Free Download: PRODUKT's cover of the Skinny Puppy track "Candle".

Candle [Skinny Puppy cover]

well god damn this is a waste of time
i rather give it up then just tow the line 
i lay here like a stone most night and day
hoping that some power will come sweep me away
just another fucking waste of space
just like the people i hate its poetic disgrace
im feeling looked away just wasting my days id write a suicide note but got nothing to say.

Pity full [master]

ZYR JIIM // Warhammer 420,000 (Bongblast Chronicles II)

Vidiots 2013

PUNISHER

A Murderous Mix

Ascetic | Soft Asylum | 4.09

The Loyal Opposition | Under the State | 4.29

This version of ‘Neurozone’ is an early cassette demo of tracks that emerged as we were writing Burn Out At The Hydrogen Bar. It’s from a collection of random cassette demos of varying quality I’ve unearthed and finally transferred to CD. I’m loosely calling it “Burnt Out (talkin’ shit and shootin’ smack)” ‘cause I’m such a fuckin’ intellectual and that’s really much more of what we ever did than actually write enough music to fill an album. 

Dylan was living in a ground floor apartment on 4th street sometime in the summer of ‘92 when we wrote this jagged little shard. The place was owned by a motorcycle freak whose real name I can’t remember for the life of me, but I used to call him Gear, so Gear he remains. Hidden behind a dented and grumpily resistant steel door that complained when opened, the joint was shockingly miniscule. Its size wasn’t helped by the fact that it was jacked full of strange heaps of machine parts, stacks of tires in corners and drums of oil against the back wall. Its two windows were perpetually curtained leaving the place cast in murky dark. We called it Dog Solitude in tribute. (We had an insane fabricated two-deck card game hybrid of poker, cheating and drinking we played in those days for which we applied the same sobriquet). Husks of motorcycles in different stages of either collapse or reanimation stood on blocks next to the hacked-short insult of a cigarette-burn halo’d couch in what was the main room, skeletal shapes casting skyline shadows across the greasy wooden floor boards. Dylan’s studio was his room, and his room was sweeping enough to accommodate bed and gear but nothing more. I spent a lot of time scrunched up beside the desk knotted in pensweatnotebookinkfever while D scribbled threads of 1’s and 0’s, the two of us passing headphones back and forth as the threads began to knit into something coherent. I dropped rough vocals standing on his bed and trying not to bounce....hehehe. The feel and sound of ‘Neurozone’ was very much infected and inflected by 4th street’s furiously active life. Originally a bay windowed room, the construction of Detox’s space meant that bed and studio essentially elbowed themselves out into the sidewalk, the world outside bleeding into it in a constant stream of street sounds, conversation shards excerpted through the window, sirens keening, radios blaring ballgames and gunshots barking in warm nights, an indecipherable omniverse pouring in in mangled, neon-sputtering spliced configurations. “There’s something moving on the other side, but what it is is not too clear”.

There will be more, but this is for now. This is for fallen friends and those who simply couldn’t go on any more, friends from then and friends from now, the ghosts who haunt my days, your days, our days. 
This is for Jamie Duffy and Craig Albertson and Bobby Ross and for Critter, just to start the list rolling.

Yes, you can download it.




Neurozone - demo

Pulse (finger off) is what eventually became ‘White Room Black Eye’, one of my favorite tracks off of the 2004 Chemlab album “Oxidizer”. 

I’m posting this version naked, with all its imperfections because there’s something glorious about its frayed figure. 

The other reason that I’m posting it is because, as autumnal shadows start to elongate and nights close in I’ve been thinking about Jamie a lot. This isn’t the album version, it’s pre-, it’s demo, early, fractured and slewed off course. I adore it because it’s raw and unvarnished for mass unpopular consumption. Jason’s programming snarls rabidly, its sexual propulsion unfiltered. My vocals are ugly, burred at the edges (my natural two-packs-of-smokes-and-a-bottle-of-whiskey-a-day distortion shining through in all its fucked unglory). In the outro “down”s you can actually hear shreds of F.J.s backing vocals beckoning down the hole. 

But, the thing that really blows me away, that utterly knocks my lights right out is Slo-Hand's’s unhinged guitar. Like some static drenched cyclone of sonic white light it hustles and torques underneath the song until about 2:19. From that point onwards it breaks its cage, howling straight through the mix to rocket launch a fist into the frontal lobe. It’s scorched earth, it’s canisters of napalm tumbling out of the sky, it’s urban center dirty bomb detonation. 

Funny thing (or not): when I posted this link I was trying to remember exactly who had played this riff. For a long time I was sure that it was Greg Slo-Hand Lucas, but in the folds of time I got must have got lost (as Peter Wolf said) and this guitar madness became Jamie's horns and gown instead somehow. I posted it with the credit going to Jamie and, sensibly, Lucas wrote to me and said that although he loved Jamie's guitar playing as much as the next guy, that slice of searing genius was his, thank you very much while you're up. 

So, kids, as much as the drug-addicted life style of the purported "rock star" may have its shiny attraction and dissolute appeal, the reality is standing right before you. I went stumbling headlong into total addiction not by mistake or chance intervention, but by clear and definite choice. I saw Iggy crash and Keith burn out and I thought that was the most fascinating part of the package: the hampered, damaged, limping lifestyle of waste behind mirrorshades. I learned all the wrong lessons from the right guys and blindly, laughingly drove a truck loaded with pills and powders and syringes and bottles and smoking reefers straight through the heart of my career, my band, my record label, many of my friendships and my first marriage and into sheer wipe out, and it wasn't pretty. No, not at all. Though I've been clean of everything for over a decade, my memory has suffered countless direct hits and the long-term damage is immeasurable...except in clearcut cases like this. 

Greg Lucas, I apologize. This riff's for you. It's a fucking standard of destruction I return to again and again and again.

Sadly, the final version didn’t retain all of that slingshot madness, that nasty and unholy magic. Maybe that's because Greg was just too spicy to remain in the mix unvarnished, unfiltered, unafraid.
Or maybe I just can't remember the reason why...

Pulse (finger off) - White Room Black Eye demo

One of my favorite remixes of Binary Nation from OXO. 
It was done by a cat named Latin Saint whose sounds you can still find hustling his scene on myspace. He was the runner-up in an acidplanet remix competition. The acidplanet guys thought that this was an excellent remix but that acidplanet would be better represented by the other group that finally won. Over the years I've come to regret letting the decision be made by others instead of imposing my opinion on them. This is the remix that should have won out hands down, in all its digitally ragged punk rock glory. 
So, I toss it out here for your delectation.

Binary - LatinSaint Style -

PRODUKT's cover of the Garbage track "#1 Crush" featuring guest vocalist MICHELLE WALTERS SEIBOLD. [Free Download]


#1 Crush [feat. Michelle Walters Seibold]

Noise, Rock, and Noise Rock from Central Massachusetts.

Instrumental Electronic Soundscapes
All music written, recorded, mixed and mastered by Sean Tracy [SATYR]

artist: various
album: music ration presents... a murderous mix
label: music ration entertainment

MachineRock Electronic Industrial

PRODUKT's 2nd album
Intricate Feelings Of Nothingness
is now available:

Digital Download:
http://produkt.bandcamp.com

12 tracks / Approx. 60 min.


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