Lies
You realise I’ve been lying throughout this entire blog, don’t you? Lies, lies, lies. Nothing but lies. The truth is as follows: The angel tech album was actually recorded in 2 days, using only 4 chords, a banjo, and a tambourine.
No, that is not true. I’m a liar once more. The very worst type of liar. In fact, the angel tech LP was recorded using telekinesis, rendered as grooves in a huge flat bed of polished stone, amplified by the three of us manually running a giant silver needle over its surface. The needle was wired up, illegally, to the PA at Birmingham New Street train station. We were arrested, and subsequently skipped bail. I’m writing this from a cheap hotel room in Guatemala, riding the wireless connection emitted by the German embassy up the road.
Bollocks. Claptrap. Why do you trust me? I only lie. I only ever lie. In fact, angel tech is not really a band at all, we’re go-getting prospectors in the corduroy business. We’ve sunk our life savings into a struggling trouser factory (the factory is struggling, you understand, not the trouser.) We’re also thinking of making corduroy waistcoats. Our arguments are not about “guitars” and “EQ,” “drum” breaks and “string” arrangements. No, we only ever argue about one thing: The THICKNESS OF THE CORDUROY. It occupies all our available time, a constant low-level bickering which defines our professional relationship. Neil thinks the corduroy should be thick. Doug thinks the corduroy should be very thick. Whilst I think the corduroy should be quite thick.
It’s a fucking stalemate. It’s driving me mad.
It’s also completely untrue.
OK, you want the truth? You think you can handle it? Very well then. Truth thus: Last night Mary cooked the angel tech boys some lovely food. Noodles with vegetables, hoi sin and plum sauce. Doug opined that Sharwood’s hoi sin and plum sauce was their finest sauce, and possibly their only genuinely good sauce. Mary felt that the combination of sauce and crinkly Kale made the Kale taste like liquorice. I agreed, and thought it was a serendipitous culinary discovery. Mary wasn’t best pleased, though, as she doesn’t like Liquorice. She didn’t eat her Kale, which was a sad moment for everyone. To cheer things up a bit Doug then did an impression of the Hermit of St Werburghs, a mad old man who hangs out at the local off-licence and tells angel tech we’re “ALL WINNERS. EVERY ONE OF YOU. WINNERS! LOVELY LADS!” each time we pass. He also shows us his very shiny black trainers, and explains that he cleans his shoes regularly so that “they’ll let me into heaven.” Later on Neil did a fart in the studio, a fart of such terrifying viciousness that in 12,000 years time archaeologists will be able to dig it up and carbon-date it. Later still, I hit the studio ceiling in a spasm of excitement. I was excited because the angel tech LP made me so. That is the truth.
Compression is still the name of the game at the moment*. It works a bit like this: you’ve got a swathe of spasmodic, clattering, insane electronica that invades one particular song and takes it over (I’m talking about YOU, My Part In Your Downfall. Yes I am.) You love it when the madness is dipped in and out of, but playing the whole song, it doesn’t quite gel. There’s too much of it. Too much silly buggery. Too much bucking bronco. So how come you like it when heard for a few moments out of context, so much so that it gets you drumming along with a shit-eating grin on your face? The theory we have at the moment is that there might be 10 seconds, 15 seconds here and there that could be cut from certain tracks. Tiny snips. A haircut, not a decapitation. Certain tracks seem to be wearing their length well: Molotov wouldn’t sound right unless it took its time. But others make you feel as if, in Doug’s words, “They’re trying too hard.” A bit like the Hermit of St Werburghs, they go “Look at me, I’m mad. I’ve got one tooth! I’m in your face! I’m fuckin’ crazy!” and something about his demeanour means that you’re not sure how much he really means it… what that big front might be hiding.
Heh heh. Almost had you going for a second there, didn’t I? Bullshit, of course. The LP is actually going to be 53 minutes of sporadic duck noises and sudden explosions. We’re gonna call it “Quack Quack Boom.” See you in the album charts!
*Imagine a board game called “Compression” in which contestants were forced into unfeasibly small spaces. The winner would be the person who didn’t die from lack of oxygen. It could have a catchphrase: “I’m gonna haf to compress yo ass.” Possibly said in a voice resembling Mr T. Think about it, Mattel toy company. Come onnnnnn. Think about it...
No, that is not true. I’m a liar once more. The very worst type of liar. In fact, the angel tech LP was recorded using telekinesis, rendered as grooves in a huge flat bed of polished stone, amplified by the three of us manually running a giant silver needle over its surface. The needle was wired up, illegally, to the PA at Birmingham New Street train station. We were arrested, and subsequently skipped bail. I’m writing this from a cheap hotel room in Guatemala, riding the wireless connection emitted by the German embassy up the road.
Bollocks. Claptrap. Why do you trust me? I only lie. I only ever lie. In fact, angel tech is not really a band at all, we’re go-getting prospectors in the corduroy business. We’ve sunk our life savings into a struggling trouser factory (the factory is struggling, you understand, not the trouser.) We’re also thinking of making corduroy waistcoats. Our arguments are not about “guitars” and “EQ,” “drum” breaks and “string” arrangements. No, we only ever argue about one thing: The THICKNESS OF THE CORDUROY. It occupies all our available time, a constant low-level bickering which defines our professional relationship. Neil thinks the corduroy should be thick. Doug thinks the corduroy should be very thick. Whilst I think the corduroy should be quite thick.
It’s a fucking stalemate. It’s driving me mad.
It’s also completely untrue.
OK, you want the truth? You think you can handle it? Very well then. Truth thus: Last night Mary cooked the angel tech boys some lovely food. Noodles with vegetables, hoi sin and plum sauce. Doug opined that Sharwood’s hoi sin and plum sauce was their finest sauce, and possibly their only genuinely good sauce. Mary felt that the combination of sauce and crinkly Kale made the Kale taste like liquorice. I agreed, and thought it was a serendipitous culinary discovery. Mary wasn’t best pleased, though, as she doesn’t like Liquorice. She didn’t eat her Kale, which was a sad moment for everyone. To cheer things up a bit Doug then did an impression of the Hermit of St Werburghs, a mad old man who hangs out at the local off-licence and tells angel tech we’re “ALL WINNERS. EVERY ONE OF YOU. WINNERS! LOVELY LADS!” each time we pass. He also shows us his very shiny black trainers, and explains that he cleans his shoes regularly so that “they’ll let me into heaven.” Later on Neil did a fart in the studio, a fart of such terrifying viciousness that in 12,000 years time archaeologists will be able to dig it up and carbon-date it. Later still, I hit the studio ceiling in a spasm of excitement. I was excited because the angel tech LP made me so. That is the truth.
Compression is still the name of the game at the moment*. It works a bit like this: you’ve got a swathe of spasmodic, clattering, insane electronica that invades one particular song and takes it over (I’m talking about YOU, My Part In Your Downfall. Yes I am.) You love it when the madness is dipped in and out of, but playing the whole song, it doesn’t quite gel. There’s too much of it. Too much silly buggery. Too much bucking bronco. So how come you like it when heard for a few moments out of context, so much so that it gets you drumming along with a shit-eating grin on your face? The theory we have at the moment is that there might be 10 seconds, 15 seconds here and there that could be cut from certain tracks. Tiny snips. A haircut, not a decapitation. Certain tracks seem to be wearing their length well: Molotov wouldn’t sound right unless it took its time. But others make you feel as if, in Doug’s words, “They’re trying too hard.” A bit like the Hermit of St Werburghs, they go “Look at me, I’m mad. I’ve got one tooth! I’m in your face! I’m fuckin’ crazy!” and something about his demeanour means that you’re not sure how much he really means it… what that big front might be hiding.
Heh heh. Almost had you going for a second there, didn’t I? Bullshit, of course. The LP is actually going to be 53 minutes of sporadic duck noises and sudden explosions. We’re gonna call it “Quack Quack Boom.” See you in the album charts!
*Imagine a board game called “Compression” in which contestants were forced into unfeasibly small spaces. The winner would be the person who didn’t die from lack of oxygen. It could have a catchphrase: “I’m gonna haf to compress yo ass.” Possibly said in a voice resembling Mr T. Think about it, Mattel toy company. Come onnnnnn. Think about it...
posted by Timothy X Atack at 10:51 PM
3 Comments:
I have deleted my blog.
You can have your name back.
Oh! All well I hope...
Good to hear about the RSC and such things, by the way. Congratulations.
Well, if I can use the name maybe we can start up a joint angel tech blog, one for all three of us rather than just my biased ramblings. Neil's been threatening me with a secret recording diary of his own...
Thanks Claire. Be seeing you.
Dear Sir,
please could you be so kind as to provide a potted history of the band 'angel tech'?
Thank you.
Post a Comment
<< Home