Let’s say you had a copy of Herbie Hancock’s Future Shock album on cassette in a carrier bag alongside some other golden era hip hop and mix tapes of miscellaneous cuts recorded straight from the radio.
Also in the bag is a VHS cassette of Skippy The Bush Kangaroo and some late night Australian TV (mostly infomercials and talk shows) that you’d accidentally recorded after falling asleep on the couch one clammy summer’s night in-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.
Now imagine your baby brother was playing with these tapes in the back window of your parent’s car while you were on a cross country road trip through a blazing, desolate dystopian future hoping to make it to the space craft before it was too late.
It was too late. It all melts together until congealing into a rubber band bird’s nest of warped sounds and weird, detuned narration – sounds that might only otherwise exist if witchhouse artists weren’t so grim and melodramatic.
Your family and the now-singular strips of tape don’t make it to the launch pad. Earth explodes. It’s the sounds of the Aussie fragment of someone’s dissociative personality splitting off from the rest of the self and coming to in space, captured in a time capsule of fire.
The recordings are found floating in space. Digitised and salvaged, restructured without context, they are handed to the Flight Commander Ekronous, who trills, “four and a half out of a possible five galaxies.”
Watch the video above or download the album here.