Doorways and Windows.

Vivian Volta is electric.

The Macbeth, 26/06 - It was the day after Michael Jackson died. The mood was muted and our expectations low. We had no clear idea about what Vivian Volta was and we were undoubtedly preoccupied. We were not expecting to be awestruck, pinned against the wall by brilliance or blown away…but we were!

Vivian transfixed us with his epic soundscape opening, impassioned piano and squealing guitar. We knew immediately that this was a unique musical experience and we should keep our eyes pinned on the stage. The songs were deliciously idiosyncratic, weird and sprawling, strange sounds that come armed with lyrics promising poison and paradise. Holy fuck, we thought, people will soon be talking about being at ‘little’ shows like this. We better get an interview:

Q: When we saw you perform you started your set hidden behind a piano, why were you hiding?

The noises, I didn't want to disturb and then some people started moaning, you don't apply blush in public.

Q: Just how many instruments can you play and why did you start?

Because I was seriously bored with the music available & rather upset that this generation has nothing to show or say that goes beyond retro. It's all about blatantly ripping off the past, please where is the progression, this is not creationism, its art, its music, its self-expression and we're living now and not in the 60s, 80s or 90s. If you don't like their music, make your own.

Q:Who is Blood and Blue (a track on Vivian's My Space) written for?

I'd rather not say, I would love to, but I can't. But what i can tell you is that starvation and insomnia can make you sensationally productive.

Q: What makes a perfect album?

Write a song that is 37 minutes long which can be broken down into 9 different chapters. If you can listen to it in one go without pausing, stopping or BORING.

Q:What kind of fan would you like to have?

A crazy stalker, gifted, obsessive and dedicated.

Q: What's more important, emotion or showmanship?

They kind of go together, dont they?
I would say that empty showmanship is far more enjoyable than boring emotions.


UPCOMING GIGS

Volta online


1st of August > Bangers & Mash @ 93 Feet East
12th of August > The Last Days Of Decadence
22nd of August > Nuke Them All @ The Old Blue Last
27th of August > Vibe Bar

Isolated exotica.

Crude Poems I

Leather chaps, cellulite,

Friday nite is stripper nite,

She calls herself Dyna Might,

And looks alright in a tinted light.

 

She straddles John,

In a Primark thong,

and gets her dirty groove thing on,

Nobody mentions the elastics gone,

And from where he’s sat there’s a bit of a pong.

 

With absent eyes and Marlboro breath,

She tries to shimmy him to death,

Her popped balloon bazooms batter his bald head –

Till we give her a fiver to fuck off instead.

 

Specimen.

Hackney is...

Creepy.

Varied.
Still creepy.
Educated.
Decorative.

The Singularity.

This is the time. This is the time expectant. This is our time. When our DNA is unencrypted and the data uploaded to mainframes, recoded by super computers in super white, lined against the white tiled walls of hidden laboratories beneath parched white desert plains. This is the time, this is the point at which the future fractures, when the momentum of evolution hits light speed and jolts us into realms unknown with tear moist eyes and palms outstretched to the sun like hieroglyphs of Re. The mystics and the physicists all share the same vacant stare as they wait at the gates while dimensions tear and reveal the sacred geometry. Naked. The future is pregnant with beauty. 

A new aeon with silicon eyes and our blood, it is time to evolve. Fire the supercollider into the eyes of angels and watch them flee for the stars, wings singed and flapping frantically, clawed feet scrambling from the cold marble of ignorant faith on which they once sat proudly. Fire the supercollider into my heart and fuse the divine directly to my mortal flesh, tattooing my beating heart with the unheard names of the ancients. Future cities branch out into the stars, human hands clasp around entire galaxies, without fear, without poverty, with tenderness and hope. There is light in our eyes. We need no answer other than a love that is unspoken but unbreakable, the kingdom is ours and always was. I stand one of many, head tilted to the sky waiting for the dreams to loose. Let them loose. 

Everything is new, brand new, but not branded. No conflict. No conflict, just knowledge and calm, this is the time, this is the time of ascension. In the streets they drop their grocery bags and let the contents scatter, the traffic screeches to a dumbfounded idling stop. The silver thread of infinity strains and suddenly it is snapping, no more linear time!  

Ghost skyscrapers mark out the sky and point to way to new citadels, this is the time. Now jump through each wave of the past a confident traveller guided by the flashing certainty of our bold new reality. This is the time of the singularity.