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█ █ P U B L I C . S O U N D
█ █
█ █ presenting our newest release
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r e l e a s e . i n f o :
Artist.....: Julian Cope
Title......: Dark Orgasm
Rip Date...: Mar-02-2006 Cat.No.....: HH20
Style......: Rock Label......: Head Heritage
Quality....: VBRkbps Type.......: Album
Size.......: 74,8 MB Source.....: CDDA
r e l e a s e . n o t e s :
A second Cope album for '05, DARK ORGASM is a violent sequence
of outcast broadsides leveled at the coming new 21st-century
conservatism. Dressed in 8 songs of guitar-heavy hard rock split
into two short CDs for maximum enjoyment, you can drain your
brain to the seven shorter songs of Disc One, then feed your
head with the 21-minute garage blitz of Disc Two's 'The Death &
Resurrection Show'. The 16-page booklet of poetry and lyrics is
all wrapped up in a delightful iron cross-inscribed box.
www.headheritage.co.uk
Buy some Cope stuff!
For whatever reason, Julian Cope has long been marginalized; a
rocker relegated to the Mainstream's Bermuda Triangle; a
ôpopistö acid casualty; a Spinal Tap'd knight protected by the
ejaculation of serpents. Cope embraced his subterranean status
and wove his warlockean neuromancy over the World Wide Web via
Head Heritage; nib & inked tales of his heathen ancestors in The
Modern Antiquarian, and continued to rake Rock's exsanguinated
corpse over the coals either alone or in the Technicolor company
of the Sons T.C. Lethbridge, donating grey matter to Cock RockÆs
bottomless coffers. Now comes Cope, bearing la petit mortùa
massive collection of Rock Anthems, pugnacious politic, and
Stonehenge-sized riffs, granite hard, high as the sky.
I vaguely remember Cope from way back when, as some sort of
hair-gelled, neon clothed throwback, zooted to the gills,
Spiritualized, video ready, preening and slinking as reptilian
avatar; a Mr Mojo Risin landing a booth at the Rum Keg Pub for a
few Vichy waters, a thimble of rattlesnake venom. Years later, I
found he was tossing off narcotic rock writings; a testament to
Edward Van Halen had me hooked; when his voice found place on
Sunn O)))Æs ôMy Wall,ö I figured him a shaman, a plastic slacked
Franτois Villon able and willing to pin the priapic prick back
on RockÆs sagging form. A tall order, as many have succumbed to
the task, either swapping skin for a bag of bones, or sucked
into the vortex of ôprice chopper'sö commercial megadeth.
To wit: The first LP bought with my own hard-earned money was
KissÆ Love Gun. Sure enough, it was culled from the ôprice
chopper bin,ö but still had taken five agonizing weeks to secure
the funds. Weeks more were spent on fetishizing said LP; while
mom shopped school clothes, I scurried off to the electronics
aisle; behind a phalanx of turntables and eight-tracks were the
LPs; nearly five full rows - dance, disco, rock, and vocal.
Tiger Beat royalty occupied the most real estate: Queen Summer,
Kings Cassidy and Garret. Coming across Kiss was like walking in
on your parents shagging: Irrevocably wrong, and dark, yet
unnaturally interesting. There it wasùLove Gun. A quartet of
SatanÆs angels, garbed in black leather, velvet, and rubber
standing tall above an orgiastic quicksand of geisha faced
harlots' melon breasts, Crumb'd thighs, thickly pursed lips.
Never mind the music; this looked deliciously illegal. Nearly a
summer of raking leaves, cutting lawns, digging through the
crevasses of the couch had finally given me the fistful of
change I needed. The proud day culminating as the vinyl platter
was laid onto the wheel of a plastic Land of the Lost player.
Inevitable confusion followed. This was music made by a tongue
wagging, fire and blood spitting blasphemous brood? Not quite.
But all of the brazen crotch rock was lost on my pre-adolescent
mental apparatus. A few years later, a Penthouse pictorial
transliterated the Kiss cover in even more lurid detail. Nothing
left to nuance: a blood engorged ôlove gunö aimed at the chin of
several depraved, glossy mouthed succubae. It registered: Paul
Stanley was singing a three minute and fifteen second paean to
his prick. For all of ma and pa's superannuated talk about the
Big Bopper, Beatles, Bill Haley, et al, I felt that I was truly
hearing Rock for the first time. Real rock instances being few
and far between, memento were carefully kept, dust free,
breathing and beating. Hearing the MC5 in the back seat of a
Dodge Dart at 15; seeing Van Halen rattle through ôUnchained,ö
ôHot for Teacher,ö and ôThe Cradle will Rockö in the midst of
innumerable high school seniors sucking back musky buds and
airline whiskey bottles; wrecking my dorm room in a Southern
Comfort fueled frenzy while NirvanaÆs ôTerritorial Pissingsö
scraped through blown Kenwood woofersùthese were the glue of
able musical growth.
All three of these events are salient coming-of-age shrapnel;
all three bands still bring the gooseflesh, the air-guitar as
manÆs last recourse. Sadly, these instances have become nearly
extinct; no oneùmuch less two or three othersùare willing to
wrangle a double-necked axe, coo about cunt, or scream about the
ôstate of thingsö while double-bass drums rumble behind a wall
of guitarted fuzz. Then thereÆs Cope.
And Dark Orgasm, too. Not so much a ôrecordö as it is a
monolithic homage to Rock itself, Dark Orgasm quotes liberally -
Stooges, Sir Lord Baltimore, Danzig, Doors, Blue Cheer and Black
Sabbath are all aped, reshaped into CopeÆs sound world, an
undulating and wholly unstable locus that is as much about
endless guitar wank as it is verbal posturing, mantra mouthed
stadium shouted glossolalia. If there's an embraced thematic,
it's liberation, as Cope's lyrical content touches on the evils
of religion's herding power, Muslim women, environmentalism, and
release - sexual, mental, physical. Then thereÆs oppression
wearing liberation's mask, as taken up in ôMr. Invasion,ö a
vitriolic one-finger salute to the ôleader of the free world.ö
Both antipodal notions are delivered in Grand Funk graveyard
whispers, more often with Lizard King lungs, rendering Ian
Astbury's verbal masquerade laughably otiose.
Sonic wise, Cope & Crew kill it dead: Drums as Bonzo buckets;
Brontosaurian Butler bass lines, guitars glued from bits of
Ronson, Farner, The Brothers Dambra. Cope is so clear about what
this music consists of that it practically resists critique.
Drain Sloe Gin and fuck to it; clean the cupboard bare on a THC
binge; study, slurp soup, spin the exercise bikeÆs wheel to it.
There used to be Rockers; there used to be Rock records. The
genre has transmogrified into hip little pools of
shibboleth-powered pose; volcanic guitar handjobs, Mitch
MitchellÆd polyrhythmic dynamism, bass as Joycean Thunder Word
has gone the way of the PMRC, parachute pants, the
multi-zippered Michael Jackson jacket. Few fear to tread the
terrain. There's California's Comets on Fire, New England's
Sunburned Hand of the Man, andùapparentlyùthere was always Cope,
too.
http://www.stylusmagazine.com/review.php?ID=3669
Few artists have taken to the internet in such uncompromising
fashion as former Teardrop Explodes frontman Julian Cope, whose
web-based label Head Heritage allows his creativity to run
unfettered by commercial constraints. The results occasionally
leave you wondering if fettering artists with commercial
constraints isn't such a bad idea - Cope, an expert on paganism,
has released a CD of himself humming - but they're unlike
anything else.
Dark Orgasm is characteristically-obdurate: a roughly recorded
Stooges-meets-prog concept album about atheism and feminism, its
cover bears the legend "Fuck the Pope", while the closing Death
and Resurrection Show lasts a gruelling 22 minutes.
As usual, the quality-control button could use a tweak, but I
Don't Wanna Grow Back and the glorious, mellotron-heavy I Found
a New Way to Love Her prove Cope is blessed with a pop nous that
all the self-consciously gruff vocals and lengthy twin-guitar
solos in the world can't submerge.
http://arts.guardian.co.uk
p l a y l i s t :
cd1 ..
..
01 Zoroaster 04:06
02 White Bitch Comes Good 03:47
03 She's Got A Ring On Her Finger 04:01
(& Another One Through Her Nose) ..
04 Mr. Invasion 03:20
05 Nothing To Lose Except My Mind 03:48
06 I've Found A New Way To Love Her 04:00
07 I Don't Wanna Grow Back 04:10
..
cd2 ..
..
01 The Death And Resurrection Show 20:59
02 The Death And Resurrection Show [reprise] 00:36
48:47 min
g r e e t i n g s :
1real - 1way - aes - amok - bcc - bex - boss - cmg - cmc - cms ..
def - dh - disc0 - emp - drum - ftd - fwyh - gxe - hit2k - jfk ..
jrp - just - kinky - kw - om - rac - radial - sb - sfe - soup ..
sour - tr - trt - ube - uki / respect to music lovers worldwide ..
never forget : go to the show. but the t-shirt. order the vinyl ..