Purity

We stress test sound til it buckles, we burn off impurities and reduce it it to its essence, salt, fire, mercury, gold, ojas, its quintessence, its fivefold self. We are alchemists, seeking the stone and elixir, using music, but not musicians.

Purity is always relative, always suggests the opposing polarity. These days it seems no-one can be pure enough for the Purity Test, there is always some associative guilt from breathing this planets sickened air; Auschwitz dust, nano particles of killing fields infest lungs.

I was once in a band named Pure. Of our adoption of that name, a large loving portion of blame, can be ascribed to the brilliant cinematic feverdream, the Devils, and especially Vanessa Redgrave's beautiful flaming creature Mother Superior, whose hysterically repressed sexuality breeds monsters in flesh and mind. She is not evil, just spirit out of place, yearning for Oliver Reeds angelbeast. It is the Witch Hunters, like the hacks from the quietus, who embody soulless, cynical evil, using the witch trials to rob the populace of their freedom and independence.

And so from matters muddy and distasteful, back to the alchemy and its fruits, a new cd at last; entitled:
Purity  on the new Turgid Vermin label, a massive dose of the essence of traditional black psychedelia, its roots in the moors and valleys of Gondal.