Just in time for Halloween comes a 'back from the dead' long lost spoken word recordings of William S. Burroughs - the great Beat author of the 1950's.
This new release comes in a vibrant red splatter vinyl and an evil album cover painting depicting a summoned demon form of Burroughs, with a lethal dose of heroin for those unworthy vessels that are ready for the hot shot hit, kid.
"...I recall this one kid I conditioned to shit inside of me, then I'd wash his ass and screw him. It was real tasty and he was a lovely fella too." - WSB
Bill Frisell, King Khan and others provide the backdrop of folk dream noise jazz miff filled atmospheres to help bring the distinctive rhaspy voice of a one William Seward Burroughs, the famous author of Naked Lunch, excerpts of which appear en masse on this junk sickened album.
Let Me Hang You
"...the rising sun fills the room with pink light. Johnny is led in the room, hands tied between Mary and Mark. Johnny sees the gallows and sighs with a great Ohhh ~ his chin pulling down towards his cock, his legs bending at the knees."
This record does a great job of revisiting excepts from Burroughs masterpiece novel, Naked Lunch. These short skits, or as Burroughs referred to as 'routines', do an amazing job at intertwining satire with the most utterly sicking, disgusting and perverted thoughts only a sick and twisted individual could prescribe...yet, you keep listening, laughing with a bit of uncertainty as if you will eventually one day meet the blunt end of the stick when the joke is on you. -ChrisModem 4/5 stars
***Bonus points if you read about my personal connection with Burroughs below***
My WSB Dedicado
I recall a glorious night back in the mid-90's when the spoken word poetry scene in Chicago was still highly experimental, filled with artists, perverted old french tickler's, and a washed up old original beat poet from the 50's who spewed out anti-semite filled nonsense for a thrill. I hosted my first dedicado, a spoken word tribute night to honor the words of William S. Burroughs. A crowd of about 20 fared the frigid February cold to hang out in a cafe that once was an old tyme automotive repair shop in the heart of Wicker Park. Good friends and fellow poets, Doug Intestines and Vernon Lee each read selections from Burroughs, and another poet brought a replica Dream Machine he made while in college which became our haunted spinning light show.
I think about the day in 1997 when William S. Burroughs died, the same day my son Ian was born- and can't help but feel that the connection was meant to be. Imagined in a waking dream, I could see there was a portal of light and grey smoke that people leaving this world would pass through onto the other side... and this portal, is the same for those who are also entering this world. I imagined my newborn son passing across the portal and is spotted by William Burroughs, who gives him a wink and shares his advice as they are in a brief moment of syncronicity, "...the first crap of your life is filled with the magic poop that doctors steal and sell on the black markets as a fountain of youth. Never give away your first poop, sell it the moment you are born and make a bundle... you'll be set for life kid." -ChrisModem