Asunder – Martin Grover Abruptly Absorbed The Future

December 21, 2011

The utter confusion Asunder briefly instigated has now long been forgotten. Some childish minions buried it beneath three weathered steps in an unnamed park in Dorset. It was lost amidst a jungle of towering foliage, wild grubby green weeds and desolately abandoned animal habitats. Recently there was a one-off revival. The surviving band mates, except for singer Arch Keach, reunited. They refused to actually play together, having long ago renounced the music of their youth. Instead they talked, lectured and pronounced upon the imponderables the music attempted to convey. Those that attended went home departed bored, drilled and bemused.

Arch Keach lives in a velvet tent, on the outskirts of Mitcham, filled with an assortment of bric-a-brac and handcrafted cricket bats. Keach is a character from a book that will never be written, that never wants to be written. Due to his various bourgeois addictions and mental health problems the few people that knew him, whenever he happens to cross their minds, assume he is already dead. Maybe twenty years ago, maybe last night. Maybe decomposing somewhere, in solitary confinement, yet to be discovered by unconcerned neighbours/governmental forces/the uncaring world. He didn’t die. He grew older and greyer. The wrinkles grew deeper as if etched into his face with a blunt scalpel. His bones began to crumble causing him to shrink and slouch. Arthritis did hobble him. He travelled, he babbled and he dabbled in the occult, joined the Magic Circle and collected hordes of junk.  Keach hopes to create a junkyard orchestra and re-jive Martin Grover Abruptly Absorbed The Future for modern times before his body finally succumbs to the tranquillity of death.

The past times Martin Grover Abruptly Absorbed The Future is an inter-dimensional anomaly. The result was the sound of four broken-hearted boys plundering their anguished souls for depth and meaning. Instead they dive headlong into the cold concrete pit of their collective despair. Pained howls of courtly despair describe in intimate detail the minutiae of every deserved snub and dissect all those rejected grubby advances. Imagine Chaucerian notions of courtly love as re-imagined by Harmony Korine and sound tracked by Daniel Johnston. It is a raw and raucous ride through wearying self-pity.


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