Acid Dropping EP

 

A keepsake of a time and a place, and of possibilities.

Acid Dropping EP is:

I. A Clangorous Din— Speck

II. Stone the Devil— Speck

III. Viaje entre las luces— Vince El Mejor

IV. Driving Home— MalreDeszik

V. Hipsters— Falki Hoz

VI. Feel (I saw) remix— Zenboy1955

Various Positions:

On the Soundclick Jazz Overall chart, A Clangorous Din reached #15, Stone the Devil #12, Viaje entre las luces #18, and Driving Home #29.

On the Soundclick Electronic Overall chart, Hipsters, a.k.a. Ode On Jazz (3, with Falki Hoz), reached #20. Feel (I saw) remix reached #8. 

Featured on Things You Heard When You Were Dead (shane p).

All tracks feature spoken word by Adam Fieled, from (respectively) Opera Bufa, This Charming Lab, When You Bit..., Ode On Jazz, and Curiosities. 

From Funtime Records, and Jamendo.  

Produced/engineered by respective artists, Eris Temple, and the Kelly Writers House. 

A Clangorous Din re-pub

Speck, in Cali, took some of the nicer passages in Opera Bufa and went to town with them. This was in '21. A Clangorous Din made a top 15 showing in the Soundclick Jazz Overall chart, and a top 10 showing in hearthis.at Electronica. Here: Jamendo's re-pub. 

For Bloomsday. and Christmas

7 Chinese Brothers

Assimilating the spots of time we all live through, some people are lucky enough to spots of time that either are, or become, holy to them. I have a few. The spring of 1998 in State College, Pennsylvania was a holy time for me then, and remains one to me now. Odd, because I should’ve been graduating, and was not. Yet I was graduating— from a realm of confusion and discomfort, a perpetual inability to express myself in writing, into a new, expansive realm where I could take language and go wherever I wanted to with it. The French Symbolists were with me. I still had the Beats around. Eliot I was just starting to grok. Yeats and Romanticism were still in the future. But when I got picked up by a writing whirligig or virus, living in a bedsit flat in North Halls, a little slice of a room, I got dropped into a place where I felt the earth move with my pen. Clean was my first masterpiece. Absurdist, bizarre, but a masterpiece nonetheless. All brought on by extensive donning of black leather pants. Daddio. Don’t keep ‘em on for three months. Clean heralded a sense of absolute rebirth. Enhanced by the extremely intense, bewitching sense of earth magic in central Pennsylvania. Great weather, in the spring of ’98, Centre County. Seventy-five and sunny all the time. I moved into yet another South Atherton Street sublet. The daily writing jags were about a task I could do, from a sense of manhood earned. R.E.M. is, of course, perfect to hear in a little college town. Holy. And my choice for the spring of ’98 happened to be Reckoning. So that the best of my time in State College was always spent floating slightly above the ground. If you can earn that sense of floatation with serious creativity, you have gained religion.

When You Sleep

There are situations we all live through that become compelling specifically because they never resolve. Situations that remain open sores. When I met Becky Hilliker for the first time in 2004, it was casual. It stayed casual, too, for the years I knew her. Yet there was always an underlying sense of unease, because I either knew, or thought I knew, that we had more business together than our shared surface suggested. When I wrote Becky Grace for Beams in the mid-Aughts, I was poking gentle fun at Becky being a Boston Brahmin princess. In retrospect, the moment, in the autumn of 2005, she sent me Catch and I placed it on a then-fledgling P.F.S. Post, a beneath-the-surface monster was created which began its appointed task of lumbering around looking for prey later. My life in 2005 was moving too rapidly, and I was still too young, to understand the full import, and potentiality, of Catch in the world. If the whole scenario makes me think of My Bloody Valentine, it's because I will always have had the suspicion that beneath the Brahmin-ite surface, Becky was torn apart, when she wrote Catch, by internal conflicts and internal imperatives not being fulfilled. Her life, thus, was not any easier than anyone else's. The whole Loveless scenario, in all its goriness, is also a Boston one too. 

Leave Me Alone

There is the fluidity through which theory and theoretical apparatuses tie-in to books; and, also, the fluidity through which theories tie-in to popular culture. The argument I make, in the new piece on the Jeffrey Side blog, for Mary Walker Graham, Stacy Blair, and Rebecca Hilliker, has to do with isolation. The poet is happy to put out a leave me alone vibe. A strong stance, even if it is a suffering stance, too. Stronger, I feel, then the standardized feminist stance-in-verse. More about a sense of earned entitlement owing to superior imagination, metaphoric daring, and the rest. The reason I tie the new piece, which I actually worked on for a very long time, to the final track on New Order's Power, Corruption, and Lies, is that the three poets do establish a new order within themselves. An order about self-containment, self-sufficiency, and self-possession. About a possible connection between the three and post-punk, as we have here, sort of. The sense that feminists do think of themselves as punks, but often grandstand and play to crowds and crowd formations, means putting post-punk in front of the three written-about names is not complete nonsense. I would also like to say that I am now a convert to the religion of Power, Corruption, and Lies, and understand that, if I missed New Order when I was younger, it would be foolhardy to so do now.

Feel (I saw) remix re-pub

Jamendo has re-pubbed a large cross-section of their site on archive. org. This includes Zenboy1955's Feel (I saw) remix, which reached #8 on Soundclick's Electronic Overall chart a few years back. The Feel (I saw) remix starts with the PennSound version of my long narrative poem Feel, written from mid-Aughts Philly, not published until X-Peri in 2018, by which time the dust had still not settled. All set up by the California site CC Mixter, which puts the vaunt in avant for serious music.