High Pitched Screams Of A Drying Cock

Prick Decay

Ahhh wonderful, undefied noise, all glowing in the dark but glowing in a black light so thick it's darker than darkness itself which makes it heavier than your own surroundings, which are tainted and fucked; that warmt of the tape, the hiss that indicates there's noise around the noise, around the fucked up frequencies that pummel my eardrum to submission but i'm a masochist baby, i really am. The hiss that makes it seem so oddly familiar and so nostalgic to the days when i used to tape my favorite Meat Loaf songs off the radio ("I Would Do Anything For Love", i'm not that old!!!), there's an almost snail pace and there's almost influences somewhere, i can almost hear Genesis P Orridge's tits smacking on a steel plate and something rumbling while hollering incomprehensible; it's also that sort of odd tempo that's not fast or slow enough but fucked that tapes recorded on crappy equipment have, it's not forward going, it's more like resisting the marching of time but getting dragged by it, being slowed by the weight of the world and your girlfriend's issues too, don't complain now; it's all so familiar yet unnatural. High pitched screams of a drying cock, all grinding in a slow and torturous howl of night time tapings, of refrigerator humming being amplified tenfold, is it Dylan Nyoukis fetish or poetic voice? is he decrying the beauty of a world invisible to the naked bureaucrat eye? or is he just puking over the magnetic fields just because it's kick ass to make annoying noises? If i had to answer that with the elements at my disposal, i'd say "who the hell cares?" this noise is absolutely marvelous, it's just something so cool to have up your ear, better than a pencil or Clap Your Hands Say Yeah by miles of smiles, it's almost not noise as much as they are sounds, sounds out of their natural elements and rearranged, manipulated, backwards, by the side and tucked in, it's a matter of etiquette. It's just things you hear everyday alterated and presented to you in a different and exciting way, sometimes incredibly loud, sometimes quiet and isolated, sometimes evoking something and then taking it away far until you forgot what you were remembering about, it's all about the memories and it's all about whoever else feels like it. I feel fine.



This thing is supposedly by Prick Decay from the UK (from Brigton specifically), their genius lies in their lyricism, their arrangement of sounds that, without notes even, make evocative, narrative pieces of abstract mind theater that can make a play of whatever is in your head, making it into a story of bravery and horror, of perversion and lust, of cats shitting and old men smelling, or whatever floats your boat; it's almost performance art made difficult music, without the performance or the art or the rock or the music. It's sound on sound action, the best kind.

(i downloaded this album and have no idea what the songs are called or nothing, all my research has been in vain...the things are tagged as "Prick Decay. Fuck Gong", if anyone can help me identify this stuff, i would really appreciate it)



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Prick Decay.Fuck Gong - Track 1.mp3
Prick Decay.Fuck Gong - Track 6.mp3

Decaer Pinga: http://www.pinktoes.net/decaer_pinga.htm
Chocolate Monk Records: http://www.pinktoes.net/chocolate_monk.htm