London, Rockabaret

Tattered And Torn

Go buy this book.
“Dog- Eared” by Lauren Brace.

I’ve just recently written the introduction for a fascinating book of photographs by this young English photographer. We met in the streams through the wonder that is the internet machine. I was immediately drawn to her work as it perfectly dovetails with my own interests and is so similar to the jejune photography I engage in. Her book is called ‘Dog-Eared’ because it’s all detail photographs of books too damaged to remain in circulation in libraries. The shots are close, detailed and often pushed just beyond recognition, an eerie stillness drifting off the pages. To get a better feel of it I include a segment of my intro.

- “Dog Eared” is more than just a collection of textures, an appreciation of specific details and tactile attractions though. For her, each folded page, broken spine and tattered cover is akin to excavated fossils in the Olduvai Gorge of Gutenberg’s creation. The markings exist as archeological fragments that hold mysterious historic attraction. They clearly reflect the complex human/book relationship. “I see past the books themselves. I see the people that have read them, the people that loved them, the people on whom the book has made an impact”. A careless hand rumpled a segment of pages leaving them folded and worn. Here are deletion stamps, broken spines, pen marks, passing scuffs, inadvertent gouges and illustrations jaggedly ripped out. Each mark is a grave and each grave archives an aftermath, the shift from action to ghostly stigmata. Here walked hands now invisible though their impact is frozen in these spare compositions forever. Here we’re allowed to carefully study this host of average ghosts and imagine the people that created them as they studied intently at countless desks, hunched quietly in the back rows of riotous Night Buses or curled up furtively with a flashlight under the duvet. Through these photographs too we catch a fleeting glimpse of the future of all books, of this very collection, the coming attrition waiting patiently just out of sight in the haze of the near-future."

I’ve been meaning to post about this for a week now, but life keeps getting in the way.

Her web site is here and you can buy the book directly from her. If you’re in London and surrounds there’s a show of her work coming up in June, details on the site as well.
Stay ragged!
London, Rockabaret

terminus uncoiled

Strange fascination. "Pass the mirror, I love me".

I thought that this bizarre, solipsistic region of my unfettered bullshit stream was dead. Had passed on as I too had passed on it, pushed out into the coursing stream of lights and noises, out in the depths where the creatures absorb as they slowly sweep the waste field, ever moving, never stopping, consuming glittering pop nodules and media-hooks, their attention span attenuated to that of goldfish with little metal scales looping through the lower regions of cyber murk, eyes glazed, mouths trawling and slack.

Now that I'm here I suppose I'll start tossing the occasional barbed shard out there into the miasmic spume. There's so much to type about nowadays, so many opportunities missed and such a wealth of misinformation contained herein. Much correction, much correction, redirection, redirection.

screen burn cityscape
London, Rockabaret

Chemlab and more retro out in November

I’ve got an itch that seldom gets scratched enough, a nasty, brewing little thing, a hive of jaundiced fester leavened with irritation and splinters.

It’s true though that I’ve found a venting hole. By the end of the year I’ll be releasing a limited edition retrospective disc. It’s a disc whose tastes will be spectrally broad, to say the least. Since the contentious fling that produced the mistreated hellion Oxidizer, I’ve cast my whiskey-growl across many projects as well as engaged in the irreligious fluid-exchange of writing records, but nothing has really been given the chance to properly shrink from the light of the cameras. I’ve been stretched between many magnetic poles: creativity jousting with the delight of fatherhood, my rewarding civilian gig raging against sleep. There are equally as many doors as there are walls. This is the beast we’ve chosen to love. The buckshot of all this is, that never has there been a time when I’ve been able to release everything that I want, nor half of what exists. So, in feeble aid of reparations and restitution, I’m putting together a cascade of spatters, tatters and hacked-off hands and feet.

Called “FEAST OF BURNT RAM”, this strange collection will be available in late November. It will feature CHEMLAB demo material from earlier, some PRUDE (yes, it really is coming out), tracks from the band with Plastic called REPEAT-DELETE, some PEACH OF IMMORTALITY off of the impossible-to-find second record, some scratchy broken word pieces with guests and a host of other tracks I’ve sung on that haven’t gotten enough exposure. This collection casts a jaundiced eye backwards and allows for some lost material to find a port. It also leads people down the wrong path towards the PRUDE disc, the new CHEMLAB recordings and REPEAT-DELETE that’ll soon muddy the waters.

FEAST will be released by the tiny, yet tenacious, Welt Muzik (, the label with little metal teeth. They’re brigands and couldn’t care less about the status quo. Enthusiastic and determined, they’re a breath of fresh air to counter the malicious inactivity the last callous fisting I endured. As with all of my releases presently, I’m only interested in doing small numbers, so it’ll be limited. Though there’s nothing much at the Welt Muzik site right now there will be by this weekend, the 15th of Summer. Glide on by and get yourself listed. We want to be sure we know where you are, like the cops. When it comes time to send out links for free tracks, special packages, event invites, remix requests, limited edition merch, ‘inner-views’, dissections and show announcements we’ll want to know how to track you down. We’re busy building a select community and we want to make sure that you’re there, if this is what turns your switch. If not, please exit through the door to your left that’s marked “100-foot Drop”.

Here’s the lump of greasy bacon swinging from the rusty hook: the actual hard-copy disc will be released in late November, however there will be lots to play with before that. Over the next few weeks there will be various CHEMLAB remixes coming out into the open. They’ll emerge from a range of strange sources and odd creatures, twitching and flailing. I promise nothing but disorder. There will also be on-line give-aways of tour merch, stickers and other torn frocks. They will appear at the Welt Muzik site as well as the hydrogenbar. Another revamp of the corpse, anyone? Eventually, you’ll be able to get pretty much the whole FEAST disc through both sites for free. Yes, we’re doing the string-free Modern Dance too, and, no, we won’t be changing you for it. What we will be doing though is charging to get the actual disc. It’ll feature selections that you can’t get on-line as well as artwork from down the years. I’ll smear it myself with Dylan’s robot fluids for you collectors. I’ve got some in a jar in the freezer. No, really.

Jackson Pollock said; “new needs need new techniques”. The music business is a new need and we need new techniques to insert our stain. In this foreign environment I don’t expect to sell like I used to. But frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. That’s no longer the point of the lance. I’m going to release records that excite me, challenge me and allow a broader range of motion to hit things with. I also want to ensure that the fans who put up with my abrasions and whiplash alterations in course so well for so long get some exclusive slices of the weirdness that’s coming. I’ll be posting a lot on all of the sites including and updates will be all over the place. I’m also about to set up a CHEMLAB Facebook page, so stay plugged.

Come out of the doorway, baby. Now we get it on in the light.
London, Rockabaret

new video!

You didn’t want to miss a thing, so you never ever tried to stop and think.

This is another one of the flikkers I’ve been catching recently as Plastic and I work through the massive pile of scratchy buzzes, hums, static and feedback that’s making up the blast sites of the Prude record and the material that he and I are doing together.

This track’s called “Kings Of The Republic Of Nowhere”. It’s about the guys that I grew up with in my old neighborhood and how they never really made it out in one piece. That was ages ago, back before there was anything except raw electricity, back when I was elastic in ways that I never appreciated, back in the days when there were no car wrecks, no blackout or broken promises, no heaven or hell, just the asphalt beneath my sneakers.

It’ll be appearing in mutated shape in two different places, cloned from the same blown cell. The flikker version of the track will be on the solo disc that Plastic and I are doing. The band hasn’t quite got a final name yet though it may well rest beneath the tattered flag of REPEAT/DELETE. The song will also be in the company of “collapsed paper stars” which is here in case you missed it:

The record’s called “The Future Was Then”, a collection of songs from the hole on Side One and then more experimental shreds and shards on Side Two. “Kings” is Side One and “collapsed” is Two, just so you can get your magnetic bearings. Plastic and I will be releasing a series of records called The Speed Trials and they’ll all sluice through Welt. They’ll all be limited edition releases though in the end they might find their way out into the stream on disc properly.

The other place that “Kings” will live out its strange life is on the Prude record. Yes, the Prude record. It’ll sound much altered from here, battered and distorted, but still the same at its air-collision core. Might be the last track of the record as it’s a nearly perfect last track. Just right to send the last bullet into the jaw and turn off the lights on the way out the blackened bore on the other side.

At this stage of the game, we’ve got no idea who might be releasing the Prude disc. It looks like the REPEAT/DELETE record will actually come out before it. I’m pleased to say that, for the time being, I seem to have stumbled into a little love affair of darkness and utter weirdness with the label that’ll be releasing the records. The label, Welt Muzik ( although there’s nothing there right now except the holder), is leeringly captained by a demented alley cat who’s torched through many of his nine lives but still manages to soldier on. Syringe’n’gun toting Energizer demon with little metal teeth.

Getting into bed with any other label would feel like setting me up for a million dollar wound, getting the rib spreaders out for the fatal incision, but for the time being working with Welt feels like it could be a good thing. The label’s only just starting to get its sea legs and is filled with the balls and anarchic “fuck the system” attitude that other underground labels only dream of. There’s a string of weird records coming out and a host of cool fuckers associated with it and that’s profoundly exciting, so I’m digging it right now.

More noise coming.
London, Rockabaret

Save Coney Island!

Coney Island, one of the great American icons is about to be ripped to shreds by the greed of the developer’s saw and axe. There are plans afoot to tear out the very heart of Surf Ave, the amusement park, the freak show and surrounding blocks and put up four high-rises in their stead. The amusement park has been impinged upon for years. Rapacious developers have long wanted to take over that area for themselves, to turn it into the sort of faceless glass-fronted monolith that have sterilized so much of what was great about New York City, many cities for that matter. They’ve chewed away at the edges of it for years, minimizing it in as many ways as they can think of, but they’ve wanted a far more extensive area so that they can really sink their claws in.

Sadly, it looks like they’re about to get their way, as they’ve managed to bull through plans clearly designed by a rapist. This plan will radically alter every aspect of the place. It will also ruin much of what’s left of the long-embattled amusement park. This area’s been a vital and fascinating area of the city since its birth and though the bathing community and life style that flourished there at the turn of the century is no longer alive, there’s nothing like a Nathan’s dog, a cold bottle of beer and a ride on the Cyclone to remind you just how iconic and stellar the place really is. New York in the summer. It’s weird and dark and gritty and retains some of the mystique of ages past in its strange corners and along the boardwalk. So many brilliant movies were made about it and books written about it and photographs taken of it. It has spawned many great characters and trends and has a cultural and social history that’s rich and resonant. It’s a piece of New York history, American history, and for it to fall to the hungry desires of the developers to sate the tastes of the Gentrifiers is disgusting in extremis.

Go to the web site to see details of the plan and what you can do to help block it:
London, Rockabaret

ha ha ha ha ha

it's funny that i managed to just post something about three topics that i've already posted about previously and wrote about them as though no one had read them yet or been aware of them yet, as though there were no posts about them before:
the book, the record with plastic and twitter.

this is what happens when the juggling act falters, fails and falls on its own sword.

sometimes i just have to laugh.

"look in the fucking rear view!! that's what it's for, jared!!"
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London, Rockabaret

Bomb Coil

Pilot down!
Radio silence.

There is, as always, a lot happening on all fronts and countless chainsaws to keep up in the air. Since I saw you last I’ve had a book published. Written for the one of the oldest and most prestigious art galleries in East London, the Whitechapel Art Gallery, it’s a primer for 4 to 12 year-olds presenting them approaches on how to break down and engage with some of the basic ideas of contemporary art. Deeply interactive. It’s a handmade book that’s only available at the gallery for the time being though over the Summer we’ll be in negotiations about putting it out more mainstream. Should it become something that you can get online I’ll be sure to send up a flare and let you heat-seek.

Work on the fabled, storied Prude record, "The Dark Age Of Consent", is almost done on our end. Once the eyes are crossed, the t’s detonated and the spring sprung from the banana clip of our AK47 it’ll slot into the hungry little mandibles of Wade Alin for production. I know that it's been a long time in coming, but this is one of the negative by-products of writing a record with five people who are all engaged in their own projects. Life, and building the record across 300 miles of dark water didn't make it any easier. Next one we record in one place and in one week.
You can come and sniff the putrefaction here:

Plastic and I are also deeply engaged in writing a record of our own. This will be another tangentially weird one, following more of an Eno arc through a broken land of songs, stories, soundtracks and rainy shadow traffic. We’re going to be releasing a collected series of very limited edition records through Welt Muzik ( the site, currently under construction, is: ) courtesy of the Ded Man. He’s old guard Chemlab and has some great Machine Rock ticking machine war stories to recount. Maybe some time we’ll record them too. The series will go under the heading of The Speed Trials. We’re debating whether to call this first release “The Future Was Then” or call it “The Future Was Yesterday”. I’m leaning towards the latter today.

I could spend a lot of time talking about what it is and will be, but I need to mention that there will only be 200 copies. It’ll be pressed on vinyl, 10”, nothing digital, and each of the covers will be signed, numbered and the artwork handmade so that each one’s utterly individual, some containing embedded teeth, paint, ashes, steel shards, rust dust and other Atomic Age waste.
Collectors item shit, ya know.

For more details you can check out an eye-shard that’s got a bit more info about the record. It’s triangulated here:

I’ll let you know when it’s going to go into the sales stream. There’s been a lot of interest in it already and I could essentially sell it out right here in the UK, but that’s utterly unfair to my long-time US fan base and I want it to be available across the dial. However, since there will only be 200 copies available, no pre-orders and no press copies, it’ll go fast. We’ll eventually make it digitally available to everyone that buys the vinyl so that you can have it on your iPod, but that won’t happen until it’s sold out, just to keep it from getting bootlegged everywhere…like there would be that kind of interest!

The latest Chemlab track, Solar Max (The Jimmy Semtex Coil) will be out in February on the ‘Electronic Saviours’ compilation released through Metropolis. It’s a 4-disc comp that’ll be all over the map including exclusive tracks from:

Suicide Commando, Rein[Forced], Caustic, SMP, Assemblage 23, Stromkern, Cyanotic, TERRORFAKT, The Gothsicles, Christ Analogue, 16 Volt, Combichrist, Ego Likeness, Acumen Nation, Gencab, Imperative Reaction, Tower/Opens/Fire, Deviant UK, Spahn Ranch, Massiv In Mensch, Hype Factor and on and on.

There are literally dozens more, sprawling across the musical spectrum from Splatter to Chatter through Dark Scree and Stutter, confounding splinter factions and purists everywhere. It’ll be a sight to behold, a scalpel to hold, and it’ll support an excellent cause: cancer research.

The last thing to tell you right now is that I’m on Twitter:
You won’t find details of the cup of coffee I just drank or the size of last night’s shit. That quotidian blah just doesn’t interest me at all. Instead, I bitch it, use it as a stories division, a place where I can fuck with lyric ideas, post clips and new songs and just riff neon-streams off the cuff at 3am. I’m there when I want, and that’s on-again off-again. Come check out the frayed edge, the back-port, the sunken wreckage.

There’s a fire outside. I’m gonna go and watch.
London, Rockabaret

jared and plastic recording new material

this is the first of a series of off-the-cuff docu-clips shot while plastic and i write music for a collection of releases we're creating. they're shot in the studio in the in-drawn breath between the Prude record heading to production and the Chemlab disc taking flight.

this flikker's a hand-held spatter snared during the SH101 haze-layering for the song "collapsed paper stars" taken at Plastic Fantastic Studios, London, 2009. the camera recording's raggedly ambient. the track itself is raw, vocals painfully un-effected. all clearly nowhere near the production stage, yet it signposts at least where the b-side of the record's going to head.

the a-side will be more direct in indirect ways, more driving, rock, 70s electronic, backwards, built to play to the holes between the notes.

plastic and i are currently living without a name somewhere just outside of the light. though we'll gain a name and a public face, i expect that we'll never really enter the circle of light others live in.

at the moment, like us, the disc's also untitled though it might become "Electronically Yours".
don't quote me.

this record's the first in a series that plastic and i are releasing. they'll also come out in quick succession, if it all goes the way we want. each release will be a limited edition. once they're gone, they're gone, each one engineered for quick disappearance. they'll each be approached differently, probably incorporating other musicians at different points along the way. stylistically i've no idea where we'll go and that's dead exciting.

we'll be keeping the pressing for this first one minimal, almost certainly no more than a few hundred copies for sale at most. many reasons for this, not the least of which is that the series will be a time-intensive labor of love.
for this first release each one of the covers will be hand-made by us. the artwork will range across the map of styles and concepts, some will have inserted objects. others not. what you get will be dictated by the luck (or misfortune, if you get the pulled teeth, or the blood bag) of the roulette wheel's spin.
they'll all be numbered and signed, and though some may be akin to others, none of them will be alike.
no promos, no, gimmes, no review copies, no reservations. no waiting.
we're tired of waiting.

release date will be announced soon. check the street corners:

and recently allowed to run naked down the avenue:

there'll be myspace/facebook/twitter soon, and the above will alert about the below.

we'll also capture other random segments of the recordings as seems fit and may be releasing variant aspects of the record. some better. none worse. how could they be?

and if this track isn't to your taste, try the next one. it'll be something 'other'.
now, pull the pin, count and wait for the explosion: one mississippi, two mississippi, three ..
London, Rockabaret

Hymn For The Feral, Selfish Gene!

the attendant frustrations attached to the Altered Statesmen record are legion.
it continually boggles my mind that somehow i've managed to stumble into one of those Twilight Zone episodes where a band can't get their record untangled from the tentacles arrayed against them.

finally, despite all efforts to sustain it, the record shudders and vents its dying breath.

from then on it simply floats aimlessly out in space, joining the staggering collection of unloved, unnecessary, unconnected, undesirable orbiting space trash left behind as part of an ever-growing ring of rubbish girdling the Earth. left to float un-tethered, never to dock, no beacon to beckon. its last lights soon to die out in the super-silent chill.

as far as i can tell though "the death of radio mars" is the quintessence of the selfish gene.
it has mutated and figured out how to stay alive.
out there.
in the ever-expanding ring of detritus and jettisoned flotsam, shining luridly in the chromium haze of deep space.

and so, this is where it can be found and where it shall live out its days.
it's a fitting home for such a chimeric album. i raise my glass to it, toasting longevity.
out there.

Long live the selfish gene!!