New Release! Full Steam at the Melting Red Leaf

 

Misanthropic Musicology XXXXXXXXXXXXX

You all probably thought I was done with this...I dunno who I'm even writing to. I just went offline a bit is all. Here's the latest load of rambling spiteful cemetery-dwelling poetic oral/aural history/hallucinating for you to imbibe. 

 Unpresidential

Well well well. Twenty Twenty is one to remember. The impact of COVID on my public transport riding has attacked the very fundament of this here oral/aural history/hallucination. Aside from that the distraction of assinine arses in charge of nuclear devices is enough to drive the mind far far away to pine groves, vast open bushland, industrial wasteland even I’d settle for. The Human Element seems so often to be the problem, the NonAnthropegenic is perhaps what nature now hopes for. We’re not all bad we hope in splintered silent prayer and blot in sleepless midnight toss and turn. Staring at the shadows on the corner of the ceiling. Didn’t realise the paint was flaking there. 

Close the curtains in more ways than one, we’re not even in lockdown here. Vibrations from the True North rend open the poorly fixed carpet, drill down through the sinking foundations of broken structures to raise the read army, yes I meant to spell it that way. Yearning to stand on Arcturus soil and stare into alien Constellations, to see Earth as but a glimmer at the edge of the known. Then to yearn to return, Born of the Flickering, to work hard, strong, and true, for The Pagan Prosperity. Like Arntor the rebel farmer no doubt those of us who see that the Earth pursues a Journey to the End, unless we intervene, we won’t freeze out in the open. We’ll burn. 

Blake-Craftian Cope-ing Mechanisms

Beneath the Oaks of Bethel, I do roam

In forgotten tongues that taste the sky-fire

A fog, like torrents of blood

Envelopes the stone, unmarked, that sets the place

Throwing out sparks starwards 

Riding, trancelike, on mountainous harmonics

Draw a line, and follow it to the peak

Then still, static, wind in the ears and echo below 

A realisation: we’ve been given Fair Warning.

Ruhrpott Coalminer Blues

Outbreak of Evil!

Agent Orange found in black lung dust driven deep through thrashing up the Heathen Earth. 

Loose riffs sink ships. 

Rumbling grind to seams of blackest metal in the final years of the iron curtain tunneling beneath to break the chains. 

Or perhaps just replace them with new ones. 

Multiple Lemmys stand on high riding crumbling smokestacks to the end of time on hawk winds at motor speed down Tapped Vein autobahns. Spray paint Anarchy on the ancient sepulchre and dash run holes through white sneakers, creeping deeper, In the Sign of Evil, obsessed by industrial class visionary with cruelty as creative force. 

The Teutoburg Forest recreated in rust.

Red Erik and the Midnight Monk

‘Round midnight, the viking wanderer puts leatherclad boot on a mound of ice and heavy rock. The Ultimate Sinner with Two-pronged Crown beneath the giant bunya pines, Red Erik walks one-fingered-keyboard-style in improvised seeking to the preparations of the great piano on the diamond-crusted veil of reality. Standing tall on mountains of madness at the feet of giants, the Midnight Monk smiles beatifically at this long-bearded traveler, strokes goatee and bashes out a great chord on his honky-tonk to send ripples through time crystals into the deepest chambers of universal memory.

The great Pharaoh once said: “the Creator has a master plan”. Noble as this thought may be, it seems Mother Nature superior has an ocean of chaos for us all to swim. But is there a shore? 

‘Eroics

One to three in reduced form. The frowning face of liberation. Somnambulant perambulations. Pathetic pastoral funeral in the passionate moonlight. Disinfectant Headflush. That’s what we all need right?

Easter….

Zombie

Ritual.

There is such a thing as society….

Ah what a time to be alive. Boris Johnson in fever dream in his number 11 bunker with his number 2 shoes (you know what they say about foot size) realising the Iron Maiden he worshipped as God was wrong wrong wrong (there is no such thing as society you say Maggie?) declares in total isolation from all “there really is such a thing as society”. No shit you neoliberal Shitlock. I suppose Fear of the Dark hole of death finally makes the sickest neo-con know he’s been conned. Powerslave.

Malveillance. Mal Ev O Lence. Ramones covers on repeat locked groove dust and crust on the beds of rotting grass. Why must they insist on mowing it every fucking day? Seems a possum has made chewy crunching punk rock mincemeat of my motherfucking weed collection. Those heart-shaped clover apparently add a fine if slightly acidic spice to a survivalist salad. Law of the jungle on this here balcony let me tell thee.

An owl visited us just before the pandemic was declared global.

Line up in wide circle for Thai. You’re wrong. A cat smoking in skeleton hands sits at the laundromat watching me stroll by wrapped in betel nut leaving with Riesling the Panopticon watching me take the Road to the North.

Stupidity rising

To wander the aisles in the infection muck of duped working classes left to rot by holy self-interest in high-pointed offices, the Trident Autocrat, his sinister hand directing the lack of appropriate social-distance from Arctic domains.

Far Beyond Driven by the stupidity of my neighbours. We’re to socially distance yet I can’t get 5 Minutes Alone. Furze Reaper Black more real than they understand.

If Brittania’s Gone Rotten to the Core, then what state of decomposition are the antipodes in?

The stupid. Pneuma thick.

Blessed Are The Sick.

Utopia is almost certainly Banished…or perhaps now’s the time to create it. 

revelation roaming

Death Dynamics. Pianississimo under ancient pine.

Necrotic Note-taking

 

Scramble through the muddy necropolis in pouring rain towards the unholy reign of the 666 bus. Totalitarian trolley that it is. Do the dead organise through a Necrocracy? The bus driver looks like he may have insider knowledge on the matter. Happy to stand. Quite frankly, I could do without it. Hit the Super Parquet market after decolonisation class for fizzy water and eggplant. That's right. Fucking eggplant.

 

 

 

It seems we all may be facing a Grave Upheaval.

 

 

 

Nettles grow from the grave. If I pick them to make a tea will it open a door to embrace once more for a single moment those that have passed on from my touch? Will I be able to sing them back into being? Or is it all just Psymbolik?

 

...The Return

Of darkness and evil I know so much riding on this lengthy concertina fuck, the 66 bus. To get here from mine one must mount a bridge via the murky trails of South Brisbane cemetery. A fine cemmo it is too. Type O Negative in my ears everyone I'm walking past is dead, and hell many people on this bus are too. Spiritually. But it ain't their faults. It's not. But let's not get too structural while Pete Steele groans out his misanthropic sermons. Another lost 90s one this here device scribbler is the first Soundgarden record. How did such an ultimately shit band make such a good record? Why didn't anyone tell me back when I entered the Cemetery Gates through a Panther's mouth teeth gritted fist paw claws in the cerebral core of a teenaged boy looking for meaning. Diving deep through tunnels on hissing metalzone blood and bone teeth and hair without the slightest care while at least 10 people on here will be experiencing acute psychological horror. Pray to old gods for them. Blood Ceremony beneath the cemetery bough wondering whether to ingest graveside cobblers pegs. What properties would I take on? Opening a doorway to the deadrealms on the 66 bus to a Bohemian Grove named "Kelvin". What would the old ones think? I'd need a barrel of Groundhogs and a bottle of gin to find out I dare say, chalk circle drawn where they buried the worst convicts standing up. The Devil at the Crossroads is the least of our worries. 66 bus, more like 666 bus. Who on here bought all the toilet paper? Fucking idiots. Abyss beckoning under foot the moniliths to replace us as the sea rises and we all get placed on The Rack, metaphorically. Light Devouring Darkness on the six hundred and sixty six bus. Sick sick sick. Everyone's worried they'll get sick. I walked hand in hand with the Archgoat through the 'ol cemmo today the convict ghosts of boggo road gaol swooping round on a gale. Yesterday, while walking through the twilight stone forest, past Russian graves and trinket graves, I spied a man with wizard beard and wizard sleeve tattoos from shoulder to fingertip. He sat, grey and stern, on a grave, waiting and watching in hateful silence leaving me mildly startled. Why he was there, only the dead know.

 

Nocturnal Stumblings

The Finnish Fall. Autumnal 2019. In the grip of delirium, cold beer in hand, long philosophic discussions, plugging into AM wavelength, patched into the apartment Hardware, nocturnal stumblings in sonic aether. All this, and more, resulted in a warning from beyond, the cragged face of some Anglo-Saxon warrior-priest declaring WARNIAN! We took heed, but ploughed forth nonetheless.

 

 

 

 

The nocturnal sounds - the nocturne - seems to follow me like the dark in a shadow, the sun red cloud blocked right above burning yearning for the moon. We swelter under the moon in these parts now, far from the Arctic, towards the Antarctic, trees dripping with the humidity that makes the air like a lake in which we all drown in interrupted sleep, tossing, turning, trying to paddle through half-awake liminal lakes.

 

 

 

 

Close your eyes and all you see is the orb weaver, turning, spindling, thick yellow web joining tall trees through flyscreen windows to the nocturnal beyond. Sleeping, hazy suburbia, the stumble and cry of night time marsupalia, the nation that exists in our trees and carparks in the dead of night, until the death of night.

 

 

 

 

Perhaps like me, listening to the above WARNIAN will cool you in this never-ending heatwave.

 

 

 

 

Or lullaby airs from an ancient one who should be listened to more.

 

 

 

Is this climate emergency like the quiet, deathly quiet before the storming of Leningrad, or the dusty half-remembered pits where they attempt to bury atrocity?

 

 

 

 

Or perhaps we fight fire with fire. Come alive in the night as demons and take it all back from greed and indifference.

 

Ghosts of the Sinfonia Donbass

September 2016

Apparently in September 2016 I recorded these two pieces for violin and uilleann pipe drone. Free DL for now. The archives shall continue to spill open for a little while, then I'm going to shut it all off and you'll need to send me a carrier pigeon with a note if you want a CD or tape or whatever it is I might be able to rustle up for you...

Guitar Music Vol. 2

New Old Release

http://adamcadell.bandcamp.com/album/naatal

NEW special release, a little something I got up to in Senegal a few years back, all proceeds of purchases go direct to the artist Khadim Tall:

Khadim Tall is an incredible singer from N'dar/Saint-Louis, Senegal. His album, Naatal, features violin from me, Adam Cadell, on some of the pieces, and ranges from deep Afro to raging mbalax all with Khadim's emotive, spiritual vocals soaring above. Khadim and I spent a lot of time making music together when I resided in Saint-Louis for a few months back in 2015. It was during this time that I recorded the violin parts at a local studio. We also played several wild gigs at the infamous La Flamingo by the Senegal river, audience members whipped into a frenzy of dance, calling out the names of sufi saints.

Due to the strict COVID lockdown situation in Senegal, Khadim is unable to play or to go about his usual work so he's requested I share this album on Bandcamp (due to strict anti-piracy etc laws most West African folks can't access PayPal etc making Bandcamp pretty difficult to use).

ALL PROCEEDS FROM THIS ALBUM WILL BE SENT TO KHADIM.

You can contact him directly as well (in French or Wolof preferably) at: tkhadim13@gmail.com

or via whatsapp/ph on: +221 77 540 83 09

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Khadim Tall est un chanteur incroyable de N'dar / Saint-Louis, au Sénégal. Son album, Naatal, présente du violon de ma part, Adam Cadell, sur certaines pièces, et va de l'afro profond au mbalax déchaîné, le tout avec la voix émotive et spirituelle de Khadim qui plane au-dessus. Khadim et moi avons passé beaucoup de temps à faire de la musique ensemble lorsque je résidais à Saint-Louis depuis quelques mois en 2015. C'est à cette époque que j'ai enregistré les parties de violon dans un studio local. Nous avons également joué plusieurs concerts à l'infâme La Flamingo au bord du fleuve Sénégal, les membres du public se sont lancés dans une frénésie de danse, appelant les noms des saints soufis.

En raison de la stricte situation de verrouillage de COVID au Sénégal, Khadim est incapable de jouer ou de vaquer à son travail habituel.Il m'a donc demandé de partager cet album sur Bandcamp (en raison des lois anti-piratage strictes, etc., la plupart des gens d'Afrique de l'Ouest ne peuvent pas accéder à PayPal, etc. rendant Bandcamp assez difficile à utiliser).

TOUS LES PRODUITS DE CET ALBUM SERONT ENVOYÉS À KHADIM.

Vous pouvez également le contacter directement (en français ou Wolof de préférence) à: tkhadim13@gmail.com

ou via whatsapp / ph sur: +221 77540 83 09

aXe

Latest bit of bedroom racket for your predilection. Pay as ye like. Hope all are keeping healthy and staying the fuck at home.

Adam.

New Noiz

One more from Archives and some New Work

Hi again all.

So here's a couple more with exclusive new artworks from yours truly.

Drone Studies for Unmanned Theremin is the newbie. My wonderful wife bought me a Moog Theremini for my birthday back in January (feels like another aeon) and I did some strange experiments with the bastard which has resulted in the 2 lengthy ultra-minimalist electronic works on here. The cover is a painting "Lightning Whale" by me. I do paint as well as scrawl on post-it notes and I do it simply for the joy of it...but hell why not start using them for covers. The next few releases will feature my artwork.




The artwork on the archival release unleashed as well, is titled "Untitled Improvisation I" inspired in name only by one of my favourite artists Wasily Kandinsky. The music itself, titled "Works For Guitar Vol 1" (yes there'll be more volumes mark my words!) are solo electric guitar recordings I made in my flat in Highgate Hill back in 2011 or 2012. Hope you enjoy.




I hope you enjoy these ones along with all the others. I'm working on another release featuring recent and archival recordings combined which I shall hit you all over the head with, with more of my artwork as the cover. Then I'll get to doing some new paintings and recording some new pieces...probably in one of the many fair fields around here since I'm cooped up in my tiny flat with the wife and many neighbours all in the same boat. Look forward to sending you some brownsnake (Brisbane River) side fiddle tunes and cider-drenched apocalyptic ballads soon.

Keep safe and healthy everyone, wash your bloody hands and try and stay away from eachother, and I appreciate your continued support in this incredibly fucked up time.
Love upon all,
Adam

More from the Archives

Yes I'm well aware the title of this one is very unfortunate for the times. IT WAS RECORDED OVER A DECADE AGO. Indeed the title of the title track probably dates back to the 90s I think. Anyway. Obviously what I MEAN by the title is "transmissions" as in radio transmissions (fuck I love Radioactivity by Kraftwerk!) and "traveller" as in a "gypsy"...when you listen, the influence from traveller music is self-evident I think...as it is throughout much of my oeuvre.

AND this one:



And old classick full of Brisvegas weirdo luminaries.

ENJOY and please stay safe & healthy me comrades,
Adam

A Meditative Gift to All...

name of code set: BMpromo

date created: Mar-13-2014

date exported: Mar-20-2020

album: Barbarian Meditations

quantity created: 100

quantity redeemed to date: 2

   this file only contains unredeemed codes;

   redeemed code information is available on your tools page

send your fans here to redeem their codes: 

    http://adamcadell.bandcamp.com/yum

code

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New Release & a bit of News

Well...some better news then, since the last 2 posts have been about canceling gigs. I'm trawling through the archives and have decided to keep the flame burning by annoying you with plenty of digital releases. I'd been sitting on a few in the hope of doing some nice CDr etc releases in the coming months. But since I now have no work (music is my living and the gigs are dropping like flies) and any plans of tours I was working on (Europe would've been nice again) are dashed for now...I'm fast-tracking some releases and digging up all sorts of weird and wonderful things from the archives and I shall share them with you all sporadically over the coming months. 

I hope it brings you some solace if you're trapped at home in quarantine, worried, concerned, working from home, wandering empty streets, sitting in a hospital, whatever it may be, I hope that these sounds offer something for you. As I'm more or less out of work, anyone who has the income too please do consider buying a download or going nuts on any musician or artists works you admire. Our "sector" is getting well and truly smashed by our microscopic new friend. Anyway enough of that. 

Here it is! http://adamcadell.bandcamp.com/album/street-music-vol-2 Street Music Vol 2. The long awaited sequel to Street Music Vol 1 (which is avail also at my bandcamp as a download). Street Music Vol 2 was all recorded on rooftops in Senegal while I was hanging out there in 2015 for a few months. Beautiful country. Like Street Music Vol 1 this is a series of intimate, introspective solo violin improvisations with the instrument heavily muted in order to allow the sounds of the street below to spill into the sonics. My trusty The Scrapes comrade Ryan Potter took these dusty field recordings, mixed them and mastered them as best he could to clean them up for you. I hope you enjoy. A bonus bit (other than my spectacularly cackhanded Paint 3D-conjured art) is an essay I wrote about my experiences in Senegal...a bit academic and boring...but hey if you're stuck in a flat eating tins of tomatoes and drinking fruity lexia for a few weeks it might prove enlightening. And I will do CDr versions with handmade art and all sorts of joys when the time is right...it's definitely not right now I think we all agree. 

Take care everyone! 
Adam.

Mountains & Madness

Return from Behind the Wall of Sleep

Drum-sung

Heathenry

Hammer, Sickle, Stone Circle

Nocturnal Stumblings

The Finnish Fall. Autumnal 2019. In the grip of delirium, cold beer in hand, long philosophic discussions, plugging into AM wavelength, patched into the apartment Hardware, nocturnal stumblings in sonic aether. All this, and more, resulted in a warning from beyond, the cragged face of some Anglo-Saxon warrior-priest declaring WARNIAN! We took heed, but ploughed forth nonetheless.




The nocturnal sounds - the nocturne - seems to follow me like the dark in a shadow, the sun red cloud blocked right above burning yearning for the moon. We swelter under the moon in these parts now, far from the Arctic, towards the Antarctic, trees dripping with the humidity that makes the air like a lake in which we all drown in interrupted sleep, tossing, turning, trying to paddle through half-awake liminal lakes.




Close your eyes and all you see is the orb weaver, turning, spindling, thick yellow web joining tall trees through flyscreen windows to the nocturnal beyond. Sleeping, hazy suburbia, the stumble and cry of night time marsupalia, the nation that exists in our trees and carparks in the dead of night, until the death of night. 




Perhaps like me, listening to the above WARNIAN will cool you in this never-ending heatwave.




Or lullaby airs from an ancient one who should be listened to more.



Is this climate emergency like the quiet, deathly quiet before the storming of Leningrad, or the dusty half-remember pits where they attempt to bury atrocity?




Or perhaps we fight fire with fire. Come alive in the night as demons and take it all back from greed and indifference.

WARNIAN - WARNIAN, a new record, presenting a new collaborative project by Adam Cadell & Mika Hyytiä, is available now via MAGMA TONES RECORDS. 

BOOM Vacuum #24

That's right 





we're still                                     







goiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.


JUNK BAR

Usual time

29 JAN