The hunt was led by an intimidating and extremely direct U. Marshal named Mike Stroh. He had been involved in manhunts all over the country, but the mission to find Thompson had special resonance with him as a professional person-finder. After seven hours of following her, Marshals crashed their way into the hotel and surprised the two, screaming at them not to move. The Marshals would ultimately cart away 75 boxes of evidence from the room, but they came up empty-handed in one aspect of their quest.
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Investigators found boxes in the Gracewood mansion that looked a lot like those that had held the restrike coins, but the gold itself was nowhere to be found. Thompson tried to fight the extradition. Marshal Brad Fleming said Thompson was chatty as they made the journey back, perhaps relieved that he no longer had to hide. Both pleaded guilty to criminal contempt. T he capture of Tommy Thompson made for a fairly pedestrian end to a story that had captivated Columbus for years. Other associates were wistful about the turn of events.
But the notion that not even a brilliant mind could resist running off with gold was too salacious not to report, and the allegations of thievery became the dominant narrative. It was an unfortunate bookend to the legacy of someone who had long maintained that the historical and scientific aspects of the recovery were the most important point of the mission. Indeed, the non-gold accomplishments of the Central America mission are impressive and resounding. Michael Vecchione, a zoologist with the Smithsonian who briefly worked with the expedition, said the jerry-rigged technology of the Nemo is now standard practice for deep-ocean explorations.
The mission took thousands of hours of video, giving scientists an unprecedented look at deep-sea life and revealing new species and their evolutionary adaptations, he said. Deep-sea sponges were retrieved and studied for their antitumor properties. And the way in which they physically nabbed the gold was incredible in its own right: The robotic arms of the submersible gingerly placed a frame around a pile of coins and injected it with silicone, which, when solidified, made for a block full of gold that could be stored until it was ready to be brought to the surface.
Controlling all of this were systems less powerful than those contained in the average smart phone, Bob Evans said. The coins and other gold items recovered from the Odyssey Marine—led excavation debuted in a public exhibit in Los Angeles in February to record-setting attendance, and they were next seen in May at an NRA convention in Dallas. After administrative costs, court costs and creditor claims, there would theoretically be a distribution to the investors in Recovery Limited Partnership — the first time they would ever see a dime, 33 years after the initial investment for some. The prison, an imposing but generic detention facility surrounded by razor wire, is about three hours from Columbus, and it is the place Thompson has called home for more than four years.
It appears to be his home for the foreseeable future, as Thompson is serving an indefinite sentence in federal prison for civil contempt for refusing to divulge the whereabouts of the coins. It has been hard to deduce his motivations, even for those who know him well. His intense concentration and extreme focus found the Central America , and the same focus applied to trying to find an answer to his current predicament is taken as unwillingness to play ball. Only two of the hundreds of investors in the mission have sued Thompson because they knew it was a gamble to begin with, she said.
Moreover, as Bob Evans explained, the actual value of the gold was highly speculative in the first place. The inventory has been published. There is no other gold that has been recovered. Perhaps the math is not simple, but it is not beyond the talents of the most elementary minds, or at least the reasonably educated. But according to Quintin Lindsmith, attorney for the Dispatch Printing Company, recouping the supposedly missing returns is not the point.
Thirty years and two months after the treasure was found, Thompson was driven the long three hours from Milan, Michigan, to Columbus, Ohio, to stand trial and answer questions many people had been waiting a long time to ask. The missing defendant suggested a repeat of previous events. Had he somehow fled?
Thompson, in a navy sport coat and light-colored plaid shirt, was momentarily nonplussed, and his eyes, behind his black, thick-framed glasses, registered a small amount of surprise. Most damning, however, was alleged evidence that he had stashed gold at the bottom of the sea, presumably to be retrieved later on: When the receivership went back down to the Central America in , they found coins and gold bars that had been neatly laid out on trays. Thompson also admitted that he had made off with the gold coins as a form of remuneration he felt he was due.
In her testimony, Alison Antekeier said that between and she moved them from California to a safe-deposit box in in Jacksonville, and then to a storage facility in Fort Lauderdale, where she gave them, in a handful of suitcases, to a man who was supposed to transfer them to an irrevocable trust in Belize.
This was the point Thompson was trying to make all along. As his attorney Keith Golden explained, an irrevocable trust means that once the trust is set up, the person who opened it cannot access it without the permission of the named beneficiaries. Who was supposedly named as beneficiaries on the trust is unclear. The ruling was later overturned on appeal. Finally, after weeks of testimony, the attorneys made their closing arguments and the jury reached its verdict. Thompson sat in his wheelchair, legs shackled, as the official paperwork was handed from the foreman to the bailiff to the judge.
After the decades of science, discovery, stress and flight, it all came down to this. In the matter of the civil case against, it was determined that defendant Thomas G.
Thompson sat expressionless while everyone else gasped. However, the jury declined to award any punitive damages or court fees, indicating that there was no evidence that Thompson acted with malice. Either way, Lindsmith said the victory is once again about the principle. Like the cost of the litigation itself, the financial cost is immaterial to the larger point. The receivership is fielding offers for a multitude of items from the Central America and the recovery missions.
Available for sale are bits and pieces of scientific and historical ephemera , including silicone molds with gold coin impressions, and even the Nemo , the remote underwater vehicle that was the first human contact with the Central America since They have tickets from the passengers. Golden adds that the relentless litigation torpedoed an opportunity that would have made the Central America recovery look like chump change.
Thompson was working with the Colombian government in the mids to recover an old galleon whose estimated value is legitimately a few billion dollars. The next steps for Thompson in the case brought by Dispatch Printing include an appeal of the judgment, with the hopes that the award will be diminished or overturned. Separately, Thompson has filed an appeal in federal court to be let out of prison. Thompson is currently awaiting the ruling of a three-judge panel about whether or not his is valid.
What little time he has to use the phone is spent speaking with lawyers, business partners, and his family; ditto for the days he can have visitors. And after decades of developing new technology, going after hidden gold, and having to fight in court, Thompson is used to secrecy and has no reason to talk about the case to anyone. Alison Antekeier still lives in Columbus, keeps a low profile, and is still reportedly very sympathetic to Thompson.
Numerous attempts to contact her went unanswered. In Ship of Gold in the Deep Blue Sea , Gary Kinder includes chilling survivor accounts of the Central America disaster, including men and women screaming maniacally as they dumped out purses and emptied hidden pockets of gold as the ship sank. The vacated wealth was something they otherwise would have killed to protect. It was mania wrought by the plague of gold, a crippling infirmity that afflicts humans alone.
These Syrian children survived attacks that left them burned beyond belief. One program thousands of miles from home is offering them life-changing treatment. W inter was on its way in northwestern Syria when Hana Al Saloom awoke around 6 a. There was a chill in the air. Her 5-year-old daughter, Aysha, was asleep near a gas heater, as her brothers and sisters slept in other rooms. Hana blinked. The blast knocked her down. Then screams.
She swiveled on her knees. She looked around.
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Everything was on fire. It was as if her house had exploded. The impact must have caused the gas heater to blow up too. The flames spread fast. Hana raced outside with her older children. He had reached into the flames to pull her out. His legs and hands were seared. But Aysha was injured the worst. Neighbors rushed to put out the fire on her body — and all around them.
Her skin was smoldering. A neighbor rushed Aysha and her dad to a hospital. Her wavy hair dances around her bright eyes. There she is in a white blouse. There she is in a purple plaid dress. There she is with pigtails, sitting on a swing, wearing a white, blue and red polka-dotted tutu. Her mouth hung open, her eyes slightly cracked, her neck as reddish-pink as a bloody raw steak.
Her face looked as if someone had slathered it with a mud mask. Pasty in some places, blackened in others. But her skin, Hana says, was still there, even if it had turned a different shade. Badly hurt and on the brink of death, that is how Hana remembered her daughter on the day she was burned.
After Aysha was whisked away to Turkey for medical care on the day of the accident, an uncle who accompanied her sent a photo of her face wrapped in white bandages. Instead, the uncle would call regularly with updates from Turkey. She was going to be OK. Doctors focused on her lungs especially, which were damaged from the smoke. Hana prayed and cried, waiting for Aysha to be well enough to come home. Finally, that day came. Hana waited, and when she saw the car coming down the road, she ran out of her house in time to see her little girl step out.
She remembers that Aysha wore jeans and a red and white striped dress. Her hair had been shaved off. But it was her face that shocked Hana the most. She did not know that the burned layer of skin had fallen away in sheaths, and that the new skin that replaced it was a combination of grafts, recent growth and irregular-shaped scars. Aysha did not look like the little girl her mother remembered, but Hana had no doubt she was her daughter. She grabbed Aysha and carried her inside of the house. She sat down, weeping.
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Hana recalls how Aysha was welcomed back to parts of the community, but the children who used to play with her refused. In May , they boarded a plane and arrived in California. For the last 10 months, Aysha has lived in Southern California, traveling with a chaperone several days a week — an hour each way from an apartment in Irvine — to the hospital in Pasadena for checkups and surgeries, all to treat the burns and scars that run across her arms, chest, neck and face. She is one of six Syrian children who have come to the U. Given the immigration hurdles and expenses for travel, living and medical care, it would be almost impossible for most Syrian families to travel to the U.
She has been active in humanitarian projects since the war in Syria began. State Department has remained supportive of temporary visas to bring burned Syrian children and their families to the U. Twenty-five more burned Syrian children are currently on waiting lists to come to the U. Currently they do not have enough funding to bring all of the children who need help. There have been half a million deaths and at least two million injuries since the start of the Syrian Civil War in , and the young Syrian patients who show up at Shriners come with gnarled hands, missing eyes and knotty scars, as well as obstructed breathing, hearing and vision.
Some can barely swallow. Their injuries are the direct result of air strikes and, in some cases, chemical weapons attacks. A longtime Syrian-American activist within the Arab-American community, Moujtahed worked on developing the partnership with Shriners as well as getting support from politicians. Those who survive their burns have a really tough, heavy pain, not only from their burns, but also psychologically. Norbury recalls the injuries of one Syrian boy he treated recently.
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It looked like he was balancing a baseball on the back of his hand. But she still has more surgeries to go. When Aysha is not in the hospital, she plays alone, or studies with a year-old Syrian girl, Hamama, who is also receiving treatment at Shriners and lives with Aysha and her mom in the Irvine apartment. Hamama lost her parents, along with key parts of her memory, when her village was attacked. She cannot recall her past, the accident, or even her family members who died. They occasionally go to the shopping mall, or out to eat.
Aysha collects dolls, watches Disney cartoons, and loves Skittles. But mostly she longs to attend school in a building outside with other children, even if they stare or laugh at her. It is too risky. Doctors have prohibited her from attending school outside because they worry the sun and environment could harm her already fragile skin and nervous system. Hana homeschools Aysha, who tries to stay in good spirits, even though she wishes she had other kids her age to play with. When she does go outside for brief periods, she worries about what people think of her. Once, Aysha spotted a woman pushing a stroller.
She noticed a toy fall from the stroller to the ground. Aysha thought of picking up the toy to give to the baby. On the television, a shark tries to catch a dolphin. Hana wears a gray head scarf and a red trench coat, which she has buttoned. She gives Aysha rosewater. She is often so focused on her daughter, she forgets about herself. Hana left five other children behind in Syria. Though Hana and Aysha video chat with their family members back in Turkey and Syria regularly, they know that they will likely not see them again for at least another two years. That is how long the doctors expect it to take to complete the needed surgeries.
W hen Aysha was a baby, her family resided in the close-knit village of Heesh, where she and her husband lived off the land, raising animals and growing their own food. They made cheese and traded it for other products. Their agrarian life was peaceful, Hana says, until the military came in and ordered everyone in the village to leave.
Heesh would become a bloody battleground as opposition fighters and Assad-regime forces clashed — artillery, rockets and mortars dropping over the hamlet, driving out residents and killing those left behind. Hana remembers gripping Aysha in her arms, carrying a bag of just a few clothing items, and making the two-week trek from Heesh to the border of Turkey on foot, with her husband and six kids.
If we make it out alive, we are alive.
They spent four years in the camps. Aysha learned to crawl, and walk, between the tents. Since their entire village and extended family members had relocated there too, Aysha knew many people. She would spend her days going from canopy to canopy, hiding and hunting for food.
You keep her! The family eventually learned that the fighting had subsided and they could return to Heesh, but when they made the long journey back to the village, they found a heap of rubble, broken glass, burned toys, cracked concrete, dust, dirt and crumbled storefronts. The ceiling had collapsed. The living room was a hill of rocks. Like the rest of the village, they rebuilt their home, one concrete slab after another. Less than a year later, it was not fully intact, but they had repaired it enough to live within its walls again.
The doctor begins to make marks on her ears with a marker. Doctors know the patients may never look the same as before, but they hope to help them live a more normal life by improving their burn injuries and deformities step by step, until they look and feel closer to the kids they are inside. The ones who skip down halls, sing YouTube songs, and grab for toys like other kids their age — without fear of frightening others.
At 10 a. Hama tells Aysha to open her mouth. The syringe is filled to the tip with the bright pink liquid. Aysha breathes deeply, gathering the courage to drink it down. She drinks it down with a grimace and wipes her lips. Minutes later, Aysha is groggy. Her mom leans in close. Aysha says nothing, her eyes droop. A few minutes later, the nurses wheel Aysha out of the room, down the hall, as Hana watches from behind.
Aysha is trying to call out. Her voice is so faint. Hana hears her. Hana rushes to her side once more. When priceless texts began disappearing from a seventh-century hilltop abbey, the police were mystified. They were even more befuddled when they finally caught the culprit. T ourists are a most common sight at the abbey of Mont Sainte-Odile in the summer. So, when a somewhat hefty, tall man walked down the marble stairs leading to the first floor of the guesthouse, hardly anyone noticed.
His backpack contained a Bible, which is normal in a place where people come for religious pilgrimages, but this Bible was more than years old. Along with it, the man carried a 15th-century incunabulum, works by Cicero and the eighth-century theologian Alcuin, and three more dusty, priceless books. He picked six books from one of the oak bookcases standing against the walls, and walked right out through the Saint-Pierre chapel, briefly glancing at the marble tomb of Saint Odile — the revered saint who founded this mountaintop abbey in the seventh century — on his way out. Now, the square-jawed, long-legged man sauntered through a swarm of tourists near the parapet enclosing the religious site.
It was a warm, sunny day in August , and he had just stolen from one of the holiest sites in Alsace, a historical region in northeastern France. On countless occasions, he had soaked up the views of the hillsides, blanketed with pines, and the sprawling Rhine Valley. He made himself a promise not to steal from the library anymore, he would later tell police investigators.
A small, vaulted room, it had once been known as Calvary, a place where canons and nuns meditated on the Passion of Christ. In the midth century, a canon had turned it into a library, amassing more than 3, books donated by seminaries and monasteries from the region. In the s, an amateur historian started drawing an inventory and had found ancient editions of works by Aristotle, Homer, and the Roman playwright Terence. Especially valuable were 10 incunabula — rare books printed before , during the earliest years of the printing press.
Sermons by Augustine, bound in sow skin, from Three Latin Bibles, printed in Basel and Strasbourg. Works by the Roman poet Virgil, printed in in Nuremberg. A Bible commentary by Peter Lombard, a 12th-century Italian scholar. Now one was missing. On the lower shelf where they were supposed to line up, there was an empty space. Buntz scurried out of the room.
She bumped into Charles Diss, 61, the director of Mont Sainte-Odile, a short man with an affable face and protruding ears. Diss was rattled. The library was accessible to some of the 60 employees, as well as to groups of 30 worshippers taking turns in adoration of the Eucharist, a tradition going back to the years following World War I. Buntz and Diss drove the weaving road downhill to file a complaint with the local police station.
For a moment, they thought that things would be left at that. The door was often left unlocked, after all. It appeared that only one book had been stolen, or simply borrowed by a fervent but dreamy pilgrim, and not returned. No additional security measures were taken. But when Buntz entered the library one day in November, just a few months later, the remaining incunabula were gone. The empty shelf stared grimly at her like an open wound. The gendarmes began an investigation and soon roamed the area.
He had walked back to the car two hours later, carrying two bags full of nine heavy incunabula, according to previously undisclosed police records. The lock on the library door was replaced with a sturdier one, and access to the room restricted. For months, there was no further pilfering. It was a relief. Life continued. In the fall of , Diss, the head of the site for 23 years, was succeeded by Alain Donius, a bespectacled, disheveled priest of No one told him about the thefts. The matter was considered closed. W hile the monks breathed easy, the thief enjoyed his new books. At night, in his tiny flat in Illkirch-Graffenstaden, in the suburbs of Strasbourg, year-old bachelor Stanislas Gosse tapped into his knowledge of Latin to read the stolen texts.
There was a 19th-century volume reproducing plates from the Hortus Deliciarum , a 12th-century encyclopedia that had been lost in a fire. Flipping through the pages, one saw the seeds of Christianity sprout and unfold. Miniatures showed Jonah crawling out of the jaws of the monster, a giant fish with its head a glowing red. The Three Kings followed the Star of Bethlehem, and a bearded King David sat on his throne musing, a harp tucked between his hands. Did reading these books produce the same joy Gosse felt playing the organ at church?
He had found them covered with dust and bird droppings. A brief stop at the beginning, in the Book of Genesis , provides a clear sense of the nature of a human being, our relationship with Source, and where the evolutionary magnet is drawing us. When spirit manifests through a body, or human form, we see the manifestation as a living soul. The words of Jesus in the New Testament provide guidance about how our living soul can become manifest in the world and fulfill its purpose. Jesus represents the soul, or Son, in the divine trinity of Father, Mother, and Son. Yet, in this busy and overwhelmingly stimulating civilization, one must have an exceptional motivation to avoid the distractions that call our attention to a million matters outside of ourselves.
The Kingdom of Heaven will arrive on earth not when it descends to our level, but when there are enough of us living as souls that we may, en masse, rise to and merge with the level above us, where the Masters of Wisdom can be found. Until that time, we can make the effort to let go of our petty and self-centered tendencies which get in the way of being able to feel and radiate this love. Then, the awareness becomes the letting go. GL: Thats poweful. Where does the title Astro Topoi come from? Once your thoughts are no longer wrapped up in the idea of what happened then or what might happen later.
You can just be with the sounds and not worry about being anything. NC: Totally. Trying to willfully negate thinking is dangerous too, right? Music is so amazing because its at one a thing and at once completely empty. And though it is used by modernism as a thing to create identities, it is equally a powerful way to cut attachment to self. Noise, experimental music, the avante garde, jazz, whatever, can really pull the rug out from under the ego. So, its really horrifying at a deep level, because we equate that dissolution of attachment to death, rather than seeing it as freedom.
That's why i get kind of crabby about how weird forms of music are being territorialized by capitalism through branding and social media. Maybe music shouldn't be a form of self validation, maybe it should be a form of self dissolution. GL: I dont personally like talking about my day job but if youre cool with it, in your 'waking life' you are an educator? How does that influence your music or vice versa? NC: I work in a gifted school that is almost entirely African American. These are brilliant kids that society has thrown roadblocks against.
So, just like i see music as a way to cease suffering in the world, i see teaching in my context as similar. And on a really basic level there is also this struggle between goal centric thinking and the moment. I kind of am more of a facilitator than a chalk and talk teacher. GL: That sounds like an incredibly rewarding experience. NC: i guess its also like music in that its both rewarding and super frustrating, lol. NC: Ha. I did play an early mix of a track once to some guys who were in detention.
Then they wanted to come up for detention the next day to hear more. Today, they just find it online, something that didn't happen so much a couple years ago. It was there but they weren't so "google-ly" Now they are like, "cool show you are playing on Friday night. I go to great lengths to hide what I do from people at work. It seems like you are the same wherever you are.
NC: If you can figure out a way for me to hide the internet from my students, please let me know. Well, I don't go on about making music. Its such a academically tough experience for them that we are really focused on the work then and there. NC: Erica and I are working on a couple of new long form things, like inside out ambient, again, mostly created from autonomous psuedo random processes and structures and plain intuition. We are really focused on creating our version of an ambient album.
There will be zero rhythm and lots of weird chords. Also, Mark Dwinell of Forma and I have a Polytechnic Youth record that is just being released now of some raw early 80s'ish sounding industrial jams. The LP of Astro Topoi is now sold out, but you can still obtain the digital version of the album here:. Also, Nathan wants to give away some codes - grab them while they are still vaid! Last year, we tried out the awesome power of technology in songwriting, in the form of The Song Lyrics Generator. We decided it was high time we tried it out again. This time, I decided to be really topical and use a buzzword from current events.
Then - the site generates cover art with your band name, a title, and hands you a copy of your lyrics. Feel free to do that if you like. I found the landfall for me A bourgeoisie for you and me And every rainwater is carefree Then you came with all your exploding And I'm dancing because you're turnkey I was disintegrating, eroding on my own It's time we had some plutocrats You must think I'm collaborationist And now your proliferating is on repeat Don't be afraid to try gravitating Meet calculating thoughts Don't like your boycotts Provocations are not safe I just wanna be part of your malefactors You're always destabilizing when you lie Do you mind if I steal a repression?
Your words cut deeper than an incitation Lie lie. The Light is the most recent single from Tmboy's upcoming album, Steam, due out Feb. Full album review coming soon. For now, partake in this wonder:. Our attention was first brought to this project by electronic artist Malocculsion, whom you may remember from our House of Cake project. Their track, entitled The Death of Captain Rhodes , is easily one of the best tracks I have heard in so far! If you like your electronic, experimental music dark, creepy, and for a good cause - this compilation is the one for you.
Head on over to Psychic Eye records and have a listen for yourself! If anything could be done to further cement the viscerally tangible aesthetic of Dinzu Artefacts, it would be the release of this October batch, replete with more found sound, field recordings, and tape manipulations than you can wrap an ear around.
Close Distances is a slow ride on a conveyor belt made of burlap, teeth and oversized rubber bands. Each audio offering here is a hyper-aware focus on looped chatterings, clatterings, and spatterings that attains a hauntingly organic feel despite probably being recorded in a collapsing button factory.
Vaccaro is able to take 'ordinary' sounds of everyday objects and turn them into abstract structures of layered sound that fool the ear and tickle the spine. This tension-laden piece is full of terrifying stillness and malevolent fury, allegedly recorded with a 'prepared harp' which is a fancy musical term that really means 'interdimensional helicopter made of nightmares and lies. The sound on each of these tracks is dense, and heavily weighted with colorful swirls of shadowy energy, nimbly leaping to action and then falling dormant.
Treat yourself to this careful examination of pneumatic systems. Metal tunnels expand and contract, hissing with powerful surges of air. Valves squeak. Networks of pipes breathe with cycles of pressurizations, filled with rushing gusts of harnessed air energy. Tension builds as rivited seams of squealing conduits are tested by atmospheres of gushing power. Effort of breath is pushed through shaped brass, alloy tubes create bubbling sound in an exchange of expelled energy for sound output.
This year has seen a tumultuous whirlwind of powerful new music, and we were here to witness it. At every turn, there was yet another stellar release from some artist or another. Like many others who attempted to observe the endless waves of new releases breaking upon our digital shores, I found myself overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.
I present to you:. Index of Refraction Records - Glimmer of Hope. Fictional Girlfriend - Perfume Garden. Dere Moans - Brain Mountain Disciples. Pinkcourtesyphone - Romantic Threat EP. Pony League - Picture of Your Family. Whettman Chelmets - Annihlate Your Masters. Illuminati Hotties - Kiss Yr Frenemies. Barbara Morgenstern - Unschuld und Verwustung. Dinosaur on Fire - Populous Romantique. Nine musical guests brought exquisite sonic sensations that titillated eardrums from the early afternoon to the late evening.
The Hoodoo Music Podcast -a fortnightly show featuring musicians from the Upstate of South Carolina-served as the catalyst and inspiration for the event. The planning and execution of the event was an organic and harmonious undertaking with love for local music being the prime motivator. Turkey Point South offered a spartan, yet cozy atmosphere; an unfinished, unheated basement made warm and inviting by the conviviality of the hosts and the passion of the performers and festival goers.
The festival sported a diverse lineup of musicians and groups reflecting favorably on the eclectic variety of the Upstate scene. Singer-songwriter Gray Lee the driving force behind Houdini Mansions kicked off the festivities with his dark-folk musical stylings. Lee delivered a rousing improvisation of the Hoodoo Music theme with musicians from other bands providing guest accompaniment. Genre-wise, the HMF took an abrupt left-turn with rapper Ty Graves laying down his wicked flows over deliciously grooving beats.
The musical mash-up continued with genre-defying rockers Finding Freedom playing songs ranging from country, classic rock and nu-metal. The Apartment Club then took the stage delivering blistering post-rock with emotive, melodic vocals. Civility and good sense then took a brief intermission when swamp-punk duo Boo Hag dished out their frenzied, Pabst Blue Ribbon-fueled set. The rowdiness continued with Horrible Girl and the Hot Mess bringing feisty punk with catchy choruses and power-chorded aggression. The event culminated with Apricot Blush packing the stage as a collective of talented troubadours brewing their unique mojo of indie folk.
The night climaxed as the audience donned blue choir robes to sing along with the crowd-favorite Antlers. Those involved with the event deemed it a roaring success pointing to the fact of being able to collect donations of canned food, money and clothes for the non-profit organization Food Not Bombs. I know I did! Apricot Blush brought the house down with their crowd-pleaser Antlers! Check the exclusive, live-performance video below! Toronto rockers Pretty Matty have released a video for Kicked Out , a standalone single with plans to release next year.
You can get that here:. Fading carries the theme forward with a slow jam with a gentle bass line and ambient backings, topped with a reverb drenched vocal that drifts in an out of the spotlight. The third selection, Low Def , is built on a driving beat and a looping synth pattern, while the title track, Hologram Hex , closes out with groovy bass, some panned accents, and a nice buzzing synth solo after the first chorus.
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Other unidentified sounds tumble in and out of the mix like a ghostly bowling alley. I was not disappointed! This band is ripping up Halloween with this blistering cover of Moonchild. Says the band: "Maiden fans, raise the irons to the sky! Runescarred's version of "Moonchild" will have the mandrake screaming to GetScarred and you along with it! The dynamic voice of frontman Ven Scott guides the band from titanic highs to stunning lows and sees the group fusing the musical stylings of everyone from Lamb Of God to Iron Maiden into their thrilling live show.
Bandcamp Facebook. Hoodoo Music Podcast. Our Releases. Vapor Vault. Contact Us. Collaboration Project. Magnetic Mystery Hour. Magnetic Heart. May 8, Feature. Deliver a one-two punch that lasts April 30, Feature. Guest Mix by Arvo Zylo.