Daniel O'Sullivan
Orlando Harrison
Sara Hubrich
Leo Smee
David Smith
Influences
Goblin, Bach, Gurdjieff, Herschell Gordon Lewis, Fritz Lang, Nietzsche, Marchesa Casati, Joseph Beuys, Stanislaw Lem, Thomas Mann, Joel Peter Witkin, Graveyards, Fairgrounds, Circus, Megaliths, Asatru, Chainmail,
Sounds Like
On the Perils recordings, with their harmoniums, autoharps, violins, violas, pianos, organs and glockenspiels added to a top of the line rhythm section, the band very deliberately adheres to a Faustian melodrama of the angelic. Their dark, harrowing visions of some dense hellish musico-psychological dystopia shapeshift frequently before your eyes (ears), and become a very capable and Elizabethan sounding prog-baroque meteorite at the drop of a hat. Armed with these anachronistic tendencies the Miasmic vision never deviates, deriving its vocabulary exclusively from alchemically lined volumes in their arcane library of musical ideas. It's instrumental music that would perhaps find a happy home in a Jan Svankmajer or Fritz Lang film, and will find a prominent place on the shelf of any connoisseur of occultist highbrow, right next to his/her John Dee volumes. (sigh) Yes, dear to our hearts.
Trey Spruance, Mimicry Recordings
Miasma & the Carousel of Headless Horses are a British instrumental quintet that plays dark, antiquated sounding music encompassing elements of Eastern European folk, avant-rock, broken-down calliope music, and neo-classical film composition. More a trip to an anachronistic world of neo-baroque psychedelia than a simple study in diced-up ecclecticism, the music on Perils sways between lush chamber orientated melancholia, apocalyptic bombast, and epic ghost train high-drama. Featuring members of Guapo, Aethenor, Chrome Hoof and Cathedral.
Fragmentary text, of provenance unknown, found tucked into the diary of Otto Amon, Prague resident and noted chronicler of 19th century Bohemian life. The handwriting is not his own.
"Christmas 1781. Fonthill Abbey, Wiltshire.
La creme of England's artistic and theatrical set are gathered in these magnificent surroundings, summoned to celebrate a Saturnalia in honour of our notorious and most decadent friend, William Beckford.
... we revel in rare foods and oriental perfumes. Beckford's menagerie of exotic creatures and performers entertains us: acrobatic dwarves tumble through the air, monkeys dance, dervishes spin. The Frenchman Philip James de Loutherbourg, a mesmerist and artist, summons spirits real and imaginary with the aid of his fabulous son et lumiere device, the Eidophusikon. It is truly a marvellous scene.
Day two
... eyes hidden below the brims of wide black hats, they play wild, incessant music. Beckford says they are Gypsies. We laugh, love and carouse as their sound fills the room.
... the party still rages as if it has only just begun, driven on by that maddening music... they are not gypsies...they speak to nobody, just play... they are beings possessed.
Day three
An air of hysteria has descended... we have grown ever more debauched in our quest for unknown pleasures, I have seen things I should never wish to see again: obscene couplings, unholy rites I could never dare to describe. I have taken to a quiet room to seek sanity, but there is no escaping that sound.
... evening now. Beckford summons us to the Great Hall, he has an announcement to make. He speaks of conjurations and the arrival of a most honoured guest. I must...
... without warning the doors swung open to reveal the most sinisterly beautiful figure I have ever seen. Neither man nor woman, human nor animal, it stands silently amongst us, smiling eyes reflecting all the colours of its peacock-feather gown... with an elegant sweep of a too long arm it bows towards the musicians, they return the gesture and begin to play a music unlike any I have heard before, beautiful, awful... I dance. Swept by fire we leap and whirl, laugh and scream, the unknown guest moving gracefully amongst us, occasionally gesturing his approval to the band who simply nod and play on.
... I don't know for how many hours the scene continued. When I awoke it was dawn. We, all of us, lay sprawled on the floor where we had been dancing... aeons had passed. My body had been chewed upon by some great foul beast. A sickly odour lingered in the air and the last tendrils of a thick green mist seemed to slip out beneath the hall's great doors...
None can remember how the night ended. what has happened here? Even Beckford appears subdued, uneasy... The mysterious visitor is long gone, as is the band: "No doubt they have been summoned to other places and other times", says Beckford, "they will have other princes to entertain."
Fragment ends
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