Rocket From The Crypt Live From Camp X-Ray Rar

AT WAR WITH FALSE NOISEPOSTAGE PRICES. CDs/7. Everything else after that is ordered by format in the following order: LPs, 7. A lot of folk have moaned that this list is cumbersome and annoying to read but you know what? I've spent ten years now listing distro up on here and I hold the idea of actually listening to stuff I get in and giving an opinion on it very dear. Hardly any other distro in the world does this, cos nobody's got an opinion on anything any more other than how many units they can shift and how cool they look posing in daft leather spiky outfits. I spent my youth going through distro lists I got in the mail, reading about bands I'd never heard of and sending off for stuff based on what some guy on the other side of the world thought of it, and this distro list is an unapologetic continuation of that idea. This is underground music, we should be ENCOURAGING communication, I kinda like getting to know the people who buys records off me.

At War With False Noise is a Scottish DIY record label. AWWFN is not ran for profit, it exists to get good music out there. META-INF/MANIFEST.MFname/audet/samuel/shorttyping/ShortDictManager$BufferedStream.classname/audet/samuel/shorttyping/ShortDictManager.classname/audet/samuel.

I don't want to just see a Paypal payment in my inbox then ship yer gear out. If you want some middle- class fucking coffee- table vinyl boxset and the ability to pay via credit card without actually communicating with a human being, stick to the Nuclear War Nigels or Hell's Ballbangers. See my comments below for my thoughts on modern bands trying to be like bands from the 7.

Embarassingly shite cover art, better music, but not enough to convince me personally to shed any coin on it. As ever, of course, I am not the boss of you!

As always, stellar work. This is some of the most atmospheric stuff I've heard in some time..

Rocket From The Crypt Live From Camp X-Ray Rar

Straddling the line between funeral doom and doom/death, as with the album above, these guys rely on total atmosphere and hit the mark perfectly. Their logo isn't EXACTLY like Incantation's for nothing ya know! Not quite up to the ultimately high standard of the first two LPs but this un's still a topper. I'm thinking AFI here as a good example. I mind my pal at school got one of their records cos it was meant to be like Samhain or something and it just sounded like the usual guff pop- punk crap. So.. this is the real deal! Great dark sub- gothic riffs, horrible gutteral screaming vocals.

In finance, an exchange rate (also known as a foreign-exchange rate, forex rate, ER, FX rate or Agio) between two currencies is the rate at which one currency will be.

Even the artwork is absolutely bang- on! Release of the week easy. Anyway, this is one of them, dunno the band but looks like it's meant to be a Politzioteschi. Sound- wise it's not far off the money; there's a bit of tape hiss, funky bass, Hammond organ going on, samples.

A while back we detailed how to make your own Amazon Echo device using a Raspberry Pi, but if anything went wrong with it, you’d have to manually reboot the whole. Search the history of over 286 billion web pages on the Internet. If you’ve ever shopped for sports sunglasses for running, cycling, hiking, or whatever else, you know there are tons of different colored lenses to choose from.

UpdateStar is compatible with Windows platforms. UpdateStar has been tested to meet all of the technical requirements to be compatible with Windows 10, 8.1, Windows 8. Oye Records houses a fantastic range of music. Mostly devoted to house and disco there is also enough hip hop, jazz, and brand new electronic 12-inches.

Like a lot of these things the art isn't up to snuff, have hardly ever seen anyone get art to look like an actual old record, presumably because.. Includes Whitehorse, Fistula, Habsyll, Sollubi and Crowskin amongst others doing some really bizarre covers.

Nirvana, Dead Kennedys, Kiss, Neanderthal.. Nice packaging with embossed and die- cut recycled sleeve. Imagine Fun House but evil. Split LP with NO BALLS coming on AWWFN soon! Limited to 1. 37 copies. So take the hint and grab while ye can.

The flexi is nearly sold out an all while I'm at it! These guys are the band of the moment really, absolutely great raging mixture of Jap and Swedish styles, totally violent music! Look forward to them on tour in the UK next month, along with a live FLEXI on At War With False Noise!!

This is Thisclose lineup mk XVIII I think now. This one is a doozy, featuring splits with Charred Remains, Violent Headache, Psycho, Nyctophobic, as well as belters like Agarchy and No Use.. Hatred. This is decent stuff, I guess as with a lot of bands Agathocles palm off their shite on the split 7.

Some of the grottiest, grooviest grind ever recorded! This is probably one of those. If you've never heard them and want to know what all the fuss is about (I mean, they ARE good), then fire in! If you've heard them before, put that four quid to some better use, like umm...

Paranoid, Thisclose, Gaze, Endless Grinning Skulls, Sludge, Rodney Shades Band. CD with big booklet: top! Caustic dirge punk, raging! Try as they might, still no- one comes close to his crumbling wall of abslute brutality.

Herukat is a new one on me and I have to say these two tracks are ace. There's not much room for dynamic here, it's just full- on harsh harsh PE.

I think there's vocals going on and not samples, but hard to tell. Wild, heavy guitar driving fuzz riffs and great space- age 7. Even the cover art is gloriously bonkers. Which is a big shame cos this LP is the absolute business, been on heavy rotation since I got these in the other week! This is the first Modern Art tape which came out in 1.

Early 8. 0s synth- pop (well, dunno how . It's not as obtuse as cold wave, reminds me loads of early Human League and early Midge Ure- era Ultravox.

Both these things are excellent by the way!! Definitely recommended and keeping one of these fellas for myself!

It's not gonna blow any minds, but total solid stuff. Limited to only 1. Got black, flourescent pink and silver vinyl. Got to be hoenst, I'm massively surprised they never did one with these old- school grinders already to be honest, but there ya go. Got black, swirly purple and gold vinyl. It's got elements of Paisley pop, hard- riffing proto- punk and Hollies- esque dreamy pop- psych.

Comes with a repro unissued 7. As before, some utterly top underground 8. Cold Tapes roster. If those names mean nothing to you, Google em and giv some of these bands a listen: essential! It's a total roughly- hewn classic and every song is a stonker.

An original of this once came in Missing and Hill wouldnae give me a sniff of it, sold for over 3. Working in a record shop for a roaster fuckin sucks. Weird choice of covers: Judas Priest, Rotten Sound, Haemorrhage and Venemous Concept (eh?). Industrial Holocaust: long- running legendary noisecore also from Brazil.

Think Flipper, Kilslug, Brainbombs but recorded by (even more) drugged- up tramps. Top stuff and nice to see a pro- done repress.

Checking them out they're utterly bonkers, I don't really know how to describe it. It's not techy- weird like, say Disharmonic Orchestra, just sounds like the kinda thing a bunch fo total madmen would come up with if they'd only ever been exposed to a bunch of Finnish death metal and Captain Beefheart LPs. SMS's tracks are realy very freeform, with no riffs at all, just one long mongo- jazz fuzz- fest. Excellent cover art of a very neatly- drawns onion and carrot in a rude- looking position. Reminiscent of Fear Of God/Sore Throat etc.

I mean, it sounds like absolute shit and honestly I wouldn't have stuck this out on vinyl, would've made an ace tape though. I guess the non- production is half the appeal, mind. This short- lived/one- off project got a limited release at the time, so good of RSR to step in and make it available again. Some sleeve damage (one corner bent on all copies) due to snide packaging on its way to me.

I actually quite like the 8. Some sleeve damage (one corner bent on all copies) due to snide packaging on its way to me. Pre- Rupture (Gus when he was still plain . Though anyone with a brain could see they were always the absolute masters of piss- taking anyway eh! So anyway, this is great heavy and sloppy hardcore with a definite grind sound, impressive given this was recorded in 1. No much more to say about that, really. Couple Skate: weirdly- monickered and totally boring pitch- shifted- vocal gore grind.

This is from a few years ago, old stock found! That said, it's dead good, ultra- fast thrashcore.

The drummer from NO COMMENT was in these guys, nuff said! Comes with a CD of the original rough- sounding material too. This was originally a mini- CD and SPHC has steped up to put it out on vinyl. It's got a really clean production, about a million musical styles going on, it sounds completely all- over- the- place but also totally cohesive at the same time.

Definitely a head- scratcher, but one of those which you find yourself constantly coming back to. Basically, the band members are both credited as . Shackles are Australian and much less controlled, proper beefy out- of- control grind/PV. I really like their side, actually, bit mental. These guys do the pissed- off, abrasive and vicious hardcore thing really well, and I'd take em over powderpuffs like Nails any day. Limited RSR- version blue vinyl.

Some sleeve damage (one corner bent on all copies) due to snide packaging on its way to me. These guys are the REAL DEAL: totally DIY punk attitude!

I love all their stuff (the split 7. If you're into your noisecore you know the South American sound by now: ultra- feral, lo- fi, paint- stripping terrible recording quality. It's absolutely supoib, get it!! Top notch, recommended. Included is the God's Course demo which is an absolute RAGER as well.

OLD would go on to totally rip up the rule book on every release and this is a great early look at where these guys came from. While much of their split 7.

This collects their four 7. Great, catchy riffs and nasty vocals that sound great in German. Very highly recommended! The new stuff is pretty cool, actually: usually with stuff like this years later it's much tighter but these guys were in WEHRMACHT, they were one of the tightest bands out at the time! Some re- done old songs and new stuff. Bedrock Blurr demo is a classic, worth picking up for that alone really.

Remember: if you're serious, you lose! And they've left on a high note; this record is just as pissed- off and heavy as their early stuff. Never lets up from the start and the riffs are great. Just top notch Finn hardcore, recommended. MA - pretty catchy goregrind but with those absolute shit vocals that sound like a wee pig getting bummed. This one isn't quite as abrasive as their previous stuff. Mind seeing them for the first time, basically the guitar didn't seem to be playing any tune at all in any way, it just sounded like .

So this is well more . My favourite bit about this record though is the peurile schoolboy snakes and ladders board game enclosed, which seems to be mainly about wanking. I remember getting their record on Slap A Ham back when I was at school and - despite being heavy into Napalm, Carcass and all them, thinking .

It was the fact that the cave was in the middle of Islington and there wasn't a bus due for two million years. Time is the worst place, so to speak, to get lost in, as Arthur Dent could testify, having been lost in both time and space a good deal. At least being lost in space kept you busy. He was stranded in prehistoric Earth as the result of a complex sequence of events which had involved him being alternately blown up and insulted in more bizarre regions of the Galaxy than he ever dreamt existed, and though his life had now turned very, very, very quiet, he was still feeling jumpy. He hadn't been blown up now for five years. Since he had hardly seen anyone since he and Ford Prefect had parted company four years previously, he hadn't been insulted in all that time either.

Except just once. It had happened on a spring evening about two years previously. He was returning to his cave just a little after dusk when he became aware of lights flashing eerily through the clouds. He turned and stared, with hope suddenly clambering through his heart.

The castaway's impossible dream — a ship. And as he watched, as he stared in wonder and excitement, a long silver ship descended through the warm evening air, quietly, without fuss, its long legs unlocking in a smooth ballet of technology. It alighted gently on the ground, and what little hum it had generated died away, as if lulled by the evening calm.

A ramp extended itself. Light streamed out. A tall figure appeared silhouetted in the hatchway. It walked down the ramp and stood in front of Arthur.“You're a jerk, Dent,” it said simply. It was alien, very alien.

It had a peculiar alien tallness, a peculiar alien flattened head, peculiar slitty little alien eyes, extravagantly draped golden ropes with a peculiarly alien collar design, and pale grey- green alien skin which had about it that lustrous shine which most grey- green faces can only acquire with plenty of exercise and very expensive soap. Arthur boggled at it. It gazed levelly at him. Arthur's first sensations of hope and trepidation had instantly been overwhelmed by astonishment, and all sorts of thoughts were battling for the use of his vocal chords at this moment.“Whh..?” he said.“Bu.. He was feeling the effects of having not said anything to anybody for as long as he could remember. The alien creature frowned briefly and consulted what appeared to be some species of clipboard which he was holding in his thin and spindly alien hand.“Arthur Dent?” it said. Arthur nodded helplessly.“Arthur Philip Dent?” pursued the alien in a kind of efficient yap.“Er..

It marched up the ramp, through the hatchway and disappeared into the ship. The ship sealed itself.

It started to make a low throbbing hum.“Er, hey!” shouted Arthur, and started to run helplessly towards it.“Wait a minute!” he called. Wait a minute!”The ship rose, as if shedding its weight like a cloak to the ground, and hovered briefly.

It swept strangely up into the evening sky. It passed up through the clouds, illuminating them briefly, and then was gone, leaving Arthur alone in an immensity of land dancing a helplessly tiny little dance.“What?” he screamed. Come back here and say that!”He jumped and danced until his legs trembled, and shouted till his lungs rasped.

There was no answer from anyone. There was no one to hear him or speak to him. The alien ship was already thundering towards the upper reaches of the atmosphere, on its way out into the appalling void which separates the very few things there are in the Universe from each other.

Its occupant, the alien with the expensive complexion, leaned back in its single seat. His name was Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged.

He was a man with a purpose. Not a very good purpose, as he would have been the first to admit, but it was at least a purpose and it did at least keep him on the move. Wowbagger the Infinitely Prolonged was indeed, is — one of the Universe's very small number of immortal beings. Those who are born immortal instinctively know how to cope with it, but Wowbagger was not one of them. Indeed he had come to hate them, the load of serene bastards. He had had his immortality thrust upon him by an unfortunate accident with an irrational particle accelerator, a liquid lunch and a pair of rubber bands. The precise details of the accident are not important because no one has ever managed to duplicate the exact circumstances under which it happened, and many people have ended up looking very silly, or dead, or both, trying.

Wowbagger closed his eyes in a grim and weary expression, put some light jazz on the ship's stereo, and reflected that he could have made it if it hadn't been for Sunday afternoons, he really could have done. To begin with it was fun, he had a ball, living dangerously, taking risks, cleaning up on high- yield long- term investments, and just generally outliving the hell out of everybody. In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness which starts to set in at about 2. So things began to pall for him.

The merry smiles he used to wear at other people's funerals began to fade. He began to despise the Universe in general, and everyone in it in particular. This was the point at which he conceived his purpose, the thing which would drive him on, and which, as far as he could see, would drive him on forever. It was this. He would insult the Universe. That is, he would insult everybody in it.

Individually, personally, one by one, and (this was the thing he really decided to grit his teeth over) in alphabetical order. When people protested to him, as they sometimes had done, that the plan was not merely misguided but actually impossible because of the number of people being born and dying all the time, he would merely fix them with a steely look and say, “A man can dream can't he?”And so he started out. He equipped a spaceship that was built to last with the computer capable of handling all the data processing involved in keeping track of the entire population of the known Universe and working out the horrifically complicated routes involved. His ship fled through the inner orbits of the Sol star system, preparing to slingshot round the sun and fling itself out into interstellar space.“Computer,” he said.“Here,” yipped the computer.“Where next?”“Computing that.”Wowbagger gazed for a moment at the fantastic jewellery of the night, the billions of tiny diamond worlds that dusted the infinite darkness with light.

Every one, every single one, was on his itinerary. Most of them he would be going to millions of times over. He imagined for a moment his itinerary connecting up all the dots in the sky like a child's numbered dots puzzle. He hoped that from some vantage point in the Universe it might be seen to spell a very, very rude word. The computer beeped tunelessly to indicate that it had finished its calculations. It beeped.“Fourth world of the Folfanga system,” it continued. It beeped again.“Estimated journey time, three weeks,” it continued further.

It beeped again.“There to meet with a small slug,” it beeped, “of the genus ARth- Urp. Hil- Ipdenu.”“I believe,” it added, after a slight pause during which it beeped, “that you had decided to call it a brainless prat.”Wowbagger grunted. He watched the majesty of creation outside his window for a moment or two.“I think I'll take a nap,” he said, and then added, “what network areas are we going to be passing through in the next few hours?”The computer beeped.“Cosmovid, Thinkpix and Home Brain Box,” it said, and beeped.“Any movies I haven't seen thirty thousand times already?”“No.”“Uh.”“There's Angst in Space. You've only seen that thirty- three thousand five hundred and seventeen times.”“Wake me for the second reel.”The computer beeped.“Sleep well,” it said. The ship fled on through the night. Meanwhile, on Earth, it began to pour with rain and Arthur Dent sat in his cave and had one of the most truly rotten evenings of his entire life, thinking of things he could have said to the alien and swatting flies, who also had a rotten evening. The next day he made himself a pouch out of rabbit skin because he thought it would be useful to keep things in.

He wrapped his dilapidated dressing gown tightly around him and beamed at the bright morning. The air was clear and scented, the breeze flitted lightly through the tall grass around his cave, the birds were chirruping at each other, the butterflies were flitting about prettily, and the whole of nature seemed to be conspiring to be as pleasant as it possibly could.

It wasn't all the pastoral delights that were making Arthur feel so cheery, though. He had just had a wonderful idea about how to cope with the terrible lonely isolation, the nightmares, the failure of all his attempts at horticulture, and the sheer futurelessness and futility of his life here on prehistoric Earth, which was that he would go mad. He beamed again and took a bite out of a rabbit leg left over from his supper. He chewed happily for a few moments and then decided formally to announce his decision.

He stood up straight and looked the world squarely in the fields and hills. To add weight to his words he stuck the rabbit bone in his hair. He spread his arms out wide.“I will go mad!” he announced.“Good idea,” said Ford Prefect, clambering down from the rock on which he had been sitting. Arthur's brain somersaulted. His jaw did press- ups.“I went mad for a while,” said Ford, “did me no end of good.”“You see,” said Ford, “..”“Where have you been?” interrupted Arthur, now that his head had finished working out.“Around,” said Ford, “around and about.” He grinned in what he accurately judged to be an infuriating manner. I reckoned that if the world wanted me badly enough it would call back. It did.”He took out of his now terribly battered and dilapidated satchel his Sub- Etha Sens- O- Matic.“At least,” he said, “I think it did.

This has been playing up a bit.” He shook it.