Warbling Wednesday! (or: What Should Have Heen a Music Monday But Became a Strange Alternative Due to Late Publishing)
Gentlewomen and Gentlemen of the Vox Chaotica Council! *Camera pans from pastoral vista to a rough close-up of host's face*
What ho! It seems you have caught me on one of my myriad safari-esque ventures into the strange and unknown expanse of land called "The Outside" by our lovely locals—Charlie here [aside: his chosen American name is Charlie. His true name is unpronounceable to the proper English tongue, and my pedigree of Imperialism and hushed in-breeding adds another barrier past that] is my kind guide in this treacherous place—AH! Look!
*Moves closer to camera and whispers*
Here we see a pack of what can only be "Bros." You can tell from their pastel outer colourings, boat shoes—a phase whose meaning still completely confounds me, as they are not actually shoes— and, of course, the casual air of "Come at me, no matter what you do my father will make your life one thousand times worse." See as they whistle derisively at the passing females of their same species! Perhaps we will hear the mating call...? YES! It was faint, but perhaps you heard the less intelligent version of: "I highly enjoy the podiatric coverings you are stylistically wearing; let us go forthwith and procreate!"
*Out of frame, a gun is cocked and fired*
SWEET MERCIFUL HEAVENS, BREESBY! That was an excellent shot! Lads, we are sure to return triumphant!
*Runs to the dying Bro, who gurgles out a "Don't taze me, brah... My father... will... will hear ab—"*
I have found a relic! These were once known as tinted spectacles; however, Bro culture has developed another term for them: shades! Breesby—we must put these in pride of place on the mantle when we return home!
In any case, what I have actually come here to show you, if I can remove it gingerly from the pantaloon pocket of this majestic beast—yes! His Gold iPhone 6! Now, if we are to open it and browse through his music library... Oh dear, I fear I cannot read these. Charlie? What are these?
*Unintelligible mutterings; akin to those babblings of a baby, or anyone who has drunk enough alcohol to intoxicate three blue whales*
Charlie says he cannot utter the names of these blessed idols without incurring the wrath of his god, Brosef Stalin. Ah well. Let me discuss with you lovely lads what real music there is to be found in this world while we all enjoy a stiff pint of Toddy at Cartel? Jolly good!
Now, I had promised my "mates"—yes, Breesby, both you and Chumsley [aside: the baffoon]—I would find them a lovely crooning voice, but the only true warbler with whom I have had contact is Keaton Henson, a delightful gent I have already discussed with you lovely people. But I had to settle on a similarly "indie" musical amalgam whose music has indeed shaken my concept of music to its very core!
Tera Melos is what the plebeians would call Math Rock. The upper crust of those studied in music recognise this band as primarily an experimental/progressive rock collective interested in polyrhythms, and concerning themselves with elements of jazz and ambient music. It is as if they capture the true essence of punk energy, combine it with extremely technical progressive jazz guitars, supplement their blatant insanity with shoegaze-esque tendencies and bring it all together with airy indie/ambient vocals. Listen to them—as all scholarly gentlepeople know, music is poorly described by words.
However, I shall make one short attempt before I adjourn this spontaneous meeting of men and turn off the cameras: these "guys" will certainly "rock your socks off!" Their intense playing infuses the listener with both frenetic energy and a heretofore untold sense of the largeness of the universe—that's the Math Rock wheedling away at the expanses of your brain, urging you to detach from this reality for a brief moment to see the boundless expanses of space and time whorling past you at any given second. Embrace this new understanding of yourself, and you can only find peace in this world.
*The cameraman coughs awkwardly into a silence which settled like a blanket made of ten years' worth of dust falling to the ground of an abandoned mansion*
Well, chaps! It's off to find another rare specimen for me! Perhaps we can find the elusive "Hipster" on our next venture forth! Ta-ta for now!
tl;dr Cutter worked a joke all the way through to the end, though is unsure if anyone will continue to read the blog if they manage to get through this abomination of Sir Hammerlock and English aristocratic society. He also talks a bit about Tera Melos, who is actually a fantastic band brought to his attention by the inimitable Zach.