Tag: Daft Punk

Barry Adamson delivers soundtracks to cinematic masterpieces that don’t exist.

It doesn’t get more mid-century Goth than The Raveonettes picking up on the Velvet Underground’s “Venus In Furs”. Besides that, the tenor of the night tended to lean towards the acoustic, with a handful of sets exploring the pluckier side of things.

A heady brew of oscillations, arpeggios, and other pulsing throbbing sounds set against layered vocal harmonies that bring to mind multiple participants in a spacewalk aggregating to form a conga line.

Double Date With Death are loud and Canadian, and they don’t care if you don’t understand their French howling. They have a double date to get to.

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.

The archivist’s breath misted in the freezing vault as gloved hands lifted the metal canister off the shelf. Getting to Greenland had not been trivial, driving the snowcats to Nuuk undetected had been a challenge, and breaking into the Katuaq Cultural Centre’s secret collection room, dug out of the permafrost, could be described as difficult. Now, locating the footage was close to impossible, given the hundreds of linear meters of shelving that were visible. The producer unspooled the first few feet off the reel, peering up through the film to the overhead light. The muffled sound of Persian hip-hop could be heard from the theater above. Maybe it was not so impossible.

The mechanical harvestman towered over the fig grove, its spindly arms tucked underneath as it towered over the fruit trees. The cryptobotanist aimed the infrared reader at the edge of the cultivated land, where the real Bhutan took over, hoping for even a quick glimpse. The landscape gave nothing in return. The operator’s headphones leaked the sound of some Turkish reggae, bounced from a satellite to overcome the foreboding mountains that ringed the valley. They both had patience to spare. The beast they were seeking had only one food source, located right here, and everyone’s gotta eat.

Well, that was an interesting show. Not much listener activity tonight, though that's OK since I had my hands full with SSL certificate madness in order to finish the Secret Project that is this site itself. Perseverance at the command line won the day (and the small green lock on your browser bar), even if it was interrupted every minute or few with ongoing radio show requirements.

Side note: It is impossible to purchase or renew a certificate without at least two password resets. I'm not sure which of the thermodynamics laws governs this, but it seems to be fairly immut

An engaging hybrid of analog and electronic sounds, with occasional soulful vocals intertwined in the mix.

"Screaming Females" is a misnomer. There's only one, and not a whole lot of screaming in "Chamber For Sleep (Part One)".