Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low.
Some like it hot. Some like it running screaming at the wall and punching it furiously and tearing down the curtains while screaming ‘BLEAUGGGHH I NEED TO GET FUUUUCKED’ and then getting grounded because this world is based around a horrible and corrupt system. But hey, there’s always eargasms. If there’s any modern musician who can instantly absorb me into a world of pure emotion, it’s Holy Other. The man makes pure audio reverence, dense and thick as treacle yet so intimate, sensual. ‘Love Some1’ is the first look inside the pulsating depths of his upcoming debut LP Held, and when that vocal drops your ears will drip. Until The Air Runs Out, the upcoming debut from Nightmare Fortress, is arousing on a different level: it’s another fine example of excellent goth music being made completely separate from the goth scene (which I’m fairly sure is the only way to make good goth music). ‘Hang You On The Wall’ is my asphyxiation fixation, bursts of choral snippets punctuated by buzzing synth stabs and a driving beat sure to soak foggy dancefloors in sweat.
There’s something about reconceptualization that’s just so sexy. I love a good mix-fux, especially when it takes the best of the old and thrusts it against the best of the new. Weed Nirvana has done this a few times in the past (I also recommend the Will Smith/Burzum one) but Death Grips‘ trash-rap vocals over Cocteau Twins‘ growling, Garlands-era guitars are pretty much prime brain-boner material. “If I were any happier, I’d need a book.” – Dan, Roseanne.
Babes is full of them. The project, which seems to be an amoebic supergroup of avant-gardists (including Diva Dompe and Liz Armstrong), just released a new track mixed by alien love goddess Labanna Babalon. It’s a pounding, eight-minute cut of shrieking noise-rave, and it will give you the release you need.
Oh hey, remember House of Balloons? God, that was a good mixtape. Dark, gritty R&B and Siouxsie samples; what more do you want? Apparently producer Abel Tesfaye wants considerably less, because nearly every Weeknd release since then has been as unmemorable as it is unappealing. His recent leak of a couple unreleased tracks gets a mention only because everybody I know is dropping trou’ over them despite how extremely radio-simple they sound. As Tesfaye sheds the last remnants of what made him interesting to begin with and the The-Dream comparisons become more apt, here’s an easy guide to follow when you’re unsure if you’re listening to The-Dream or The Weeknd: check your junk out. Studies show that it is literally impossible to be aroused in the presence of The Weeknds’ music. Is your vag getting super dry and shriveled, like something you find on the beach during low tide? Dink sucking itself up into your belly in the manner of a beast? You’re listening to the Weeknd.
Actually Huizenga‘s delicious illicitness, however, only seems to grow. The LA singer/filmmaker has been pumping out some many flesh-tones lately that I have trouble keeping up (though her tumblr helps) but this is probably her wettest look since SoftRock II. Nymphos get vampy and trampy and partially topless, so if you’re reading this at work you should let your boss see all the making-out and boobs and then you’ll get promoted because bosses are really cool.
I don’t have any sexy phrases or whatever for this Young Hunting remix, but who cares. If you want to fuck something, fuck themes. Young Hunting own.