Unwholesome Associates
Bandcamp
overblik
All of the tracks are improvisation based and arranged and recorded in one session with minimal post-production work. Instrumentation includes a Casio CT-X3000 and Casio SA-46, Magnus chord organ, acoustic and electric five string basses, kalimba, melodica, jaw harp, toy guitar and ukulele, found sounds, various software synths, and probably a thing or two I’ve forgotten, all generously slathered in analog and digital effects.
-Claw Of Midnight
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THE HOUSE HAS FORGOTTEN ITS ANGLES.
Claw Of Midnight — crooked alter-ego of Rhode Island psychedelic dungeon-synth legend Old Moth Dreams — returns with twelve phosphorescent abnormalities assembled cadavre-exquis-style from one long, finely smoked improvisational séance.
Minimal post-production.
Maximum organism.
Absolute freedom.
ORGASMIC CHAOS.
Analog keyboards purr against kalimba droplets. Magnus organ exhales velvet ectoplasm. Toy guitar, ukulele, bass, melodica and assorted little miracles crawl over each other / under each other / inside each other until instrumentation becomes irrelevant and everything melts into one enormous lubricated sound-world.
Dungeon synth gone bad.
Doom/stoner metal eating glowing mushrooms behind the cemetery.
1973 arthouse horror soundtracks copulating with dark prog.
Noise in the wallpaper.
Occult psych in the bloodstream.
Opiated synthwave drowning beautifully in a bathtub of violet milk.
Twelve tracks. Twelve rooms. Twelve symptoms.
All gorgeous. All wrong.
Mauve. Fuchsia. Amphibian green.
Cotton-candy cobwebs.
Croaking candles molded from the wax of malformed frogs.
The corridors are intestinal now.
The stairs go sideways.
The ceiling is becoming your rotting brain.
Something behind the curtains is masturbating a melodica.
DO NOT DISTURB IT.
There are no angles anymore anyway.
No map. No north. No normal.
You wanderwanderwander until wandering becomes anatomy and eventually you find yourself againnnnn....
almost.
One additional eye blooming from the sternum.
Electric gills.
A small starry tentacle.
A pleasant smell of ozone.
-
Welcome to THE MANOR THAT DIES AND IS REBORN.
The manor of soft abundant flesh.
The mauve manor.
The smoking manor.
The manor forever refashioooooooned / refleshed / rewronged / RE-RE-RE-RE-RE beneath the trembling hands of its demented Rhode Island architect, standing somewhere behind the final purple door with a dying keyboard note dangling from his lips—
mouth sewn shut
with tiny black nails
from
YUGGOTH
YUGGOTH
YUGGOTH
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Come inside
the house is soft tonight
and it has already begun
rearranging your organs.
-Sir Kuliktavikt