Fri, 09 May 2025 07:07:58 +0200 60 https://hearthis.at/kamakhya-records-pe/ en-EN shunyataunltd@gmail.com shunyataunltd@gmail.com https://hearthis.at/kamakhya-records-pe/ https://img.hearthis.at/6/1/4/_/uploads/8818750/image_user/w1400_h1400_q70_ptrue_v2_----cropped_1648292948416.jpg no no https://hearthis.at/kamakhya-records-pe/erosionandconfrontation/
Experimental | Noise | Noisecore | Black Metal | Dark Ambient | Fake Jazz | Memory

Featuring killer tracks by Jehad Murphy, Antimickey, Ritwik Mishra, and মুক্তি (Mukti)

Audio Samples Used:

1. “Hum Tere Pyar Mein Sara Alam” — cover version of Lata Mangeshkar's song, from Dil Ek Mandir (1963), featuring Meena Kumari

2. Final Speech — Charlie Chaplin, The Great Dictator (1940)

3. Archival audio of the Aerial Bombing of Hamburg, World War II (Operation Gomorrah, 1943) that killed an estimated 37,000 people, wounded 180,000 more, and destroyed 60% of the city's houses.
----
SEGMENT 1 : EROSION
Segment 1 of ANTI-GOD begins with a voice—
it is a cover version of Lata Mangeshkar's song pouring through the radio like silk slipping through blood.

“Hum tere pyaar mein saara alam kho baithe hain...”
The song plays like someone remembering how to cry.
A melody that speaks not just of love,
but of being consumed by something you can’t walk away from.
Not now.
Not ever.

It’s not nostalgia.
It’s erosion.
Of will.
Of memory.
Of safety.

You are lounging on a chair by the beach, a radio playing a song and the sound of the waves mixed with heavy artillery fire somewhere in the distance — like the world is slipping between two realities. On one side, you are in a postcard moment: the sun, sea, sand sticking to your skin, and a song that makes you feel like nothing can touch you. On the other, there's the low, guttural thud of artillery, the scream of people — distant, but real enough to shake the illusion.

It is not a movie, not a dream. Just the absurdity of peace sitting next to violence as it gets closer and closer, and suddenly you hear Jazz Music floating in from a nearby shack.
---
SEGMENT 2 : CONFRONTATION
If Segment 1 was dissociation — the absurdity of peace sitting next to violence, Segment 2 is confrontation.

You're no longer on the beach.

You are in a dim apartment, the kind where the curtains don’t move unless the wind is angry. Charlie Chaplin’s voice is playing from a dusty radio—The Great Dictator speech, trembling with hope. But outside, the sky is howling with air raid sirens, and in the distance, the city is being torn apart—buildings folding, people vanishing into ash.

Somewhere in that chaos, a young man opens a drawer and pulls out an old cassette. A demo. “Intolerance is a Disease I’d Like To Keep” scrawled on the label in cracked biro. His voice, his beat, from another time. He slides on his headphones just as the first wave of bombing starts to drop. The room shakes, dust dances in the beam of a swinging lightbulb, but he hits play anyway.

In another part of the city, in a brothel thick with smoke and sweat, a man and a prostitute is debating about religion, existential crisis, feminism and sex. Maybe to intellectuaise the inevitable.

No one’s winning this argument.
That’s not the point.

War doesn’t wait for epiphanies.
It dances.
It fucks.
It forgets.

And still,
the demo plays.

And still, the demo plays (TO BE CONTINUED....)" (Insect Orchestra)]]>
Experimental | Noise | Noisecore | Black Metal | Dark Ambient | Fake Jazz | Memory

Featuring killer tracks by Jehad Murphy, Antimickey, Ritwik Mishra, and মুক্তি (Mukti)

Audio Samples Used:

1. “Hum Tere Pyar Mein Sara Alam” — cover version of Lata Mangeshkar's song, from Dil Ek Mandir (1963), featuring Meena Kumari

2. Final Speech — Charlie Chaplin, The Great Dictator (1940)

3. Archival audio of the Aerial Bombing of Hamburg, World War II (Operation Gomorrah, 1943) that killed an estimated 37,000 people, wounded 180,000 more, and destroyed 60% of the city's houses.
----
SEGMENT 1 : EROSION
Segment 1 of ANTI-GOD begins with a voice—
it is a cover version of Lata Mangeshkar's song pouring through the radio like silk slipping through blood.

“Hum tere pyaar mein saara alam kho baithe hain...”
The song plays like someone remembering how to cry.
A melody that speaks not just of love,
but of being consumed by something you can’t walk away from.
Not now.
Not ever.

It’s not nostalgia.
It’s erosion.
Of will.
Of memory.
Of safety.

You are lounging on a chair by the beach, a radio playing a song and the sound of the waves mixed with heavy artillery fire somewhere in the distance — like the world is slipping between two realities. On one side, you are in a postcard moment: the sun, sea, sand sticking to your skin, and a song that makes you feel like nothing can touch you. On the other, there's the low, guttural thud of artillery, the scream of people — distant, but real enough to shake the illusion.

It is not a movie, not a dream. Just the absurdity of peace sitting next to violence as it gets closer and closer, and suddenly you hear Jazz Music floating in from a nearby shack.
---
SEGMENT 2 : CONFRONTATION
If Segment 1 was dissociation — the absurdity of peace sitting next to violence, Segment 2 is confrontation.

You're no longer on the beach.

You are in a dim apartment, the kind where the curtains don’t move unless the wind is angry. Charlie Chaplin’s voice is playing from a dusty radio—The Great Dictator speech, trembling with hope. But outside, the sky is howling with air raid sirens, and in the distance, the city is being torn apart—buildings folding, people vanishing into ash.

Somewhere in that chaos, a young man opens a drawer and pulls out an old cassette. A demo. “Intolerance is a Disease I’d Like To Keep” scrawled on the label in cracked biro. His voice, his beat, from another time. He slides on his headphones just as the first wave of bombing starts to drop. The room shakes, dust dances in the beam of a swinging lightbulb, but he hits play anyway.

In another part of the city, in a brothel thick with smoke and sweat, a man and a prostitute is debating about religion, existential crisis, feminism and sex. Maybe to intellectuaise the inevitable.

No one’s winning this argument.
That’s not the point.

War doesn’t wait for epiphanies.
It dances.
It fucks.
It forgets.

And still,
the demo plays.

And still, the demo plays (TO BE CONTINUED....)" (Insect Orchestra)]]> 12114034 no no Fri, 09 May 2025 07:07:58 +0200 2025-05-09T07:07:58+02:00 53:10