I was reading yesterday in The Chap magazine about the death of noted dandy Sebastian Horley. Horley:
- spent 20 years living in Soho.
- wore whopping great stove-pipe hats and oversized collars daily.
- once underwent voluntary crucifixion.
- had a sign on his front door saying: 'This Is Not A Brothel. There Are No Prostitutes At This Address.'
- died of a massive heroine and cocaine overdose aged 48.
In the site's Comment section people were commenting that his death made the world more bland. Perhaps fifty people in fact were complaining that the world needed more individuality.
I started listening to an album in which a twenty-five year old black woman pretends to be an android for seventy-five minutes.
I started listening to an album in which a twenty-five year old black woman pretends to be an android for seventy-five minutes.
Yay.
Listening to The Archandroid is like spending time in a jam factory:
- On the one hand the place is filled with machinery. The atmosphere is precise and clinical.
- On the other hand sweet sweet things are being made in a variety of flavours.
It's sort of like listening to Psapp - who build their songs by sampling clockwork. Listening to Psapp though is like spending a night in a musty toyshop. Listening to Janelle Monae is like vacationing in a futuristic metropolis (see the excellent album cover!)
