Tarantismo Summit Vol. #1 -
Tarantismo Summit Vol. #1 -
SMEGMA between two worlds
K.K. RAMPAGE as colors fail, no sign of the sun treturning, a little blood on the curtains, dark voices calling out, touch of the serpent
INSECT JOY cursoria, white pony, windills
GHOST MOTH hamas movements 1&2
A softly boild blob of gellatinous music, reduced into the primordial ooze of Earth's most base forms of life, and regurgitated in the form of the Tarantismo Summit. A sadistic conglomeration of musical anomalies taht have washed ashore from distant planets and convene bacterially inside the insidious caverns of the mind, four excruciating units of internmal despair and reconstructed mindwashing sound are presented to the most adventurous of listeners. Rooted derogatively in the spirit of Nonesuch Records' pioneering steps into the foray of primitive avant garde in the early 1960's, Tarantismo Summit ushers in a new age of reclamation of the broken and damaged arts, coercing the music enthusiasts of the present day to expand their horizons and explore new territories, still unfamiliar, yet unwavering.
A satellite of unspeakable desecration in the free-jazz statosphere of the 70s underground, Smegma is and were a pivotal point of aural disgust to many, and an unreguited love for the rest of the outsider population screaming for dissonance and cacaphonous skronk and slime drudge work has carved their name in the wall of the sonically absurd for the rest of modern civilization. An integral part of the Los Angeles Free Music Society in their early incarnation, they relocated to Portland in teh early 80s and even included rock scribe extraordinaire Richard Meltzer (of VOM fame) in their later years, yet have to this day remained and institution of boundless creativity of sound.
KK Rampage have lived in the squalor of Chicago's most egregious forbidden zones for years without sunlight or nourishment, and their inclusion is defaulted in their steadfast stance of perpetuating mental decay, along with an inherent unhinged velocity of self-destruction. Scraping themselves off the wheels of despair and calamit, they squirm with disgisting energy destined for status comparable to scraps lef by golden insects looking for veins in the darkness of the inner circles of insanity. Caged animals are frightened, children are worried, and teh rotting smell of AMerica is what makes tihs work on so many levels, and why KK Rampage is more of a lifestyle than a change of pants, in all their lurid abomination.
The Floridian influence of this damaged crop of poisoned sprouts comes in the larval state of Insect Joy, a duo of crustaceous origin who obliterate the tranquility of a Gulf Coast sunset with a barbaric and drilling groove of mindless gravel-toned noise. With stunning soliloquies transmitted through broken electronic devices from bygone eras, tehse ambient cockroaches infest and occupy the darkest corners of the statosphere, pulling throbbing tones of death's knell out of seashells worn on tourist necklaces. Let the buzzing commence as Insect Joy devours yet another species of sacred origin, and devolves into their parasitic mindset to ravage the clouded judgment of greener listeners looking for the only way out of the bag.
The last nail in the coffin comes in an electric storm of ghastly proportions, where spirits that invade Ghost Moth anchor their way into filthy fabric of our lives, and result int the impending physical breakdown overyone knows is right around the corner. Only from the ruinous backside of Brooklyn, NY. where art and ejaculation are both serious career options will negativity like this be a possibility. Ghost Moth vilify an age-old premise where confusion of sound and disruption of parallax combine to create a horrendous vision of a wold turned inside out, and a frigid vision of a future where no individuals are allowed to defect from their path. As they forcibly detract from the outer levels of humanity with unsettling sounds that can klil the weak and braek the unbreakable, they surreptitously cling tot the wal and let the evolutionary survival procoss take hold.
-Todd Killings, VictimofTime.com 2008