Mordant Music - MM032
The Tower - ExhuMMed
12" whinyl
Ohr MP3/FLAC
June 2009
Lord Klattr & Baron Mordant smelt their previously imagined concrete forest dystopia on this final installment of 'The Tower' series into four gelatin club hoofprints...culled from the MeMbranous fibres of the two previous albums, parts I-XVIII have been dug up from respective hard drives and smothered in low-end alchemy...from its original inception 'The Tower' project has lived somewhat of a 'black metal' lie insomuch that the music had been produced by two questing Liverpool & Derby fans who peddled secondhand vinyl at the Music & Video Exchanges in cut-price TK Maxx trainers...the cover image was not some dank Bavarian castle but a former water tower in Stoke Newington now used for poncing & climbing - hardly the stuff of a blazing Fantoft...these four final death throes emanate musically from somewhere closer to home and dovetail the intended continuity to rest...the trajectory was always distorted...Lord Klattr (Alan James) has sensibly retired to Melbourne in his 'Subway' (Soul Jazz) guise and Baron Mordant whiles away the hours feebly convincing himself of Mordant Music's relevance in today's digital realm or indeed any other...buy this hollow vessel, daub corpse paint on a passer-by and join them for the last spannered waltz in 'The Tower' - ever...BM
Fenchurch Strasse…enough knockout juice to counter a fully harnessed seaside Bosching...enter Aldi Roger Moore...the underage saveloy saviour imbued with an east coast canker…high voltage screamer...a sense of disma….a gurning thing of indeterminate age/sex entirely lacking in social lustre...totally fucking Oberheim...mic drawing breath on the unfurling scableaux with the uncertainty of a tuberculed lung...the queasy anticipation of a piss-alley pasting…Hope Hotel...a lexiconical pie-nosher...veggie abbatoir...ham-fisted shop facades extracting gold teeth remnants from fresh stupidity…discordant Timex tuggings…distress signals crudely piped aboard…a violated sun shard hastily rented from Rumbalows… intrinsic morbid panache…"bye Luv"...Sven
Fenchurch Strasse…enough knockout juice to counter a fully harnessed seaside Bosching...enter Aldi Roger Moore...the underage saveloy saviour imbued with an east coast canker…high voltage screamer...a sense of disma….a gurning thing of indeterminate age/sex entirely lacking in social lustre...totally fucking Oberheim...mic drawing breath on the unfurling scableaux with the uncertainty of a tuberculed lung...the queasy anticipation of a piss-alley pasting…Hope Hotel...a lexiconical pie-nosher...veggie abbatoir...ham-fisted shop facades extracting gold teeth remnants from fresh stupidity…discordant Timex tuggings…distress signals crudely piped aboard…a violated sun shard hastily rented from Rumbalows… intrinsic morbid panache…"bye Luv"...Sven
Fenchurch Strasse…enough knockout juice to counter a fully harnessed seaside Bosching...enter Aldi Roger Moore...the underage saveloy saviour imbued with an east coast canker…high voltage screamer...a sense of disma….a gurning thing of indeterminate age/sex entirely lacking in social lustre...totally fucking Oberheim...mic drawing breath on the unfurling scableaux with the uncertainty of a tuberculed lung...the queasy anticipation of a piss-alley pasting…Hope Hotel...a lexiconical pie-nosher...veggie abbatoir...ham-fisted shop facades extracting gold teeth remnants from fresh stupidity…discordant Timex tuggings…distress signals crudely piped aboard…a violated sun shard hastily rented from Rumbalows… intrinsic morbid panache…"bye Luv"...Sven