KEITH K. HOPEWELL – CHAOID SYSTEMS – LP
(containing CD & 8 page booklet with exclusive artwork and text)
Sounds Fly: Music Writing
by Steven James Pratt et al.
A calling siren. Listen. There…Frequency mod’ cross spectrum – sound-light-particles to spray, from the nozzlety wave field-array. Impressive on retinatty boom. Point-line-planetary. Can you fly through? Fucksake geometry. Sandglass fizz, subroute tonic teasers. Audio trapshots, snare pots, pan lots, cross wired burnt circuit wires shadow captures, abducted by. Handy made photophonoglyphs oi. Yes mate. Opacity in sound layers, cake goop in the speaker, fleas breakdance in the dancehall cymatics, frequent C miles. Sampletude punk fuckers.
Sound shadows of the silent majorities. A Calling, a part2.wav dotted WAVE sonic signal to process, i hear a calling. Rockt’ on with hertz, amps and ohms. No place like…alpha beta gamma theta nestled into cutting headedge lacquer. And error photon-tone focus. Son of a pitch stepping out to myth it all. Panning on for golden rations for the bread-line peeps too. To cannavas to vinyl disc, digitalis too. Tale from, the spraypaint fella’ voyager Part2.wav cutting pathways to mother spaces-co ordinaughts psych. Chaoid-units, measures chaos, bits, yars, knots and chin, feet, pounds, ampair of boom-booms. Systems, in family relations, statements of relations.
Geometree and dandylow dubs synthesis-thesister-anti-this-is. This is not, again. Systems evolve. Travel the circuit world boards, capture waves, mek em’ wavs, ride and call back again, the part.wav sirens. Project-amplify-evolve-decentralise. Spann the pan. Like a light house beacon hacked, like a cluster of light house beacons hacked–illuminating a strange coastline jagged vast new world–on rotation.
1 Broken Systems in C Major: Insectoid taptaptapping on exposed stereo jacks. In the air. Sandpaper on glass, just fine, sands rubbing dubbing up the right way. Ay. An airplane full of steel-bearings crashed into the studio, that sound…bending metal at high temperature. Smelting subs pop and bubble goo. Oh r’ Hummingbird food for a bass face. Smushet’ and smudged down lowdown. Cymatick responses move in onion ringworm outwards, left-right right left stereotype face bass again. Yeahp. Moving into 6th Gear on a 2019 drag-racer at pole-position, dancer Major bus-through.
2 Interlude: Industrial speaker test signals, swinging across an aircraft hanger. Synth keys wash the minimal beat through colour changes. Reminiscent of some earlier part2 material from Universally Dirty.
3 Fractal: Venusian winds sweep about another tribal electro-hook, a roving sonic search vehicle, scanning and scuttling about the alien terrain. Broadcasting signal/code back to mothership authorship command, where data processing and reconstruction of the image transpire. Post-modem.
4 Factory: Z. When all is ZED and done. ‘There is no is, he has no story but what you deem as his’–RAMMELLZEE
5 Chaoid: Swarming squelch bugs infest the prism. The whole sphere in resonance. Cymatic thoughts arise, see? melt the speaker-cones and scratches them with grains of sand. A haunted garage in deepest Germany is infested with tools tapbanging in revolt.
6 Myth: Sun Ra speaks, the mutant disco creeps along with an upbeat bounce. The incessant sub-bass always present, rough and rugged, raw and gritty. Moving into another pulse-code wave, disguised by a static overcoat, signals write a more path.
7 Outelligence: Electro breaks spread with 8-bit sauces, another familiar bashment bouncmate cut. Play at high volume. Tabula Rasa
8 Part2 manifesto. ‘The future has become fractal’ Burroughs.Part 2 wisewise, plus Rammellzee and Sun Ra invoked.
9 Fragments: Deep static and space detritus, a stargaze, now a stagate–wedged open with future bass weapons–what lurching beasts await beyond the door, past the gate. Pistons splurt, dental drill attachments grind through the locks, all the time tiny machines leaking through the gaps, electromagnetic pulses darting between worlds. New signal paths, synth speaks. Metallic liquid squeezed through a washingmachine hose, a refrigerator with attitude. Sparks fly, short circuit in the dance. Getting closer, neuro-harpooning. Breakthrough in the grey room. Somebody or something is knocking. HAL. Frazzled phased and breaking. Urban systems broken, chaos of cars bodies buildings, scrap heap of consumer hell. Broken people struggle against the borg, the bits dropping off, changing colour. Desolate world of post-skynet/foxsoft lands. Bleak to blunt yr. beak.
10 Space-Time: Featuring the voice and words of T Judd, playful postcard from the future yesterday today worlds deployed in programmatic prose dot dot. Moving along into a classic Part2 electro-smash lushush.
11 myths & Structures: And the bass drops, bringing the focus back to some minimal sonic roots. Plenty of space for the bass to squeal and dive. Lo-bit interruptions and loose cables, synchronised into a cacophony of cannons. More signals and pulses projecting the geometry.
“to make another analogy with the world of sci-fi, it’s like Huxley’s soma.–James McNally
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–Steve ‘Blue-Bottle’ Fly