churn

Went to see Crippled Black Phoenix at the Croft last week.

Support came from The Short Life Of Gracie, who played relatively inoffensive and uninspiring folk rock; and Quints Tale, who sounded like a British band covering a DC band playing desert rock. Without bothering to tune up first. Could still be worth keeping an eye on, though...

Crippled Black Phoenix, however, were almost unbelievably good. The mournful prog-folk-doom of their first record is still there, but there's now an air of futile defiance. The new songs are louder and harder, and even older songs were given more of an edge; The Whistler, which on record is a nine minute prog haunting of creepy organ and echoey guitar, started as normal but built up into a thunderous apocalypse of distorted, chaotic noise. Absolutely fantastic.

In the meantime, schoolwork continues to keep me busy; and any time not spent doing that (or at the very least procrastinating over it) seems to be spent slaving away at the Big Gay Department Store. Last week I found myself working on the toy department. On a good day, I'll have to assemble Indiana Jones Lego, or transform Ironhide back into truck mode so he'll fit back in his box.

On a bad day, I get to see lots of these.

It's not just me that finds Sylvanian Families horrifyingly creepy is it? I know they're supposed to be all cute 'n' shit, but to me they look like families of little woodland serial killers.

I think it's their eyes. Their cold, dead eyes.

Boring into the yawning pit of my soul.

We are all

going

to

die.

And in other news, our luncheon club finally managed to destroy Skynet.