Wilbur Whateley/Psychopomps 2009

Neil Rose is a Plymouth based electroacoustic composer and his debut album fully deploys his considerable skill at interweaving concrete sound sources, the spoken word and awkward polyrhythmic beat material. It is dark and brooding, and at times yields results no recording should produce, and yet retains a danceable sensibility. The release date is the 26th October 2009, we will be taking pre-orders as the record is limited to 250 copies, published by onec

Spotify Link: http://open.spotify.com/album/376HcqcMWjX5sAIO5cXMk4

Sleeve notes:
What you hold in your hands is all that was left, conjured or created we are not sure but were compelled to release it unto the world for posterity, or maybe morbid fascination. Found by a friend, who received it from a friend, and so on, until its actual origin is impossible to say, but the tape we received and now transferred to vinyl gave more indication of the grim happenings than my goose bumps and prickling hair at the sound on my first listen. The story as it was recounted to me and I recount it to you, in a hope that you may possibly fathom the sound contained within.

Whilst searching through a box of antiquated books at Plymouth’s covered market, overlooking the famous Mayflower steps, Neil Rose found an old battered, buckled and cracked leather bound tome. In this book were the first writings of the “Mad Arab” Abdul Alhazred, with hand written corrections and further elaborations by both the infamous Joseph Curwen and the ‘goat boy’ Wilbor Whateley, initially he was hypnotised by the mystical symbols contained within and compelled by the accounts of the Old Ones, discussion on impossible architecture, of angles and cities, and the starfish creatures that could only have originated from a different, or alien, world. Neil explored this book until it became all he could consider, abandoning his life and locking himself away in his house with boarded windows and a safely secured door: no-one in and definitely no-one (or nothing) out.

Inquisitive and disturbed neighbours, at the sound and strange lights centred almost entirely on the beleaguered house, were ignored and the attempts to break in by law enforcement were equally as futile until one day the door simply opened. Seemingly of its own accord and definitely not powered by any human motion.

The discovery of the strange and inhuman text writ across walls and furniture in a fluid that glowed under particular lighting conditions, the smell of absolute death, of cessation, and the slow dank trickles of black that seemed almost the essential fluids of the house itself and amidst this manifestation of nothing less than extreme evil, there it was. A single eight inch reel of quarter inch tape, a simulacra of which you now possess, an audio recording of Neil Rose’s explorations within the mad ramblings of Abdul Alhazred (originally known as “Al Azif” an Arabic word that means: “that nocturnal sound supposed to be the howling of demons”) we know this to chronicle Alhazred’s worshipping of Yog-Sothoth and Cthulhu and is commonly referred to as The Necronomicon: the text, the means to unravel reality and the bringer of madness and dissipation to all that come across it, a blasphemous link with forgotten aeons that we now pass to you.

Lovecraft, whose writing is liberally descriptive of sound in conveying horror, isn’t interested in poetry. His writing is quick, crude, and hurried – rushing towards something so hideous yet so compelling it wipes out all mind, all sense. He is not escaping from this cosmic horror, he’s escaping to it.

It’s a kind of inverse nirvana, and in the album, this expiry of sense, mind, reason – this point of encounter in the music – is devastating.