“Lo, the DJ’s know not what they spin, the album is pressed, the stories brake.”
This book is a book about all of these events, and how they happen in stages, and on stages, on many levels. The world is a stage, shaped like a turntable. You choose. From the underground to the mainstream and outside, taken from in-depth interviews and on-the-record research these are deep snatches of faction. It’s about the people who do these things, the conspiracy between those that do it behind the scenes, behind the walls and blinds, in old dusty hotel lobbies in fantasy music videos. These tales are about the few who survived the insanity of the 2012 singularity.
This book was probably edited by the award-winning writer, artist, consultant, and producer called Mr Brick and his dubious goals. It was made by and for the people, you know, the people who have done some of this stuff before. Those who may have already looked at this book. Hey, you at the back, stop picking yer’ nose, these tales are your heritage too.
If you are a musician, or a filmmaker, or graphic designer-composer whatever, or a freak that wants to know how to get involved in these story-things, this book is for you, read on. The plotline is a transformer, where do you wanna’ be Dr Morphingham? Your ancestors are everywhere and nowhere at once, screaming to pierce the veil, like a woodpecker on a space-hopper.
Plush believes the tellers of the tribe don’t use tape anymore because it’s too expensive, “And the living made of cardboard, we should weild reel power to produce and release our own tapes.”
Plush cuts out an O-ring from paper and fits it over the disc, “you can use all kinds of materials,” Plush called his time tapes “the first true turntable tapes,”. The cut-up of dialogue from vinyl to tape, skipping the digital ghouls.
The death of the genre, which in this case is live and dead prose, has been known in America and the UK since the 60’s when a bastion of experimental LSD musical poet motherfunkers burst out into the streets like 10’000 octopus messiahs. Blham.
“It’s like the great recession, but in culture. Artists like us could never support people trying to destroy hip hop music,” said Mr Jones, the director of the Institute of Critical Culture at the University of Rotterdam., “Prick Pop fest was the fuse that set off the bomb, fuck that festival”.
One of the previous cast members from this trilogy currently plays the role of a beautiful and smart coder, who dazzles Plush and brings him back from the brink of insanity and digital psychosis. The only person not listed in this first chapter is the famous magician, and we won’t spoil his name yet. What did we learn from this story so far, anything, having fun with the cuts? Just wait.
Plush, the retired DJ cynic was not feeling himself on-line these days, well that’s a lie, he felt himself on-line, just not in a way that felt wholesome anymore. He cut corners, cut his toenails and tried hard to cut the crap with a similar snip-snip. His soul was torn and worn daily like a second-hand scalf around his neck, he carried the guilt of nation, he did not vote, perhaps it was time to switch tracks.
The key to successful acting is the ability to think creatively in any situation, whatever spewed out before. Be yourself. Don’t cheat with words. You tell me about how the combination of the right mindset and the right character choices that make you an engaging actor, should be of interest to me, dear reader? This fragmented first part of the book is just test, just a ride, and I only hope you find the whole process of preparing musical performances as palpable. It’s good to remind yourself to keep your eye open for the audience in front of you when spinning. Watch the dance floor, keep looking, don’t space out like the Boiler Room massive. Sing, dance, shout, make love behind the decks. This was an idea I knicked from a STIXKAP forum user last year.
A deck of cards and harmonic principles are not only linked to one another, but also to the fabric of our personal life, the social world, the global economy, politics, culture, all our interactions. Cards bootstrapped together by mind at large, like a horny little leather nymph. In this way, my narrative may represent a wall built in front of historical events. Plush put the Jung in Jungle, Percy reported in the national music express. Mix digital with analogue breaks and put out new branches. Don’t be a DJ snob. Green forever and for evergreen.
Each Tribetable Tarot folio will be printed out of silkscreened cardboard and hand coloured by the talented graphic artist, Aphid. These books will be printed with traditional back to black and white book-binding, along with illustrations. The book is rolled up, placed in front of the reader, and ignited.
Original prints $23. Limited prints $40. All copies of TribeTable Tarot with original print signed by Plush and artists Tom Geddis (Celtic Tribetable) Tim Gooballs (Egyptian TribeTable) Tracy Turner (Thoth Tarot) Jim Chirp (Trinisphere Tradition and trinispheretarrt Tarot).
CUT TO: The opening ceremony of the 1936 Olympic Games in black and white film projected on a church wall.
This may not seem like a big deal to you, but if you play vinyl like this, and throw Tarot like that, two very different ways of looking at the monkey house emerge. Vinyl-raiser’s purpose was not to make war or invoke battles, it was meant to open the portal to poetry. To shine a light on the tale of the tribe-table.
The problem with Vinyl-raiser’s purpose is when it closes one portal, another opens to something else. To open a portal back into a lost time costs time. At this moment you’re free to choose to accept a message or just go home and wank. When the person who’s singing to you opens the portal, they are releasing an image onto the mind screen of whatever song you are listening to. Al Green, for example. You might love “In The Shade Of The Dead” by Billy Ballballs, depending on the stereo equipment installed. You might like this music at the bottom of the page slightly less than some other songs I forgot to mention. Ha. You can’t choose to listen to a good song with someone who doesn’t. The damned novel lies underneath, please, patience dear audience.
If you’re reading this, you’ve probably never even heard the opening chord of a Slackbird tune, let alone sung one. Or should I say, sang one? I dunno’, n the old world of African dance is where dance music originated, as far as the average Joe is concerned. Dance ain’t cheap these days. It’s not the genre of music with the most “authentic” songs, but this is not a competition, this is live, there’s a groove edit in roadworks and a guy drilling next door, or is that music? Concentrate steve, steady now.
But even though Deep Scratch may seem more “authentic” than other genres at first, it’s the only genre in which one can sing “All A.I. ever wanted” and feel good about it, no matter what age you are. That’s what makes it perfect, pop music and capitalism perfect, flipped, remixed, mashed and hashed.
Dance music is the most original music, and it all began in Africa. When older folks start to understand the concept of African dance, we will have international health raves and art dances, body-mind speeches on the beaches, free entry. Total transformation.
I can’t even begin to tell you how amazing the new music sounds to me. Make it new they said, okay.
“Puzzle, puzzle.” scratched Plush. “testing, one…one….oneone….two…two….three….four,”
I’ve made no attempt at translating these ideas into code for you, make your own interpretations of the impact on society of deep fakes, and prose narratives augmented by turntable beat juggles. This is a test broadcast of chapter one….one….two three four.
This idea has inspired quite a bit of criticism, mainly from friends and other writers concerned with the post-truth politics, but the fact remains these scratches can be useful in understanding contemporary political economy, A.I. and sporting bodies. Loading…please wait.
History remixed. “records to life, past-post time way off the page, backwards hatched words and thatched words…
Founded in 2011 by the co-founder of the legendary ’70s techno, and acid house DJ collective, Sprunk Neck. The music he created is deeply mashed. He inflated himself like a balloon into an ever-expanding roster of DJs, like Acka G Ting, and DJ Hatch Flap.
Who is the DJs partner, is that his manager too? The world is a scary place, so much so that we find it impossible to trust anyone, especially DJs. The truth is like that, the lucky few flew, those that have the courage and dedication to live and let live go and come back to the decks, some travel to read and read to write, and write of a lifetime spent spinning in the urban sprawl to empty dancefloors of tiny run-down cafes.
One way a DJ can survive these paragraphs is to build a conspiracy puzzle, to use his or her own soul beat to project a love and peace. Yes, keep pushing the good vibe babes. It’s easy when a DJ works with others to keep things running smoothly, like ice cream and well-chopped fruit. The truth is that a DJ’s partner, or manager, is not necessarily a human thing, they may break the groove in times to come for the good of all and the many, not the few. I feel that the true enemy of the DJ is fear and spotify. Fear will make you do your bidding, listen to your desire to make music that’s honest. The devil has the details and wants to mix tragic and comic, like DJ Paris Hilton.
To survive a conspiracy puzzle, and tell the tale, a DJ must build an intelligent partner into their set. It’s your job to become self-aware, to put your head down and to listen for the winds of Coltrane in the cosmic ambience. If you listen to the music you hear the truth and you may see what makes someone tick when they have time on their slide. We will dance together, and love will rock the dancefloor. This is tone therapy for cosmic beings, spinning discs like planets, tarot, tales and into the dark.
Entangled in bizarre and disturbing realms, caught in that vortex. Surreal but fun, playful, ludic. The last album-chapter is filled with influences from Zappa to Coldcut to Bruce Sterling. It has a similar weirdness that I really really like. Go. Testing talk tapes, 1,2,3.
The MC, who you guys might recognize as the dude from Black Mirror, is super sick. As a kid, you were probably dancing to “No More Dreaming,” and he’s been doing damage at the dance ever since. His latest album “No More Dreaming 4 Free” has a remix of the original recording made at his uncle’s greenhouse in Peckham.
There’s been a lot of stuff going on this week, yeah, a poltergeist with a taste for peanut butter is reported to be on the rampage in Amsterdam. A cop in Chicago claimed that he teleported to the Damrak on Sunday. You were seen with me at the place, smoking at the exact moment he appeared. How do you explain that? Let’s say this is a good time. ’We are at the right place, behind the pool hall?“ we can think aloud. Play the turntables, invoke tribes. Rock the spot.
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