Temple ov BBV by Temple ov BBVRelease date: June 9, 2017
Label: Rocket Recordings
Gnod are the best active band in the UK; they’re also probably the most active. There is no other band on their level. You can all take your shit and go home. They’re the best band from another species and frankly, the only viable proof of alien life. Radar Men From The Moon are also a fucking good band and as men from the moon are a natural fit with the extraterrestrials known only as Gnod. How is it possible for Gnod to keeping putting out such strong releases so quickly? I can’t even find precedent for such a series of masterpieces even if I tried. The nearest I can think of is The Body but, realistically, a lot of that was collaboration, Gnod have carried themselves on their own work for the past few years and it’s all been perfect. I wonder if Gnod will follow suit from The Body and do more incredible collaborations?
‘Butchers Tears’ to me continues on from Just Say No To The Psycho Right Wing Capitalist Facist Industrial Death Machine as one of the band’s classic switches from raw, comedown rage to drug-induced disassociation and psychosis. It actually goes back and forth between the two on this album. The wrong end of the stick. The dual vocals in the track are interesting, but it does make me wonder if Gnod are playing with Neil singing as opposed to Paddy to help the various releases standout from the live performance.
The enormous presence of the album to me is the hand of Gnod at work and it’s immediately clear with the almost dark-alley, cruising vibe that this album is going to brood into something explosive. Just Say No To The Psycho Facist Capitalist Industrial Death Machine had created a political fury that exploded towards politicians like a pipe bomb; shards of raw, analogue brutality flying outwards, straight from victim to perpetrator, cutting through the white noise. This IS the white noise. This album is the urban decay, the laid off workers, the privatisation of the NHS, redundancy, food stamps, hungry kids with no packed lunch, thousands on the street and the population growing all the time. Explosions in the street, people murdered and raped every day. Welcome to Theresa’s Britain. Home of avarice, complacency and self-serving, backstabbing, reptilian bastards. No one can hear you scream because they’re too wrapped up in their own bullshit; face locked into a smartphone, mind filled with adverts and bullshit. Insecurity and shame taking over everything, predators in the night, preying on the vulnerable to quench their own inferiority, to quench and nullify there parched egos. There’s no hope, there’s no escape. We’re going back in time to accommodate anachronistic ideas and antiquated logic. Society’s fear has been weaponised against the people and the elite are profiteering on it like a fucking pizza party. Choke on your fucking caviar, I’ll be the pineapple on every slice and you’ll fucking like it. They’re slowly devouring us all. Gaining sustenance from the sweat and bones and blood and tears of workers and students and warping the weak minds of tired souls to build houses of dirty money, laundered, sent on retreat to tax havens. Building mansions out of capital like sand castles just to knock them down and start again. Everything is theirs, everything’s disposable. Human life has a price now and barely seven pounds an hour. Your standing in the person you love most in the world’s garden and you are about to die, I can give you one minute, how much will you pay for it? That’s how much your time is worth. Every time we play by their rules, every time we put our pieces onto their board, onto their monopoly we buy into a game that we should outright reject. This is no pseudo-science, this is no dress rehearsal. Once you die, you will never come back so, why bury those you leave behind in shit? Why put your descendants in tens of thousands of pounds of student loans? Why kill your family by privatising an NHS they will no longer afford? Why force critically ill people to work until they die? Do you want to leave Britain as a concentration camp where the weak are derided and the people go hungry and the only true currency is the weight of your suffering? Things could be different. But, we were sold like prostitutes to suck the money slowly the tiniest hole of billionaire cocks, splitting fractions of a percentage of wealth we should all share like atoms. The atoms are about to split. The pressure is too high, the struggle is become too tough and with the police cut and extremist groups raising, our world is going to became a scary place but, I will endure and many of you reading will. It is the vulnerable, it is your families who will not. It is the people who you love, who you care about, your friends and relatives and neighbours. We’ll watch them in unnecessary agony and no one will ever take the blame. I’m like at the class of people who run this country like a clique, they’re running it into the ground and the terror that they sell you is not the terror you should fear, the terror you need to worry about is yet to come. It’s the terror that we will enter a war zone without even being at war. We will be at war with the rich for resources and we won’t even know it. They’ll turn everyone against each other ‘cause they own the media and most people are too ignorant and uneducated to see it because they’ve been playing this game and winning for too long to lose. All we can do is brace ourselves and clench our fists and our teeth and the muscles in our gut and hope that out of some ungraspable stroke of grace we endure. Then get ready to be hit again.
That’s what the middle of the album is about to me, an atrophied society, crawling through existence like a weary child, protruding a starved, kwashiorkor stomach. Staggering like an addict, with razor-sharp edges and a broken cerebrum. Shattered dystopia of modern living. Gnod and Radar Men From The Moon can see the Earth from a distance like looking through a seeing-stone or a globe in the cosmos. We’re all fucked. There’s a reason only Gnod can really do this sort of thing and it’s for the same reason their collaborators here work so well with them, as everyone knows they’re not from this planet. They’re aliens and they make alien music. Trapped on a mote of dust, forced to suffer an insignificant existence that worst of all is riddled with flaws and errors and absolute travesties. We could be simpler creatures, we could be happier. We could live a designed life where the horrors we face are impossible to enact, we could have the power of gods to assemble matter into forms through mere thoughts and whims. Instead, we’re bound to a reality so, inadequate and inferior of intellect that, it should be surrendered to primates. I want to live as a homosapien with reason and intellect and compassion and empathy and consideration and decency and temperance and dignity and grace and love with respect, with hope, with aspiration and progress and wild visions for how things could be an absolute contempt for the outdated. Hatred channeled only into broken systems and regressions. Those who want to step backwards only. There cannot be an infinite regress, we will not live your life on a loop forever, if I have to step over your wrinkly, old corpse to do it, I’ll sail the ship of this existence forward. I want to go off the edge of the map and found out that the future offers a new world that they couldn’t even imagine existing. What Happens to Memories When You Die? They live on in other people. The world is not yours, it’s the people you meet and the people they meet in an infinite human chain. When you are erased what will those who remain behind say about you? Will anyone even remember your name? What will be a fond memory? Will you be your community’s shame? Your country’s regret?
Spinning, blistering thoughts, psychedelic distance, brutality, rage, malevolence. Disassociated, disembodied and disenfranchised from society. This is Temple ov BBV. This is England. This is punishment, this is anger and it’s spewing forth disgust. This is an outrage. This is the haunt of roulette dares, ruse of meta carpi, caveat emptor to all that enter here. We were sold a lie and we bought it all. When they write the history books, we’ll be an epoch laughed of the classroom. They’ll learn the story of the United Kingdom; built on stolen land, tortured victims and slaves. They’ll learn of the ground we raised over seas and the wars waged in our name. They’ll learn of the terrorists we trained, armed, deployed and weaponised. And they’ll laugh at the absurdity of us never accepting blame for our own faults. They’ll laugh at England after thousands of years of abusing other people and other cultures, raping and pillaging from our Celtic neighbours, storming the world on the largest navy in history, stealing homelands. Stealing humans. Colonising. Claiming ownership of temporal fields and living beings. And now turning it on ourselves, immigration and big business hoisting the country on its own petard as the self-righteous nation proudly chooses ignorance and arrogance over rationality, over sense. Choosing money for bodies and Bodies For Money. We are now a country of matadors, with no choice left, the united kingdom is the bull run and the working class can either fight each other for scraps or beg for mercy. The bull is the seemingly unbeatable odds we face, it’s the insurmountable establishment that our owns our western world. It’s also the damage we do to the undeserving and the scapegoats who suffer for the wheels to keep turning. You’re afraid so you stab and hack and slash away at that being over and over again to save your own hide because external forces have put you on a collision course and they have made you enemies for no good reason, I wonder what terror that might remind you of in our society? Here’s an excerpt from in violet’s song The Matador that I feel is apt:
“Plunge into the heart of it all
Nice clothes and a reason to perform
Does your conscience hurt at all?
Final thought forms and you plunge
Into the horns of a charging bull
End of nothing at all
You backed down too many times before
Now you’re tired of that so you ride them horns
You’re a victim of you’re own discord
A victory for the underdog”.
Temple ov BBV is a savage collaborative effort that conjures the overwhelming disillusion, paranoia and dread washing over the UK as we remain buried from years of reptilian politics. As we leave the EU and stick our heads further into the sand until it fits up our own assholes. The skull on the cover a stark image of a hole bored in the head says it all, what is more evocative of the world we live in than a hole in the fucking head? Apathy, idiocy, bollocks. Fuck off right-wing cunts. My vote lives with David Lammy.