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- London based collective of artists who make “music of the spheres, drug damaged dirt, savage psychotropic nightmare sounds and equestrian fetishism.”
- Use mixed/sampled media to create disorienting songs, videos and art, latching on to themes like satanism, drugs and capitalism.
- Nonsensical and oftentimes unenjoyable, but beautiful in a forebodingly soothing – “I get this” — kind of way.
This is the first half hour of a set played to the roughneck denizens of Amsterdam. It features Judee Sill, Dolly Parton and Bonnie Riatt. TFYS drumskiller Flyagaric 23 drums them all and Selah forces them into the same Dark Room
Direct from Ibiza, triple x-rated house bangers for creatine-pumped man-children with Abercrombie erections and internet shortened attention spans. Pop RnB with an edge; a morbidly obese fun size selection of corn syrup heart failure, pumped with steroids and hollow to the core. Sun dried aneurisms. Two for the price of one. Use your club card, spend your points on tumours and get your pin number tattooed.
Guaranteed to produce ovulation in 89.4% of fertile women tested under nightclub conditions. Aya Napa foam party soundtracks for a glorious imagined future where free M-Cat is provided in comprehensive school in lieu of reading materials.
Is there a reason we can’t all just live together? Let’s hug and touch each other intimately like families used to do before political correctness went mad.
Can we not just eat kittens and burn ants with magnifying glasses like the good old days when you could leave your front door open and steal from your children’s futures?
Can I get a soul clap?
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are floating in shit.
Welcome to a new and surprising development in the field of life sciences.
Video healing that transmits excitement into the heart of the spinning atoms that form your weak, fragile, organic body - zapping trans-fats and free radicals - healing the core of your being and making you a better, more successful, more alive version of yourself. Free of petty emotions, hungry for money, hubris and exotic sexual congress.
What better way to spend what little time you have left than to abandon thoughts of loved ones and family, using the precious final days, hours, minutes and seconds furiously examining your own navel in the dim hope of revelations and metaphysical release.
Collect the tokens from the tinned goods, save up the cheap flight vouchers in tabloid newspapers and post endless counterpoint comments on right leaning websites. What good will it do you?
Free yourself of these unneeded burdens and spend a little more time with your hands down the front of your trousers, beating off to the music of the spheres while you watch Eastern European girls degrade themselves on websites that track your self-love in order to sell you Nike sneakers. This my friends is the secret to a successful connected life.
There’s no profit in loving your fellow man when you can shoot your neighbours dog with a crossbow and laugh at their tears.
Take a selfie and share your pain with a ready audience. Brag endlessly about your latest purchase and win big. Define your hip with knowing, self-censoring Facebook posts until your former school friends want to vomit on your dreams.
Make a cake, fill it with diamonds and crack your teeth on your abundant riches. You have first world problems, a second hand car and a third world fetish for ethnic hand made goods. Paint a smiley face on a corpse. Dig a grave and fill it with Cheerios, wet tissues and broken hearts.
Save up the pennies, the pounds have left the island already, prepare for cannibalism in the fast food palaces and dingy chip shops of bleak provincial towns while the polished faces of the fortunately born toss their reproductive fluids into your daily bowl of gruel.
Reap a harvest of polluted nightmares in a swirling vortex of human misery. Keep smiling because we’ll meet again. do the Lambada in a dead-eyed sewer. Lick your ashtrays clean for sustenance and sup on the shattered dreams of your grandchildren.
Light a baby boom bonfire and burn the old and infirm. Mock the afflicted to bolster your sense of self. Resign yourselves to a shortened timespan of amputations and prime time executions. Stop thinking in case they can hear you.
Let’s watch Game of Thrones and give thanks.
There isn’t that better?
It’s less a spiritual quest, more a chance of spread malice and spit it into the upturned faces of innocent and naive ingenues who worship at the alter of rabid dogs and good dental hygiene.
Flossing the mind of senile notions, blasting through the mire of ignorance and fear to create a thought state where new lessons in eroticism and fiery red libido can blossom into orgiastic street riots. See the idle rich torn from their bed chambers and spread-eagled in the gutter, ready for vile inseminations.
No more shall the teenager dreamers lose themselves in branded good and boiled sweets. There’s hand jobs to give and without a license.
Tear your eyes from their sockets and donate them to the homeless.
Rut wildly with beasts and deny your bestial crimes.
Stay in school.
It is wonderful how much time good people spend fighting the devil. If they would only expend the same amount of energy loving their fellow men, the devil would die in his own tracks of ennui.
Far from idleness being the root of all evil, it is rather the only true good.
Above: Here at L-Tel Records, there’s never enough time in the day to record and manipulate magnetic signals to create the frequencies we need for our recipes. Luckily, a deal with the Dept. of Work and Pensions means we can now compel pensioners to work in our fuzz, hum and clank units crafting elegant solutions to our noise requirements and all we have to do is top up their winter fuel payments and get the horse doctor to check their teeth every few weeks.
L-Tel Records - Keeping the elderly occupied and pushing sonic envelopes since 1932. Here a new oscillation created by the pensioners of the Sunnyvale Retirement Home from 4pm on The Fuck You SOund FM.
Below: Although the fate of the Earth and its inhabitants is uncertain at this difficult point in human history, one thing we can all agree on is that hardcore will never die.
Now, thanks to scientists at the Dreamscape Institute of Applied Hoover Noises, mankind can now face ecocide, rising tides and grey goo nano-geddon safe in the knowledge that key tape packs from the golden age of white gloves and glow sticks will be protected in a disaster proof, temperature controlled vault so that survivors - thousands of years from today in some unknown future - will know that Ratpack can’t find their Rizla.
Members of Altern-8, Shut Up & Dance and SL2 (pictured) have agreed to be cryogenically frozen as part of the archive, so that they can be cloned if and when life improves on the planet.
Hear their final, bittersweet interview this Sunday from 4pm on The Fuck You SOund FM:
FIrst of four half hour trash rock n roll and novelty record mixtapes. Junked 7 inches and vintage horror-rock.
More gonzo trashola, junk shop rock n roll novelties, grimy rockabilly from married cousins with interesting birth defects and sexy horror business.