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Dedicado al placer de diversos y extravagantes espectros sonoros.


    Sunn O ) ) )

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    Aidan
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    Mensajes : 45
    Fecha de inscripción : 16/02/2010
    Edad : 32
    Localización : Santiago

    Sunn O ) ) )

    Mensaje  Aidan el Mar Feb 16, 2010 11:06 pm



    http://www.ideologic.org/

    Sunn O))) es probablemente una de las bandas más conocidas dentro del drone doom (cuando debería ser Earth, aunque creo que ambas son relativamente populares). A mí me encantan, pese a todo lo amlo que he leído en uno que otro artículo en la web (que suena como un refrigerador descompuesto, entre otras xd).

    El White1 me vuela la cabeza: My Wall, con Julian Cope... puta la hueá increíble.
    Les dejo parte del tema con las letras (que la llevan):

    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-EXt3FG8NM

    And I do walk upon Wan’s Dyke
    And I do survey the land
    And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands+
    For I am Wodan,
    Though, some call me Hermes,
    Some call me Roman Mercury,
    God of cargos,
    God of weather,
    Hanging God of boundaries,
    Hanging God of Gibbet Hill
    Killing God of hidden doorways.

    Spinning the yarn from Wansdyke to Silbury
    Spinning the taelbook, telling the tale
    Telling the tellbook to all and sundry
    Keltiberians and Irish Gael
    Then I hear camp followers bellow afar
    Their shrieking lament for Johnny Guitar:

    "Look to the farthest far horizon
    Look to the bloodlust deepest scar
    Look to the scattering Brythonic uprising
    For this be the wall of Johnny Guitar

    There be the ditch that you shall die in
    Here be the wall that I shall cry on
    Ditch dug with antler and ox bone shovel
    This rising wall that shades our ancient hovel."

    Look to the north a quick mile yonder
    Look to our Yggdrasilbury
    Look to the Saxon chasing Viking
    Look to the Norman chasing Saxon
    Look to the German chasing German
    German German German German
    Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
    For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar

    "Play your gloom axe Stephen O’Malley
    Sub bass clinging to the sides of the valley
    Sub bass ringing in each last ditch and combe
    Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom."

    To rage in sound this valiant despair
    Doom and gloom as each a splendid pair
    To rage in sound the valiant despair:

    Not Abraham,
    Not Moses
    And not Christ
    Neither Jove to whom we sacrificed,
    Not Attis
    Not Mohammed,
    But to hilltop Thor
    We rave and dance and weep and we implore:
    Look to the farthest far horizon
    Don’t blame the messenger,
    Don’t blame the messenger,
    Look to the farthest far horizon
    Don’t blame the messenger.
    Don’t blame the messenger,
    For I am Death so Ragnarock with me
    For I am Doom so Ragnarock with me.

    And I stood upon Wan’s Dyke
    And I did survey the land
    And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands...

    And then I was King Vikar with his arms outstretched
    And then I was King Vikar with his broken neck
    And then I was the villain and the victim and the priest
    Was grim misunderstanding and was grim as death itself

    My Wall My Wall caught in the thrall of my Wall
    My Wall My Wall caught beneath the thrall of my Wall.

    Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
    For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
    Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
    For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
    Play your gloom axe Stephen O’Malley
    Sub bass ringing the sides of the valley
    Sub bass climbing up each last ditch and combe
    Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom.

    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall

    Mothers to your bosoms,
    Grab your child and sing,
    As to your breasts cascade and sing:
    Brothers and fathers,
    Down to the thing in the middle of the town
    To judge at the thing

    These the effeminate priests of Frey
    That don their drag
    And shriek through the day
    That drag their God through the muddiest fields
    Spilling seed to raise the yields
    These the odd castrated womb-men
    On this onerous land of no men

    There the infernal priestess of Freyja,
    These her people layer on layer
    Then the infernal priestess of Freyja
    Visiting the farms
    The seething seer
    Visiting the farms
    And rarely leaving
    Mounting the tumulus
    The people grieving
    Dodens doddering dead and dying.

    Hear the modest priests of Ing
    Who’s harkening always let us sing
    That let’s us free our tightest waistband
    Let’s us fertilise our own land
    Spunked entire nations from one phallus
    Spunked the vegetation into being
    Spilled the super seed into the one day superceded earth.

    Old Mother Fucker
    She was a cocksucker
    To give her poor family a home
    Went down on their ding song
    And drank for a sing song
    But ended her sad life alone.

    Around the church in Yatesbury the dead
    Lie scattered underneath the sacred yew
    As Sheila the Witch attending Sunday prayer
    Praises a God but never tells them who
    And from my Wall observing Sheila the Witch
    Praises her God but never explaining which.

    And every Monday night by the light of Moon
    Those Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
    And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
    Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
    And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells
    Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
    And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
    Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
    And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells

    And Doggen can testify to my claim
    That the Christians of Yatesbury are Christian in name
    But their stomping pounding actions attest
    To their Christianity happiest at rest
    And Doggen who played at the John Stewart Hall
    Can attest that its keeper is the heathenest of all
    Is a shapeshifter tending to her hogweed hidden
    And her dear Paul wallows in the village pond nay midden

    For all of us are boundaried by Wan’s Dyke at the west
    And the great world hill which spies us and can never let us rest
    Bringing on Iranian Mithra
    From its home beneath the east
    Caught always in the thrall of my Wall
    Caught always in the thrall of my Wall

    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall of my wall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall of my wall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall
    Stand in the thrall of my wall

    Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
    For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
    Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
    For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
    Play your gloom axe Stephen O’Malley
    Sub bass ringing the sides of the valley
    Sub bass climbing up each last ditch and combe
    Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom...

    Don’t blame the messenger of gloom,
    Don’t blame the messenger of doom,
    For this be the Ragmarockingest aeion
    In stillness O’Malley and Anderson play on... play on... play on...
    avatar
    Iván Villavicencio

    Mensajes : 18
    Fecha de inscripción : 04/03/2010
    Localización : Concepción

    Re: Sunn O ) ) )

    Mensaje  Iván Villavicencio el Vie Mar 05, 2010 4:48 pm

    Son la raja estos weones....

      Fecha y hora actual: Lun Oct 23, 2017 7:15 pm