03 Aug 11
Alot like Parisian dance-borg impresario’s, Daft Punk, or Mancunian masters of media manipulation Wu Lyf, where do you go once the metaphorical curtains pulled aside, and rather than the untouchable deity’s we’d been promised, we’re left facing a gaggle of bog standard human beings, who have a pechent for fancy dress?
Q: Do you soldier on, occasionally producing soundtracks for films about flouro-spandex clad men riding audicycles in a computer because ”We’re robots and…robots and computers and shit….yeah see the connection?”.
Q: How does contradicting your original ethos of complete media noncooperation, by doing interviews and sessions for the BBC, effectively placing an industrial size fan in the centre of your managements carefully crafted smokescreen, grab you?
A: The correct answer is, you drop a curve ball cacophony, of Suicide synths, and Strange House era Horror’s guitars, that contradicts your usual, dense wall of Swede-pop and vocals aesthetic, delivering the whole thing with a Youtube flag-baiting promo that forces the viewer into virtual missionary sex, whilst you glare into their soul, subliminally splicing in Kate Bush aping clips of Vern Troyer masquerading as Chewbacca Hilton. Come on it’s that bloody simple…If only you’d revised instead of Whining with Charlie Sheen, or getting high on Friday’s like that Becky Black, or whatever it is you kids do these days.
DISAPPOINTING CONFIRMATION OF THE DAY: WERE YOU HOPING IAM WOULD BE STREAMING HER GIG AT WAY OUT WEST THIS YEAR, IN THE VAIN OF HER PREVIOUS FORAY INTO A LIVE ENVIRONMENT? WELL SHE WONT. SO THERE.
Unfortunetly there is no way we can stream iamamiwhoami’s appearance at Way Out West in a way that doesn’t compromise the artistic idea of the audience perceive. You need the entirety and to be there firsthand to get the full experience.