Alan Vega

Alan Vega, image innovator, music mutator, sound syndicator, continues to preach his screech-reach from beyond this mortal coil. Two more tracks from the Vega Vaults, hi-tech-polished and machine-sheened by trusted associates, Liz Lamere and Jared Artaud. Vega’s grumble-mumble-rumble croon once more sermonising, harmonising, determinising, forever forewarning and foreboding, you foolishly ignore his invectives at your peril.

Vega’s bluff-gruff, growl-howl devilishly delivering a dream-stream, primal-scream of waking consciousness, faking unconsciousness, stentorianally singling out the malicious, the malcontents, the miscreants, those that horribly prey, those that solemnly pray. Redemption is hard-won, everyone’s a sinner, baby, that’s the truth.

Spectral synthetic sounds supplement the sonic structures, bubbling, troubling, blubbering:

‘Invasion’ is a two-note hyp-narcotic pendulum-thrum, the eardrums are eerily entranced, all-out abrasive, persuasive, pervasive intrusion on the senses, destabilising, disorienting and disturbing.

The ten-minute opus ‘Murder One’ takes a leaf out of ‘Frankie Teardrop’s copybook: murderously following, hunting, shadowing the script all the way to the crypt, burying the dead-heads, ferrying the breadheads, the slum-scum, the dis-eased, the remiss-pleased.

Set to pulsating, unnerving technotronica, ghostly, ghoulish and gothic, Vega assumes, presumes and resumes his positon as a satanically-manic Elvis, gospel-giver, edict-umpire, pontifex maximus, dot-connecting, seeing and witnessing ‘the lights, delights, the lights’, calling out the ‘righteous, useless, the hopeless … even the sacred Jesus’ gets a (re)verbal crucifixion. No one is innocent, everyone is assumed guilty. To the nth degree.

Not for the saint-hearted nor plaint-arted.

The single is released physically on 12” format in partnership with with iconic French clothing brand and long-time supporter Agnes B.