Though wholeheartedly in agreement with my colleague's anti-teological musings on doomsday dub--space is the place, no?--my liberal arts education and undying love for David Horowitz compel me to present the shit-stained flipside of this matter. Out the anus of a paper doll comes this fantastically awful audio missive from Cotti (who I usually enjoy) and Kromestar (who I don't care for so much); a song that could be mistaken as a siren call from the four horsemen of dubstep, those gravel-faced, steel-eyed misanthropes who wish to murder your third ear with bleeding bass (it blew out Surrender's speakers in a matter of seconds) and boneheaded samples.
To be indirect, a year ago Surrender played me the beginning of a mix by his fave chameleon, Drop The Lime, who smashed up the Kronos Quartet's theme from Requiem for a Dream with some stock Lil' John beat, to which me brain said, "Well, this is about as good as any of the dubstep I've heard." But such cynicism was fleeting as a long season of melancholy set in and up cropped a button-sized nerve cluster at the tip of my sternum, quivering for another rattling adrenaline injection from 'da bass.' Mental, I was and the low-end dirge of dubstep my orgasmic pacifier. When your third ear spends all day at a funeral, lacerating itself with a bass cudgel (hey Eric!), the sting of waking life is dulled enough to constitute a spank. Yet even in the depths of dubpression, one's 'good sense' can still be resurrected in the face of a genre's glassy gaze, staring back at you from the pit of self-parody, with Lil' John laffing maniacally upon the precipice. Oh Allah...
Wreck yourself and then text yourself:
Cotti vs. Kromestar-Mozart 3000
Some clouds don't...
1 comment:
Fair enough.
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