Can we get a /leftymu/ thread in this bitch? We haven't had one in a while and making great music is something the left does well imo
Make you sure to do the following today: 1. Commit to memory Peking Review articles exposing the bourgeois-revisionist fallacy that absolute music has no class-character and how it all proves what a rotten fucker Lin Bao was 2. Offer a sacrifice to the shrine of Adorno in your room 3. hail satan
It’s still a good song. The lyrics are bitter-as-fuck, class conscious, and anti-patriotic.
Logan Bell
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Caleb Powell
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Thomas Ross
Thank you user for introducing me to Giles Corey from the other thread. His music is fantastic and I can't stop listening.
Luke Young
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Xavier Morales
I really do not give a fuck about anything hippies did. All they did is become petit-bourgeois Hillary voters.
Levi Sanders
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Brody Lopez
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Xavier Sanchez
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Jaxson Scott
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David Rivera
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Jace Clark
How come i never hear leftypol talk about Gang of Four? They refused to change their lyrics to appear on Top of the Pops which denied them stardom and fought with and got fucked over by EMI which is one of the most porky record companies in existence buy hey, I don't need to tell you all of this, just listen to them m.youtube.com/watch?v=1vPonjXOfYo m.youtube.com/watch?v=9E4M3U3WG40
Burial is the kind of album I’ve dreamt of for years; literally. It is oneiric dance music, a collection of the ‘dreamed songs’ Ian Penman imagined in his epochal piece on Tricky’s Maxinquaye. Maxinquaye would be a reference point here, as would Pole – like both these artists, Burial conjures audio-spectres out of crackle, foregrounding rather than repressing sound’s accidental materialities. Tricky and Pole’s ‘cracklology’ was a further development of dub’s materialist sorcery in which ‘the seam of its recording was turned inside out for us to hear and exult in’ (Penman). But rather than the hydroponic heat of Tricky’s Bristol or the dank caverns of Pole’s Berlin, Burial’s sound evokes what the press release calls a ‘near future South London underwater. You can never tell if the crackle is the burning static off pirate radio, or the tropical downpour of the submerged city out of the window.’ Near future, maybe…But listening to Burial as I walk through damp and drizzly South London streets in this abortive Spring, it strikes me that the LP is very London Now – which is to say, it suggests a city haunted not only by the past but by lost futures. It seems to have less to do with a near future than with the tantalising ache of a future just out of reach. Burial is haunted by what once was, what could have been, and – most keeningly – what could still happen. The album is like the faded ten year-old tag of a kid whose Rave dreams have been crushed by a series of dead end jobs. Burial is an elegy for the hardcore continuum, a Memories From the Haunted Ballroom for the Rave generation. It is like walking into the abandoned spaces once carnivalised by Raves and finding them returned to depopulated dereliction. Muted air horns flare like the ghosts of Raves past. Broken glass cracks underfoot. MDMA flashbacks bring London to unlife in the way that hallucinogens brought demons crawling out of the subways in Jacob’s Ladder’s New York. Audio hallucinations transform the city’s rhythms into inorganic beings, more dejected than malign. You see faces in the clouds and hear voices in the crackle. What you momentarily thought was muffled bass turns out only to be the rumbling of tube trains. Burial’s mourning and melancholia sets it apart from dubstep’s emotional autism and austerity. My problem with dubstep has been that in constituting dub as a positive entity, with no relation to the Song or to pop, it has too often missed the spectrality wrought by dub’s subtraction-in-process. The emptying out has tended to produce not space but an oppressive, claustrophobic flatness. If, by contrast, Burial’s schizophonic hauntology has a 3D depth of field it is in part because of the way it grants a privileged role to voices under erasure, returning to dub’s phono-decentrism. Snatches of plaintive vocal skitter through the tracks like fragments of abandoned love letters blowing through streets blighted by an unnamed catastrophe. The effect is as heartbreakingly poignant as the long tracking shot in Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979) that lingers over sublime objects-become trash.
Andrew Williams
Burial’s London is a wounded city, populated by ecstasy casualties on day release from psychiatric units, disappointed lovers on night buses, parents who can’t quite bring themselves to sell their Rave 12 inches at a carboot sale, all of them with haunted looks on their faces, but also haunting their interpassively nihilist kids with the thought that things weren’t always like this. The sadness in the Dem 2 meets Vini Reilly-era Durutti Column ‘You Hurt Me’ and ‘Gutted’ is almost overwhelming. ‘Southern Comfort’ only deadens the pain. Ravers have become deadbeats, and Burial’s beats are accordingly undead – like the tik-tok of an off-kilter metronome in an abandoned Silent Hill school, the klak-klak of graffitisplashed ghost trains idling in sidings. 10 years ago, Kodwo Eshun compared the ‘harsh, roaring noise’ of No U-Turn’s ‘hoover bass’ with ‘the sound of a thousand car alarms going off simultaneously’. The subdued bass on Burial is the spectral echo of a roar, burned-out cars remembering the noise they once made. Burial reminds me, actually, of paintings by Nigel Cooke. The morose figures Cooke graffitis onto his own paintings are perfect visual analogues for Burial’s sound. A decade ago, jungle and hip hop invoked devils, demons and angels. Burial’s sound, however, summons the ‘chain-smoking plants and sobbing vegetables’ that sigh longingly in Cooke’s painting. Speaking at the Tate, Cooke observed that much of the violence of graffiti comes from its velocity. There’s something of an affinity between the way that Cooke re-creates graffiti in the ‘slow’ medium of oil paints and the way in which Burial submerges (dubmerges?) Rave’s hyperkinesis in a stately melancholia. Burial’s dilapidated Afro NoFuturism does for London in the 00s what Wu Tang did for New York in the 90s. It delivers what Massive Attack promised but never really achieved. It’s everything that Goldie’s Timeless ought to have been. It’s the Dub City counterpart to Luomo’s Vocalcity. Burial is one of the albums of the decade. Trust me.
Caleb Scott
These /leftymu/ threads are so fucking autistic. You guys want to force anything to be left. Just post music you fucking like no matter if it's leftist or not. NIN is patrician and Year Zero is underrated as fuck
I feel like Toby Keith is pretty leftist because of his messages about the working class, and hard work, and not expecting a handout. It’s like hymns that uplift the proletariat, and if you take them to heart it can instill a good work ethic inside you. Just because were workers doesn’t mean someday we can’t have an expensive truck, or a big country house with a garage. We just have to try harder, because this country, and many others were built on hard work.
Hunter Roberts
I don't know what's real and what's bait around here anymore.