I think I saw you in my sleep, darling, I think I saw you in my dreams. You were stitching up the seams on every broken promise that your body couldn’t keep, I think I saw you in my sleep. Oh, I think I saw you in my sleep, darling, I think I saw you in my dreams; you were stitching up the seams on every broken promise that your body couldn’t keep. I think I saw you in my sleep.
I thought I heard the door open, oh no, thought I heard the door open, but I only heard it close. I thought I heard a plane, crashing, but now I think it was your passion, snapping.
I think you saw me confronting my fear; It went up with the bottle and down with the beer and I think you oughta stay away from here. There are ghosts in the walls and they crawl in your head through your ear.
I think I saw you in my sleep, lover, I think I saw you in my dreams. You were stitching up the seams on every mangled promise that your body couldn’t keep, I think I saw you in my sleep.
Then one evening - it was an evening like many others, there were some twelve or fourteen people eating supper, including Pete and Don and some Studio people, Betty McPeters and her entourage, people were milling about, drinking wine, talking emphatically in small groups while Beatrice Harmon and I were getting the meal together - the priestly ex-book-thief arrived and thrust a small black and and white book into my hand, saying, “I think this might interest you.” I took it and flipped it open idly, still intent on dishing out beef stew, and found myself in the middle of Howl by Allen Ginsberg. Put down the ladle and turned to the beginning, and was caught up immediately in that sad, powerful opening: “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness…”
I was too turned on to concern myself with the stew. I handed it over to Beatrice and, without even thanking Bradley, walked out the from door with his new book. Walked the few blocks to the pier on Sixtieth Street and sat down by the Hudson River to read and to come to terms with what was happening. the phrase “breaking ground” kept coming into my head. I knew that this Allen Ginsberg, whoever he was, had broken ground for all of us - all few hundred of us - simply by getting this published. i had no idea yet what that meant, how far it would take us.
The poem put a certain heaviness in me, too. It followed that if there was one Allen there must be more, other people besides my few buddies writing what they spoke, what they heard, living, however obscurely and shamefully, what they knew, hiding out here and there as it were - and now suddenly, about to speak out. For I senses that Allen was only, could only be, the vanguard of a much larger thing. All the people who, like me, had hidden and skulked, writing down what they knew for a small handful of friends - and even those friends claiming it “couldn’t be published” - waiting with only a slight bitterness for the thing to end, for man’s era to draw to a close in a blaze of radiation - all these would now step forward and say their piece.
Not many would hear them, but they would, finally, hear each other.
I was about to meet my brothers and sisters.
We had come of age. I was frightened and a little sad. I already clung instinctively to the easy, unself-conscious Bohemianism we had maintained at the pad, our unspoken sense that we were alone in a strange world, a sense that kept us proud and bound to each other. But for the moment regret for what we might be losing was buried under a sweeping sense of exhiliration, of glee; someone was speaking for all of us, and the poem was good. I was high and delighted.
I made my way back to the house and to supper, and we read Howl together, I read it aloud to everyone.
Machinedrum - DDD Sepalcure member and Azealia Banks producer, Machinedrum is back with a new EP that is forthcoming on Lucky Me. Stream “DDD” from this EP above. We’re MTHRFNKR and we approve this song.
Progressive bass music has taken some interesting turns in the past. At times, weaving through the irrelevant, the genre has always had the potential to be something greater than the norm. Some acts have shined, others have flopped but there has always been a distal void, waiting to be filled by who knows what. With the introductory release of Tuff Wax darling, Bones & Money, we believe that experimental bass music listeners have now found their renaissance man.
Bones & Money, no matter how playful the name, creates some seriously competitive minimal music. It’s no surprise that I’m a sucker for pause work, and honestly, while some may find space superfluous, Bones & Money use it right. With that being said, it takes a special kind of artist to utilize space. When Shaun Fowler (aka: Bones & Money) gets behind a project the man employs one part ingenuity, one part professionalism, and another part courage. After all, it’s not a simple task to create accessible music that incorporates both digital and organic elements; all while mixing the two down in a way that manages to give ample space for the components to shine.
For further justification of Fowlers gallantry, allow me to reference “Anxious,” the second track off of the ‘Close/Anxious’ single. The pace on “Anxious” is enough in itself to make note of, but when coupled with the pitched vocals, the track has an odd tendency to walk a fine line between the hyper-minimal and a muted form of a two-step joint. Delving deeper into the song, the listener comes to the realization that although the song may rely on space, everything on “Anxious” is calculated. Formulaic, a phrase usually stigmatized in terms of experimental bass, can and should be used in describing Bones & Money’s production. Although the term may prompt an adverse response in some circles, in the case of Bones & Money, the utterance should be worn as a badge. Rather, Fowler approaches formality as a quirk; a certain style. Instead of deeming it as evil, B&M cultivates and at times cherishes it’s presence throughout his arrangements. Parallel that with some raw bass kicks and what you end up with is a refreshing albeit minimal take on bass music.
The single opener, “Close,” finds itself at a crossroads between aforementioned minimalism and an avant-garde tribal bash. The simple and crisp groove facilitated by “Close” gives the listener plenty of breathing room while retaining a sense of atmospheric engagement perpetuated by nod inducing kick arrangements. Though arguably the weaker track, “Close,” still maintains a light hearted sense of cerebral joie de vivre, sustained by boisterous vocals and a bass piece that never quits.
At its heart, ‘Closer/Anxious’ plays out as more of a progressive experiment in the realms of space and pace rather than danceable club music, but at least in the case of Bones & Money, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. With a release as introspective and calculated as “Close/Anxious,” it is all too easy to pass Bones & Money’s opus off as simple yet accessible experimental bass music. But upon closer examination, I believe that I’m safe in saying that ‘Close/Anxious’ is a brilliant first step towards a brighter future of minimal bass.
Pick up a copy of ‘Close/Anxious’ on Tuff Wax’s bancamp for free.