A Journal Of The Dark Arts
Released: March 2013
Dystopian Daydream: The Rise Of The Machines. Intelligent Design, Deus Ex Machina. Archaic Revival; Technological Shamanism.
Crushed Interiors is a DXM trip through a dusty, rusted factory. It’s that moment, standing in the center of a room, when all the industrial drones and hum line up, link up, tune in and form a clattering symphony, and you watch the air melt before yr eyes.
Jim Donadio crosses the line from dub techno to harsh noise: Crushed Interiors sounds like Wolf Eyes jamming with Basic Channel, while the Konono No. 1 guys look on in hooded robes. This is junkyard epiphany, the rise of the new techno, by for and about the people, defying the smoothly-rendered CG of the mainstream dance elite. There seems to be two directions for dance music, at the moment: those who are perfecting and polishing, pushing ever forward into the Uncanny Valley, and those that are resisting the spectacle, making dirty holy artifacts, bound with rust and twine.
After several decades of rejecting our humanity, disputing the soul, the human hand and fingers are finally working their way back onto the dancefloor. It’s like the faithful have returned to Detroit Techno’s handmade hardware soul, and proceeding like nothing ever happened. We can’t ignore 3 decades of listening to noise, world music, fucked up tape documents of every underground movement ever, and what we are left with is a cyborg shamanism, like voodoo rituals occurring in hyperspace.
This is important: there’s so much music out there. It can be hard to know where to begin, what to pay attention to. Some people are all about formulas, the machinations of pop music perfected, until the audience are so many dubstep puppets, twitching and writhing as electro-chemical receptors are pushed and prodded in Pavlovian perfection. But there has always been a tendency towards subtlety and attention in the underground, people using music to banish the cobwebs from the haunted halls of their minds. These records are our flashlights and our exorcisms. We are not puppets and we are not dogs.
There is magick in this record, and in the shadowy legions of post-industrial techno that is starting to emerge from their secret chambers. They will never tell you what they are doing, (a magician never reveals his secrets), but it is right in front of yr face, once you see. Crushed Interiors is a factory seance, a phosphorescent trance; repeat listenings will propel the listener into straight theta-wave Gnosis, rewire yr amygdala to hear perfection in the ambient detritus that surrounds us concrete jungle dwellers.
I am beyond ecstatic to find Crushed Interiors, and all of Jim Donadio’s works. There is something going on, and trying to describe it keeps me awake at night. I listen to Prostitutes, Ekoplekz, Actress, Hacker Farm, Vatican Shadow, and it has me salivating to make music, to reach for my own machines and get down with the channeling! It is the combination of hearing sounds of which i am obsessed with actually having a recording studio of my own, over a decade in the making. Suddenly, it all seems o so possible, if i can just get my own nervous system in line. Like Anthony Hopkins says in The Rite, “I feel God’s fingernail scraping me from the inside out.” These techno wizards are hollowing me out, the trance leaves very little personality left, and it’s all one glorious flow. Inspiration, wizard, the old dark ways, channeled through the machines.
This is old and very, very new. File under archaic revival, CONTROL has not yet managed to codify and destroy the human spirit, because it doesn’t know what it is. Neither do i, and that’s the fascinating bit. Come alive to magick, and yr life can become whatever you want it to be. Reality hacking 3.0, technological utopianism has not gone away, just gone underground to hide, as it always does. But the shadow is rising, and the sounds of Prostitutes and ilk is its jungle heartbeat.
This is my current favorite record in the universe; i’ve been rocking this pretty hard at work, and it melds nicely with the sounds of fans and blowers, with ghostly dub reggae bleeding through the walls.
‘Dial Tone Degradation’ is the banger on here, although i recommend hearing ‘A Pack Of Dogs’ and ‘Make A Hole, Look Out’ for more subtle manipulations.
Fans of Vatican Shadow, Cabaret Voltaire, old Muslimgauze, Nate Young’s solo material, look out! This one will get inside you.