December 11th. 662 College St., Toronto FREE SHOW!
By: Fleshtone Aura
45rpm 12" LP
Now right here is one sexy package.
-Hand-etched center labels.
-Offset printed sleeve with cover art by Nikki Woolsey.
-Risograph/photocopied 32 page book with a laser cut cover and a silkscreened insert.
Mastered by Brandon Hocura at Polyphasic Studios.
Edition of 300.
Tad Michalak (Burn Down The Capital), from Offerings: "Andrew Zukerman of Gastric Female Reflex fame's curates an intricate & finely tuned landscape of auditory fart jokes and avant-gardism on his first LP as Fleshtone Aura. We are bombarded by the warm energy of a high speed cut & paste dance mix, as if the frantic brain of a 5 year old had been asked to make an aural layout of his attention span, or some sort of table of contents for this LP. This chaos quickly ends with the feeling that all these sounds have been simultaneously thrown off the CN Tower & are falling aimlessly through space, silent before their imminent demise. In their absence, the remaining sounds rumble & clatter in a magnitude of space, it's almost relaxing. A free jazz duet for motorcycle & percussion, gears twisting, ominous maneuvers in the dark. Sound crystalizes refracting in a house of mirrors. Piercing sine waves slice through mundanity, as this chameleon writhes at twitches. Bumping dance beats emerge out of human pauses, and carefully placed electro acoustic junk percussion. A piano note stretches into a harsh rumbling landscape of wind noise, fire crackles, scrapping metal and hushed squeals. The definitive sounds of a world post 2012 disaster.
The 2nd side opens as a 1950's joke factory soundtrack. Classic rock riffs tango with child-ish bleeps & bloops in a bird like call & response. Similar to string of great jokes or slapstick film scenes Andrew's collages gestate forward with an oddly nostalgic undertone. Abrasive screeches and sweeps lead to luscious and decadent tidbits of familiarity, unsettling, as they are comforting in their commodified environment. Something like a recapping of a horse race meets postnasal drip. The bubbling voice of Jabba the Hutt dictates some unknown message from beneath the murk. Heart warming abstractions of a human reality."