Mix raw anger, hopelessness, war, the media/commercial televsion, L.A sterotypes, sex, drugs, and violence into one loose experimental electronic album and there you get the vulgar and abrasive album I call Litter (margin of error +/-3.1%). Litter was written and recorded in 3 months. These songs were fueled by rage, confusion and discontent. The urgency of the material led to one chaoic and angry album. As opposed to many electronic acts who at the time, were experimenting in cute dance music, I felt my electonica had to be ridged and unforgiving. I made a point to shatter beats and leave grooves hanging. I didn't want to satisfy the common length for dance music rhythms and I wanted to expose the filth that I saw around me with rusted music. I didn't hold my words back and dove into some of the darkest lyrical content that I have ever put to pen.
Aux 78's latest release exudes moody electronica 1/23/04
By E. Saucedo
In Aux 78's last release, "The Mystery 909," Aux 78 (aka local artist Nicholas Matta) created forlorn shrouds of sound and mood driven to a large degree by traditional instruments, and in doing so painted aural portraits of distant landscapes blasted by the ravages of war and storms. The effect was a largely instrumental work that was stunning in the way that an angry sea at high tide or a thermonuclear detonation is stunning.
"Litter," Aux 78's latest release, is not "Mystery."
With "Litter", Matta takes the listener down a radically different path, where the guitar has been eschewed in favor of the keyboard and computer. "Litter" is heavy on the electronica, and the themes are angry and political. "Litter" is a hard, dark welcome to Matta's brave new world, where the ethos of the current Bush administration seemingly collide with the sound and vision of Ridley Scott's "Blade Runner," a world where Rick Deckard now works for the Department of Homeland Security.
With a computerized sound driven by pulsing, techno/industrial beats, it is easy to picture oneself on the set of "Blade Runner" or any other dystopian sci-fi film. There are also more spoken lyrics incorporated into the music, though most which is said is fed through a synthesizer and stripped of its organic roots, and in the end becomes another component of the machine. This removal of the human element may be the central theme of "Litter", but it is also what keeps an OK album from being a great album.
First track "Welcoming Papa's Gag" begins with simple percussion beats that sound more like the clacking of fingers on a computer keyboard before the voice-over begins. Soon, the lyrics drive the beat more than the percussion, and set the tempo for the rest of the song. "Welcoming" starts out as something very akin to early '90s industrial music, but suffers from its long, drawn-out ending that never seems to end.
"Man Whore," the second track, is much more fun, and picks up speed immediately. This one could easily have been the most danceable song on the album before it too falls prey to a muddled ending, liberally sprinkled with the contents of a computer composer's bag of tricks.
In fact, most of "Litter" feels less like a cohesive album than an experimental work. "Mystery's" success came from Matta's ability to sculpt a world of dark skies, but one that nonetheless retained its humanity, complete with the entire range of emotion that the human creature possesses. "Litter" is the embodiment of the machine, full of loud, angry synth sounds that jump out of nowhere and then depart just as suddenly, droning loops of static and engine roars, and artfully inarticulate political context. There is an acoustic tune thrown in (track 6, Bling Sting), but its overt anger neutralizes whatever sunshine may be found in its folky strumming.
The end result of all this grinding of gears and circuit boards is an album with a tech-noirish but disjointed and paranoid feel. "Litter" may not stand on par with Matta's other work, but is definitely proof of his ability to manipulate sound to produce mood, and even scare the listener a bit when necessary
released November 8, 2003
Peformed and Produced by Aux.78
Recorded at The Mystery 909 Recording Facility
El Paso, TX USA
N.Matta. Guitars, bass, keyboards and synths, electronics, drums, vocals, percussion, flute, original sampling, programming, accordian, trumpet, upright bass, turntables.
Aux.78 (nicholas matta) is a solo recording artist, musician, sound designer and live performer based in Portland, Oregon.
Aux.78's music is diverse and eclectic. Whether setting the scene with vocal works or electronic wizardry, Matta is a master of emotion and tone painting. Aux.78 is not set to genre and takes pleasure in blurring those lines....more
Rich bitch, fat dad, plucked hoe, fucked hag, botox stud, limp man, old man, sucked fag, gold pimp, cold hands, heated hole, fake cans, fake love, lusty ass, frozen lipped, dusty cash, diamond clit, forgotten lie, super dick, busty fly, RICH FAMOUS DEAD, loaded whore, pool door, banged blonde, king dong, rubber tipped, bitten lipped, prideful shit, open slit, stupid son, ditzy fuck, dripping cum, warm gun, blinded charm, shaved crotch, booty shaking six pack, platinum lined gym bags, grandma’s sag, papa’s gag. RICH FAMOUS DEAD.
Track Name: Man Whore
Psychopath, stupid man, arrogant, macho leader, burning bush. Man whore for self righteousness
Track Name: Memo No.98
You were going to end up ripping his fucking eyes out, impaling his smoking shit out of his own fucking stomach, pull his lying dick out and squash it with your boot, laugh at his bloody face and spit on his mother, but you ran away.
You were going to end of shooting her fucking head off, taking her bitch-ass tongue and burning it until you were happy, shove a sword up her twat and twist, force your love like a rampant demon, but you ran away.
Your were going to end up poisoning yourself with a frozen bullet, shoot up your soul with black tar, sniff up your own bullshit with her in view, hold pity to so much more, but you ran away.
You were going to end up creating beautiful art, making music from the heart, bringing joy to friends around you, singing silly songs, saying funny things that warm the hearts of all of us, but you ran away.
Track Name: Infections Upon Infections
Raping the children’s minds with what we claim as adult. We are only making this worse.
Watching little girls purge for thin waistlines. Happy meal laxative prizes.
Raping the children’s minds with what we claim as fun
Infections upon Infections
Watching the little boys with first AIDS and crabs.
Happy meal lubricant jelly.
Raping the children’s minds with what we claim as beautiful
Thin lips and cellulite thighs.
Watching little girls binge on glossy pics
Happy meal blow job manuals.
Raping the children’s minds with what we claim as sexy.
We are only making this worse.
Watching little boys prove manhood with little pricks.
Happy meal cookie cut cock enlargers.
Track Name: Your Government Fucking Lies To You
Track Name: Bling Sting
Bling sting, shove your diamonds up your ass
Chinese love beads of value in high class, pig lard as lubrication
Bling fling, plastic bitches, confused women
London nose bridges falling down, chicken fat chin injections
Bling cling, gripping fame with ghetto talons
Fast cars, record setting bar tabs, cow drippings in mother’s eye
Bling ding, gold watches increasing penis size
Wielding meat as power trips, fish eye, fish eye.
Track Name: Telemink Pajamas
Licking holes of plastic bodies rotting, melting souls with diamonds shining
Flipped caps, tomb adorning gold brightly, making choices of adultery for profit
Keeping cold in incubators of celebrity smiling, dripping fools with fuels burning brightly
Making mounds of used image
Steeping herbs with war conniving, dying dreams in jars filled with oil
Pickled with the hopes of battle spoils, making honor smell like shit
Hypocritical portraits of death airing, feeding curious beasts of nudity sharing
False information on waves of air, making comfort feel like filth
Track Name: Choking Puppies
Throw all your daggers, write all your e-mails, pay the cost to be the boss
Tickle your pinky, fill all of your ashtrays, running on freeways like parks
Timelines and pictures decaying around coffee, but always remaining as shards
Burnt embered memories, choking on felines and overset windows with bars
But speaking of… I forgot there was one little piece I lost
I forgot there was one little dab that was lost and I’m taking it to heart
I’m running on empty, my feet are all blistered, my hands are all twisted with barb
Keeping a distance, loading the canon, filling it up so it pops
Balloon ties and leashes choking puppies, holding prisoners with chalk
Craving live targets, hoping for recess, gutting teachers with golden stars