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Servicio Electrico

Servicio Electrico

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CD 
Prijs: € 11,70

Product notities

Department of real estate 'servicio electrico' an angled jar and my head is tumbled into the parts of this world  termed department of real estate - this might be a cellar bureau or  maybe one w/only skylight between it and heaven cuz I am confused and  must trust the sense to be humble about such things for it is a journey  into their world I've been allowed into... respect is no problem cuz I  find the disorientation most interesting though me kneejerk reaction is  too fumble for a foothold relying on a title so I grab for the first  wrung which is the title track. Later I might admit 'of course' but now  I hold the moment critical and sense it like chow I have just for the  first time shovelled cuz in fact, it is. It is... a trap drums set  pushing a bass (one of pete watkinson's machines) into an improvised  dance under a dreaming guitar gospel-splatter denying reference by  transcending riff. I become the tongues is speaks of and offer here no  clue to this three-way celebration of emotion foam... this is the way I  feel the electricity 'serving' me - by a major donate of intuition,  liberated. The swirl of the first ride evolves the contemplation I've  set sail on into the next unchartered sea, that of 'half a lizard'  which squeezes bubbles of meaning in a sensory sense, bandsaw-easy revs  rubbing in non-regular laps around the mindtrack, flurling the  corresponding flag (you pick the color) to the one man pit crew (alan  nakagawa) on the drums who here again and througout this mission will  beat-identify expression w/both qualified statement and a unconditional  compassion - yeah, I can say that cuz that's what I'm feeling,  compassion grooving me beyond linear coresspondence little richard woud  understand (my opinion not hope). rapture - either guitar, sax, hakone  or toy accordion (kio griffth) yanks me gently by the hair to the  subway (or is it a freight train) of 'jasper johns' which stroke after  moves us on down and on up, snare on the one and then  submerging/surfacing in rapid river rushing of paint sound gushing and  pumping from the sump 'till from every pour dumped and there in a pool  to congeal into cymbal-splattered twilight beatless konk ressurected  sidestick dreamworld anti-clock anthemic 'semiotic' which points it's  own signs into sighs, deep breaths and corner-of-the-eye-maybe-seen  phantoms. It is that language of the tongues again but from a different  part of the spine, probably a lower one. A ton-to-one correspondence is  what the mapmaker earned here, trumped by the evidence... surprised by  the actual is good justice, we guess? a mystery maybe echos in  responce, the next rabbit hole elevator ride is 'pert-near what might  seem like another of the same woods just wandered but echoes is more  alphabet to spell instead of signs to point - it's the quick heartpulse  of toms forming the soil for in-the-dark blossoms that make the threads  of 'dress' weave and morph into events, patching the tiny one-act lives  from into the next, a print of galaxies w/in galaxies w/their suns  being born and rushing in/out. Setting up things a little tribal,  drumdrums padding a pavement bearing the kareen of feeback heft and  wail in dialog w/synth and burblebass bumblebee tumbling free, the  scene under it's own power and sailing the void. Clipped and muted  statements from both string machines marry ride cymbal for 'corporate  account' suggesting the hidden mystery in that title then morphing into  hat/snare drenched confused delay upon delay hallucinatory  self-reflections in the funnyfarm mirror - a promising guitar denying  any shackle before bobbing on bass and reborn ride percussion warped  curved sense of space and the sense of distance in beween reaches out  to me, reaches between my ears and continuously seems to measure that  space. 'hylozoic' ushers in raindrops of cymbal splashed  snyth-to-bass-to-snare coversations hinting at there actually may be no  difference between life and matter - all this album's orations  liberated from the burden of words and siezed upon sound via improvised  music in one way or another compliment this idea, the main thrust of  these three men coming together as realized by their very being as a  department of real estate manifested herein - this is what is impressed  in me and so you now read my reaction but it doesn't stop here - no,  what appears to be rational in my thinking is next thrown 'under the  bus' and beatdriven-stringthinging-basskneading  foam-meringue-palate-slate-sluiced loose of trainingwheel touchstone  collar/leash association diapered insurance policy plan b backup  kneejerk self-concisous precious breathless mannequin - whatever, this  is an outfit that will not fit on a squarejohn dummy cuz it is a  celebration of sensation... form has been boiled off and evaporated.  breath through saxophone aids breath through bass/breath through drum  in 'servicio traduccio' which is the last commuinque from this album.  like the other nine, a private translation to every listener even as it  gathers up a freight trane of steam under it's own momentum, reminding  me vividly that trane was bound for glory even as my thoughts sputtered  in making sense of that revelation, the image conjured here by secret  parts inside me unknown to me covered up by me set off lit up tore out  flipped out - I am most greatful for the services rendered here. Mike watt, san pedro, ca   Kio Griffith; prepared guitar, alto sax, synthesizer and effects Alan Nakagawa; drums and percussion Peter Watkinson; bass guitar, theremin and effects   Produced by Department of Real Estate Liner Notes by Mike Watt Recorded at Catasonic Studios Engineered and mastered by Mark Wheaton.

Details

Kunstenaar: Department of Real Estate
Titel: Servicio Electrico
Genre: Jazz
Releasedatum: 4-1-2011
Label: CD Baby
Media-indeling: CD
UPC: 822371134593
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Credits