开云体育

Sent from my iPhone — Prolly ?\_(ツ)_/? Over/Out.

Oddly enough, there's an article about The Fall in the Washington Post today.. Because it has a paywall, I'll just bung it up here for y'all. Please don't report me: By Mina Tavakoli July 16, 2021|Updated today at 7:04 a.m. EDT 1 Fans of the Fall are nuts. They’ll foam at the mouth for the barky sound of the Manchester post-punk band. They’ll go cross-eyed for its kingpin, Mark E. Smith (who died in 2018), the Fall’s only single common human denominator since his ejection of close to 50 members during its 38-year run. They’ll talk at length about his Lovecraftian lyrics — so strange and roily that decades-old online forums exist to parse Smith out like scripture. They’ll describe the way their hard-boiled menace looked remarkably exactly as he sounded. (Lumpen, coughed-up, part-goblin.) They’ll go on about how he was an ass, a lush, a lout, and — this is a word used both loadedly and lovingly — a prophet. Three years after Smith’s burial, we now seem to be in a crucial hour for Fall-related retrospection. Across the next year, a grip of new analytical and biographical texts are set to publish, four record labels are releasing the band’s bootlegs, and a posthumous horror screenplay of Smith’s will be put to print. For the bookish, the bummed, and the British, the Fall represent a fading type of bedlam brought on by the presence of a true punk anti-hero. What could feel more foreign in the contemporary white music landscape — so soaked in virtue — than a hostile, heavy-drinking, working-class shaman? This fact was likely at least part of the animus guiding the publication of a fresh essay collection by editors Tessa Norton and Bob Stanley (the latter known for his work with the British synth-poppers Saint ?tienne), which assembles a bouquet of artists, novelists and critics rhapsodizing on and about the Fall. In practice, “Excavate! The Wonderful and Frightening World of the Fall” actually works a little like a museum exhibition, a bit like a eulogy and a lot like pornography for Fall fans. This is not in the pejorative: Museum exhibitions, eulogies and pornography are necessarily soothing formats, and in the void left by one of the most constellatory men in the history of music made with guitars, the book is a largely satisfying shrine to Smith’s legacy less so as a man than as a primary text. As contributor Mark Sinker points out in the collection, Smith and the Fall pose “a veritable plague of rabbit burrows, with every momentary landing surface becoming another hole, and holes generating holes generating holes.” The book, in turn, takes the only plausible route in: it punctures its own portals into the band by way of sideways and obtuse angles; it explodes its frontman’s lingering spirit like a grenade thrown into a deep pit. True to the Fall, “Excavate!” hurtles downward into the psychogeography of Smith’s gospel, flinging hot and strange shrapnel in its wake. With all respect to any rabid Fall fan, Smith’s voice really does demand a little exegesis. It is the color red. It bleats like a siren. He yells as a man in a permanent tug of war between a fresh rip of speed and a stomach full of lager. Just as Barthes described the castrato Farinelli, whose voice was “as incredible for its duration as for its emission,” so too is Smith’s nasal squall, understandable only in about three out of every ten lyrics he not so much sings as disgorges. (Courtesy of Faber Books USA) Reared in the canonically joyless Mancunian suburb of Salford, any Fall biography (and there are lots of them) will latch onto several footholds to help scale the tower of the thunderously crotchety Smith. He proudly worked in a meat factory, then on shipping docks, then had his consciousness scrambled after reading life-defining works by the likes of H.P. Lovecraft, M.R. James and Arthur Machen. Out of the snarled-up ring roads of a decaying industrial heartland, a mess of trade union politics, occult theology and pulp horror fiction, he formed an entropic system of signal and noise he would eventually call the Fall. The chaos of the Fall was most clearly

So in the flyer below (for Perverted by Language), it mentions three (or possibly 4) upcoming songs not on the album: CREEP New Friend Moveable Backdrop So what’s New Friend when it’s at home? I’m assuming Movable Backdrop is just Backdrop and not two separate tracks. ad

And I got it today. See attached pics, all ye who ain't ordered it yet. (Note: I apologize for the poor quality of the pics, and my presence on Fallnet for the last 22 years. Gomenasai!) The Otherjohn :) p.s. I also apologize for spoilerating this for anyone who has ordered it, hasn't gotten it yet, was looking forward to being surprised, and ended up seeing all my pics.