Artist : Datashock
Title : Die Pyramiden von Giessen
Genre : Psychedelic
Year : 2011
Date : 05/2011
Bitrate : VBR kbps
Tracks : 08
Label : Dekorder
Source : Vinyl
Encoder : Lame 3.98.4
Length : 80:39 min
Size : 135,3 MB
Tracklist:
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01.intro + lasagne phalanx 12:35
02.chiahoania leder boots 06:17
03.die pyramiden von giessen 05:16
04.kanal telemedial energieausgleich 08:37
05.das maedchen vom zauberbergi 09:59
06.datashock, the mothership 10:01
reactivated, flying
07.der froebelturm 07:31
08.schlupp vom gruenen stern + outro 20:23
-------
80:39 min
Sounds, what are they? Where do they
come from, where do they go to? They
come from the space of nomadic sounds
which surrounds the planet. They can
dissolve without being heard, or they
can temporarily fuse into bodies of
sound and fly through the layers of the
stratossphere, dancing like chimeras.
They can rotate or make their rounds and
penetrate heads and bodies. Like
shadows, falling down on invisible
images. Attempts to render sounds
visible remain in vain. They avoid
noise.
Sounds densify to drafts and sketches
pervading space. He who listens closely
can use them for orientation. Whereto?
he wonders, in an effort to follow them,
their image being too seducive.
Sometimes they betray him and he gets
lost in an infinity beyond our grasp,
where the soundless Western Lands are,
the destiny of caravans of musicians,
wise men and priests and where there are
no road signs...where human creatures
dissolve in the flickering of bells and
sail out to the land of the dead.
The tonal outlines gradually fade and
the gaze of the Sphinx loses itself. The
horizon is a line of shadows above
which, glimmering in the backlight,
pyramides of sound rise again and again,
like fata morganas. Behind all this, the
desert turns into a land of shadows. A
hint of silence glides across endless
dunes. The traveller rides on waves of
sound, while losing his last pieces of
baggage, experience and the identity
familiar to him.
He senses that perception becomes a
vehicle by which he travels. He starts
to live in it and with it enabling him
to leave his body behind and to move in
time. In this phase, his memories start
to fade until they are extinguished and
he dissolves in sounds and colours. He
has entered the space of simultanities.
More and more mummies, enroute by
package tour to the Western Land stay
behind. Some believe they could make it
to space on their bicycles. They are
called fellaheen of the future. They
simply left the highway of monotony and
loneliness, which they thought too
cumbersome, in order to make it to the
land of dreams.
Flesh, the only weapon the traveller has
left, becomes blunter and blunter with
every step. It becomes annoying, like
the smell of carrion floating around his
thighs. In the sucking emptiness above
the sand he can smell the fear. It is
paraphrased by a hieroglyph for final
solitude, which like a beast of prey can
turn into a curse of malignance and
desperation and, chase the hiker into
the hopeless salt hills of the Sekbha.
Gradually the caravan of courtiers,
musicians and artists stays behind.
Demons disguised as prophets or members
to the cult of Osiris. They travel with
an astonishing armory of portable burial
chambers and foldable pyramides, which
they set up in no time when pilgrims
turn up. Sensually deprived are secretly
offered pin-ups of Alamut women, who are
famous for their erotic aura and
impatient to be brought to life by the
biting smell of ozone of Hassan i
Sabbah, while succubi and incubi from
Persia and India are chanting
encouraging songs.
A man paints the tail of a comet into
the sky. He knows that the comet, like
Halley, will miss the planet. ôCome with
me, stranger, I will take you on a
rocket trip.ö In a dark valley the
candidate is scanned with a radiometer
by a virginal dragonfly. No written word
is allowed on the trip. What is paper,
after all? It is nothing but mutilated
memory, says someone, who claims to be a
pilot of dreams. He insists that he can
leave his body with the help of sounds.
With a click of the tongue, they take
off into space, where the gaze fades
away in a tepid trickle...
A current of air carries them onto the
silent sea and into the solitude of
sounds.
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