Mixtape 270 • Zombie
Headstrong and filled with boundless energy, Goat bring you a world full of hypnorhythms.
Headstrong and filled with boundless energy, Goat bring you a world full of hypnorhythms.
The end of the year slide has commenced, and things feel somewhat lackadaisical, but there’s still a huge backlog of new music to get through. Among the highlights is a new album from Amyl and the Sniffers, which contains lots of great stuff the FCC would frown on, but I was able to find one track that required minimal editing for compatibility.
Cover the ears of the delicate and tender-hearted, for this collection is full of adult language and topics.
Andrew Bird always manages to fulfill that craving for pizzicato minimalism.
“Did you say you wanted FIVE?” asked the turkey-leg vendor, his incredulity betraying the slightest bit of Norwegian accent. The crowds at the Trondenes Middle Ages Visitor Park thronged past as the young man counted the hands available to the pair before him, performed a simple matching algorithm to the five turkey-legs being requested, and came up with a non-computing value. “We’re hungry,” offered the machinist helpfully. The gymnast kept an eye out for Sverre the allodialist. They needed to have a few words with him about the land titles, preferably in the privacy of the sleek three-man catamaran that had discretely brought them here. The half-darkening of the sky that passed for night at these latitudes meant the usual tactics were out and they would have to convince him to come willingly.
Getting into Darra Adam Khel had not been easy. Getting into Pakistan was relatively straightforward, with the right-colored passports and decoy suitcases full of Western tourist necessities. The ride towards the Khyber Pass had been less so, and the necessary disguises and bribes to get past the checkpoints that turned away foreigners were more of an ordeal than ordinary. The dusty vehicle, neither truck nor passenger car nor jeep but somehow all three, had been recalcitrant for most of the trip, providing constant frequent minor breakdowns, keeping the mechanic perpetually busy. Now they were on a shooting range on the roof of a well-stocked arms shop, surrounded by dozens of identical shops and shooting ranges. As the linguist lifted the replica Berthier carbine to their shoulder, they darkly thought it would be just their luck, after all of this, to be caught in some rooftop crossfire from other purchasers testing their new toys.