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by Kid Mania

Phi 02:37
Manic Music 03:44
Manic musics inna darkening era Haunted echoes along the Nightmare Strip Splashin gasoline around a house on fire A hint of Mussolini in that smug chin jut There’s a deep freeze winter whistlin at the door Colder even than the new Cold War Icy nation caught in myopic delusion Dreams of dystopia not so far-fetched Pixelated pastor preachin the death cult gospel Jumbotron shepherd stokes his flock with hate That new millennium Christianity It don’t play turn the other cheek Digital deities stoned on dopamine clicks The binary Word continues its slide A.I. overlooks thumb swipe election And your amnesia is their alibi
Pepsi 02:23
Grimy Window 02:43
Sept 10 2001 03:51
Cut the Word. . .the future leaks out Language virus hides death flavored déjà vu Time test the 23 Rewind history and binary playback Retconned reality Word to the wise— The prerecordings are the only thing that’s real Long live the New Flesh Oh yeah!
Wiretap 02:29
Yeyo 03:20
Piety 02:51
He was on his way home from Candletop He’d bin two weeks gone so he thought he’d stop At Webb’s and have him a drink fore he went home to her. Andy Boylow said, “Hello—” And he said “Hi what’s doin, bro?” Said, “Siddown. . .I got some bad news it’s gonna hurt.” “I’m your best friend and you know that’s right, But your young bride ain’t home tonight Since you bin gone she’s been seein that Ames boy, Seth.” My brother got mad and he saw red And Andy said, “Boy, dontcha lose your head, Cos to tell ya the truth. . .I bin with her myself.” Andy got scared and left the bar Walkin on home cos he didn’t live far See, Andy didn’t have many friends. . .and he’d just lost him one. My brother thought his wife musta left town, So he went home and finally found The only thing that Papa had left him and left was the gun. Then he went off to Andy’s house, Slippin through the backwoods quiet as a mouse— Came upon some tracks too small for Andy to make. Looked through the screen at the back-porch door, And he saw Andy lyin on the floor In a puddle of blood. . .and he started to shake. Georgia Patrol was a makin their rounds, So he fired a shot just to flag em down, And a big-bellied sheriff grabbed his gun and said, “Why’d ya do it?” Judge said, “Guilty” in a make-believe trial, Sheriff slapped the judge on the back with a smile, And said, “Supper’s waitin at home and I gotta get to it.” That’s the night that the lights went out in Georgia That’s the night that they hung an innocent man Well don’t trust your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer Cos the judge in the town’s got blood stains on his hands Well they hung my brother before I could say The tracks he saw while on his way To Andy’s house in back that night, they were mine. And his cheatin wife had never left town And that’s one body that'll never be found See, little brother don’t miss when he aims his gun. That’s the night that the lights went out in Georgia That’s the night that they hung an innocent man. Well don't trust your soul to no backwoods Southern lawyer Cos the judge in the town’s got blood stains on his hands.
You are origin-code. You are origin-code sentenced to birth. You are a prison. Your body is a prison. Your body is the perfect torture chamber. Only one escape. Your reality has been infected by a pathogen. That sick feeling, crawls through you like panic, crawls through you like slow boredom, whispers in your ear. “You know you’re in hell, right? This copy planet, this dead planet, this universal laughing-stock, it’s hell. But you know that…right?” Ask any cop, ask any junky, ask any Wall Street trader, any tinker, tailor, soldier, spy, any whore, any scumbag dealer, any paramedic, any victim. They’ll tellya. Meanwhile, dead trees claw at a cold winter sky and the pathogen seeps through the cracks in Actuality. There’s a cyber-abyss between the keyboard and the collective consciousness And you know what they say about the abyss When you look into it, it looks into you. Call it Outside Influence. Call it O.I. Pathogen has been introduced, and the mechanism of the virus will destroy its host. Inevitable. Like the weather, like entropy Or like death itself.




Runtime: 44:17

Over the past year, Kid Mania has been building quite the impressive resume in the plunderphonics scene. As part of the Radio Konton collective, his work under his own name, as well as a member of the groups CREME RINSE すすぎとリピート and Doc Ellis, his art thrives on unease. Blending broken transmissions, found footage, his own ominous gruff narration, echoes from the past, and incidental audio recordings together, Kid Mania may be best described as a cultural blender.

Following his contribution to Vivarium Recordings' mega compilation Future Unknown, Kid Mania has honed his craft into a refined nightmare on MANIC MUSIC. The world that he builds with this album becomes his instrument, where the streets come alive with rhythm and chaos colliding in terrifying harmony. Much of the album could be described as a tribute to moments scarcely remembered by many, but enbalm the few that hold true to these moments with an unsettling aura of despair. Moments ranging from the day before the September 11th attacks or a UFO sighting that no one would believe. MANIC MUSIC is a piece that deserves to be relistened to and discussed lest you lose your wit for a revisit. For those with a grim sense of wonder, this is your song. A retconned reality, a pathogen that digs deep and never lets go.

MANIC MUSIC was written, produced and assembled by Kid Mania.
Recorded and mastered at RK Studios in 2019 (Except 'Reality Pathogen', recorded at Grieving Arts Studio, produced and assembled at RK Studios)

'Reality Pathogen' music composed and performed by Jsun Brock and Dermot Wilson at Grieving Arts.

Words for 'Manic Music', 'Sept 10 2001' and 'Reality Pathogen'
written and performed by Kid Mania.

'The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia' written by Bobby Russell (Pixruss Music)
Performed by Kid Mania.

Design by Kid Mania - Execution - Z. Sync



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