial world's punk to the hyper-industrial world's hyperpop - and I did it all from this ancient slagbog, and did I get any credit for it? Any respect? Did it pay my rent when the bastards clamped down on the welfare scams? Did it stop the IRA shutting down our crappy little rock pub because they didn't like to see the two tribes mixing or couldn't find out who to extort or something? No. And what's more Nomi, you left too! You left me all alone in this hell!" She started to weep.
"But Kali, I didn't leave you alone, I left a noose for you by your dresser!" her tears turn to anger then joy then laughter. "Oh Nomi, that was you? Only you could cheer me up with a gesture so sweet!" We embrace as sisters once again. I hold her and she weeps in that sad way humans do. I tell her that though she has become unpure and is a traitor to the dream, there is still hope for her if she let's me move in, gives me her bank details and doesn't ask too many questions. We bully each other long into the night, talking and talking until we arrive at a place of compassionate, impersonal agape for each other. Then we make-out. Or at least, that's what she would have you believe.
So yeah, that's how it goes I guess. I looked into what kinda neetbux I can get on the UK welfare state and it turns out the answer is jack shit, they just live in tents and starve now. Cigarettes cost £12 for a packet of 20 here, can u believe that shit? They come in generic boxes with pictures of rotting cancerous flesh on them. Fucking Brits, man, what the fuck? Kali is big on the idea of us starting a smuggling operation once Brexit fucks everything up but I'm too lazy. I might just leave this sad binch to her lamentations and go back to Straylia:
Better times. Me in Aus-Straylia, saying g’day cunts with me stubby. I flew out once on a pilgrimage to the UBOA alley. Nothing was happening but I got invited to crash with some dude who was really into Live and was running some Centrelink scam somewhere called Snowtown, but it was too hot and I couldn't be bothered showing up at the bus station so I no showed him. I just haunted around looking for shows and appeared to some Bogans who summoned me in their methlab fires to read their fortune which was to die in the methlab fire.
OK so enough blabber, here's the 2020 list, just a load of cool stuff I heard and liked and want to give shout outs to, no order or preference, don't be pedantic and annoy me about what deserves to be here and what doesn't, don't be some completist ranker boreass cos I literally don't care and you literally will never have taste as good as mine.
INCAPACITANTS - ONOMATOPÉE SUICIDA
UBOA – FLESH OF THE WORLD
PHOCOMELUS – NO HUMANS INVOLVED
COUCH SLUT – TAKE A CHANCE ON ROCK N’ ROLL
MRS. PISS – SELF SURGERY
FED ASH - DIURNAL TRAUMAS
APRAPAT – CHIMES OF ENTROPY
SISSY SPACEK - FEATURELESS THERMAL EQUILIBRIUM
FEEDBACK QUEEN – ANTI MUSIC BRIGADE
BLIND DATE – ACTING GLASS
DSM-XXX – WRENCHED BRAIN
EVICSHEN – HAIR BIRTH
PINK SIIFU – NEGRO
THIRD ORGAN - S/T
MESMER TRAIL - ATROPINE, MUSKEG AND TELEMETRY
I was the one who demanded that Bride of No No No NO Not Not Not Fun Fest 2029 accommodate itself to this band because they are literal Japanese salarymen and couldn't get time off work to fly to NeoHibernia and do their set. But unlike everyone else I wasn't advocating delaying the fest but just cancelling the other bands that got in the way and making the Incapacitants set longer. Still, it all worked out in the end. They are almost at 40 fuckin' years in existence now and still at the top of their game. Absolute masters of the craft. This hits hard and shines above a lot else for me this year. A lot of people could learn a lot from the work ethic they put in to sculpting this, just saying.
Sadly I missed out on the pink vinyl and the t-shirt, hint hint. I wanna get absolutely torn up to this one sometime. How does it sound? Sexy as usual. An exquisitely arranged miasma, slithering electrical knives circumnavigating me like delicious lashing tongues. Gets right into the crevices of my brain and cleans out the plaque maybe even better than LSD does. Tara Connelly also put this at the top of her end of year selection so you know it's the shit.
UBOA released 'The Origin of my Depression' in 2019 and rightfully received a lot of acclaim. An album that reached beyond the usually minor and disregarded confines of the noise scene and appeared on some big normie indie YouTubers radars. Of course, it was still too much to handle for most of the idiots who appeared in the comment section to give their witless takes on it, so you know it was fucking classic.
The big and obvious themes there were disassociation, trauma and the beautiful hell that is being trans. An inchoate identity formation, dissolving into a blankness that threatened to involute it's precarious reawakening. The problems of selfhood and presence in this world that we all face, only dialed up and expressed in truly awesome, disturbing and terrifying ways.
So what would come next? After someone had woken up and gone past repression, was searching for meager sources of comfort in a world that barely has space for her? The answer, which should have been obvious, as it is the only way to any kind of healthy ego, is a dose of rage.
So on this her next release, Flesh of the World, she asks:
In the end, are not all our bodies interpenetrated by the nerves of a malevolent god?"
God appears and serves the only use he has left, something to hate. She sounds agonized, earnest, desperate, as before, but with more traits of assertiveness.
UBOA refuses to let her sound be constrained by anything, least of all any trad expectations of what a noise artist is supposed to be. Synths, atmospherics, ambient, doom, everything here is as usual expertly crafted.
The most fitting tribute I can think of is that both sonically and emotionally it reaches new territory, which I'm too clumsy and dumb to describe well, but you'll know it when you feel it. Is this a renewed catharsis or is excavating this psychic reality too heavy a toll for her to bear? She doesn't sound like she has a choice but to try. Wherever this music goes, this is one of the great documentarians of trans rage and pain that we have and we should treasure her.
This is no-frills punishment. A complete lack of basic human decency or civility.
Cool. 2 sides of harsh nasty stuff. Don't really need to say anything more it's good. No humans involved, really says it all. That's the dream. That's what we're all working towards. That is our hashtag inspo dream goal moodboard this yes omg yes 2021.
COUCH SLUT - TAKE A CHANCE ON ROCK N' ROLL
A powerful negative slab of scummy ominous grindy sludgy noise punk rock with banshee rage vox which will leave you again asking that eternal question ‘Are the straights ok?’ and again concluding ‘No’. In a way this reminds me of that band Total Abuse from like a decade ago. But this is sung by Megan Osztrosits and its all about female abjection and rage at the scum mire of the moid world.
HE. IS AN IDIOT.
He pissed in the oven, the animal
The couch in flames
Stealing medications from the elderly schizophrenics
Now physically violent
I’m certain that he’ll kill me
Yeah I dated him too, which is to say I made him think I would because I needed some cigarettes. I’m glad he’ll be dead soon and you'll be long out of there. They burn bright for 5 minutes but in the end he ain't so pretty now he lives in the men’s shelter and just wanders around in his sweatpants with his mental illness and his sack of carbs and booze and his gut, trying to convince the judge not to throw him back in jail because he’s suicidal. Oh you never made it as a rockstar huh dude? Not as important as the entertainment industry and your own narcissism sold you on the premise that you were? Now, you're just a bum with extremely decadent consumer habits and nobody cares about you or your angsty tragedy anymore. C'est la fucking vie dude Looks like age was as kind to you as you were to those girlfriends whose money you lived off in your early 20's haha. Yes I'm a bit jealous cos why the fuck where those queens ever wasting their time with you?
Anyway, sorry, back to the album.
No pity, no ‘oh but I can fix him’ or any signs of secret stockholm syndrome joy at any of this. She's not taking any shit. She's in hell and has a lot to say.
If punk rock is now even more conscious of its place as the sound of the decline, of lonely squalor and everybody locked up and rotting away and actually fucking missing the lost stability of the lifelong secure toil of the factory, then at it's best it sounds like this and it absolutely slams. And all you humans are declining into poverty and hell anyway these days so yeah I guess this is how it goes.
MRS. PISS - SELF SURGERY
If I was a kitten would you give me milk?
If I was bleeding would you give me a towel?
If I show you my stitches will you pull them out?
More indebted to industrial and metal than noise and there is a goth-grunge kinda vibe going on too. But this one still fucking slaps and the cover art is just - like how the fuck could I not include it based on that alone? My selection so I'll do whatever the fuck I want.
FED ASH - DIURNAL TRAUMAS
Blackened noise. Sudden bursts of fast but woozy black metal tightening up too much around screaming rage that threatens to fall into formlessness. Stretching the seams of abjection and collapsing then exploding into noise blasts and shrieking sludge. Mental illness and disconnected living, they're aiming for all the right concepts and they're very aware and focused on what they're doing and they deliver it very well. They take it seriously and they know what they're doing. I approve. I respect your pain.
The fuck do I care if this is mostly a metal album, the fuck you gonna do about it?
APRAPAT – CHIMES OF ENTROPY
Clattering Finlandian shrill catastrophe. Are you crashing through an infinite pile of fragile glass sheeting, or are those her screams? Or yours? Whoever it is, it's cool and I'm intrigued to hear where they go next.
An unceasing kingdom of ash and scorch. Barbarous events augmented with glamour and suffering.
They released like 4 new things this year, I haven't heard them all yet but this one is fucking great and it's not on negative.feedback.soup's list so I chose it.
Death metal growl gurgle shrieks and nasty noise. A classic Sissification hypno. Hits just right. Always works, you end up drooling with your brains melting down through your nostrils, but you wanted it and it's your destiny as a failed member of the - I'll shut up now.
A very nice synth-noise exploration from a true queen. I don't know what to say about this one, wandering around some haunted house sucking on a livewire and jumpscaring yourself over and over so fast you pool all the adrenaline at the back of your head and it goes stale. Or something. Idk it's good.
BLIND DATE - ACTING GLASS
FAILED ACTOR GOES PSYCHO
More "paranoia and violence". Luka Magnotta's vicious gay dumbass NPD brain interfacing directly with a reality that neither cares nor wants him and then taking absolutely the wrong path to fame. A human animal cornered and trapped by the screen. Feeling like utter fucking trash after behaving in ways you soon come to regret.
Somebody's neurosurgery went very wrong and they're trapped in some sort of hospitalized hellscape. Are those scalpels or the voices of those professional demons who are carving you up again? Do you even want to know anymore? Did they just cut into the wrong lump and now you can't decipher language properly?
Those serotonin zaps you get from SSRI's, screeching implements severing through the boundary between self and world. It's hard and heavy, cos the hospital needs paid with your pound of flesh.
EVICSHEN - HAIR BIRTH
At first there's an odd mixture of dread and activity, are we listening in on some old comms lab computer talking to itself, going supernova as it's ancient capacitors leak and bulge and burst? There's little fragments of rhythm and repetition. What the hell is she doing in there? You're pretty sure you committed suicide in the hallways with the rest of them, but maybe you're the last one left. Whatever, it will clean itself up in time for tomorrow, whenever that is, or is that what you're here to do? The lights don't turn off and you stopped even trying to guess if it was day or night. The intercom keeps blaring out and you can almost hear meaning in the bleeping shrieks coming from it, as if your mind is being massaged to grasp new kinds of syllables. You keep trying to kick over the corpses and see their faces but it always turns into a pile of junk and promotional brochures you end up feeling guilty about disturbing and clean up and neatly arrange. Do you work here, did you pay to come here? Who the fuck knows.
PINK SIIFU - NOISE
This is like - a noise rant album. Like this is just a dude letting the fuck loose as if you're down some dodgy street with him. You would stay the fuck away but you know if you went to a show and he was performing the vibes would be good albeit aggro af. As primitive as this is it's also kinda innovative to just rant as the protagonist of a media-collaged hellscape of crime, injustice and rage and let all that form around yourself into a singular story that you narrate and suffer. Sometimes he's just shouting FUCK over distorted shanty rock beats. Other times it's garbled angst. It's an experience. Almost like an audioplay, disconnected sections of story. Not much rapping, but lots of monontone rambling. You could do a lot with this format.
Newscast interruptions of the latest black American murder. Cop radio echoes, victims, perpetrators and bystanders telling their story. Sirens, hunted ranters, terror and rage turning in on itself unto psychosis. The media noise cut up and collaged as a trapped and man screams in and out of the overbearing haze. He knows his anger must be tactically restrained to keep him alive but he can't live with himself unless he can express it. He's trying to escape, but he can't. So he gets worried and even more angry that the pressures that boil within him and could also destroy him. There's corrupt cops and death around every corner, but he's determined to weather the storm and survive.
Well, that's what I got from it, and since this isn't an experience I can exactly lay claim to, it's best to just let it speak for itself. It does that thing that literature is supposed to do, put you into someone else's perspective. Real and raw, put's you in another persons' headspace, shares more than you probably want to hear.
THIRD ORGAN - S/T
I heard somewhere this might be the last ever Third Organ release? Well it's so fucking cool I would be sad af if that's true. A soupy barrage of glitchy digital harsh noise that's so complex and detailed and enrapturing you're just totally transfixed by it. Nothing else this year was so able to capture my attention. A genius distillation and acceleration of the warped rhythms and noises that keep us all in digital drift these days, my brain was on high alert and kept coming back no matter how many tabs were open. Ponderous (in a good way) and shiny. I jam this a lot. It good.
MESMER TRAIL - ATROPINE, MUSKEG AND TELEMETRY
Who made this? Who are these women? I don't know. It's beautiful. I don't know anything about this. It's out on Small Mercies, it's American. I can't even find it for sale anymore. It's better that way. I won't defile it with anymore useless words. But if we kiss there should be at least this much sensory information coming from each other's touch, and we shouldn't stop until it's over.
VARIOUS ALGORITHMS – COMPUTER MURDER
A longass Hospital Productions comp described as:
compilation of obsolete technology and industrial harsh noise. machines take revenge on human creators. human scientists create manmade containers of death. scientists aid war. circuit board sluts. fictionalized horror becomes reality inside the cockpit of the sr-71 blackbird. we never gave up hope for the end of the world. one c60 each from the following: skin crime, ames sanglantes, rogue state (debut from mt. sinai!) and weirdly enough the first ever collaboration from alberich/prurient.
BEST COVER ART:
PUSSY X VORE X PEG X SLUT - MILLENIAL SEX RECESSION
Not a very interesting slice of noise but the cover art, well, you'll see. Got to strike back against those zoomer puritans.
BRAINBOMBS – COLD CASE
Braimbombs? More like Brainborings lmao. The Brainbombs are back and one of the songs is called ‘I love u’ lol lmalmo. They’re depressed. Whjere arje thje sjongs about stjabbjing into thje prostitjutes? Oh of course they're here alright but they're sounding a bit weary. Those were the ones everybody really liked, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't just some kinda moral lamentation about the violence and corruption in man's soul or an ironic meta-commentary on female heterosexuality as a trauma-response. Really, I just want these dudes to stab ME to death while mocking the dumb Californian noise fans that buy their stupid records. What's the matter guys, can't get it up anymore? Lol. Theres one song called ‘Return of the Ripper’ but like – you turn this on and like it almost sounds like a fucking lofi indie jangle band – ofc the lyrics are about a tired murderer who is like ‘another body down’ :( but he sounds glum and exhausted, like these ajing Swede moids probably are at this point. There are also no cymbals so loud they’re eating everything and just assaulting your already tinnitic ears in agonizing treble. ‘No money vjill help me fjorget, de stigma of de rippur’ yeah ok we know u soujnd really tired dude. Ain't so spring heeled now eh? I'm being mean I do like this bajnd but this one was a bit like… ohj. I'm gonna be honest I listened to like 4 minutes of this and flicked through a couple of tracks then I had to go to work. It's prob great or something idk lol it's just fun to be an asshole. And like what the fuck ever I'm hardly gonna be nice to a bunch of wannabe serial killers with mommy issues?
YELLOW GAS FLAMES – DAYS AND NIGHTS OF DEAD GRASS
HEADS – PUSH
SCANT - SMOTHERED HOPE
SHREDDED NERVE - CRUEL INTENTIONS
I had to include something from Eternal Nightmare records, didn't I? so maybe GLASS SPITTER - HEAVEN / HELL / FUCKED she makes 'trauma noise walls'. Or the pretty EMASCULATOMA by those gorenoise charmers RECREATIONAL CASTRATION? Or FLESH VOMIT? Well whatever, got to give that label of sickos a nod for their diligent work at being disgusting and awesome this year.
EMPTY DNA – MOON CRAWLS ABOVE
SCARLET DEATH – VILE END lot of promise here
I wanted to put TAIWAN HOUSING PROJECT - SUB-LANGUAGE TRUSTEES on because bandcamp says it was out in 2020 but it was really a 2019 album but it's good if you can handle it.
OK so that's it, also you should probably go check the Noiseextra pod cos they have loads of awesome stuff on there I didn't even get around to, including really great stuff that I know deserves to be here but I just don't have the time to properly investigate.
So, donate to Kali K’s transition fund when she finally gets one created, cos she REALLY needs it. You should see the state of her. For someone so into vaporwave she sure ain't very aesthetic.
Allright yeah, fuckit, I'm done - so I'll prob do this next year and every year after that forever cos I don't die cos I am the immortal body of capital. Also gonna hang about on Twitter. Gonna hype shit and review noise and other weird gunk, so you can send me shit. Like literally just give me money for doing nothing or send me links or vinyl or CD or CS or tshirts or whatever and if I approve of it I will write about it and promote you to the other undeserving losers blessed enough to read me. If you send me t-shirts you might even get a Noise Misato model set posted that you can use to shill yourself on your bandcamp or bring cred to your label. If you send me shit and nothing happens you should feel fucking terrible and give up and kys, but still send me more shit.
And go smoke meth cos Noise Misato said it was cool & you cant even tell whats a parody or not because theres nothing real anymore. Literally go and ruin your brain with neurotoxic trash because I am now Northern Irish and hate all culture that isn't made in support of the intra-Irish race war they've been having for centuries while the rest of the white people world forgot they even existed, like a dusty old attic used to shut away a slow sibling.
I guess it's just gone 2021 and by now I've settled into my lowly station in this hell realm pretty comfortably. I know that outside of the church and the morning booze aisles and the farmyard and the soon to be outsourced or abandoned or looted shut factories, all life can ever be here is some decayed cliched ultra-conservative rock n' roll nostalgia trip that already killed too many people back in the 70's. No fun, no experimentation, no art, no culture, no education, cos you wouldn't want to get notions now would you, your dipshit cynicism will surely make it so you can never look stupid ever, despite the fact you know you suck so much and you're even more of an idiot than you realize. I feel like reading Ecclesiastes and ploughing the earth with a shovel alone until the wolfhounds come for me and I either tame one or... What the fuck am I blabbering about? I hate everything! I'm becoming one of them - fuck - it's too late! But Kali has good whiskey, served in cheap plastic glasses with sparkling luminescent RGB lighting and since this is hell I may as well be very here for it. Blow out your fucking blood bitches! Let's make the normies suffer more in 2021 than they ever thought possible! Hikki aristos rise up and stay inside! Whatever, just send me some fucking money!
Peace, war and tinnitus - Noise Misato_xox
“With thanks to Bill Kezos, negative.feedback.soup and UBOA.”