on this space that has been christened raskolnikovna, i thought i'll probably do a series of essays on "globalization", particularly the fallacies of the term "anti-globalization" and how it belies a cause that's perhaps a shining testimony to the concept of "globalization" itself
however...
a. this requires much reading and reference work and all that fancy academic shit.
b. i was listening to 12 rounds this morning.
12 rounds can be classified as post-rock, industrial and shoegaze... as is my wont, i can't and i won't genrify the band. 12 rounds is not the kind of band that would induce you to take up suicide attempts or serial killing or pissing off born again christians as a full time occupation.
what makes the genius of claude sarne and her buddies refreshingly different are the totally off the kilter lyrics rendered in the smokiest, huskiest voice since beth gibbons of portishead. smokier and huskier, even.
oh, and if you do feel a tad doped, don't be surprised, 12 rounds does that to you sometimes.
do sample the lyrics while the going is good...
Sodomize the rage in space and watch your red red sky
Fill my heart with happiness and give me reasons why
Slowly speed my aching need no more so old so new
Breathe in me don't fight just be
Call your own come be my home
Ripped up sideways chained to Always
Spread so wide so true
Scratch the very life that fed
And sucked his fingers blue
Breathe in me don't fight just be
Call your own come be my home
Love the way he puts it
ripped and chained but I loved it
In as much
Strange daze
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