Discordisco

by Docteurlamort

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  • Cassette + Digital Album

    First edition, Ferro tape, jelly red shell, 36 copies made

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1.
03:48
2.
18:30
3.
4.
5.
19:57

about

Back in Shit city, it took me a while to realize disco was not disco. This disco had dreamed friendly streets, heterogeneous crowds, untamed moves, generous sexx and musical epiphanies at 4 in the morning. That disco obviously saw no shortage of 4 on the floor, anything up for grabs as embellishment, flamenco synths, garage funk, gangsta folk. The threat was real, a zombie no one seemed to notice despite its unmissable stench. Disco had promised everything, and given very little, and somehow we still chewed on ersatz of that meagre supply. It contained the seed of its own destruction from its inception, weaponized early on. It added an air of menace to any high street store, sartorial zombies marched to its millionth congenial offspring on your Mom and Dad's TV screen. It was the old drum that kept the slaves rowing, the promise of release while you passed out on the sofa, the cloud of cologne failing to mask the smell of shit on your neighbour's polyester, the racist joke in the elevator to the 90's, a memory of a memory of a dream. The ultimate clique no-one dared to enter but wore the badge nevertheless. On one of many sleepless nights, I set out to re-disco for myself. Recipes abounded, I used instead whatever was in my moldy ice-box. I defrosted, deep-fried, tossed, blended and baked, but all I got was sweaty kickhead soup. I started losing it, wondering how such a simple recipe could fail, and as my neighbour Monsieur Monsieur endlessly channel-surfed next door while his beat wife wept in bed, the missing ingredient was provided to me like manna from hell, and L-O-V-E-A-N-D-H-A-T-E was its name. It all gelled. Bam! Sex and Death for the bedroom age! Everyone's invited. Entrance fee: your brain! Dress-code: your dad's cock ring! No age limit! No New York! Escape New-York! I felt a transformation: Basses trebled, strings bottomed, senseless vocals made sense for the first time, 1984 on the floor, time on my side, this had to be it. This is a document of a time and place that never was, except in late-night wet dreams and a rampant imagination.

credits

released December 13, 2016

Docteurlamort ||| laptop/effects/tapes
Recorded, processed & engineered between 2003 and 2016
BLACK SHIP /\ 2016

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