killallartists

Kristopher Helton

2008-01-26T01:29:00.000-08:00

I am :

Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Keith Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kristopher Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Kris Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton
Helton

What do you know?

This blog is very much dead, however, we all labor on. If you'd like to see what I've been up to, please do visit these links :

Portfolio
• http://kristopherhelton.com/

Photographs
• http://www.flickr.com/photos/khelton/

Love.

Triangule™ Goulash : A Retrospective of my Time here.

2007-08-13T08:48:00.000-07:00

A Foreword :

There is a flaw – but … Where does It Go?

–––––––––––––––

In the Table™ words of Sierpinski ––

M W W
M MW W
M MWM W
M WMWM W
M WMMWM W
M WMWMMW W
M MWMWMWM W
M MWMWMWMM W
M WMWMWMMWM W
M WMWMWMWMMW W

___________________________________________________________________

Rapidly, changing evermore, Evermore – Jerimee's facial shape churned into the triangular Goulash – churning into the fur form of a Rodent, and in that Moment™ –– I became insane.

–– the Late (and thus …{Hitherto} dead) Kristopher Keith Helton, 2007.

____________________________________________________________________

This will be un–regrettably my final post here at Kill All Artists; and, perhaps, the final nail on its wood–encompassed, crystal coffin. Alas, nails can't pierce crystals – and so it shattered.

Do listen to Deerhunter,

Thank You.

___________________________________________________________________

≠
–––––
–––––––––
–– Deerhunter ––
– Fluorescent Grey EP –
––––––––––––––––––––

Buy Records,

2,000 & 6: groups, looking beyond, tim allen, and change.

2006-12-19T23:00:00.000-08:00

I made a year-end album list last year, 2005. I'm not doing it again. Why? Because they're difficult, time-consuming, and boring to read. And kind of silly. Instead you get a grouping of albums that I listened to this year and that have a good chance of being listened to, by myself, beyond this year, 2006. This year, 2006, and beyond. To this year!, and BEYOND! (Tim Allen did lots of coke, right?) These albums are good. To me anyway. I like them. And that's it.

[in alphabetical order by album, so there are no misunderstandings.]

Avatar, by Comets on Fire
Bitter Tea, by The Fiery Furnaces
Dat Rosa Mel Apibus, by White Magic
Destroyer's Rubies, by Destroyer
Drum's Not Dead, by Liars
Feathers, by Feathers
Gulag Orkestrar, by Beirut
People (EP), by Animal Collective
Return to the Sea, by Islands
Yellow House, by Grizzly Bear
Ys, by Joanna Newsom

***

happy holidaze.

p.s. all these album shenanigans have caused me to wonder: out of the albums i had on my list last year, how many do i still actually listen to? amt: 2. can you guess which ones? and what does this say abt me as a living organism? did i change? hmmmmmmmmmm....

7#3-3^0!

2006-10-28T15:20:00.000-07:00

Intergalactic Jesus Christs electrified my laptop with their red-laser eyesight, frying my entire music collection, melting the instruments, burning photographs. And the Internet Gods have confiscated my webspace, or so it seems, holding it captive indefinitely, until PSYCHEDELICATESSENS open on 4th Street, exposing the masses to acid-induced freak-out and conglomerated mushroom cakes. See the Swirls! Experience Alternate Worlds! Feel your Insides do Little Twirls!!! I'd like to thank my minions, and that's it. See you in space.

The rider plans It, and is.

2006-08-29T14:08:00.000-07:00

Akron/Family - "The Rider (Dolphin Song)"

Running through airports. Looking back. Up and down escalators. Bypassing security. Backpacks, duffel bags, and old cameras wrapped around. Hear the horns blowing, the band marching: a procession of chaos. Planes on the runway are screeching to a hault, simultaneously shutting down engines, whiplashing passengers and flight attendants alike, throwing luggage from the small, stuffed overhead compartments. A lone balloon floats upward, screaming towards the sun, exploding in the poisonous atmosphere, the clouds fleeing its vicious noise. A tinge of Zappa permeates from the intercoms, way off in the static-y background of the loud-voiced Head of Security broadcasting terrorizing warnings to the masses. The blind Negro saxophonist wails, his dark glasses and dark suit and dark skin casting him off into the shadows, unseen and almost unnoticed, but heard. His sound mixes with the marching band, sometimes perfectly in sync and on time, sometimes not, creating a sledgehammer-to-the-head of static, white noise. Confusion. Wonder. Don't shut It out! Embrace It! The things that you don't understand will refresh your psyche. Consider them. Attempt to enjoy them. Let them become a part of you. Scream at the top of your lungs and run for the light, your belongings in tow, friends in the dust, all left behind to consider their true selves in different environments and different situations. Everyone knows It's coming. Reach for It. Capture It. Hold It. Be It. It's It!!

***

Grizzly Bear - "Plans"

It hits you.

How:

Sneaking up behind. Creeping in the background. You turn around and see nothing; you're unaware. Spying on you. Learning your movements, your tendencies. Ahhhhh!-ing in your ears. You can hear It! But where is It...? The park is getting dark. The trees are bigger here, and menacing, and watchful. They hang people. And people reside under the ground. This is not France, but there's an arch. Tons are washing it this night. You wonder why. (The arch needs to stay white, like a gap-tooth in the mouth of a city that won't stop drip-dropping rain on your hair.) Fountains turn off now - they've done their duty. You haven't. You sit on a bench, in the corner, where the rats roam free and wild in the bushes behind those black iron fences that can easily be cleared with one swell leap. You inhale the scents, breathing in things that change you: nature-in-the-city's potion. It works. But it's not that It. You know this. But the North Carolina boy next to you doesn't. He dreams of smoked blunts with Method Man and that bassist from System of a Down. You laugh in amazement at his folly. That's not It, you think. In fact, you know. You really do. You know It knows your desires, your wants, your plans. You see the blind Negro saxophonist. You see him! (He's not It.) He plays for you. You close your eyes and listen, swaying back and forth, Ahhhhh!-ing out loud yourself now. You feel It. It swells beneath and all around you. It's in the static, the scratching, the beeping, everything.... Thumping at your soul (you do have one, right?). It's in you. It's in your head, you think now, "Yes! That's It! It's in me!" You're getting excited. Jump with joy. Please. This will help. But wait, stop and think. Think hard. Remember the whistling? I knew you would. You consider this. Looking stumped, you submit and call out, "Where is It! Can someone tell me! I need to know!" The saxophone playing stops. You look at the man. He's God. He tells you this. You believe him. He commands you to sit on the cold, wet floor. You obey. How could you not? He speaks:

"It is all around. It knows everything that you know. It lives everything that you live. It follows you and you cannot ever escape It. It's perpetually causing you to do things, perpetually affecting you. It's It."

He pauses, then continues:

"Do you understand?"

"Well, no. I know what It does. And I don't care why. Knowing why is unnecessary, because It will happen whether I know why or not, and knowing why will not help me to understand what I really want to know about It."

"And what is that?"

"Where is It?"

God laughs at you.

"It is YOU."

You squint at him, red-eyed and weary. You're looking at God, and you don't see the light. You don't get It anymore. You thought you had It, but you lost It. Oh well. If It's me, then what's so special about It anyway?, you think.

God coughs, then scowls at you and says:

"Only YOU can prevent forest fires."

wtf?

God: "Jesus Christ... put out your fucking cigarette, you simpleton, and go home to sleep! It's almost two - you'll get mugged."

God can't protect me?, you think.

"No, I cannot. Only YOU can do that. Do you still not see?!"

You don't. You never will. It's hard. And you're It.

What the End of Summer Smells Like, Backwards

2006-08-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

The Beatles - "Junk" (demo)

Being what I consider a huge Beatles fan (I've heard/have all of their albums - Rubber Soul onward at least - and can't really name a Beatles song I don't like, even if just a little bit... though there are a few I don't care for too much: "Octopus's Garden", "Yellow Submarine", "What Goes On", and most of Let It Be.... But with those qualms aside, I can safely say that The Beatles are my favorite band), it's surprising (well, not really...) that I have never heard this before. And never being one to search out rare recordings or demos (I always find them to be sub-par and not as good/tight as the originals, which is the case with most of this Anthology 3 CD I got from the libray the other day, ignoring the discreet warning from Juan: [showing him the CD] "Hey, have you heard this before?" "Yeah, it's actually kind of annoying...." "Oh."), it's also surprising (again: well, not really...) that I enjoy this song as much as I do.

It's written by Paul McCartney, who happens to not be my favorite Beatle (though he did write some beautiful songs, this one included, and he definitely beats out Ringo...).

[At this point in the writing I did some more, extensive research on the song, to make sure I didn't misrepresent any of the facts, and it turns out that this song showed up on Paul McCartney's first solo album, McCartney. While I'm excited to know I can hear a finished version of this song, I am also nervous as to whether or not it will ruin the original feeling that I got from hearing this rough demo version: a feeling that I have yet to even put into words. And, while I'm at it, making asides and whatnot, digressions even..., let me say that reading Seymour An Introduction greatly influences my writing style, for better or worse. And oh yeah: does anyone actually like any of McCartney's solo albums?]

Anyways:

This song brings a hush to my world, silencing the thoughts which constantly run rampant inside my head. Air rushes out of my lungs and every thing I look at holds some kind of aesthetic meaning that I cannot place. To say that it moves me would be an extreme understatement; this song throws me into a darkened basement and locks me there until I can't breathe anymore, staring into the Abyss of Loss.

There are so many little nuances here: nineteen seconds in someone singing backing vocals (Lennon?) laughs (or cries maybe? ...hopefully?) out loud - that part always gets me. McCartney's voise is so frail-sounding throughout (what could have brought him to sing so emotionally, I wonder?). The feedback that is fleetingly heard (unintentionally, I assume... I think that much is obvious) at 1:23 is fitting as well, eventhough it is a rough demo and it doesn't really add any special dimension to the song other than to make it even more personal to me, somehow. Can you imagine Paul McCartney in my room, sitting on my bed, playing an amped acoustic guitar next to John Lennon, singing back-up and laughing at McCartney's sincerity early on then realizing that this is serious, both of them ignoring the constant hissing of the snakes under my bed, and outside, in my yard...?

***

Viking Moses - "In Servitude"

There's despondency in that heavy electric guitar, and sadness present within Brendon Massei's disguised soft-speak and guttural wails (they both represent the same thing, but are different, somehow, in my mind: they're separate incarnations of the same feeling, expressed uniquely by instrument and human).

[I think "In Servitude" kind of ties the next song and the previous one together; it contains the major aspects of both songs.]

***

Man Man - "Engrish Bwudd"

My first exposure to this insane group of men came at the recommendation of a friend of mine, who happens to be way into Animal Collective and Coco Rosie (both of which, if anything, sound very distinct and interesting; I dig them), so I thought Man Man would be right up my alley, especially after reading a few glowing reviews of their latest album, Six Demon Bag. Upon first listen, though, I came to the conclusion that their carnival sounds and organ-filled freak-outs were just not for me: I didn't find any feeling in it, other than their apparent desire to make as much inane noise as possible, with various, weird instruments and their own deep, gurgling voices. I also thought they were completely ripping off Captain Beefheart, and that kind of turned me off as well, as I never could really get into his stuff either (though that is growing on me).

This all magically changed when I saw them play at the Pitchfork Music Festival a few weekends back. All those crazy sounds, which I originally thought to be kind of silly, came off so naturally and I really got into the music, dancing maniacally and staring into the clouds and sweating everywhere due to the one hundred degree heat, my shoulders turning a crispy brown. It was an experience like no other (granted it wasn't all due to their performance, but it all sure fit nicely, no matter how uncomfortable I was afterwards while attempting to sleep in an un-air-conditioned room, sunburned and perspired); see them live, and you'll understand.... The band-members were tossing rainbow-colored feathers into the air, banging pots and pans, jumping up and down out of their seats, making weird but joyous faces at the crowd and each other, and even throwing eating utensils (forks, spoons, knives, etc.) into tin bowls filled with water. I was blown away by the sheer exuberance with which they performed. They truly belonged in a circus - one of those travelling ones, where they have a train-like carriage pulled by giant white steeds, jewel-encrusted saddles adorned them... separate cars hold all the different acts, animals, etc., all attached and moving rapidly down a desert road, kicking up dust that blocks out the sun (that would be the day...). And there Man Man would be, in the last car, screaming their heads off in a cage bursting with inanimate objects and childish whimsy.

***

Yes, I read reviews, and yes, I sometimes take them seriously. And yes, I read this review, and yes, I took it seriously and visited this website to download some tracks. And yes, I liked them, and yes, I want to hear more. And yes, I have no cash, and yes, I'm not scared of the RIAA and would take an illegal, bootlegged copy if someone would like to provide me with one. And yes, I do appreciate an artist who puts time into making a decent record (at least), and yes, I would take a free, legit copy of this album if the artist or the label would like to contact me and send me one, taking into consideration I am now a poor, unemployed College Kid with middle-class parents who have mortgages to pay and don't really give a fuck about buying me albums, thanks. And yes, this album was made by Ariel Pink's buddy, John Maus, and yes, it's titled Songs.

That photograph at the top was taken by my mother tonight in the midst of a lightning storm, and I thought it looked rather nice, so I put it here, eventhough it has no relevance whatsoever to anything. (Kill All Artists is a family affair, even if no one realizes it to be so or sees through my lies.)

I hope this post makes up for my nearly two month absence. Juan's still around, though, starting a new year of high school tomorrow. And the ever-enigmatic Kris moved to Gainesville - seems to be the thing to do these days, these days.

I seem to think a lot about how all the changes came about my ways (to paraphrase Nico). C'est la vie.

Have a Nice Trip

2006-07-14T02:41:00.000-07:00

FREE LEONARD

Open so open. Defeated, we lay. Hopeless, we wait. Patiently, for signs, for dreams, for this rock's sleep. Sowed seeds remain. Geometricly stable, aligned, alive. All, you perceive. Consciously, unconscious. Holding dearly, grasped hands and all. Deadlike sighs. Crests, proud and red, wholly fallen. Doormat for the dormant. Persona bruised; ego exhiled. Vulnerable minds. Self aligned. Truth, entirely, affirmed and vowed to branded memory. Peas in half pods, with anti-gravity.

Brightblack Morning Light
Amber Canyon Magik
Brightblack Morning Light

a special new band

2006-06-19T18:07:00.000-07:00

I recently realized how cool Daytrotter is. You know, with their cool weekly sessions and such....

Well, they e-mailed me, and told me to go download this song:

Casey Deinel - "Everything" [Daytrotter Session]

And I did.

And now I just can't stop bouncing in my seat to this girl's wonderful voice and nifty piano playing.

Good taste in music, too, huh...? FOR A GIRL?!

Pft.

6od 6ot 6ood

2006-06-06T19:06:00.000-07:00

Cibelle makes music: jumpy, jungley, whispery, shouty, grunty, beaty, bassy, girly, sillyy.

Cibelle - "Noite de Carnaval"

Cibelle makes collages:

Cibelle makes me :)

[for more]

***

The Eraser is not as good, or as bad, as you may think.

"Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken" [easy to find] is a million times better than anything else off of Let's Get Out of This Country.

Shitty.

rorrim ruoy tuo teg

2006-06-05T19:30:00.000-07:00

[a4m.] "dedivid piks" - ekroy moht

.em teg t'nod sdef eht epoh dna