www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=100000921435691&v=wall

A volcano, baked goods, "getting all PE aggro and shit," salami rolled in herbs, and assorted cheeses and fruits. Jon Brunschwig, Senator Bolton, and Pork Lion. The ritual consumption of a hot pepper. Being praised, advised, teased, thanked and finally questioned. 2011 will be not unlike most years that preceded it.

I have been advised in great number, by trusted voices, to abandon social interaction online, in favor of earnest promotion of the MCoQ radio show, my public activities, and most importantly Prison Tatt records. I.e., shine a lens on what truly matters, not who clicked like on a dislike of my liking in a group I sort of, liked. When people's whole life is consumed by ninja-like mastering of the scent of harassment on the wind, well they've seen me coming from far off, haven't they? So why bother? Why cloud my purpose with offense, especially when a quarry's most severe punishment is that of waking up as themselves. I certainly cannot do worse.

Castleheads enjoyed a relentless and engrossing live performance by C.C.C.C., which started our broadcast last night, clearing the decks of "Rawhide" singers, and resulting in a "comments board of quiet" for the most part. Too bad, as my special guests and I provided that much-celebrated entertainment on WFMU—TALK, wherein the four of us perceived conventional reality from a few dimensions over. My usual parking space was tooken, so to speak, so I made the best of it from up the road, with a funnel over my right eye (and by the grace of rose-thorn stigmata, it was not the left.)

That mysterious S-21 CDr also caused a bit of a stir, and Habsyll flattened the landscape as few doom projects are capable. Seriously, these are Frenchmen, and my favorite doom band of recent years, especially as Corruption seem to have hung up their sludge sledge.

Thank you all for listening, as always. I am taking everyone's advice in earnest, though mostly through my own filter. Like I said, NOT THAT DIFFERENT FROM LAST YEAR—but hopefully always entertaining, engaging, surprising. Click on Sister I'm Fucked above to access the playlist and audio archive(s) of last night's horrorcast™.

NEXT WEEK >>> Lussuria, LIVE!

Heavy hangs, spider sharp!

I guess that I done did good. At this time of the year, when almost everyone reflects on the twelve months that have passed, I think it is key to keep looking forward, at least for the purpose of retaining my marbles, and so as to not be caught unawares. If I start thinking about what a great job I've done with this radio program and its peripheral activities, it will lead to the inevitable (for me) lamentations - "Why am I not more appreciated by WFMU as a whole? Why did I get cornered into this late-night time slot, when I seemed by all accounts to be riding the white stallion in east-coast prime time?" "Why are my efforts not more valued in general, and why am I not somehow gettin' paid to do what I do bla bla bla." I torture myself with this shit. I suppose it's important for the few people who do keep an eye on this blog to know this—that the angst expressed, both on the program, and especially via my choices in music, is DEAD REAL—I'm not kidding, though I do fancy making sport of my own anguish at the very same time. I am consumed with hatred SO MUCH of the time, that it's often crippling. So, when dw writes, "Such amazing sets this year on My Castle of Quiet, thanks!", and Rory T. writes, "Me personally wm. i think you have had one of the best shows on wfmu you've had TOMB,Husere Grav, C.Lav,Metal Rouge etc. live on your show", coalhard writes, "NICE SEGWAY--LOVE IT!!", and dour writes, "thanks for this show", I really DO appreciate it. I'm touched deeply, even by the simple notion of, as ms_a writes, that "the castle: (is a) perfect end to a very nice day." I am trying, always, to put out the best music there is, to honor the artists I believe in, and most importantly to represent a mind state that is so prevalent, yet so under-expressed in terms of broadcast media. There are so many of us that feel like shit, so much of the time, and yet, it's happy pop tunes, and that good, old-time rock and roll, that most often receive center stage, both on WFMU, and elsewhere, as the radio station itself is merely a microcosm of this big ol' world we live in. Enough.

His lanky viciousness, his low-rent sleaze, conveyed in his every facial expression, his every word spoken, and every move his body makes, are what set Michael Findlay apart from the other characters that populated the underground cinema of the 60s and 70s. Like an American Jean Rollin, Findlay was out to make a buck, show us some tits, and sprinkle in self-expression, even "art" in the process. Forever may he live; forever may his machete wail, as he screams, "I've been...waiting to chop the ugly penis from your BODY!"

These then, are my heroes, clowns, if you will, like Mike Findlay, who produced, produced and produced; put shit out there, like maniacs, but always with the quality IN. The antiheroes, the troublemakers, the sons-of-bitches who didn't get along with everyone and said what they thought and expressed what they felt, regardless of the judgments cast by a small-minded public who lacked imagination.

Someday, I get paid to be ME, and until that day, I'm driven, among other things, to bring you the likes of Andreas Brandal, Umberto, Defuntos and Mordheim, and most importantly, FUN, our very special guests for last night's horrorcast. FUN were great company, and recorded two impressive performances, which will post next week to WFMU's Free Music Archive and Beware of The Blog. Please help yourself to a browse of my curator portal at the Free Music Archive, as it's there you'll find all the sessions I've hosted this past year, and quite a bit more—all free, for listening and/or download. It truly has been a great year for the show, and I can't thank enough all the bands (and engineers) that made the live sessions possible.

Findlay hacked that guy's pecker to minced meat. Not until Raging Bull, years later, would such an unnerving "you fucked my wife" scenario grace the screen. Click on that vengeful bastard to access the playlist and audio archive(s) of last night's My Castle of Quiet broadcast.

Pow Pow

Please click on the fluffy-shaving-creme-mushroom-cloud to access the audio archive and playlist of last's night's horrorcast™. Do.

I do good work for you, no? No need to take a finger this time, besides I have small child...have mercy! I have only but ten fingers left. I promise, I won't say anything. The underground lair has been destroyed, and I have less to say about it now than I did last night. You know me, I'm not a rat, and I don't mind nobody else's business....

If I'm to read between the lines of the "Listener comments!," which I suppose I am, as many a statement post-midnight is rendered opaque to say the least (and to say naught of the "look at my mental illness" crowd) -nods were extended to Vultyr, Aura Noir, and Tecumseh. I personally found selections by Screwtape and Sick Llama to be highlights.

This could have been a private party, with beer, painkillers, and an uncomfortable couch. A pile of recordings—there was NO ONE THERE! Next time, you come over. No witnesses to my accidental flipping of the self-destruct sequence. I shut up and I play music—

Next week >>>
Two exclusive sets by FUN (!!!!!!), from Phildelphia, PA. Embed video.

FUN - live @ BLOODFEST 8 from Breathmint on Vimeo.

Shine On, Shine Anarchymoon

Bob Bellerue does not signal his own call to march often enough—hell, he does it hardly at all. When I cruised down the discography page on the Web site for his label of many years standing, Anarchymoon Recordings, my reaction went something like, "Bob put out THAT? And that? And that, too?" It's an impressive catalog, with narry a dud in the bunch. Anarchymoon released Justice Yeldham's Birthdays LP, before I even knew who Lucas Abela was, and a similarly significant one-sided LP of Blue Sabbath Black Cheer's working of New Blockaders' source material (that last one I believe is unfortunately out of print.) "Anok" (affectionate short name) also released The Smell Remains the Same, an LP collection of Smegma's 7" material, singles crafted when they were wrestling with the Pac NW's baggy shorts cock-rock commercial revolution. And on and on the list goes, up to the present day, where Bob is still releasing vinyl and CDrs of carefully chosen, thoughtfully manufactured monuments—"putting out good music and good art, otherwise no rules apply." These items are exquisitely packaged, with sonic value to equal their housing. I'm rambling in praise mode for sure, but I mean every word. Bob's newer releases, in particular the Ultima LP by Cornucopia, Puerto Rico's gods of rumble (tracks can be sampled in recently archived broadcasts of My Castle of Quiet, here and here), and Lepidoptera, by organic dronemeister Brown (Jeremy Long of Tecumseh; hear a track here), are on the market and worthy of your dollars; great-sounding vinyl, mastered, pressed and packaged with an archivist's care.

Reaching back into the Anok catalog a bit, many a Castle favorite can be found; the subtle improvised renderings of KILT and Mesa Ritual member Raven Chacon (listen here), the dynamic collaboration between Bob and Francisco Meirino (aka Phroq) (track here), the dense and articulate hard noise of Tom Grimley (listen here), the Terry Riley-like Amplified Piano Duets between Bob and Jarrett Silberman (track), KILT's Snow White in Hell, the Roman Torment/Feed the Dragon split LP, and Redglaer's American Masonry, amongst quite a few others, all delicious treats in the realm of improvised noise, drone and sound art. Most of the releases are short or limited runs, and won't be around forever.

Anarchymoon Recordings home page

Order page, with more sound samples and online shopping cart ease.

Bob has spoken lately of putting Anok to bed, and moving forward with short-run releases only, on his new Sleepy Hollow imprint. We're all quietly hoping Anarchymoon keeps on keepin' on.

Thanks for the music, Bobby B.

Intense chops & movement!

Me, I'm usually not an advocate of stalling the red, red kroovy-flow, but in all things there must be limits. And even blood, in the form of madness, must be stalled, no matter how it may feed the creative process in a positive manner. Got me? The blood spittles on my ceiling, falls in blots on my floor, and runs down my forearm like garter snakes. Gotta stop. THE BLOOD!

It must be said, that despite a disarming technical snafu, fired at him like arrows of flame (in the form of complete loss of monitor signal on multiple occasions), the circuits still danced in Isa's honor, and the intense precariousness of this occurrence did not forestall the performer's "intense chops & movement" (witness dw's playlist comment, in our title position.) And though Isa Christ was unable to bring us the set that he had planned, to the objective listener his performance is sure to carry charms aplenty. He had brought us a "pie" of home-wired Xmas lights, radio parts, etc., and it would have been preferred, for Christ's sake, that WFMU's monitor system had cooperated.

Nonetheless, Isa's set remains an artifact of great power, density, complexity and elemental energies, to be posted next week to the Free Music Archive (via my curator portal) and to WFMU's Beware of The Blog. Many thanks to Isa and engineer Ernie Indradat. In the meantime, one may hear the three-hour complete show archive, and view the playlist, by clicking on that paint-drenched fool up top.

Many a playlist nod to our special guest, as well as for Cadaver in Drag, Newton & Dave Smolen, Rambutan (via my personal Facebook), and the trailer for vintage schlockfest, Axe.

You cannot stop the blood entirely, only forestall it. It runs in rivers down our streets, like rainfall down our television screens, and it stains all our hands indelibly.

The volume of wild heaven incarnate; Isa Christ LIVE on My Castle of Quiet, tonight!

Here comes an artist I have been looking forward to presenting on the radio show for some time now—Isa Christ, aka Dylan Hay, proprietor of the Port d'Or live-music and art space in Brooklyn, and hard-noise purveyor extraordinaire. Isa gets lost in the powerful tones of his sets, and I, as a fan and spectator, have been only too pleased to do the same.

Isa Christ has been knocking out audiences with intensely physical performances of high-volume feedback manipulation, sometimes utilizing electric guitar, but more often than not, merely a quarter-inch cable, amplification, and a table or a tool-belt's worth of digital effects, and a critical element—his body, writhing, shaking, and sometimes stripping naked—in a Saint Vitus' dance of volume-induced passion and power.

Brooklyn showgoers are still talking about Isa's soul-flattening live collaborations with Telecult Powers. His sets are ecstatic, fierce and enveloping, both born out of a trance and trance-inducing, and though the magic of radio cannot transmit the visual, we can give you the audio, which on its own is likely to be similar to nothing you've ever heard. A one-man Theatre of Eternal Music? Perhaps. The tones and overtones bounce around the room, and the listener tends to forget the who, what and where, and get lost in the sonic assault. Isa Christ brings it live and in-the-moment to My Castle of Quiet, where he plans to "exploit the radio waves and format."

Be ready for a one-of-a-kind presentation.

Warriors come out to play @ 12 mid.
Isa, set one @ 12:30 approx.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

-photo by fuquan7777-

Isa Christ from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

It sure sounds like Lugosi...

Oh, Bela. Undead again.

We're forced by convention to wait our whole lives to sleep in a coffin, but just think how good that would feel—the lid closed, or not, but those Four Enclosed Walls holding you in, the velvety comfort—that's the sweet plum of the death embrace. In fact, coffin naps SHOULD be the province of the living, and cremation and scattered dust the preferred end for the human plague. I mean, enough already.

"Nil" means nil, and I expect the desert flowers to be fewer and farther between, as My Castle traverses the plain toward some sort of inevitable end. But I'm not quite done, not yet. There's always good music to share, new and old and not otherwise represented on WFMU, or elsewhere on the radio (Internet or terrestrial.)

As long as I have Sadistic Intent, Oruga, the workings of Josh Lay, Teeth Collection, and Spine Scavenger, the splatterings of Newton and the other Breathmint artists, the Witchbeam cassette, and the new Wizard Amps on Baked Tapes, there will continue to be a reason for me to further compromise the suspension on my 2001 Nissan and schlep to Jersey City with my collection of exceptional sounds in tow.

My coffin is lined pussy pink, and I'd have it no other way, the outer walls and lid painted matte black. I won't see you there; unburdening solitude taking over for the last time.

NEXT WEEK --- ISA CHRIST, LIVE!!!

a tribute to my appetite for destruction...

This was the night I wore the hat,
Wore that hat for the longest time,
Was filled to the brim with shame it was,
But someone else's shame, not mine

Feed the Dragon may eat the hat, having earned it with their "Bromide Romance." You can buy that there record, and many other great releases, from the buffet over at Anarchymoon Recordings.

I can rest now, calmly assured, that my colleagues at WFMU hardly, if ever, listen to my show or read my playlists or give a damn what I do or say. They've got the general idea, and that serves.

(Not into "stunts," "pranks" or motherfucking "tributes.") Remember when things used to be either corny or cool? Now, it's all good, simply a social masala. "Down with those frowns," yeh?

There is great comfort in being the ugly, retarded cousin.

Ah, you're all out shopping anyway. "diggin' the grave tonight!", dw? Seething spittle into a maelstrom is more like it. The more one screams, the more one is generally ignored.

sacrosanct

I lost a day in there somewhere; blame NY/NJ, and the region's insistence on always "fixin' stuff." I think I spent the last day lost on Rtes. 3 west and east, but I'm far from sure. Somehow, I was also plagued by disturbing dreams throughout this time as well. Creepy trysts with ex-girlfriends I haven't thought about that way in ages, impromptu sets with old bands I used to be in (now surrounded by bad vibes aplenty, in the dreamscape at least.) So strange, this lost time. I could posit that Jon Nicholson's SSPS performance diddled with my time/space reality, but it must surely have been me, or my inability to cope with its largess, as Jon's whole sound and vibe is permeated with positive energies. I felt foolish for being negative about ANYTHING during the broadcast hours.

The entire show was for Jon, really; I'd been waiting long enough to book SSPS on the show, that without consciously choosing, I wove a Kosmische tapestry around his performance, and all the pre-recorded selections reflected this reality unmistakably. Jon's set, which incorporated some dozen or more songs in its 75-80 minutes' running time, will post next week to WFMU's Beware of The Blog and Free Music Archive (via my curator portal there.) In the meantime, one can hear the archive of the entire broadcast—Jon's and my sit-down, goofy banter incorporate—by clicking on the crew (above Jon's kustom flyer for the event), laden with fear and doubt as they are.

As I listen and listen again, I swell with pride that it was indeed I who provided the conduit through which this magnificent cosmic opus (all rendered live and in the moment, no do-overs, mind thee) was brought to the public. Catch SSPS in person whenever you can; even better, book Jon at your venue by contacting http://www.pyramidsnake.com/.

It's also worth noting that another few selections from the K.P. Archaeological boxed set turned heads on the playlist (someday, someday....), as did Travis Johnson's "Undressed Skull" from OWL V. Otherwise, it was a quiet night, while some of us danced on our floors, and a great many danced in their minds. Thanks again to Jon, Diane and Sarah.

KOSMISCHE-DUB-FREAKOUT PARTY; and Be Prepared to Dance! SSPS LIVE tonight on My Castle of Quiet.

Jon Nicholson, aka Porkchop Central, is the bubbling cosmic nucleus at the center of Excepter's intricate, weblike operation. He presents as a warm-hearted and wise, light-powered deacon in a 70s science-fiction film, with a personal and musical aesthetic to match, and I was bound to be swept up in his many-colored undertow.

Jon seems to DJ and play shows like an unstoppable machine, mixing cyborg energy with Ancient Egyptian tenacity, and if I had the time, I'd probably be seeing Jon do *something* at least 2-3 nights a week. After one perhaps slightly attended SSPS gig, I turned to Todd Pendu and wondered aloud, "was that real? Did you see and hear that?" I thought it possible that I was just in a really, really good movie. I'm paraphrasing myself, but the point is, the genius of SSPS need be experienced only once for the conversion to begin.

Check out the video below, to experience a full set of Jon's psycho-Krauto-noiseo-dubbo continuum, recorded live by yours truly last April, and you'll understand why I feel I've already waited much, much too long to give Jon the opportunity to dance on The Castle airwaves. The "highly anticipated" bit goes without saying. Oops, too late! SSPS are an experience to be experienced.

"Berger, we know you're in there! Give it up!" @ midnight.
SSPS @ 12:30 approx.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

SSPS live @ Outer Spaceways Inc. from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

PRISON TATT RECORDS. FOOL-ASS THING.

So, after a good half-life in the creative-person's universe, I went and did a fool-ass thing, with no excuses, no cheeky, childlike enthusiasm to blame, and all better judgment weighed heavily against it—I started a record label ("...a joke, that started the whole world laughing.")

Prison Tatt Records joined the marketplace officially late last week, with its first release available for order; "Calling All Creeps," a single-sided LP by Brooklyn duo Grasshopper. (Ltd. to 100 pcs.; $17 postpaid within the U.S.A.; $21 North America; $25 world. Contact by private message for wholesale/distro pricing.) paypal i.d. wmmberger@comcast.net

I'm proud to say, among other feats, that I hit the street with Grasshopper's first release on vinyl, thanks to my own thoughtful planning,* the poor decision-making of another, once-visionary recording imprint, and most of all the teeming talents of Josh and Jesse, who, upon my initial approach (to release a monophonic live recording of them made on my phone), said, "oh, you like that, well check out THIS!"—and "...Creeps" was born.

There was, in all honesty, some heartfelt, spontaneous, not-so-calculated elements to this move as well. Through my good friend Steven (you may know him as Witchbeam, the visionary/designer, driving human force of the Temple of Pei, or as 1/2 of the electronic music duo Telecult Powers, who also have a Prison Tatt release in the works) I started spending hang time in Brooklyn again after a good 10-year break, meeting musicians, and getting hip to an extremely vibrant and deep musical universe, one that bubbled just under the surface of Williamsburg/Greenpoint/Bushwick's taco-truck matted-coiffure coolness. These were real talents, with amazing innovations to offer, and Steven was my spirit guide on this musical vision quest, and I'm eternally grateful to him for opening that door, and pointing me, ever so gently, like an Albert Hofman of enjoyable sounds.

After several months of listening and observing (and presenting some of these artists live on my WFMU radio program, which had been named after a solo CDr I released in 2007; that name also adorns this blog), my passion extended to a real need to be someone who would bring some of this great music to the public, my original intent being to release on single-sided LP vinyl only (a format I love), though the release schedule now includes some 300-run silver CD titles as well.

Back to the planning* bit, I thought, "what is my personal aesthetic, what am I trying to convey, and who are the artists that will enable me to project this vision effectively, and also sell more than a handful of pieces in the process?" I like things inky, obscured, thought-provoking—I don't ever want to spoon-feed the "message" to anyone. I wanted Prison Tatt Records (the name of which is meant to convey many things btw, including a sizeable lampooning of faux tough-guy, too-cool-for-school hipsterdom so prevalent in underground music, as well as more serious notions, like an enhanced awareness and support of the plight of the American prisoner) to express my tastes in a similar fashion to this blog, and the My Castle of Quiet radio show, but honed down to an even finer point, if that's possible. Horror films, anger and nihilism, notions of self-destruction and despair, and the mind-fuck that is escapism by way of one's most-favored musical sounds, were all on the table.

And so, a long story made relatively short, Grasshopper seemed the natural choice to help bring Prison Tatt Records' initial blast to the world. They brought the scary, the enveloping darkness, but they also had a healthy sense of humor about themselves and their art, and seemed to make no uncertainty that their aim (one of them, at least) was to create choice head-music, trance you out, take you away, and maybe even screw with your notions of aesthetics and general music-scene propriety a little bit in the process.

Other artists with whom I've made verbal or written commitments, and who probably won't mind my leaking the info that Prison Tatt releases loom in their future, include T.O.M.B., Telecult Powers, OPPONENTS, KILT, and Husere Grav. There are other releases in the works as well, but I'm too superstitious to even breathe the names at this point.

Turn off the camera.

A good rule many serial killers forget, SiHV. But they just can't resist those home-vid "trophies" of their artistic endeavors, their work. Nobody dwells on the down sides of murder—the body disposal, first and foremost, to say nothing of all the hackneyed whining and pleading, the calling out to God, etc., etc., etc. Bloody tedium. Much like European-vacation memories, serial-killer mementos are all about the good times—no freezing your ass off, no waiting in impossibly long customs lines, no overpriced, disappointing meals, and no multilingual beggars harshing your buzz.

Our special live guests, Heavy Medical, despite coitus interruptus by way of still-mysterious technical snafus, played it hard and confident, and by golly were they loud. Don't miss an opportunity to see these two Daves live and in person. The Daves of Heavy Medical also received some love by way of the Castlehead comments board, which was otherwise reasonably quiet; the boys gave good interview as well, especially when one considers some of the, um, théâtre d'intoxication we've experienced in the past.

Castleheads do love Bowl Hits Vol. 1 on Baked Tapes, our latest talkover-bed obsession. Personal highlights of the program for your host (though I'm passionate about it ALL) were the Sick Llama cassette Over Sleep, the Prowls CD, and the High School Confidential live recording.

Last year on 11/11, I was hosting a duo of a very different musical stripe, Ghost Moth (Daniel Carter and Todd Pendu); perhaps one would care to revisit that session here, lest we forget the breadth of unusual music that flows through the "Castle filter."

I've tooted my horn, and it's time to go. Heavy Medical's set will post as mp3s next week to WFMU's Beware of The Blog and Free Music Archive. Until then, you can hear the full Castle broadcast, and view the playlist, by clicking on girl arms above. "Patrick Bateman," indeed! Your first date will be also your last (and isn't that true of most men, serial killers notwithstanding?)

Next week --- SSPS live!
Poor bedazzled mortals know not what we are in for.

Flamtastic! --- Heavy Medical LIVE on The Castle --- TOMORROW NIGHT!

I've realized all too late that doing a radio show for no compensation whatsoever just happens to be what I do best. Sorry, world. I know you had plans for me as a captain of industry, a good father, a breadwinner, someone sober. What can I say?

My Castle of Quiet radio charges ahead this week with live guests Heavy Medical. Been liking these guys since I heard them first (as Nervous Sex) on a split tape with Drums Like Machine Guns on Abandon Ship. As these Philadelphians blast through our area on tour, with shows at Death by Audio (11/10) and Party Expo (or is it Silent Barn??) (11/18), and the Nyack Village Theatre (12/3), they pay a visit to The Castle in the same wide swing.

Where all of us have seen more than a few bands take the metal/punk-to-noise/experimental route, Heavy Medical have done the opposite, releasing a few enigmatic, high-caliber recordings under the name Nervous Sex, and now arriving at a sound more akin to Melvins by way of prime Lightning Bolt, or to drop an even more obscure reference, mid-80s SoCal legends Blue Daisies—without brakes, that is—saying what needs to be said in violent, catchy, two-minute bursts. You can download the combo's excellent Threats e.p. for a mere $2 at the group's bandcamp page.

Here they come, live and bloody to this week's broadcast.

Police shoot off the lock @ midnight.
HM @ 12:30 approx.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

puissant hail

Yes, Incapacitants have names. Toshiji Mikawa and Fumio Kosakai. Truth be told, my foul attempt at pronunciation would have caused an "international incident." The ecstatic nature of their performances and recordings speaks for itself (take a look here.)

Despite my best efforts, I find myself giving in to being stupid, like the majority of Americans. Before you know it, I will start actually caring when Oscar night is, I'll like a "good old cover tune," and finally be proudly sporting blue and pink wigs with a keg cup in my hand on social networking Web sites. Any day now, I will become PALATABLE. Not long after, MEDIOCRE.

Castleheads grooved to Penetration Camp, our exclusive live Incapacitants set from the LAFMS Fest (again, thanks to all involved for making that one happen!), the Kuxan Suum tape, and Kakerlak/The Heat of the Hole. (Did I say "The Heat of the Hole"? 'Cos I really LOVE that title, base-minded Yank that I am.

I like a girl who's not afraid to make out with a severed head on the forest floor. Yummy-yum-yum-yum. Show me what you're made of, ladies. Sugar? Spice? Herbal tea and Yoga class? Kiss a CORPSE for CHRIST! He who maketh all things, and done a right shit job of it, too. Click on the deranged and blood-hungry fuck machine (at least she gets right to the point) to access the playlist and audio archives of last night's horrorcast.

NEXT WEEK --- Heavy -fucking- Medical, LIVE!

horror for president

Castlehead favorites

JOHN CARPENTER
CHARLES MANSON

BOB BELLERUE

"I concur, I concur, Charlie." —Wm. Berger

"No dream and no reality will save you from yourself" —Sodom

"What do you want? Who are you?" —Sally

"We want you, Sally, we want your soul. You set us free." —uh, that dude above, and his friends. Forgive their appearance. Living in a sealed-off crawlspace for a generation does not do wonders for your complexion. He can still take you to the playlist and audio archives of last night's horrorcast™ w/a single click. But remember, "some things are better left alone!" —old jackass caretaker

Hosting two very bent and seasonally appropriate American horror films tonight in Nyack, NY. Here's what I had to say ---

Clownhouse (1989)

Controversial director Victor Salva (Jeepers Creepers, Powder, Rites of Passage) made his first feature a love letter to classic American horror, and, well, might as well say it—adolescent boys in tighty whitys. Salva served a year in prison for untoward activities with one of Clownhouse's underage stars, and was visited weekly and counseled by his friend Francis Coppola. But don't see Clownhouse for the scandal, as there's little of it (if any) on screen; see it because it's a creepy tale of a suburban Halloween night, with plenty of seat-jumps, and three brothers alone in a house (including a young Sam Rockwell) besieged by three homicidal, escaped mental patients in stolen clown outfits and makeup. Clownhouse is a clever and well-structured horror tale in the drive-in tradition.

Last House on Dead End Street (1977)

This movie has nothing to do with a house, or a dead-end street, but a lot to do with a stag filmmaker who gets out of jail, and decides to wreak revenge upon his imagined oppressors by casting them in homemade snuff. "Terry Hawkins" is an evil bastard, with bad deeds on his mind; he's aiming to take out a group of rich decadents, and assembles a ragtag group of hippie sadists who help him execute his productions. Last House on Dead End Street is loaded with creepy, disturbing imagery and graphic gore, so do not bring the kiddies, no sir. This is a twisted American horror artifact, fueled by amphetamines (in real life), and despite its bottom-rung production values, will resonate with you forever once you've seen it.

Both of these films are currently unavailable on home video.

Other haunted filler and short subjects tba.

Many thanks to Don Sigal for arranging the evening. Don has been a constant supporter of My Castle of Quiet, and heads Opposite Records and the Psychedelic Noise in Nyack series of live events.

We hope to see you tonight! Nyack Village Theatre, 94 Main Street, Nyack, NY (best to travel by car, if y'all got one.)

Danny Moore LIVE on My Castle of Quiet has been CANCELED. :(

Daniel J. Moore creates pulsating, meditative, haunted and heavy electronics, like Cluster II with the grime factor set on very high. He's released several excellent tapes—his Black Totality cassette (as Family Treasures), released by Temple of Pei, is four tracks of hovering, churning menace; while his release on Tape Drift from earlier this year, Altars of Ashes, plays it comparatively subtle on the electronics and percussion, allowing sax player Jeffrey Hayden Shurdut to dance La Monte Young-like over Danny's essential atmospheres.

I've seen my fair share of Family Treasures live sets over the past year, and Danny has always appeared laid back, quietly confident, and above all focused. He listens, contemplates, weaves the sound patiently, and never seems to make a ham-fisted move. Check out some clips below from the MCoQ vimeo channel.

Angry, torch-wielding villagers start frying my ass @ the witching hour.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

Family Treasures @ INC from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

Family Treasures from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

Opponents & Family Treasures from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

Jerk!

Apologies for the lateness of this self-obligatory radio-show archive re-post; I'll trust that many of you were all too moist in the britches about WFMU's annual record fair to notice any absence.

Been feeling sub-par healthwise, and I spent the three hours of airtime (even more so than usual) just playing records that I felt like hearing. Wasn't on the high-energy stuff so much this week; I stuck with the longish-form noise jams and sound art, pleasing myself and undoubtedly a few others as well. As far as "Singles Going Steady" week goes, I'm in love with music—not formats—and my interest in doing what I feel exceeded my ability or want to whittle down my selections to those available only on 7" vinyl, so at the risk of not being a "team player" (nothing new for me) I did what I thought worked for the Castle's week, point blank.

And as far my on-mic rants go, remember that there are always BIGGER ASSHOLES out there than myself, and ultimately, they scare me, firstly because most of them can't spell or write English worth a damn (illiteracy always being frightening), and secondly because what many of those bigger gits lack in comparison to myself is the awareness that they are indeed "jerks," so I give myself huge points for looking in the mirror unflinchingly.

Listener/commenters dug the Isa Christ split 7" (as they should—hey, I played a single after all!), the Angst Hase Pfeffer Nase cassette, and the Rodger Stella/Sharkiface CD from 2008 (thanks for sharing that one, Travis J.)

I'll be DJing live tonight in Brooklyn, as part of a farewell concert for our dear friend Witchbeam, Temple of Pei visionary, and propulsive force behind Telecult Powers and the Hex Breaker Quintet. Our buddy Steve (as we know him) and his charming wife Jillian, are relocating to the wondrous American city of New Orleans (one of my favorite places on Earth), and we wish them both tremendous success and happiness. To celebrate, a mega-concert happens tonight at The Schoolhouse, 330 Ellery Street in Bushwick, Brooklyn, starring SexXxual Ice Land (Telecult Powers + Sister Jillian + Grasshopper + JFR and Lala of Excepter), Nautical Almanac, Sam Goldberg, and Forma. It's going to be a helluva enjoyable night, with Todd Pendu reading Tarot amongst all the other delights. I start spinning (music, that is, my actual "spinning" probably begins a bit earlier, when I hit NYC traffic!) at around 8-8:30, and I hope to see you/meet you there. Unless of course you're a jerk, in which case, approach with caution, though we should be able to achieve some level of jerk solidarity. See Witchbeam's lovely gig flyer above.

Getting back to the radio show, I'm tremendously excited about the great live music coming up in the near future on the Castle, with performances by Danny Moore/Family Treasures (next Thu/Fri!), Heavy Medical (11/12), SSPS (11/19; Jon Nicholson of Excepter solo), Isa Christ, and FUN (dates tba.)

One possible form of suffrage, acquired merely by attending a party in the court of ancient Persia, is seen above. As I wrote on the playlist, "Turned to a tree. Sumbitch." I had several screen captures from this very brief series of shots from the opening of Wishmaster; the one above taking honors because of the intensely mournful expression in the victim's eyes. Looking upward. Petrifed and unable to speak, but able to take you with a single click to the audio archives and playlist for our most-recent horrorcast.

Listening. After.

Yes, after.

In Zombie 5: Killing Birds, there is no explanation offered for the existence of the zombies, little explanation for a gaggle of college-student-victim skeet, and the "Killing Birds" of the title pluck out Napoleon Solo's eyes for no goddamn reason, which connects him for life to the aforementioned undead party crashers. I seriously doubt, that even were we to dig up Joe D'Amato, once the gallons of ectoplasmic bile and cigarette tar had flowed past out of his mouth, and he said, "Whadda the fuck you wake-a me up forrrr?," that even the auteur himself would have an explanation for the torrid mess of this film. Make no mistake, this is a shite horror movie; what you see above is the one good frame from the one good scene—zombie back-of-the-head grab, nerdy girl's face into the concrete basement wall—thud, thud, thud, THUD.

"Very Friendly" by AIDS Wolf should win the Eurovision song contest. (Small matter that they are Americans—we globalized all your asses anyway, a long time ago. Enjoying your Starbucks? I know that you are. "Fact is, it's just damn good coffee.") Their new CD on Skin Graft, March to the Sea, just LEAPT onto my year's best-of list. Playlist-comment nods also to the new Moontower LP on Seed Stock, Rotorvator (black-metal doom from Italy), the Nekrasov CD on Crucial Blast, DMDN, ZDL, Aural Fit and Silver Apples.

She's dead already. Off to nerdy-girl heaven. Good for her. She will still take you, with a click, to the audio archives and playlist for last night's horrorcast™. Me? I have things to do, and my tummy hurts. Thanks for listening!

MY PASTERY IS WEAK

Salome is so beautiful; somehow more beautiful than any woman you have ever seen. Is her long hair like fresh wheat? Or the blackest Chinese silk? Her eyes are most surely abyssal pools of death, and you long to swim in and out of them, like a minnow. Oh, to be her lover—it would make all of this, all you have become, alright.

The Castle continues to flourish in the post-mitternacht, no one more surprised than myself. Our spezieller Gast, The Communion, hahahahahahahaha they were so very good. They rock the party that rocks the primordial psyche. There will be many Wm.'s-head-sized holes in my wall as I spend the week reviewing their set. (In the meantime, one may click on the love-crazed fool above to hear the archive of last night's full horrorcast, The Communion's set incorporate.)

The playlist comments, which of late often feel like a message board for the tinfoil-hat army, was ALIVE with pleasure over a great many selections—those of Physical Demon, Astro, the aslis / Bob Blaize / Jeph Jerman collab, our friends Towering Heroic Dudes, and the staggering new Sword Heaven LP. Not least of all, Castleheads were grateful for their live pummeling by The Communion, which will post as mp3s in about one week's time to WFMU's Beware of The Blog and Free Music Archive.

In Salome's sweet envelopment, her fleshy animal embrace, only one thought prevails—"I am here! At last! I know a more visceral life, and a more flavorful death than any man has ever known." Her sweet womb holds like a safe canister. This is, however, a pleasure too great to take back with you to life's plain plane, and Salome herself holds your head aloft by its once-tingled hairs.

Take This, That Which Is Offered; The Communion on My Castle of Quiet radio, TONIGHT

As we continue our adventure into the very darkest corners of self-expression, the Castle is thrilled to present a full live set by The Communion. The Communion's set is a life-affirming ass-kicking, one that leaps with ease across several metal and noise touchpoints—a punch out by Autopsy, Eyehategod, Halflings and Tulus all at once. These guys really are that good, and I'm just going to open up the airwaves and let 'em go.

Six million thanks to WFMU trusty Diane Kamikaze Farris, who'll be engineering The Communion's set, live and in real time, and you know, works on big metal tours and stuff, and is graciously lending her dynamite expertise to make sure it all comes off. Diane was also a friend to late Communion guitarist Lee Altomare (1976-2010), who passed away in April of this year. You can check out Diane's mighty playlists here. You rule, Diane!

The Communion do it all, and do it all well, often in the context of a single three-minute song. If you're stooge enough to doubt my claims, check out their myspace page, and the two live clips I shot of the band this past July, embedded below. Their writing and song-structuring are top shelf, and the intensity of their execution make The Communion a hellish live bludgeoning that's not to be missed.

Three swings with a sharp axe should do it @ 12 mid.
TC @ 12:30 approx.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

The Communion - Iron Lung Dust Bowl from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

The Communion - Conjugal Apparition from My Castle of Quiet on Vimeo.

Kill, kill, kill!

All those angry women, now blood-spattered, scalp-adorned mannequins in my bedroom, rally together, for it is the time of my comeuppance. For 1,000—nay, one million—offenses. None of them had it coming. I know that now. Sorry ladies, I tried. Just not very hard. The voices were louder than your screams could ever have been.

And when you look at me like that, I know I've done wrong. Still, I cry for my damned soul because I am pathetic. I am covered with abundant volumes of sweat, my arm hurts, and for the first time I know fear. I am dying.

Not for the first time since I've been doing this radio program, the selection I considered to be potentially the most objectionable (a 30-min. Richard Ramirez track that begins with a description of male-to-female oral sex during menstruation) turns out to be the piece that sets the comments board alive with pleasure! "Red wings," indeed!

And Dishammer! Not only are these Spanish badasses the hottest thing going in biker-rock-black-metal, but they unabashedly place a gorgeous woman with a dynamite set of tits on every single record cover. Way to represent, boys! Lost in boobs.

See some of you tonight? At the Nyack Village Theatre? I'll be DJing behind the velvet curtain, with live performances by T.O.M.B., The Alienist, and Lotus Bazooka. Here's the Facebook event, and live stream.

That girl from the subway, I vaguely remember her...she's gotten into the red tempera. If you click on her face, not only does it get it bigger (and madder), but she'll take you to the playlist and audio archive of last night's horrorcast™.

NEXT WEEK --- THE COMMUNION LIVE

I hear the faint rumble

By all accounts, Joe Spinell was a man of character to be admired, a generous, warm-hearted actor whom all his colleagues loved or at least respected. Still, in his most unforgettable role as Maniac, Joe was able to channel something deeply disturbing—homicidal rages brought on by a very-wrong mother>son relationship, and the belief that whores must be "saved" by extermination (one of those great ideas we must thank the perversion of Catholicism for.)

Maniac is as bleak, ugly and slimy a New York film as ever there has been, up there in my estimation with Taxi Driver, The Panic in Needle Park, A Hatful of Rain, Bad Lieutenant, and Larry Cohen's 70s films. That New York is mostly gone, though, sanitized for better or worse by the needs of real-estate developers and the very affluent.

I mention Joe Spinell not only because of this week's screen capture from Maniac, but also because he is one of the patron saints of My Castle of Quiet—a good "Joe," with a well-developed dark side. My kinda guy all the way. If you deny the ugliness, you're just going to have to deal with it at some later time, when you may not be ready. But at the same time, be righteous and true, until someone gives you a reason not to be.

Last night was the usual catharsis through the playing of favored recordings, no special guests this time, but plenty of friends, and long-form extrapolations. Older selections by Einstürzende Neubauten and Missing Foundation (talk about acknowledging the ugliness—two experts right there) dazzled the faithful, and Raspberry Bulbs never fails to incite comment. Personally, I loved the new Telecult Powers tape side, and well, everything else I played, too. My show is not a random shmampling of things that might seem ok, freshly plucked from WFMU's new bin; I'm a meticulous planner, and I stand behind every selection.

Click on Frank Zito above to access the playlist and audio streams of last night's horrorcast™.

In two weeks—The Communion LIVE!

shhaaaaaaadaaaaaaaaap!

Pay attention to your kids, if you have them. Listen to the words between the words, or the consequences could be dire. Not likely as dire as that of the dumb fucks pictured above, but then that's why I love Home Movie, because the victims' greatest "sin" is obliviousness. If only I could make one hundred movies about that! Obliviousness could be to me as right & wrong is to Kieslowski, and unrequited love is to Wong Kar-Wai; but it's the Van Gogh syndrome—you can keep telling them, and telling them and telling them—they may even go, "oh, nice art!," but will they get it? NEVER.

Alas, I am but a not-so-humble free-form radio disc jockey.

I love that Husere Grav's unearthly sound-check rumbles were splitting the floor behind my first mic break; it gave the moment a "you're messing with these forces; you asked for them, and here they come!" feel. Perfect. I return to H.P. Lovecraft so often in my descriptions of these shows, and I suppose that's where it "begins" for me in general, and to be sure Lovecraft himself did not originate literary notions of The Abyss, but he was responsible for planting the image solidly in my brain. I mention this because when I opened the door to Studio B's live room to catch a few snaps of Husere Grav in action, abyssal terror was swirling unchecked around the room, and everything was a kind of black-grey whirlpool. This is significant. That one man can come on a plane from Texas to NJ, and render such power...but hey, that's what he was here for, right? If, for whatever reason, I'm not doing this radio program in five years (or next week!), I'll always look back in awe at the amazing canon of live music I've been privileged to present, and Husere Grav added yet another door to that hellborne advent calendar. Thanks, Todd!

Tell them about your gigs in October. TELL THEM!

Yes, yes. Thanks to Don Sigal, Castle supporter and honcho of Opposite Records (also performing/recording as The Alienist, Ken Timber and Sacrupture), I will be participating in some fine events in October at the Nyack Village Theatre in Nyack, NY. On Oct. 1, Castle favorites T.O.M.B. will be performing, along with other artists tba, and I'll be spinning grim interludes between the sets. At the end of the month, 10/29 or 30 (date tba) I'll be screening a double feature of hard-to-see horror films, including the classic American bizarro feature Last House on Dead End Street.

Castlehead love on the playlist for our honored guest, as well as Kyle Clyde, Gerritt, Ancestors, and bats (the animals, not the NZ popsters.) Remind me to speak more on bats next week.

Click on the dumb-fuck parents to get to the playlist and audio archive of last night's horrorcast.

Husere Grav LIVE Horror on the Castle, this Thu/Fri.

The Texas-based project Husere Grav ("Huss-urr-ee Grahv") is certainly metal enough to have a page on the rigidly parametered metal archives—Athanor (aka Todd Watson) having been 1/2 of Homunculus, who released three full-lengths over 2005-6—but Husere Grav combines black-metal prescience and mystery (à la Paysage d'Hiver) with MB-like crumble and haunted tunneling.

All the Husere Grav releases, including vinyl splits, self-released CDrs, and tapes, are gloriously dark trip-out music (the untitled cassette on Stunned comes highly recommended), and Todd's live visit to the Castle comes highly anticipated. Athanor renders a unique performance for WFMU and My Castle of Quiet radio, and you can also catch Husere Grav live the following night, at Port d'Or in Brooklyn, with Castle favorites Hex Breaker Quintet and Isa Christ.

"Goddamit, let me in! We're being eaten alive out here!" @ midnight.
HG @ 12:30 approx.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

Photo of Husere Grav by Metal Rouge.

I bought black bed sheets today!

Sounds pretty sweet, Marco. I'd love me some black bed sheets. Only thing is, it really shows up those cum stains. But yeah, generally I want black everything—walls, floor, ceiling, house and car. Don't misunderstand—my eyes love color (evidenced by my screen-capture choices); color talks to us in a multitude of voices—but black, black is my comfort zone. I'm ensconced.

Our special live guest, Chaos*Majik (aka Todd Pendu) rendered a masterful electronic suite of great power and subtlety; a remarkable, album-like presentation done in real time, with guest vocals by Laylah (Johanna L.)

I hope you all were listening. If not, click on Amanda above, uh, before The Goat takes her, to access the playlist and audio archive of last night's horrorcast™.

Castlehead love on the playlist for our very honorable guest, the Possession trailer, and FUN.

I have much to do, and much to contemplate, thanks to Todd's reading of my tarot last night with the Crowley Thoth deck. That's why I'm keeping this archive re-post short.

Next week --- Husere Grav!!!

Fylfot Cross-legs and An Alternate View, Le Pendu! Chaos*Majik on the Castle, LIVE Tonight.

The first time I wandered into a Bushwick back room and heard Chaos*Majik, I knew I was getting hit with something special. The contrast struck me immediately; between Todd's relatively small and portable setup, and the voluminous worlds I was hearing, large sonic membranes, sheets of ectoplasm, that were filling the room. You can hear (and sort of see) an excerpt of that performance at the link above.

The solo electronics of Todd Brooks (aka Todd Pendu) are a) under-recorded and b) not celebrated nearly enough. He shows up with everything he needs in two hands, and with that gear creates multiverses worthy of the maestros Klaus Schulze and Roland Kayn.

Todd seems to work tirelessly on pendu.org, which encompasses art gallery and occult happenings (like an Austin Osman Spare 123rd birthday party), live music every Tuesday at Brooklyn's Glasslands Gallery, the online pendu magazine, with its popular Artists & Cats galleries, and the Pendu Sound Recordings imprint, releasing albums by Sasha Grey's aTelecine, among others.

In the midst of all this somewhere fits the amazing music of Chaos*Majik, generated by Todd through several small, often home-built or home-modified boxes and devices, suitcase-bound, including a light-stimulated resonator, off which Mr. Pendu mirrors the dancing of a candle's flame. All the Chaos*Majik sound-making devices are labeled and/or held together with dayglo electrical tape—the pendu symbol is absolutely bitchin'—and I'm a shameless sucker for a great combination of sound and aesthetics...I also like multiverses...and alter-verses, and you will, too.

Todd performed on WFMU last November 11 on My Castle of Quiet, as 1/2 of the duo Ghost Moth, with American jazz multi-instrumentalist Daniel Carter, and that session can be heard here. Todd returns to the Castle, this time solo as Chaos*Majik, to perform a continuous, 45-minute electronic suite, prepared especially for this broadcast.

Photo of Todd Pendu © your author.

"What big knockers!" "Why, zank you, doctor." @ 12 mid.
CM @ 12:30 approx.
WFMU 91.1 FM (NY/NJ)
WMFU 90.1 FM (Hudson Valley)
wfmu.org live on the Web

yeah classic

"Tough." That's the word Fenriz used to describe the kind of music he wanted to make in Eibon, his never-fully realized project with Satyr, Phil and Killjoy. I bring up "Tough," because after two listens through last night's horrorcast™, that's where I'm at with it. For at least one evening of selections, it's a big, firm, solid set of cojones that connects The Stooges > Wolvhammer > ISA Christ > Incapacitants etc.

I never set out to play music that does not commit all the way to its reason for being; there are plenty of places you can go to hear that other stuff. Everyone's TRYING to have laughs and good times, so that shit is available in abundance. Me, I'm here to bring the bad news. "Sorry, your son's been killed in a 'military accident'; sorry, we're taking your house away; sorry, local law enforcement will make only a light showboat at shutting down the crack dealers right around the corner; sorry, budgets are down; sorry, the weather sucks; sorry, there's a fly in your tuna salad sandwich."

Too many people saying "sorry," and not nearly enough are doing anything about it. But who am I to talk? The disease of apathy is a palpable stench at my house. Am I even the afflicted anymore, or a carrier? I'm a carrier; pretty sure.

Castleheads loved that Bloodsucking Freaks trailer (see—even the whimsy, the nostalgic absurdism, is designed here to encompass torture, anxiety, lack of surety, lack of subtlety, bad medallions, and chicks who just can't help themselves. Sure, laugh your head off, but she's still not getting her hand back.) You also enjoyed the new Raspberry Bulbs tape, Sovereign, Physical Demon, and Incapacitants. I'm not saying that there's no enjoyment, as there is much, but there are no apologies, either.

Don't feel too bad for her. Yeah, "Oh shit, here comes the machete," but she didn't have too long to feel bad about what was happening. She had a lot of time to think about the other stuff she did, like "destroy her child, daughter of a war hero ... turning [it] into a pig-fucker's bitch." You see, tough is not always as it seems—she who has lived a cheap life, and dies an even cheaper death, is "tougher" than he who wields the instrument. One click on her last look of surprise will take you to the playlist and archived audio of last night's program.

cos i've burned that butter with ya babe

Icarus, Icarus.

I AM THE PLANET-EATER.

WILLIAM WINDOM GOT NOTHIN' ON ME.

You desire too much. Where is this coming from? This anger? This discontent? You got a pretty good deal. You got Metal Rouge to play on your show, that fucking killed.

I WANT MORE. I WANT EDITH. AND A CAKE.

They are listening, all of them. You are neither good, nor bad. You just is, and if 33 people are paying attention, you're doing better than a lot of folks. You're playing black metal and noise on terrestrial radio for chrissakes, so get a grip. Put that thing away. For now.

Weird playlist; not too much yammering about the music, but movies instead, and that's fine! Part of what I'm here for. Any chance to praise Christopher Lee's Mummy, and the song from The Green Slime, I will take. Some comments were also spurred by Walter/Wendy Carlos, Sewer Election and of course our special guests.

Metal Rouge were simply awe-inspiring. The more I hear their sets, the more I get lost in them. I also hereby publicly call for a Caitlin Mitchell / Greg Fox collab record. Hell, I'd put that out!

Metal Rouge's sets will post as mp3s to WFMU's Beware of The Blog and FMA next week. For now, you can click on the image above to get to the playlist and audio archive of last night's horrorcast™. (My apologies to the band for flaking on the usual pre-show promotion at this very site—the 33 people did not see it; I'll make it up to you in gregarious post-promotion!)

I'm telling you though, stop looking at her—she is not never going to fuck you.

Die Tanzen das Hippy

I claim the headline for myself this week, I do. Pride cometh before, after, and during a fall. I enjoy starting off with a good, solid blast of hard stuff—think I'll keep doing that. And much like the awareness created by LSD—Sally has been downtown, seen her baby with another girl, and this cannot be un-learned. The saddest thing in the whole wide world.

Slick, slick like blood on reinforced, soundproof glass. If I had me a loaded "herwon" needle, I'd stick that spike deep into this pain in my solar plexus, and plunge away. Every day is a new day to "make things right," right?

But enough about me. This is my ascension, and my inevitable flutter down, and I think you all get that, by now. Ha!

Beloved Castleheads, I live for thee.

You lived for WOLD, NO TREND, Aanal Beehemoth, the mysterious JAM picture disc on Breathmint, Mesa Ritual, Grace Slick & The Great Society, the new Grasshopper on Pizza Night, and Hoor-paar-Kraat.

Sweet Laurel-Ann, she's pretty much done for. She spoke, she listened, whatever—sometimes that is all it takes. Words kill. Click on her voided eyes (before she hits that glass a few more times!) to access the playlist and streaming audio archive of last night's horrorcast.