Antony And The Johnsons - The Lake

The haunting visual world of The Lake was created through a collaboration with Italian painter Andrea Saltini and the multimedia collective Gruppo Kobaiashy. Saltini's work draws from mythology, medieval allegory, religious iconography, and surrealism, creating richly symbolic landscapes inhabited by foxes, knights, birds, saints, children, and other enigmatic figures. His paintings evoke a timeless dreamscape where beauty, melancholy, innocence, and mystery coexist, inviting viewers to discover their own meanings rather than follow a fixed narrative.

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© 2025 Brice Frillici / The Æther Trilogy

Это третье движение в большом триптихе,
но оно ускользает от финальности, которую обычно ждут от последнего акта.
Вместо этого — оно закручивается, извивается, преследует.
Эта книга — не линейный рассказ.
Это шаманский архив, кодекс, собранный из обломков снов,
данных, распада и цифровой божественности.

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Review of Pietro Straccia's EPIQE album Kimia

But our album with my SunnO))) doom drone reverbetarded echo beast parts backing one of Pietro's clear-thinking art projects won’t be a joke like U2 was on Bruno. lower case chocolate and peanut butter baby. Because the Borg will be programmed to force our songs into the hivebrains. All will hail. So it won’t really matter even if we suck. Noise music rarely sucks or is great. It mostly occupies. I am, I was. Is am. But mark my words, there will be blood. And black metal in Pietro's future. If it kills me/us. You can’t run. Or hide, man. Dog will hunt. In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago. — Christina Rossetti (1872)

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OVERMURDER

A serial killer exhibit is opening in a shopping mall. That sentence ought to detonate something. It used to. In June of 2026, the traveling attraction Mind of a Serial Killer: The Experience installs itself across two floors and roughly two dozen rooms inside Pacific Place, the upscale downtown Seattle retail complex at Sixth and Pine, a building otherwise devoted to artisanal dining, a multiplex cinema, lifestyle branding, and the ambient music of leisure consumption. Tickets begin at twenty-eight dollars. The walk-through runs 90 to 120 minutes. It is recommended for ages 14 and up due to graphic content. More than twenty killers are staged inside, from Locusta of Ancient Rome to Jeffrey Dahmer of late-twentieth-century Milwaukee, and the marketing copy promises that visitors will stand inside chillingly accurate recreations of the crimes themselves: Bundy’s Volkswagen, Dahmer’s kitchen, Ed Gein’s farmhouse, rendered as immersive sets with virtual reality stations and a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree light and sound finale to round out the evening.

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The Hostile Design of Corporate Hold Queues

There is an acoustic environment that tens of millions of Americans are conscripted into every day, and almost none of them chose it. It lives most aggressively inside the institutions people cannot route around: hospital billing departments, insurance carriers, pharmacy benefit managers, retail banks, credit-card servicers, utilities, telecoms. These are, not coincidentally, the precise sectors where the caller arrives already depleted — sick, broke, frightened, grieving, or simply running out of the daylight hours in which any of these offices deign to answer a phone.

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Brice Frillici on the Radio KGLT.NET

Brice Frillici joins KGLT for a special radio appearance featuring selections from his upcoming cover song project SONG BELONGS TO THE ROOM — a sprawling collection of reconstructed classics filtered through lo-fi bedroom recording chaos, tape hiss, stacked harmonies, blown-out instinct, and late-night transmission energy.

Expect strange faithfulness, complete derailments, deep cuts, accidental beauty, and songs rebuilt from the inside out.

Featuring reinterpretations of artists including Elliott Smith, Bauhaus, Prince, Ozzy Osbourne, Soundgarden, Mazzy Star, Billie Eilish, Slint, Tears for Fears, FKA Twigs, Lady Gaga, The Velvet Underground, and many others.

Broadcast via KGLT May 7th 9PM Mountain Time
KGLT.net

38th Parallel Records Presents Brice Frillici on the Radio

Kelly Ambrose Music Video/Web Collab

### One Last Kircherian Epigram > The chart was never wrong; > the language describing it was. If you want, next we can: turn these into *actual faux-Latin marginal captions**, make a *single engraved title plate sentence**, or compress this into *one brutal stanza** that sums up the whole ordeal. You weren’t lost — you were doing editorial engraving, and the machine kept trying to watercolor.

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Taraf de Haïdouks & Amon Tobin are DMT Telepathy

There are certain sounds that register immediately, long before analysis. They arrive as signals. I recognize them the way one recognizes weather in the bones. I return to them again and again, which may look like a single path from the outside, yet inside it unfolds endlessly. A one-trick pony only if the trick itself opens worlds.

This is where DMT appears for me. Not as a substance, but as a pattern. A behavior of reality. A tearing and rejoining of perception. Certain music carries this behavior intact. Taraf de Haïdouks does this repeatedly, consistently, without announcement. Their sound rips through layers the way the DMT state does—hyper-real, precise, deeply familiar, and at the same time shockingly alien. The sensation feels like entering and exiting worlds mid-gesture.

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Kaliginous & The San Francisco Lifer

You might not have caught his government name as the dude cycles through pseudonyms more often than the average Portlandian changes genders—but you'd remember the look. I don’t even have to describe it. You can see it now in your dome. Like a permanent marker tag on a water tower, written high enough that the maintenance guys just let it become part of the permanent scenery. A bit of local pride, they're in on enough to let remain. Unlike all those lower tag cunts who smear their names over everything as if their junior high non-artist jizz matters to anyone. Fuck the taggers of the Bay Area. You are all frauds. Creatively speaking. Sometimes decent to drink with. If we are only talking about your DJ set-up or recent setlist, etc. And that sucks really bad, too. Terrible cringe conversations. So we are back to fuck you. I've permanently damaged my humoring neuron stems because of you dolts. They are spackled with discolored and unglowing atom cell frey, tarnished and inert, as tiny dead celestias or helions forever martyred into stellaicly limp bumbaclotism.

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