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: THE GREAT ENDLESS (TO PATCH THE EMPTINESS)

Michael Ferentino's Bedtime for Robots has just prescribed a free "drug" to plug the holes left by our current, publicized dread. In case one hasn't yet given it a listen, it's called The Great Endless and builds infinite, emotional landscapes in which one may roam. 

The album is best personified by its expansive, three-part, self-titled tracks, which skid in such a way to confuse yet enlighten: just like life's ups and downs. The trio is both harsh and silky, twisting like licorice vines to the point of becoming a warm, gooey strip. 

This long, layered slither tastes best if one absorbs its preludes: "No Questions", which introduces a deep, swallowing void; "Spacecream", which acts as its foamy aftermath; and "Flow", which spreads a rising residue, settling one into the right (or perhaps wrong) state of mind.

To further bracket "The Great Endless, parts 1-3", Ferentino triggers "Sin Moon", which echoes sticky, forbidden lure; sequelized by "Day Whatever", which rubs a kind of revolutionary resignation; "Disfigured Information" follows to represent the lies that induce such raw relaxation; tipped by "Globe", an advent for a greater, all-consuming numbness. The album's "Epilogue" performs as a sardonic goodbye that says all is fine, even though it's not. 

The Great Endless is like a furtive fix formed to help one cope, but like most transfixing formulas, it doesn't erase the pain; instead, it romanticizes it. 

In this dim period, we need all the symbolic, adhesive patches we can grasp. Once again, Bedtime for Robots packages the righteous  "remedy" with bittersweet, electronic precision. 

Take the Great Endless injection at 
https://bedtimeforrobots.bandcamp.com/album/the-great-endless?fbclid=IwAR1t-00xxEQEmWi9FQFnfLZ4vC8psuGyvDu4vCZd5E9HfcH7f1E1HhQq12E.

FERENTINO'S BEDTIME FOR ROBOTS: AN ENTRANCING PHASE 2

I'm shamelessly partial to Michael Ferentino's Bedtime for Robots, as my readers know. The latest gathering of tracks, Phase 2 (as  insiders have come to call it), is no exception to the rule and may be the project's most profound compilation to date.  

As with any Bedtime for Robots ensemble, Phase 2's arrangement creates a hypnotic draw. In truth, this particular offering is, as Ferentino puts it,  a "goodbye album to the early 21st century", which makes it also a sort of farewell lullaby. However, it won't lull one to sleep as much as it'll awaken one's most audacious reflections. 

"Strange Faceless" stands as my current, most-listened-to track (partly due to its phantasmagorical video). Its unorthodox texture epitomizes the compilation's thematic temperament, presenting a headlining journey into unidentifiable but inviting turf. (Think of it along the lines of Hans Salter's "Treacherous Trek" from Jack Arnold's "The Mole People", only more upbeat in its beckoning breadth, but no less odd or risky for all of its adventurous smoothness.)  

The album's other selections extend the anesthetic buzz, smacking of Herbie Hancock; Kraftwerk; and maybe, just maybe (if one rolls with the interluding punches), a smidgen of Jerry Goldsmith, redesigned by the Moody Blues.  

These elements are most recognizable in what might be the undisputed champ of mechanical madness, "St. Valentine's Day Massacre", but they also mark the nibbling "Infamous Blasphemous" and "Sweet Earth Holes": compositions that would make the great Fritz Lang kneel in respect.   

To complement the dystopian aura, we also have the super-gnawing "Ineffective"; the sensually robotic "Eliza"; the "Blade Runner"-ish "Lost Film" and "Synthetic Hex"; plus what could act as an alternate, "Peter Gunn" accompaniment, "Corporate Radiation", which in the context of the compelling queue, reinforces the ambivalent urge to rest and revolt. 

At other times, Phase 2 fizzes of hot-and-bothered cynicism, characterized by the hip, scientific tones of "Move 37"; "Human Replacement"; and the big-time rockin' "FTS", which will get one dancin' and prancin' like there ain't no tomorrow. Though these select tracks sometimes insinuate peril, their soulful hearts enchant as much as the others, solidifying the album's existential effect. 

Phase 2 also contains three, superlative bonus tracks: "Lamb Offerings", "Thing" and "The Long Walk Home from Sanity", which cap the silvery stream with just the right snappiness. 

No matter how one hopes to pigeonhole it (and there's no way one can), Phase 2 is an exceptional gift to Bedtime for Robots fans, forging the type of escapism that only Ferentino can formulate: an orchestrated pill that makes everything edgy and at the same time, right as rain.  

Embrace Ferentino's entrancing work at 
https://bedtimeforrobots.bandcamp.com/album/bedtime-for-robots?fbclid=IwAR13GcyCbdWTMYtFDc9SYEVFyz2xfKF-n1wu6zHpxyJkueMYcVBsX1pYBi8