BEDTIME FOR ROBOTS' 24: ANDROMEDA VOMIT

Michael Ferentino/Bedtime for Robots' 24: Andromeda Vomit mounts an ambient landscape, a livelong-day, alien journey into darkness where weird lifeforms (and around-the-bend threats) creep. 

I realize that Bedtime for Robots has touched upon this concept before (at least through my personal, listening vantage), but Andromeda Vomit is a thicker extension of the motif and works much as a short story would when inflated into a novel or feature-length film. Andromeda Vomit's particular themes, segues and audio seeds are extrapolated to full capacity, pushing insinuated terrors to levels previously unexplored. 

The first four tracks develop an eerie, precursory thread. Through these segments, I envisioned a craft landing on a "heavenly" body somewhere in the NGC 224 Galaxy, followed by the reveal of a sprawling, craggy stretch, as an intrepid band treks under an ineffable sky. There's trepidation binding the voyeuristic intent. It's not yet an utter regurgitation of horror, but it's getting there. 

Tracks 5-7 come closer to a sentinel cognition. The mechanized beeps and warbles discern a presence, perhaps a specimen torn from the palettes of Giger or Blaisdell, or maybe it's something more abstract, like Kubrick/Clark's looming monoliths, but cursed to the Galaxy of Terror core. To perpetuate the foreboding feel, Ferentino's notes prompt an uncanny balance of desire and dread. (Track #7, in particular, brings on a devouring chill, its entrancing vibration reminiscent of the creaking windmill from Once Upon a Time in the West.)  

Tracks 8-10 enter full-blown tribulation. It doesn't matter what one's imagination conjures through this phase, for the sounds remain constant and admonitory. One has reached a point of no return: far from one's vessel and nearer the inevitable beast.  

If one is attentive, one will hear the creature's wails, with other daunting entities chiming in, all designed for attack. The regurgitation now flows, sliding under one's soles, squeezing through one's gear. One has overstepped one's bounds, the results manifesting in ways that invoke Forbidden Planet, The Wizard of Mars, This Island Earth and that mind-anchoring staple, Solaris: cosmic voyages marked by varying, unrectifiable climaxes. The mission will be aborted, but within Ferentino's fateful au revoir, the palatable residue oozes on.

I re-listened to Adromeda Vomit while composing a speculative tale, one meant to stage hesitation and risk. Ferentino's composition did the mood-setting trick, and for that inspiration, I owe him my undying thanks. In my estimation, 24: Andromeda Vomit is one of Bedtime for Robots' best-spun ventures, and I do believe when you listen to it (no matter your visionary inclination), you'll believe so, too. 

Probe the landscape at  

https://mistlabel.bandcamp.com/album/24-andromeda-vomit?fbclid=IwY2xjawE923lleHRuA2FlbQIxMQABHcjOFqiEBA48Pb_ZDe0q9c6h3iH94ss5AT71utxsm_YqQDcuziHxwTCUWg_aem_fVCcPrawz9fHxzDZXcD5ww

BEDTIME FOR ROBOTS: CHLOROFORM DAYS

Michael Ferentino's Bedtime for Robots sails toward a happier, stranger time, with the eight-track opus, Chloroform Days (a special release from The Church of the Noisy Goat). Its audio elements are occasionally grim, but with the retro ability (done in a Tangerine Dream stream) to instill the mind with mollifying fancies of any kind. (The following constitutes my individualized interpretations, based on the tracks' titles and their ensuing sounds.) 

"Corpse of Valerie" begins the epic with a stroke of abandonment. Its pace is careful and shrewd, reminiscent of the attic where (if I may be so bold) Catherine Deneuve has added another among her many corpses. In this respect, the track's creeping notes represent the wavering brainwaves of her undead ensemble, welcoming their fledgling member to their interminable catatonia.

"Epicurean Asshole" is comparably ominous, symbolizing (from my surreptitious vantage) a callous clod devoid of soulful belief. A shuffling cockiness gives this one its kick, airing an arrogance that invokes immorality. It's the perfect theme for the perfect villain. 

"Violent Violet" elects that villain's quarrelsome concubine, in a composition that vocalizes a self-deprecating but rebellious squeal. It's delivered through a male's voice, but in its taunting, la-la refrain (and mind-shifting game), it's female through and through (and of course, most un-ladylike, at that). 

"Community of Delicate Unity" is a totalitarian pledge disguised with peacenik decorations, a track that could be used as a backdrop for Terry Gilliam's Brazil, as it rolls with a monitor-queued assembly line that alas, culminates in blabbering lobotomization.  

For me, "Vicious Turd" strikes an underlying,  Phantom of the Paradise disposition, an electrical dejection that's as therapeutic as it's forbidding. Its organ-pressed build-up, draped by a mask and cloak, reeks of artistic revenge.

"Surrealistic Humanism" bangs like popcorn under a fire. It may bud from flesh and blood, but its underside is a wiring that sings the body electric, albeit to the beat of a discontent, music box.

"Chloroform Days," is the emblazoned, titular selection that spurts disinfectant like a choo choo train fueled by testosterone fished from Prince. It's hard to say how far its seraphic purgation (not to mention its tribal prance) will go; it could be either good or bad, depending on one's mood. (This composition is particularly impetuous, as its vocals seem to seduce and reduce one into an equivocal, comatose state that somehow manages to keep one wide-awake.)

"Disturbed Club of Self-Righteous Flunkies" is where the pompous pieces land. It functions by a stop-and-go progression, pausing only to subside and then go again. However, once it steadies, it keeps a gentle, Zen-like flow, though woven by enough unpaid promises to plug a bottomless pit.  

Chloroform Days, like any Bedtime for Robots experiment, is open to personal (re)design. Nevertheless, its sedatives are potent (and quite open), guaranteeing fresh explorations each and every time. 

Get nice and numb at

https://thechurchofnoisygoat.bandcamp.com/album/chloroform-days

BEDTIME FOR ROBOTS: MALLEUS MALEFICARUM REAWAKENS

Michael Ferentino/Bedtime for Robots' macabre masterpiece, Malleus Maleficarum, has just been released to all streaming platforms.

 

Those familiar with the album know its dark grandeur. "Hammer of Witches," which swings right back to its banner, has become one of my favorites, which I resurrect every Halloween. Its pounding march invokes the compilation's Haxan complexion, but hell, "The Inquisition" is just as haunting, a fitting theme for Poe's "The Pit and the Pendulum" or "The Masque of the Red Death." 

"Messe Noir" reminds me of something from an early, 1970s motorcycle flick, though one with a demonic slant (Werewolves on Wheels and Psychomania come to mind); whereas "Believe it All Away" is no less satanic, but strangely optimistic in its New Wave verve. "Fanning the Flames" invokes pure, Regan-wrought possession, with "Immortal Souls Return" dominating on yet another, transformational level. 

"Synthecyst" might hit the rawest of nerves because of its creepy-crawly saturation. For me, it's The Thing, The Blob, Queen of Blood, Alien and Life Force, all rolled into one.

The nine-part "Finis Coronet Opus" is an irregular triumph all unto itself, as thunderous as Jerry Goldsmith's Omen score, though perhaps filtered through Pink Floyd. The connecting tracks are percussive and mean as any apocalyptic dream, but also cool as a cucumber with their rubbery strings and striking strums, Krautrock chirps and bestial warbles, and let's not forget those monk-ish murmurs and petulant, Anton Phibes "pipes." This epic has so much to offer and so much still to discover. 

If one appreciates sampling synthesizers that are wretched and rich, Malleus Maleficarum throws the perfect, ghoulish pitch. 

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AS3uFU22pG0&list=OLAK5uy_lgp89CdG_MhQPwRJOEOB69gyvnIb_TG-E

BEDTIME FOR ROBOTS: ENTER THE ARTIFICIAL ERA

The Artificial Era is upon us, and there's no better source than Michael Ferentino's Bedtime  Robots to deliver it. 

I reviewed one of the album's seventeen tracks, "Godliness," in June: a marvelous submission, which Ferentino concocted with Grimes A.I. Its Philip K. Dick/Blade Runner vibe is inarguable, and such characterizes the entirety of Bedtime for Robots' newest queue, in particular the sleek "Godliness Smae Remix". (Roy Batty and Pris would definitely get down to this.) 

Perhaps the next nearest to capturing the Vangelis mode is "Former Star," which implies dancing androids in a revived, disco bar. It also alludes to a desperate chase, perhaps with Rick Deckard on the lam to secure unrequited peace.

From there, the title track, "Artificial Era," welcomes the listener to a slow, sweet crawl. It's fidgety but melodious, calculating yet amicable. It's a tune for love making, if one by chance owns a Cherry 2000, and in the future, who won't?

"Normal," which uses fortifying, Love in Reverse accompaniment, drives a neat, shuffling beat: robotic like the album's other entries, but with "Simon says" demands. Ferentino's vocals are more than apt here, drilling away a Devo chant, but one that's a whole lot deeper (creamier) than one might expect.

"Wu Wei" acts an "Artificial Era" sequel, with squishy sounds and grinding, mechanical gears, projecting robotic acrobatics set to a frisky, Space Age jam.

If "Wu Wei" is implied sex, then "Jorogumo" is pure wildness. To rephrase, it's jungle-like, spurring android beasts in an electric, safari park, where drums and bells clang in lieu of snarls and roars. It's fun (maybe even a little silly), but on the other side of the coin, pent-up feral and as such, threatening and thrilling. 

After "Jorogumo'"s unbridled gyration, one must "Play Nice," as Love in Reverse revisits. Ferentino's vocals compel one to comply with the opposition: that means one should never snatch the fruit that falls from a high-tech sky.

All the same, to achieve such a snatch (to even consider it) would be akin to a "Sensational Manifestation," which spews an anticipating verve, with a brush of eerie, Tangerine Dream unrest. It could be music for Frankenstein's lab or an assembly line in wait of Terminator construction. Either way, "Sensational Manifestation" is nothing short of aspirational great. 

But "Hive Mind" carries the ambitious concept even further. Through its pinball-machine implications, it's easy to consider a Dalek or Borg invasion: cyborg linked to cyborg, preparing for an all-consuming assimilation. 

"Scented" returns the listener to an amorous crevasse. The Tangerine Dream aroma returns, too, with maybe some John Carpenter and Neil Norman sprayed on top, forging a long, fumed passage to a place where only replicants roam.

At this point, one might feel a "Cool Hammer" strike one's brow. For this symbolic gesture, Ferentino croons it up big time, defining (and defying) the threat behind all mechanized fears. As such, his cog-sprung hammer does its job well, with an infectious trail that (if allowed) could buzz about one's ears for hours on end. 

Of course, for all the hammering, there's joyous "Release," and it comes in a composition that sports a comparable thrust, but deploys it within a Miami Vice scope, where flesh and steel converse on a transplanted beach. 

In contrast, "Grok" rekindles unabashed, primitive urges (a second "Jorogumo," if one will). It skids along (hops and chirps) like the grimy, lost youths of Logan's Run: rebellious and sequestered, but like rats to a catcher, bound to be caught, unless they dare venture into (drumroll, please)...

..."The Other Side," where contention ensues. It's a spy-like Peter Gunn, with a guitar twang that snaps like a rubber band amid wires, circuits and impassioned cries. It's robot versus robot, man against machine, questioning the rights of all cognitive things, though with no differentiation made. 

I like to think that "Beatrice" is the result of such debate: a new and improved Cherry brand, but one designed not for lust, but compassion. This track is reminiscent of Whitman and/or Bradbury's "I Sing the Body Electric," establishing a purchased homebody who cooks, cleans...cares.

If "Beatrice" is intrinsic and warm, so is "The Melting Sky," which generates a Holodeck reverie: a placating, electronic bath or whatever a frustrated soul can conjure (salvation served at special request).  

For "Voyeur of Ghosts" (the album's finale), the computerized component takes matters to a new frontier, with a militant march that sounds divine yet jingoistic at the same time. In this instance, Ferentino's vocals forge a prayer, a plea, a meditative closure that sees beyond accepted existence, beyond the forest and the trees, into the fabricated heart and soul of (un)humanity. 

Artificial Era is an exclamation for the revisionist age upon us, albeit in its infancy, but growing ever stronger by the day. Ferentino, through Bedtime for Robots (and dear ol' Love in Reverse), paints a perfect picture that's at once counterfeit, but no less real.  

Join the A.I. evolution at 

https://open.spotify.com/album/1aewJubXvL2C3nKe89wozR?si=KYCVz9CbQhCqBPB13mfTsg&fbclid=IwAR2i7U8exXaCb9LZYO66Le5DTPU72pL8WUOdSwaLYnEmXT_3Q5TAoS_ryss&nd=1