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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!!!