#heliodrome

[jamesphoney]

Le Jardin des Especes, by Héliodrome

9 track album

the long wait is over... Héliodrome have released their new album on Endemik Music and it is immense. I don't really do vocal features anymore but when Scott Da Ros and Frederick Galbrun (Khyro) got in touch with me to ask for a vocal feature on this album there was only going to be one answer. Heliodrome are a great band and this record is wonderful. get involved.

[jamesphoney]

heliodrome rant - excerpt from purloin series [a near novel]

i was very very kindly asked to feature on the new HELIODROME record. a true honour. here is what i decided to eat through the microphone with. >>

heliodrome rant - excerpt from purloin series [a near novel]

sample maniacal character i:

siamese twins in chequered school girl outfit, ruff around neck and without faces. full head of hair entirely consumes circumference of cranium. ostensibly one always sees them from behind. no front to this thing. they are forever in the frosty shadow of an empty new office build between the city and the family homes. an old tape reel winds perpetually just out of arm's reach from them. they seem pretty unbothered. hard to tell though due to their lack of facial features or anything save back. maybe they do care. it must be irritating, surely.

sample maniacal character ii:

fat ashen man with properly greasy and well receded hair wearing - without irony - comedy-sized 3D glasses with an embossed atomic bomb explosion in the plastic. he moves not at all and speaks only of a nineteen-fifties teenage girl cradling the wounded head of a goat  . he has no legs and his spine is that of an african lungfish. he harbours an icy sliver of menace but freelances as a house-sitter for the weather-chasing wealthy. A laugh-a-minute type cad.

sample maniacal character iii :

huge woman with a massive knit jumper dressed in squatter chic - in love with a young man who drives a car. she draws diagrams of urban chaos and drinks foamy soya milk with a single shot espresso. her facial features are the whole world beneath a jaggedly self - scissored fringe. her head is the globe. in place of breasts she has the gawping faces of two tired bald men in regal garments. she seems happy.

...

all three maniacal sorts clutch laminated max ernst collage cut-outs and sing 'i'm going to drown myself' by ray charles. it is a claustrophobic scene made all the coarser by the subservient old chap being tattooed across his shaven breast with a medium level sudoku. one could lop chunks off the general air of discomfort with a cleaver.

in short, our confused hero was unsure of why he had arrived at this place of odd types and woe. stranger bows in exaggerated greeting of hero, hero in turn bows too and presents tattered invite which stranger throws onto a fire of old computer components and aeroplane seat belt buckles. he kills the flames with bound vases of urine.

stranger rises unsteadily and pirouettes, dead camp like, to a heavy theatre curtain situated at the back of a caravan. he holds it open to reveal an operating table covered in waxy fruit and european cheese cut into cubes and skewered by toothpicks. they begin to eat in earnest, they eat for a long time. before long the room is covered in piddle and shit. the two begin to cuddle, nestled in the corner of the room to sleep and digest - to dream and be free, the hero and the stranger.

there were figures on the bridge

it’s mad as hell here we hear them say