"I am falling down a hole. “Where your farts get dusty, and your bones get rusty.”
When I listen to these songs I’m peeled from the here and now and made to drift down through dark chunks of solid ennui that’re cut through with spasms of emotional fire. I feel myself exhaling all the oxygen in my body, inviting a rumbling darkness to fill my brain. I want to be empty so that the vibrations in the songs can take me–not just on the outside as they physically drag me into them–but also erasing the Me inside, replacing thoughts emotion and impulses with the songs own drives and passions.
I am falling down a whole. “Oh my god I am here alone.”
This music was carved out of time and space. Recorded/captured with the desperate ferocity of the last thinking survivor of the apocalypse, fighting a live or die battle against starvation. Eat the beast and live another day or lock it up as a message to the future. Songs like a bomb siren. A call to run away, a call to crash into the rocks and splinter apart.
I am falling down a ⚫. “Forget what I said life’s an illusion, it’s all in your head.”
If you fail at making music you make noise. Or silence. If you do that in reverse someone may be listening and discover your secret. If you fall in reverse you are flying. If you do it fast enough and long enough you reach escape velocity. If you keep going faster you reach terminal velocity. Play these songs long enough loud enough–I dare you to find out what happens next. The safest thing you can do is secretly pass this music to someone by slipping it into their backpack on the bus. Or through a gloryhole. But that’s not as romantic or as anonymous anymore without the physical parts. You COULD burn this to a CDR, go back in time about 15 years. You could put it on a tape, go back in time about 30 years. Will you? No. At least, make up a story about it. Make it something forbidden. How you heard/found this weird noise and it haunted you for days and made you feel unmoored, like you were falling or flying. How you started seeing shapes in the shadows and felt the music’s vibrations even after it was done. Remember seeing the dl code tattooed over your heart, and no matter how many times you scratched it out it always came back. Insist you can’t tell them where it came from, and make giving it the biggest performance you can (for yourself). Cry for them while you smile inside.
◯ ₳ ₦₩ØĐ ₲₦łⱠⱠ₳₣ ₥₳ ł. “We’re all happy dancing people, in some way shape or form.”
Michaelangelo he loved owning packs of kids, not cut for lost badgers. We were more saving a heirloom–does real survive? Always make anything–them carving difference–a music away for the parts of it they know. Chipping one sun just make guy city! Desperately, trees burrowing down: Build BUILD a wanting generation. Did be cabins die? Someday they would place we who are weirdos of same music made. We were preserving and unnecessary, and saved the sky records. Records for they of I CDR sculpture came from what These do … don’t do to? What matter said the body, said the kids who will tell you, above would come. Love that, from they and this, I and They thinking: they kids all would Woodsman. Forward the important thing he pay means music matter but hope. They happen where the protection is met met. Don’t art, cool?"-JRC
Heirloom Records is a means of saving and preserving music from the lost CDR generation of music.
Heirloom Records is a Related Records sub-label