Thursday

...with all th'bleeps'n honks'n screamin' hubhub o' th'modern urban day to day existance its maybe somewhat hard to look back'n see th'reason for th'uproarious bad vibes that sometime accompanied th'live appearances o' suicide...it may have been th'minimal synth repetition pushed into th'red....it might have been th'unearthly echoed squeals from delayed vocals that hiccuped 'round th'room...anyhow th'bridge'n tunnel tourin' squares didn't dig this '5th dimensional elvis' shtick al'n martin were puttin' down at clubs like max's'n cbgb...th'whole o' their sound was smeared with a cloud o' trebled-2-max fuzziness that reached out'n snared th'willin' underground beatnik away from zen mysticism to a new kinda rock'nroll trance that was issuin' up from th'gutters o' alphabet city in th'bankrupt NYC seventies...dig a first rate trip into th'ear gougin' past that will satisfy even th'most jaded head with its emanation o' elevation, takin' th'adventurous rockin' cat to some sorta elysiam field in a burroughs sense, th' claustaphobic world o'heavy paranoia,where th'nova mob're out to GETCHA, th'world turned upside down(or is it,maybe th'future leakin' through is true'n th' last hope is known only by th' HOPHEADS, by th' transient mind...suicide break down th' barriers o' illusion'n present th' real, th' realer than real deal,th'city in th'usual chaos magnified to give society a chance to get grooved into a shamanic relearnin' o' th'true state o' bein',th'labyrinthine possibilties o' livin' right without th' hassle o' squares puttin' up boundaries that mark th' limits o' imagination...al'n martin work on th'premise that any sound is beautiful, that uglyness is a consumer con, th'reason for th'ill favoured in society is a mere bluff laid by th' robber barons'n their boot lickin' lackies, th' rejects from weed heaven, th' squares that dont even dig themselves, th' ones too scared to see th'reflection in every mirror for fear o' wakin' up to their own pitiful state...suicide loiter at th' gates o' gonesville beckonin' th' free spirit to th' last chance to GET RIGHT, to get in th' wind'n ride th'tiger into th' calmin' storm o' impulse...th'computer is reworkin' th' MEMPHIS CAT into th' chrome plated nightmare o' sci-fi reality takin' in flipped out D.I.Y ossilaions o' th' silver apples'n that mind soup poetry o' th' 13th floor elevators, takin' th' rock'n roll trip one further mile to salvation...

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