Mixtape 185 :: City Of Angels
The name implies feminized mechanization, but Ladytron can accomplish so much more.
The name implies feminized mechanization, but Ladytron can accomplish so much more.
I am proud to bring you KNOWER, despite the fact that I constantly stumble over how to announce the name of the band, trying to tease out the magical diphtong that distinguishes it from “nowhere” to the listener. I love them so much I will even respect their penchant to spell their name in all-caps. Led by Louis Cole and Genevieve Artadi and often spiced with cameos, their take on modern jazz funk / funk jazz is always on tap to fix a day going wrong.
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.
I have never been so uncomfortable, thought the hacker as they strained to match the wires in the fusebox, their head inches from one of the combine’s many potentially lethal harvesting blades. The lookout’s shadow was barely visible against the hangar door. Straining to clip the blue wire into the scanner, they heard a soft call and nearly lost an ear before remembering their uncomfortable position.
The Cadillac engine roared with naked abandon behind the driver. It was the familiar rumble of the seven-liter-plus workhorse, but its power was unleashed on a propellor instead of a bulky automatic transmission. At the airboat’s prow, the tracker kept an eye on the reeds that protruded in clumps from the murky water. Barely audible on the comm link were the strains of some forgotten psychedelic blues. A promising glint along the mangroves gave hope they had found the downed satellite. It turned out to be the stare of a brooding twelve-foot alligator, unwilling to leave the scene. The search continued.
Eminently danceable and frequently dark, this is what robots put on to seduce each other
"Screaming Females" is a misnomer. There's only one, and not a whole lot of screaming in "Chamber For Sleep (Part One)".