The music you hear -even the voice- especially the voice is constructed entirely from bones breaking, blood flowing, and the like. A fly in flight supplies us w ith the note "F", a humble bee "C", and so on. So it's not r eally music but it is (fantasy and reality) The massed ranks of the Blackstone m ilitary band made exactly the right cacophony. Even now I relish the old time in anities when they're revived on the radio, for they recall the lost illusions an d optimisms of their initial ululations -50 year old punks 90 year old teds dead hippies Erich Zann's viol E Major has a quality all its own harsh, fierce, and strong -A shout of joy! The bass captures the neutral grey and the extremes of w hite and black, whilst we mortals must confine ourselves to the more pedestrian inner spectrum. Primal primary colours. We are the band playing in front of the funeral parlour, we are the Arkham hearse's drunken drivers. The oldest and stro ngest emotion of mankind is fear Bergson said that by studying the maps, picture s, guide books, and plans of Paris, it is possible to discern the weight of monu ments, the height of statues, the distance between landmarks, and the like, but that any amount of such contemplative visualisation is vastly inferior to a ten minute walk along one of the great city's magnificent boulevards. I have been to Paris in company with Poe in a dream. If I were to think of a name of a band, R udimentary Peni would be the last thing I'd come up with, and if I did I'd proba bly dismiss it immediately. But some people have decided to call themselves prec isely that... And the Peni, as I'm sure you've all realised by now, were an anci ent hill tribe hailing from what is now Shipley Yorkshire, who defeated the Roma n legions at the notable battle in I think 53BC -what a name to be lumbered with . O well, it's their decision -what's in a name Ravenscroft? Rudimentary, my dea r Peni. I take all the noises you made in the world, eat them -spew them regurgi tate them- excrete them - bury them - shoot them off to the stars Thunderous mus ic hemispherical cosmic temple - executor of extraordinary proficiency 'pon the forte oddest pitch gusting turbulence ye gods I've penned tri-tones. I must be a way to confession And I died singing this song
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