TOO LATE FOR THE PAST
produced by Lydia Lunch
& Alex Cook
Released via Fr33zehead Records 26th Feb 2022
"Slow Knife - exactly what's needed now to reinvigorate the lust for something sonically ferocious and lyrically frenzied. Gorgeous. Bizarre" - Lydia Lunch
TOO LATE FOR THE PAST the debut album by Slow Knife is out now on Fr33zehead records
"An Album of Majestic Horror, Mystery, And Epic Weirdness!"
A boiling pot of post punk, free jazz, drone, blast beats, tape cut ups, musique concrete and no wave shot through a science fiction filter. The sound is evocative of a Hammer Horror or Lynchian soundtrack, intended to be both enthralling and sinister.
The album is an exceptionally crafted, fierce debut, immersed in influences laid before them by co-producer Lydia Lunch and experimental musical history. The album features guest vocal samples by Lydia Lunch, from Killer Cassette for Sale.
This debut has many visually visceral and disquieting influences, including the films of Ed Wood, ham horror, B-movies, Giallo, Dada and Surrealism.
TLFTP contains a dizzying collection of strange instruments, including: harmonium,
Theremin, various homemade electronic machines, soprano/ alto/ baritone saxophones, extended zithers, organ bass pedals, prepared piano, and handmade instruments like the home swinger (12 string electric zither with a pitch rod) designed by the Dutch maverick instrument maker, Yuri Landman. The album also includes binaural Foley recordings of kitchen sink instruments.
Daniel John Tasker’s poetry draws from numerous influences including mythology,
William Blake and Alexander Pope. An Ancient Historian, Artist and Writer, his subject
matter ranges from ancient history to epistemological nihilism. Tasker recently released his first poetry volume entitled Observations.
"A bit like listening to John Cooper Clarke leading a space-jazz zombie resurrection of The Birthday Party. Too Late For The Past is a record that requires full attention and repeat listens as it's grubby, northern claw takes its grip over your fragile soul"
- J.R Moores, author of Electric Wizards: A Tapestry of Heavy Music, 1968 to the Present
Released via Fr33zehead Records
It’s the brick colossus, coronated with a neon sign,
It’s glow’s a cattle-brand that claims our precious lines of sight.
Condemned we were (since rubber shunned the primal scene) to fight,
Against these barricades man-made, to grasp a glinting goal.
The magic letters flicker like an evanescent soul.
9’0 clock, we’re cracking rocks, far not from it’s red glare.
5 pm., we’re scuttling home,
incapable of caring, for maxims gemmed, ensnaring
the enlightened sages few. The multitudes precocious are
by time’s sharp hands run through. P-A-L-A-C-E; anxiety,
Sinking in a pool and carrots cruel jeer at our reach.
The word of pleonexia, plump priests of Mammon preach.
Friday night; the din of daft, self-medicating men,
shall perish soon and radiate o’er them it shall again.
Palace! Palace! She gleams. (x10)
It’s the indefatigable force incessantly pushing,
Mining, Digging into the heart,
With the nefarious objective of reducing it to a woefully hollow mass,
With holes aplenty sending invitations out,
To all of Tartarus’ sons.
The war begins as soon as we have sinned…yes, yes
Propelled we are from, Yonic portals,
Into a harrowing obstacle course that cuts through spirits
Like Perseus’s blade And all who’ve met my gaze have turned to stone.
Rocked we are by realisations, sending Santa to the block,
Cocked have been a billion guns, Each aimed at our names
And fame’s reserved for the selected few. Tobacco knoweth how to blow,
Plights away for a time, But like the hordes of Xerxes,
This immortal scourge returns , And tortures us as Kierkegaard expressed.
Being is Thermopylae; a teardrop of a stand, Mustering all that we have in hopeless
wars forlorn And doomed to be betrayed by our lassitude or scorn,
But bravery retards their grim advance. A stoic can keep hurricanes at bay…bay.
Palace! Palace, She gleams… (x8)
NUKE THE MOON
Nuke the Moon tells the story of project A119, a military plan to test
nuclear weapons on the moon.
Nuke the Moon!
Passed the paltry promises and rueing of inquiries,
All verities are found inside the documents and diaries,
Verily, their professed visions camouflage the fiery
Craters of misadventure and our censored truths supressed.
School commends the ant that chants we’re entitled to less.
Discarded signs, A119, Not enough, Clowns lampooned.
With purchased clarity, We’ll see, Our daddies,
Nuke the moon.
Why did Old Bill’s dalliances arouse the scorn of millions?
He only banged Lewinsky, other salesmen have fucked billions,
With rows of factories closed and undisclosed conflicts vermilion.
A bombardment of seasoned words can hide Saharan chests
And any firm can tumble down if nobody invests.
Sleepless T.Vs Are holy. Bottle-feed the mind, Stay tuned!
Mythologise, Complacency, And watch them Nuke the moon.
Athens’s project has landed, all can grasp that ring of brass!
(Unless you’re black or gay or elderly or working class),
Look to the lauded futures, not to the vacuous past,
For there only sad fantasists and malcontents may learn,
Leave it to the seldom seen to direct and discern.
Those unborn, Distant footprints, Shall be left by us soon.
The refined globe, Shall glimmer
Whilst, Our keepers, Nuke the moon.
Flourishing flocks so thankful eulogise their virgin media,
Prized are new era masterminds; mentored by Wikipedia,
All nurtured heads, post-modern are bulging encyclopedias
Allow idols not idle to concoct all evidence
And let them choose which matters are ones of great precedence.
Integrity, Morality; No qualities impugned.
Obsequiousness, Shall ensure,
That they shall, Nuke the moon.
Spare the recitations and replies littered with stutters
And normal condescension, you’ll descry the gaping gutter,
Which widens come the vanishing of microphones and butter.
They’ll fill mask-donning pots and barrels with shapeshifting funds,
During which touted designs shall collapse; moribund.
Questioners Are ridiculed, By addicts of The spoon,
Which provides Moreish Soma. They’ll watch them, Nuke the moon.
The orphaned signs, A119, A grove, With mullock, Strewn.
Our destinies, Are clear to see.
Nuke the fucking moon!
Inspired by the book of the same name by Lydia Lunch - Paradoxia: A Predator's Diary, a hellish ride into the depths of debauchery and sin. The track features vocal samples from Lydia herself and is inspired by Lydia’s musical tastes: from blast beats, surreal sounds and creeping late-night jazz.
The collaboration with the Punk Hellraiser Lydia Lunch comes in anticipation of her co-production of the upcoming debut album, Too Late For the Past.
Structurally, the piece is influenced by William Burrough's cut-up technique; the track utilizes razor-sharp edits creating a maddening attack on your pitiful brain. Paradoxia, the book, and track, is a roller coaster ride through sordid memories and neon streets. Tasker’s Ashtonian drawl and lyrical content, backed by blast beats and freak out no wave swells, explore the theory of alienation, society of the spectacle, the extremist dystopian idea of Year Zero, and the concept of the Ubermensch. Read the full press release HERE.
"Tearing itself at the seams with an unhinged exuberance that finds itself in a liminal emotional space between rage and ecstasy' - tometotheweathermachine.com
"A zig-zag rocket-ride alongside the border between genius and insanity. Erupting volcanos of Jazz from hell" - mangorave.blogspot.com
"Straight out of Frank Zappa’s jester playbook, a truly unique, albeit bizarre, tumultuous, thunderous rollercoaster of an experience for any listener" - weareymx.com