The Aftermath...

The aftermath of listneing to The Aftermath may find the listener in a state of shakey repose that may seem disquieting to anyone happening-upon said-listener... anyone left out, out on the outside, situated on the exterior of the headphones of said-listener who is -listening-to-The Aftermath (by Lizzie Temple Black) will not understand, may not want to...or may not be ready to...understand...





...the entrancing disturbance, the massage of madness, the detachment that the listener feels as dischordant xyolophones and curdling, cawing violins clatter together...is the listener even here, still, now,...at the table, with his headphones on, or does he now feel like he may not yet have even woken up... intense visuals thunder in, stirred by the kaleidoscopic haunt of the poetic spew, and one starts to fully appreciate whimsically thrown words like -avant-garde- one starts to wonder, really, if this is just noise, or if this is something more nuanced... Are all bets off? Does the chaos of these... "songs" actually follow a system that the listener is trying to jitteringly crawl his way into... Wavy-gravy-grooves from a lucid-dream of musical monstrocity...

Yes...look over at me and see me, with my headphones on... I'll look en-gaged...pro-voked...piqued...musing ...bothered and bewitched... I'm listening to the new noise... Zappa, Beefheart, Cale, Sun Ra... the provocative dream of dissonance is alive - LIVE in Berkely, tonight....