Rubber City Noise

RCN00001 ‘Cave Comp Onecompilation CDr
Cave Comp One is the first in a series of limited, handmade CDr compilations featuring artists connected w/ the RCNCAVE in some capacity. One details the Cave’s innermost dwellers and features one-of-a-kind hand painted/numbered covers by the Cave dewds. In order 1.) FAANGFACE’s chaotic assault tells the tale of a misnamed canine. Gerald or Siegfried (depending on who you talk to) is snarling freeform jettisoned jazz black metal from the smoldering wreckage of a downed dirigible . . . Â 2.) CANE SWORDS assemble a golem from melted laserdiscs and scattered transistors. The smell of obsolete technology hums as facsimile didgeridoo in post-apocalyptic walkabout . . . 3.) ZURVAN’s dialect is melted glass stretched phonemes and enlightenment drones, a balance of dark mystery and beautiful rapture. The soundwaves manifest in physical pattern and amid the paced syllables the tales of heretical and buried knowledge creeps like conjured monsters . . . 4.) BLACK UNICORN was launched in an experimental space craft, aimed at the source of the Wow! signal, and returned w/ this coded message. Nearing Chi Sagittarii, his onboard radio tuned to interstellar motorik was taken control of by unseen entities and redirected to the sounds of star birth and dark matter mystery . . . 5.) XXX SUPER ARCADE’s song is playing after the big game, friendly ass slaps and derogatory banter aside, you and the bros are ready to hit the strip club fr a night of hard drinking and party-harding. The dancer comes out, dancing in seductive stutter to the rocking semi-Sabbath riff and yeah, hell yeah, she’s taking it off. But, wait, what’s that under the g-string? A tentacled spawn of Cthulhu oozing hues of swamp slush and toxic waste . . . 6.) VATICAN is a mystery. We do not know who made these recordings, when, or why. When one of the RCN dewds inherited some land in Tennessee, it included a falling down barn. A large metal flight case w/ the word VATICAN stamped on the side was found amidst ancient tech manuals, cases of resistors and capacitors, and scattered 1970s pornography . . . 7.) HUMAN’s lone banjo quickly becomes magnet and pulls in an assorted cast of melancholic, haunting tones. Attracted like small blocks of metal, each piece fits puzzle-like as temporal leanings stride . . .


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