Saturday, 23 July 2011

"audio-visual fulang.."

we've just posted some quick videos of the fulang online..

flight risk

emergency

and a demo of blood money

audio-visual fulang>>

Friday, 22 July 2011

"studio fulang.."


ok so after demo'ing some noise the fulang is now preparing to go into the studio.. we managed to get byron jackson from one unique signal to give us a hand and an ear so we'll be recording 4 or 5 tracks depending on time.. plus we'll add some overdubs onto some other tracks we did late in 2010 and hopefully end up with enough to put on a cd.. the tracks will be sent off to sunny outer-London to be mixed by joseph webb.. any that dont make the final cut will be leaked out in other ways via the myspace, downloads or from a loudspeaker on the gunnersbury to kentish town overground.. the rest of the year will be spent playing live so we're booking some shows - the first of which is a RIP THIS JOINT night at the constitution in camden on september 17th.. entry will £2 and theres 4 bands on.. ok ok..

Monday, 4 July 2011

"not friday night in brixton music.."

so the fulang played in brixton on friday.. at the queens head, stockwell road..
as we began... feeling out the first song... the landlord galloped over from the bar.. waving his arms around.. and started shouting at the soundman.. in some drunken gibbering accent... about "too much noise" or something.. the fulang was cranking through the gears, easing into it, so we ignored the ugly scene... until the drunken man decided to involve stuart, bellowing in his ear..

"HOPE YOU DIDNT THINK YOU CAME HERE TO PLAY THAT LOUD.."
"huh?"
"THIS ISNT 'FRIDAY NIGHT IN BRIXTON' MUSIC!"
"it is for the next 25 minutes.."
"IF YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA PLAY LIKE THAT THEN I'M COMING BACK WITH A BUCKET OF ICE.."

he threatened..
then scuttled off behind the bar.. hand holding his boating hat atop his head... a little jack russell following his white sports socks.. with a concerned look on its face..

we ploughed on like missionaries.. through the guttural blues of "blood money".. the jack russell occasionally sniffing at my foot-pedals.. then settled into the less grating on the ear/soul sound of "salado" and all seemed well... there was no ice visited upon us and no scuttling or bellowing..
the room filled up.. and so did the sound..

I announced "Los 33" as our final song and one unsuspecting voice replied

"what? the last one? already?"

...before we unleashed 15 minutes of disgusting low-down perverted noise.. the drawling feedback and the horror of guitar-assault, apparent.. my moans falling from the p.a. and floating off somewhere towards the skatepark down the road.. with that homeless guy on the bench watching the kids arch and weave in balletic shapes over the concrete and graffiti..

afterwards i thanked vincenzo the soundman who said he'd "very much the last song liked".. and the fulang and their companions repaired to the pavement outside.. sharing cans of lager and stories of gay nautical heroes...

next up - the constitution in camden town on september 17th..

"blood money.."

and as i walk.. in the footholes.. for those whose feet are..are deemed to big... behind to follow.. i cross the ravines and now..the desert my.. shoes my elbow.. an empty bottle.. reflecting in the black sun..reflecting in the black sun..

dnghh dnhghh dnhghh dnhggh (x2)

and death i stalked.. 'cross london's bridges.. i stole his white horse saddle..i whipped some dust.. and broke his pose.. but all i learned.. in my defence..was a clear indifference.. blood money.. for a black sun.. blood money.. for a black sun..

dnghh dnhghh dnhghh dnhggh (x4)