No Pain In Pop

Tickle his murk

Feeling the same always felt a con. Slack jaws tighten with the approach of sobriety’s edge, the first promise of illicits - cigarettes put to mouth even: James Dean never told you about his seized GI tract. All these auld reflex mechanics burn at control like misplaced metal surface sores… better that feelings emerge transitory and formless like sudden hot flushes. Skin overcome with mystery blood. Roman Photos provoke the attentions of emotional fluids previously unfamiliar to each other - flickers of deep-seated content, slow, swirling puffs of vanity like perfumed dust beaten from an old chaise longue, humid washes of mirth. Down they plummet into cymbal-sent motor tics and procession melodies, sensations like a lift full of falling strangers mangled, upon impact, in gross mire together. Such new melds won’t hold themselves together too long. They’ll die again quick, fearing consignment to the same emotional antiquity suffered by happiness or slow-mo, tedious kicks to the teeth.

Find more here. 7-inches more after that to follow in September through armyofbadluck.



MP3: Roman Photos - Out Of The Sun



MP3: Roman Photos - Resident

Tags: armyofbadluck, roman photos

Left

Found someone out in the rain, sun came out, lost them again.

Don’t look me up - it’s â–²POPDRONE.



MP3: â–²POPDRONE - belong-to

These

RxRy and Evenings echolocated each other. This is the sound of that - curious ears and eyes, paralleled hours, no pars.



MP3: Evenings - BBABBE (RxRy remix)



MP3: RxRy - Thunder/Language (Evenings remix)

Tags: evenings, rxry

Yeses

Away up there you’ve no chance of catching conscious breath. No air around to age this - just the need to shut eyes and turn into what’s become a time-proof and gilded span, dust caught in ecstatic lifts: remnant and fighting between the push and pull. Not all of it glimmers, but its dark patches permit no sinister lurk. The moment’s safe. What is, is. What was is gone. What’s to be’s irrelevant (for now at least - there’ll be quests to recapture, there always are).

So it’s all yeses, and Space Dimension Controller’s there too, somewhere, rewiring minds, etching compulsive grin, shutting eyelids. Rumble shakes ephemera, ribs jump. You did everything they told you to do and you got trapped there with them.



Fabrice Lig - Digital Forest (SDC’s 33 Degree Tape Mix)

Tags: fabrice lig, r&s records, space dimension controller

Days they blur

Photo by Amalia Chimera

What and where is it, that private, wry glee riding tandem with resignation: like getting thrown from a club but being sober enough not to argue about it, or settling down to prise all the splinters from the day and still finding yourself no closer to sleep: some lost itch nonetheless hovering over and vibrating the murk within, impossible to grasp and reason with. How is it they’ve come this far, Winks, but still they sound like Psychobuildings if Peter LaBier hadn’t figured out how to dance yet, defied forever in thudding drums of resignation, “re-sig-nay-shuuun”. Tangling themselves in knots. Kicking themselves in their own head. Leafing through one thousand photographs, not one of which is their youth.

Or future… Oh.

There’s a pink silk mist on this horizon. We’d better head for that then, I suppose.



MP3: Winks - Sometimes I Can Fake a Smile

Tags: winks

We go to house parties with girls in the city

This lush, lax, go-slow version of Patten’s ‘This Sharpened Mist’ aches with the whir of guilt through brain gears: each regret squeezed by ribald synths that lead it on into snare-snaps. The synapse working original version shall appear soon on a special, new No Pain In Pop compilation. Details to follow…



MP3: Patten - This Sharpened Mist (Slow Turn Version)

Tags: patten, the bedroom club