Tag: Surfer Blood

To make illuminati hotties for your gathering, splash melody and harsh noise into a tumbler, drop in some production trickery, and shake until you hear a dizzying howl emerge

The haberdasher heard a light thump and roll, then felt something tap against a shoe. It was a peach pit. Looking up from the stack of brochures, they saw the orthodontist grinning and wiping their mouth with a sleeve, glancing at the gap on the blanket where the fruit was drying in the sun, clearly suggesting that perhaps another one was in order. The tandem moped leaned against the back of the Gate of Hercules, shielded by its bulk from the bright Croatian summer sun. The peaches had hours to go, and they had forgotten to bring a game., having only whatever reading material they had managed to scrape up in the Hotel Pula lobby.

The carpenter took a leisurely walk around the perimeter. In the weird light cone projected by the light they had installed at the top of the can, the ropes they had used to rappel down looked like the undulating tentacles of a mysterious jellyfish. Outside the cylindrical building that very deliberately resembled an oversized Coca Cola can, the security guard’s radio played Chicago sambas into the crisp Manitoba evening as he idly played his flashlight over the bushes outside. The choreographer stifled a giggle. On one of the ornithopters parked atop the domed top, next to an opening that looked like someone forgot to bring a canopener, a single LED began to blink. The mission was running out of time.

The girl group aesthetic survives, drenched in spring reverb and distant crooning, and it’s not just unscathed, it’s very agitated and ready to rip throats.

A soft Texas breeze ruffled the grass along the banks of Belton Lake. Why not Lake Belton? wondered the hydrologist. Behind the trees, the aviator finished securing the paragliders. They had arrived with two, but would be leaving with three, which added a true twist to the logistics. Across the water, the sounds of Jamaican country music could clearly be heard coming from a raucous campsite. They were about 300 feet away, and had not been part of the plan. But if there were to be witnesses, then let them be the inebriated type.

Once above the canopy, it was impossible to see the green-winged hang-gliders that the archeologist and the mercenary had used to enter the Antananarivo bird sanctuary. Going through Customs had been dicey, the parts for the flying machines had been dispersed with various kinds of unassembled patio furniture, but the quality of the materials still stood out. Fortunately, the mercenary had brought up the Madagascar goth metal scene and distracted the functionaries into stamping passports and waving them through. They hadn’t even asked about the Geiger counter.

Funky urban hip hop and soul is not something you expect to come from North of the Border, but here we have Grand Analog, who does it all and does it well.