Teosinte

"Maudlin and Elusive" on Bandcamp

2011-10-15T16:18:00.001-05:00

If you missed the Chubby Wolf tape, you can now download it from Bandcamp.

Review of "Maudlin and Elusive"

2011-10-01T22:25:00.001-05:00

Here is a lovely review of the Chubby Wolf tape (the second one down). It is all sold out now. Thank you all!

News on Mass Ornament and Chubby Wolf

2011-08-29T10:01:00.000-05:00

Mass Ornament "Bewilderness" is now available for download.

I also have two Chubby Wolf tapes that I saved but which were never paid for. If you would still like a Chubby Wolf tape, write me and let me know: eden at digitalisindustries dot com.

Chubby Wolf "Maudlin and Elusive"

2011-07-29T10:43:00.009-05:00

In this broken evening of truth, a hand is blending the bluest of blues. It lifts up each mouthful and lets it glide across the room. There are children sleeping in the corner, dreaming on cool down pillows. Each tear that drips from their eyelids bears a thousand universal truths, that all slide down their cheeks, slide under the soft curve of their soft cheeks and into the pillow, to evaporate, to rest as a ring of salt. A ring of salt that silent thumbs can eat, plucking each mouthful off to taste the blues. Rest, rest, and dream about every comforting thing you ever knew. Dream that you are still in your mother's arms, still in your lover's arms, still standing still in the sky in the sun in the rain with that firm dome beneath you.

Chubby Wolf is Dani Baquet-Long. Dani was an incredible woman who made incredible music, and I am excited to finally be putting out one of her tapes. I just wish she could have been around to see it. In her honor, I am donating 50 cents to Planned Parenthood and 50 cents to Womenheart from every tape sale.

Red c60 tapes in white vinyl cases with National Geographic and Better Homes and Gardens clippings. No two are alike. Hand-numbered, limited edition of 100. This tape is now sold out.
Chubby Wolf "Maudlin & Elusive" by foxydigitalis

Motion Sickness of Time Travel review

2011-04-11T08:31:00.003-05:00

Some nice words about the recent Motion Sickness of Time Travel tape.

For those who didn't get it, Rachel has posted it on her bandcamp page.

Motion Sickness of Time Travel - A Disembodied Voice in the Darkness

2011-03-19T14:56:00.011-05:00

Red, green, or grey c34 in orange, blue, or pink home-sewn bag and a hand-written insert with artwork by Grant Evans. Limited edition of 47. This tape is now sold out.

Update: For those who were able to get it, the decorated side of this tape is the B side.

Up next: Motion Sickness of Time Travel

2011-01-20T10:11:00.004-06:00

The tape isn't quite ready yet. In the meantime, enjoy Rachel's awesome video for one of her songs on the tape:

Motion Sickness of Time Travel - A Drug-Induced Phenomenon from Motion Sickness of Time Travel on Vimeo.

Pataphor - Memoir

2010-08-17T15:26:00.003-05:00

Whenever Brad and I go on walks these days, we pass a strange shape in the street. It nearly blends in with the asphalt. But if you stop, and look closely, and observe the way the shadows fall from its flattened form, you realize that it is a big frog.

One leg is splayed out while the other follows the parallel of its spine. It looks like it is dancing without moving, dancing in 2 dimensions.

There is something so quiet about standing in the middle of the empty street, the sun beating down mercilessly, baking your skin, the wind disturbing the conservative trees, and the rest of life moving on, rotating with the planet in cold space. And here is the dead frog, flat as a piece of paper, so quiet and so crushing.

Violet c20 tapes hidden inside books with an obi strip cover and insert. Limited edition of 20. This tape is now sold out.

Zachary James Watkins - Country Western

2010-08-05T14:29:00.009-05:00

Inspired by the orange and grey sands of the Pecos River, Zachary James Watkins floats us down to the rich estuary of his mind. From the first quiet tones of "I", the river trickles over the soil, creating a mesmerizing sea of gently warped shapes. Warm and cold, bright and dull, the tenderness of power - we can see nothing but this undulating horizon. Undeceived by its apparent timidity, we can see its strength in the sun sparks off the water and can't help but follow it down through the canyons and curves of the haunted Southwest.

Primer-gray Brad Paks with pink and copper wire attached (not safe around children!). Bright orange c43s with bright orange labels and a pink insert. Limited edition of 20. This tape is now sold out.

Lightshow "Station"

2010-06-15T11:10:00.007-05:00

Into the silver ship, into acid trips in suburban Tulsa, Oklahoma. Flying across the empty cold blackness of space, the ship hums and vibrates. Like a tongue across teeth with a mile in between. Like the smooth thighs of a trembling rabbit. Like the groove of the key to the dust mote attic with its purple shadows and monsters that don't move except when your eyes are closed. But the attic is Io, with Jupiter looming. It is the ice and the gas of this lonely spot in space. There is something here, something life-like. You blur, split, hold your ears against the sound, oh, what is that sound?! What a belly of the whale! What an antenna of the mantis! What a difference a few light years makes in the empty black cavern of space.

Red tinted c42s in red plastic cases with a geometric design on red vellum covers and a small light source. These pictures really don't do it justice. Each one is slightly different; limited edition of 23. This tape is sold out. Please contact Boa Melody Bar if you would still like one.

Dust Dive Flash - Closing Night Party of the Native American Film & Video Festival, New York City

2010-02-11T14:35:00.004-06:00

Dust Dive Flash is warm, gentle, wavering in and out of structure, playing tug-of-war, pointing out the shapes in the clouds, there is a monster coming, run, run, look back, is it coming?

Eating sushi in the city at midnight. I've walked those lines before and I'll walk them again before I'm done. If my heart burst, would you be there to catch me? If my heart burst, I'd fall to my knees. This sad violin shows just how thin skin is. It could be pulled too taut, could break, could show every vein in blue and red like strange rivers in a field of flesh. This trembling piano is letting out all the ghosts, all the sad and lonely souls who's graves no one visits anymore. But the triumphant guitar just pulls it back, pulls it back from the edge, shows these lost souls tenderness. Strong and steady, the percussion keeps this train moving; don't look back, it's all in the past now. If you look ahead, you'll see the lights of the next town on the horizon. You'll see the night turning into dawn. You'll see hair turning into the dog, you'll see water turning into wine. Just in time. You won't regret this.

Yellow c36 with painted teal labels with tear-drop shapes cut out, nestled inside a white Bradpack with tear-drop shapes cut out of the edges. Two inserts - one yellow, one teal, both loose. Abstract orange and yellow block-printed on top. Each one is slightly different; limited edition of 42. $6 in the U.S.; $8 anywhere else in the world. To order, email eden at digitalisindustries dot com.

White Crime - Ruining America

2009-09-22T16:22:00.010-05:00

It's almost 2010, a year that just looks and sounds fake. Around us the world is devolving into cesspool of subterranean common denominators, all out for number one and trying to stomp the rest of us into cracks in the pavement. So what's left to do but dress up some buckets, turn up the bass and ride rockets into the next decade? Raw expression is transformed into something melodic and disconcertingly catchy, but the dark side never really veers too far off the cliff. Flashbacks into an era of black-clad, eyeliner superstars and next thing you know the lights have gone out and industrial fittings are breaking at the seems.

White Crime is getting down deep into the root of the problem. Exploitation, indulgence and absolutely no mercy. These songs long for days of excess, obtuseness and oblivion. They're elemental in approach and execution, taken down to the base, veering on the edge of nothingness and pointing straight for your crystal heart. --Brad Rose

New band consisting of Brad Rose and Eden Hemming Rose; white c20s with white lettering in white plastic cases (which is very hard to see in the pictures). Limited edition of 40. This tape is sold out. Check Tomentosa in the U.S. or Boa Melody Bar in Europe if you want one.

Sparkling Wide Pressure "Reborn in Action"

2009-07-01T17:54:00.011-05:00

Frank Baugh revels and fights, spits fuzzy flames of antifreeze. In the glow of the embers of morning, stars squeeze light from the annals of history. Under the blankets, toes trade steps. The truth can be found in those moments when the whole world stops for just one tiny event, or when it stops for nothing at all. Whispering in our ears, breathing the frost of November and the life of March, whispering, whispering these little changes into view... It's 1988, your boombox is turned on low. You're laying on your bed, watching the clouds herd themselves outside your window with just the tips of tree branches to push off of and you can feel your heart lift, the full body knowledge of the power of this purring music. There is no more fight, no more pit, just sweet fruit and juice.

Black or white c35 tape with snips of Frank's painting glued on, wrapped in glued, reused paperboard sleeve. "Insert" has painting by Frank on the front and words on the back, attached to the sleeve with a brad. Limited edition of 45. This tape is sold out. It may still be available through Tomentosa in the U.S. and Boa Melody Bar in Europe (see links below).

Future Compilation

2009-06-09T16:15:00.003-05:00

In formation, a tape compilation of music based on/inspired by the poem "Roosters" by Elizabeth Bishop:

At four o'clock
in the gun-metal blue dark
we hear the first crow of the first cock

just below
the gun-metal blue window
and immediately there is an echo

off in the distance,
then one from the backyard fence,
then one, with horrible insistence,

grates like a wet match
from the broccoli patch,
flares,and all over town begins to catch.

Cries galore
come from the water-closet door,
from the dropping-plastered henhouse floor,

where in the blue blur
their rusting wives admire,
the roosters brace their cruel feet and glare

with stupid eyes
while from their beaks there rise
the uncontrolled, traditional cries.

Deep from protruding chests
in green-gold medals dressed,
planned to command and terrorize the rest,

the many wives
who lead hens' lives
of being courted and despised;

deep from raw throats
a senseless order floats
all over town. A rooster gloats

over our beds
from rusty irons sheds
and fences made from old bedsteads,

over our churches
where the tin rooster perches,
over our little wooden northern houses,

making sallies
from all the muddy alleys,
marking out maps like Rand McNally's:

glass-headed pins,
oil-golds and copper greens,
anthracite blues, alizarins,

each one an active
displacement in perspective;
each screaming, "This is where I live!"

Each screaming
"Get up! Stop dreaming!"
Roosters, what are you projecting?

You, whom the Greeks elected
to shoot at on a post, who struggled
when sacrificed, you whom they labeled

"Very combative..."
what right have you to give
commands and tell us how to live,

cry "Here!" and "Here!"
and wake us here where are
unwanted love, conceit and war?

The crown of red
set on your little head
is charged with all your fighting blood

Yes, that excrescence
makes a most virile presence,
plus all that vulgar beauty of iridescence

Now in mid-air
by two they fight each other.
Down comes a first flame-feather,

and one is flying,
with raging heroism defying
even the sensation of dying.

And one has fallen
but still above the town
his torn-out, bloodied feathers drift down;

and what he sung
no matter. He is flung
on the gray ash-heap, lies in dung

with his dead wives
with open, bloody eyes,
while those metallic feathers oxidize.

St. Peter's sin
was worse than that of Magdalen
whose sin was of the flesh alone;

of spirit, Peter's,
falling, beneath the flares,
among the "servants and officers."

Old holy sculpture
could set it all together
in one small scene, past and future:

Christ stands amazed,
Peter, two fingers raised
to surprised lips, both as if dazed.

But in between
a little cock is seen
carved on a dim column in the travertine,

explained by gallus canit;
flet Petrus underneath it,
There is inescapable hope, the pivot;

yes, and there Peter's tears
run down our chanticleer's
sides and gem his spurs.

Tear-encrusted thick
as a medieval relic
he waits. Poor Peter, heart-sick,

still cannot guess
those cock-a-doodles yet might bless,
his dreadful rooster come to mean forgiveness,

a new weathervane
on basilica and barn,
and that outside the Lateran

there would always be
a bronze cock on a porphyry
pillar so the people and the Pope might see

that event the Prince
of the Apostles long since
had been forgiven, and to convince

all the assembly
that "Deny deny deny"
is not all the roosters cry.

In the morning
a low light is floating
in the backyard, and gilding

from underneath
the broccoli, leaf by leaf;
how could the night have come to grief?

gilding the tiny
floating swallow's belly
and lines of pink cloud in the sky,

the day's preamble
like wandering lines in marble,
The cocks are now almost inaudible.

The sun climbs in,
following "to see the end,"
faithful as enemy, or friend.

If you would like to contribute, email me at eden at digitalisindustries dot com. Length should be less than 10 minutes; deadline is the beginning of August.

The North Sea "Sweet Boxing"

2009-05-12T10:02:00.011-05:00

Brad Rose plays some beautiful analog synthesizer mindfuck games and makes it purr, spit, and fight.

The engine revs but doesn't turn over. A siren begins to sound. There are beetles in a soft red coffin - beetles in soft red cotton.

Space age stones are thrown. The car idles and bugs clog the gears. Turn to gum, churn with the rest. A flying saucer comes to pick up the mess.

X: "The last thing I remember is bright lights and a strange noise."

Y: "There's blood coming out of your ears."

c33 wrapped in (soap-and-water washed) milk plastic, secured by ribbon. edition of 32.

This tape is now sold out! Copies may be available from Tomentosa.

Good times coming

2009-03-18T13:41:00.000-05:00

The North Sea wrapped up in milk cartons and ribbon.

Sparkling Wide Pressure snaps.

One of Laura Ortman's awesome bands gets in the spirit.

Caethua brings some meat and honey.

The sky turns dark and Pefkin emerges.

Two Fascinating Finds

2009-03-15T13:17:00.006-05:00

The primal precursor of Animal Collective.

A poem that is just begging to be turned into a song.

Mass Ornament - "Bewilderness"

2008-12-16T13:36:00.010-06:00

Blue c30 with a different animal glued to each. Artwork by Andrea Maduro. Double image of the monster birds is glued to the cover of each. Limited to 29 copies.

the brightest bleached bones you've ever seen greet you, perched above on ancient ruins as mass ornament descends like dead flower petals dropped from storm-green skies. delicate piano rain is a constant threat, timing each drop to the beating of the swollen earth. this music is raw, an oyster straight from the sea. the notes tremble, cold and wet and seemingly unsure, but as the reels roll on it becomes clear that it was just an act. eden hemming as mass ornament is a confident bird sucking down the wind. "bewilderness" is a hypnotic journey through the space between leaves and the cracks of the drought-ridden soil. at times it floats, at others it sinks sweetly into the dust.

once the dark clouds roll in, any hope of being saved is put on the backburner and survival becomes key. electronic bombs and ghostly voices shape the brittle pathway to salvation, never looking back and never extinguishing the flame. any harshness is softened by spectral, hollow tones. all the while a sinister intensity lurks in the depths. but each new song brings a new chapter; they shift like tidal forces orbiting around an elusive singularity. hemming's voice beckons fellow trapped spirits to the center of the universe only to cast them off into the bleeding sun. the ghosts are dead.

--Brad Rose

This tape is now sold out.

You can check for it at Boa Melody Bar if you're in Europe or Tomentosa if you're in the U.S.

The Beginning

2008-11-26T22:05:00.002-06:00

A plant grows from a seed. A plant grows into a meal. The meal lives in the rainforests, multiplying the green grass into a golden cob. The golden cob captivates the world, and the world feasts. A seed grows into a song.