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IN STOCK
01 04 :04
02 03 :30
04 05 :20
05
Fog
01 :26
06 02 :22
07 03 :27
09 03 :13
10 02 :40
11 04 :23
13 02 :43
14 00 :16
15 05 :11
17 03 :48
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21 04 :10
ARTIST
TITLE
Escalo Frio
FORMAT
CD

LABEL
CATALOG #
SCH 020CD SCH 020CD
GENRE
RELEASE DATE
11/26/2001

The 2nd full length Otto Von Schirach album, following up his devastating 2001 release, 8000 B.C.. Featuring guest appearances from Matmos, Dr. Flamenco, Takeshi Muto, Jeswa, Mr. Egyptian hologram, Queeph Brothersm & Mr. Soundwave. "The day Otto moved in, I was a little concerned. We had no spare rooms, only two couches in our modest downstairs living room- a room hardly fit for living in. When he pullled into the parking lot, his clunking '67 comet was filled with eyes and colorful faces, like the circus car that spews out an endless stream of clowns. Some of the faces were clowns, some were robots, there was an ET, a Transformer or two, scores of Smurfs, a Hellraiser Pin-head, a modified Pillsbury doughboy, and about three hundred other odd characters. One by one, they came inside to live. We already had a junglist living in the master bedroom, and now it was sure to get mad. Otto's ritual began. Every day he would wake up at two or three in the afternoon, get in his car and clunk away into the river of cars on the way to his Grandmother's house. There he would do odd jobs and run errands, and in return he would leave with a large coveted pot of his Grandmothers magic black bean concoction, worth more than any salary. On his way home, he would stop make a few drop-offs to various delinquents and mutants around the city. This was very stressful to him, but upon returning, suite d256 was quiet. I was usually the only one awake, quietly clicking my mouse, illuminated by the glow of a liquid crystal display in the upstairs studio. I would come down from time to time to get a bowl of rice or make some tea, and there, in the near darkness he would be, staring profoundly into the two inch green window of his drum machine, like a peeping tom looking through his favorite keyhole. His headphones would chatter, slurp, and giggle on his head like Jabba the Hut's little pet (I think they made sounds without even being plugged in). We would listen to each other's songs in mutual amazement. Inspiration would draw us back to work, new ideas forming as we went off to our separate screens. Around the time I'd tuck myself in, I would hear Otto's car starting, clamorous as a rusted shipyard boat, and again he would sail off, just hours before the sun would arc around the Atlantic curve to scorch the land. This time he was off to rehearse with his band, appropriately named Insectdezyde Juice. I never heard them play or saw where they practiced, but at that hour I imagine it was pretty grim. I suppose it was pretty exhausting, because when I would arise, he was always there, comatose on the couch in the broad daylight. Those of us who were awake would play music, talk, and eat in that, the "living" room, providing the subliminal soundtrack to Otto's dreams. Deep inside, dreams filled his head with sleepwalking burnt smurfs, competing plant couriers tailgating close behind, magic microphones jumping like fleas, eluding his grasp, while Phoenecian Warriors wandered through lost Incan cities in search of secret frequencies. The black bean potion churned deep inside of his sleeping body, changing him. Across town, his grandmother is stirring a bubbling pot. For a moment she pauses, looks up above the rising steam, and smiles. -? Joshua Kay