Gutbucket – Flock


It is an arena where the sounds of chaos do battle. Ancient bands battle to the death on these bloody grounds, their music transformed to physical violence by the house band. Is it The Electric Castle? Oh, no. This arena makes The Electric Castle look like a playground. This is The Gutbucket, the RIO incarnation of The Electric Castle. You are invited. The stage is set. The topless sheep are kitting neckties from their own flesh. The crowd is assembled … the giant “play” button is illuminated in the center of the arena. Prepare to be assaulted by sound, and despair!

Wormholes spin open at opposite ends of the arena and the contestants slide into place. In this corner … The Residents, humanoid eyeballs in tuxedos and top hats. And in the opposite corner, Frank Zappa and the We’re Only In It For The Money line-up of The Mothers Of Invention, all dressed in drag. The referees are here … the house band, known to all as the Gutbucket band. Barbarian axe players, crazed sax player and ninja drummer using the drumsticks as nunchuku. Don’t mess with these guys. They will transform the eldritch chaos of the combatants into audio waves to be captured. The contestants approach one another, eying each other warily. One of the now-naked sheep jumps from its cloud, does an acrobatic spin and lands on the “play” button. The crowd goes wild! “Bleat, bleat, baaaaah!” Let the orgy of sound begin!

The audio chaos is impossible to describe; it causes pain and anguish, yet also great pleasure as it assaults the ears and other vital organs. Saxophones squeal in agony while being mercilessly battered by the ninja drummer and barbarian bassist. The audience of naked sheep are beginning to look more like ominous, hairless neanderthal versions of the traditionally innocuous creature. They grunt and squeal with pleasure at the gore and bloodshed below. No, wait, that’s the sound of the guitar player. Anger. Confusion. Chaos. Spastic note flurries coalesce into structures that mimic the rough outlines of melodies, only to be destroyed in the next measure. Pleasure. Pain. Ecstasy!

And then, it is done. The contestants are shredded blobs of throbbing meat at the center of the arena. Nobody wins in The Gutbucket. The crowd disperses. The house band mops the sweat and gore from their brows and begins to break down their instruments. A lonely figure enters the arena, walking to the center where the giant “play” button has been replaced by a single silver disc. He picks it up and moves by the band toward the exit, nodding in solemn salute. “Even better than A Modest Proposal“, Steve Feigenbaum of Cuneiform Records says to the band. “Got a name for it yet?”.

Steve couldn’t quite hear the answer, and wasn’t sure he wanted to. So he just called it Flock instead. — Fred Trafton

Click here for Gutbucket‘s web site
Click here for Gutbucket‘s MySpace page
Click here to order A Modest Proposal or Flock from Cuneiform Records


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