Pulseprogramming by Tulsa comes with such a hip cachet. All the right people have given it the thumbs up, it comes in a great sleeve (opening up into a house, which, slightly drunk on friday, I performed for my bemused young student colleagues), it's pre-packed with supa dupa reference points (United States of America, Young Marbe Giants, Bjork, Herbert, Shantel) it's got a svelte self-concious production etc etc etc.
But guess what! It's a complete load of shite. It's a damp squib. It's a coffee-table record for people without furniture. I quote:(Subtle) whine, (Subtle) whine, drip, plink plonk, (gentle) echo. Aaaaaaargh. Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh! AAAAAARRRGGGGHHH! (That was me screaming by the way).
The problem is, as I see it, to make what is post-World-of-Echo innerspace music you need to be much more fucked up than these people clearly aren't. You need a well of neurosis and preferrably LSD-induced brain damage, failing that post-MDMA trauma will do. Otherwise the music you make is as stimulating as looking into an empty bucket. Oh and you need talent.
Posted by Woebot at April 8, 2003 10:48 AM