The New Uncertainty

by Scalpy Gonzales

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08:11
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04:11

about

The goal of this album was a kind of Spectacular Industrial Folk or Blues music.

In the 21st century, when blues and rock and every other cultural phenomenon that provided some kind of liberation have been completely absorbed by the structures they stood against, chewed up and sold back to the increasingly fractured and neurotic individual, the most organic 21st century music seems to be something like a voice memo frantically recorded into an iphone under a billboard and an overpass. This is our Blues. Our Folk (our collective music in which there is no line between audience and artist) lies, for now, almost entirely dormant.

Industrial music once took the grinding of machines and saws and hammers of industry and made songs out of them, but those aren’t the defining sounds and emotions of our industries anymore. Our industrial music today would be composed of fake smiles and over-whelming spectacles and commercial jingles and memorized personalities that we’ve learned to sell. In other words, it would sound exactly like the mainstream music in an Apple commercial. Fragmented, spectacular, and manipulative. The only liberation for any of us in all of this is through momentary hysterical breaks.

This album, except for a couple small segments in which my friends were with me, is not a work of hysteric liberation. In fact, it’s made me more neurotic and frustrated than anything before. It’s an attempt at crafting some kind of cohesive stream of spectacular images, collective memories, and identity, into something new and interesting, maybe something like what Loony Tunes once did.

The problem is that all of this is nostalgia, and nostalgia is Their greatest offer after sex and fame, so the album had to refuse every step of the way to be nostalgic.

The whole process was a race against a ticking clock promising that the project was more irrelevant every day. That you can’t make albums like this anymore when the world is going to shit and everyone feels more alienated and terrified and detached and crazy every day and we need a new kind of folk and new kinds of situations and a completely un-nostalgic, un-retro music. I had to race against the clock and finish my thought before it was a lie.


“Imagine the full complexity of a moment that is not resolved into a work”

credits

released August 9, 2016

with Scalpy Gonzales, Angel Cunt, Bonejevis, Daniel, Jake, Maze Dull, Spondee, Keila, Santosh

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Track Name: Orbiting Goldfish
One of these days the sun will set on my side
of the horizon
And just like me he’ll have a summoning snake
inside him
in an Exit sign they will call me forth
and thread me along with the love of an orbit
And I will act surprised at every corner I turn
like a good good
little goldfish

Our chemtrails, oh, they will be my
Magnum Opus
And I’ll chase that dragon with all my
proverbial focus
I’ll film the chase and I'll stream it live
with my face on the dragon’s and the dragon’s on mine
and I’ll call it ‘dada’
and dada will ca it bullshit

How do you deal
with the lord or the war or a creep
in a trenchcoat
or an orbiting goldfish
that just gets up and leaves?
verse twice and repeat
Track Name: Beyond The Drywall
A print of a classic I don’t need to see
an industrial heater from the most chipper of security states
the perfect little caucasian face peeking out as an electric socket
into the pre-delivered promise of linoleum, fluorescence and chlorine

Her little bushy tale tangled up back in god knows what
The hollow behind the plaster I’d rather take for granted
I hear there are rats back there, and I can picture a long dead laborers’ bandaid
It’s all That old dusty unconscious that closes in on the serene like a gas leak

A marble of neighborhood life hums against my little window
Mother tongues and manic ice cream trucks whistling “nothing to see here”
Little kids that grew up around weekly unspeakable violence
And a band so dreamy they’re completely silent

I love the camaraderie of existence, the pride in the outer layer
that we just dangle our feet in history to flirt beneath the table
and that we need not even mention that it’ll all be different later
I love the “where does that leave me” the “what the hell else is there to do”
the “close your eyes and dance, kid, it’ll all be over soon”
i love the red inside your eyelid, always the sun, sometimes the moon
a band nodding so slightly in the center of the room

I remember the hostilities of nature’s smallest, sharpest teeth
they nibble at me when I’ m having a bad night
Long ago traversing her most inspired expressions of gravity
In an earnest caravan of seventeen pigs

I recall sitting on the dry tongue, dissolving on the edges
disgusting, sure, but it couldn’t spit us out with the doctor standing right there
and it couldn’t choke us down in a drought.
so it twitches tearing up in embarrassment and a perverted lust for science
in a band so good they’re completely silent
Track Name: 90s Kid
I get a quick high on a bag of discontinued chips
I can’t lie those products are as me as my lips
Mama cries that all her babies are nothing short of junkies
but she
knows we
never had much of a present growing up
Never held a thing that wasn’t whisked away from our grip
Stamped ‘obsolete’ and shipped to the slangers of retro smut
A generation gap every goddamn day before lunch
but listen up

Infant Jones and Scalpy Gonz
got caught up in the crossfire
kicking on the avenues at Drew
saw a lotta bloodshed
a couple hundred kids dead

Their little tongues couldn’t hang
nothin to stick on the pain
of their fresh identical retina scars
Except whatever caused it
whatever tension in the cosmos
that polarizes egos
was no longer felt at all between our heroes
You can’t flex away
the knowledge in another
of how you act when the shit goes down
and any kind of silence
gets caught on the unspeakable
and the Event is all that’s awkward
This Trauma, this Thing
this goddamn Spider
Became their conjoined Other and so they weren’t each other’s other, no, they were instantly tighter than sisters
and they said lets call this the nineties
and had fun for the first time in history

You baby boomers did this to me
Track Name: I'm Inside Out
I'm glued
to the wall
take my word for it
i'm glued all around i'm inside OUT
I'M INSIDE OUT ETC so indide out hystericasl
lemme tell you bout Eliy

Eliy's still sharp
still in touch with the dark
but lately she's been whistling something bizarre
Have you heard the revelation?
The Souls in migration?
voice so soft with a cigarette noir
softened to nothing but a Heavens Gate scar

None of this matters
I'm on another plane
I think that some people are afraid of their brains
Work is a racket, to hell with the naysayers
alcohol is a numbing agent deflating the laborers
Christ was a plant by alien invaders

Arkansas girl with a step daddy pastor
Hollywood High on that Rock n Roll glamor
Sailing the currents that rol through her window
now playing the tambo with the hare krishnas

And her mom calls her hysterical
so she tambos harder outside the lines
and her boyfriend says she's over reacting
when her doctor makes her cry
when he says "lcose your eyes and picture the whole city crumbling"
and the radio says
"I Have become Indistinct"
and the audience chews away at its fingers like sweets
And the customers put little umbrellas in some of their drinks
its a kind of suburban sex toy like me
another spectacular sex toy like me
all inside out
Track Name: Ladybird
I'm off blue, Ladybird
Track Name: Los Angeles
Another raisin peels his eyes
Under the cantaloupe blue sky
As a brunette premiers her maternal sigh
And her husbands Marlboro catches fire

The virgin wafts with their sine wave swell
trickle downhill to a front motel
where the faint dandruff of a piano yell long gone
still thinks in an ashtray conch shell

A bright clicks on and the beads recoil
As a naked hand casts crumpled notes and foil
To the dewy beyond where neon sizzles like oil
And the Nude Girls marquee buzzes desperately loyal

Some kind of brilliance ensues
Track Name: Sty
YOU KNOW WHAT I LIKE ABOUT YOU?
YOU’RE SOMETHING TO DO
A PARANOID STY IN THE CORNER OF MY EYE

A UNIFYING BOOK WITH A DRAIN IN THE MIDDLE
SO ALL OF MY THOUGHTS CAN PASS THROUGH YOU

I’M FEELING CONNECTIONS AMBIGUOUSLY
MAGICLESS FLEETING AND EVERYWHERE
THE GRAND UNIFIER THAT RUINS ANALOGY
IN DRIBBLE THAT ISN’T WORTH CATCHING

WHAT TO DO WHAT TO DO
SHUT UP OR SEE IT THROUGH
SETTLE DOWN OR MAKE A FRUIT
TAKE A NAP OR FUCK A SHOE

THE FLOATY AMBIGUOUS STREET CRAZY DRIBBLE TUNE
SEEMS TO BE THE LOGICAL EVOLUTION
OF ANTI-POP PICK-A-BALE-OF-COTTON
FOR THE LONELY PARANOID
JUST AS THE BLUES WERE FOR THE NEW INDIVIDUAL
Track Name: Horrifying Medical Scapegoat
Listen to me, or don’t, Incredible.
There will come a time when you are all alone, just like the rest of us.
And you’ll want nothing short of everything.
To do what with?
(This isn’t Love but it might be her name’s sake.)
I imagine there will be some kind of light, perhaps you know the one.
And you will see yourself as a vessel, perhaps for the first time.
Or perhaps you knew all along and always wondered if you were the world’s finest and fiercest narcissist.
There will come a moment in which you sever your last tie, sever the leg of your last earthly stand.
I imagine you will breathe deeply, and I promise you will sigh.
And you will know, like none of us before have, what it takes to be complete
And what it takes to leave
Track Name: Butterknife
I am not my brother’s tuning fork
I am not my neighbor’s knife
I am not a burr clinging on with a desperation to wake up with you

If i’m a lie then i’m a telling lie
Another mouth’s articulation
One ketchup bottle’s empty cough rings in another man’s scales fallen

Yonder lies an intercom
piping hot with distortion
it will scream and howl and feedback if you take its mouth of the receiver
but
I have not my morning’s blessing
and my evening has not mine
everything reeks of future encyclopedia articles

validates my sperm guilt, reduces madonna

A stranger’s grunting prostate struggles
make me grateful and yet humbled
An effect whose gravity and precision suggest that he must be an Angel
Track Name: Atascadero
Flick a plea in the fountain
penny squeaks in-- almost missed
displaced splash squats patronizing on the edge
“I but for the grace of luck am your misfortune”

Tense little contact lens
For God knows what monster if not the full bust of Abraham
Maybe now that he can see he’ll wreck claymation havoc
And the cardboard cuts will crumble and the spectacle will spark a little
A new bronzeman will draw his pen
We always let the dead see, prop em up against the city
So we can snub them more thoroughly

While just the humble palm trees
could bury us guilt-free
Those lawless hiccups of integrity
Funneling eyes from the horizon
The wooden spines of all of this
And if i’m a god damn line cook i say

Fuck this, never again
What is the point of not doing drugs?
My nostaliga is my legacy
My epitaph will be retro and groovy
written in Hollywood motel font

It gets cold here in the desert
The hot blue glow of darkness nodding off
the buzz of vitals through the fence
the tissues piling up beneath the rising skin of day life
the last with lips that give a smack