From Houston Texas.
NO GENRE, NO HELP, NO RULES
On Music and Table Manners
Indian Jewelry’s voice covers a wide range, from a wheezy giggle of delight to a loud “light tenor” call, or “demoniacal” scream; but attempts to claim it for anything approximating to a language have so far scarcely been justified.
For years the writer has been associated with Indian Jewelry. Shortly after their arrival, they were the chief guest of a luncheon party. They conducted themselves, until the arrival of the dessert, with the greatest propriety, touching no food with their hands, using table utensils and drinking out of a glass. When, however, at the end of the meal a large bowl of cherries appeared, Indian Jewelry could no longer contain themselves, and giving up their party manners for those of the wild, screamed with pleasure and plunged both hands into the fruit. The humans present laughed. But Indian Jewelry, who up to that moment had participated in the general merriment, did not join them. Instead they covered their faces with one hand, painfully embarassed by a sense of having committed a “social error.” This behavior on the part of Indian Jewelry refutes the assertions of those who believe a sense of shame is limited to humans.
REEKERS OF HAVOC.
ABOUT WHOM IT HAS BEEN SAID…
“The state of Texas has sure given us some interesting and innovative
“Indian Jewelry … seem to permanently inhabit a sensual, raw netherworld where curls of smoke drift before your eyes. While not exactly goth, their sound is dark and sort of organically industrial, a soft, ritualistic dronecore conjured from yawning electronic noise, tumbleweed guitar, and disco beats. It’s a growling, prowling, synthetic powwow stomp, glamorous in every sense of the word, but you won’t need a sage or a sigil to figure it out. This is tantric, orgasmic, blood-warming, bone-rattling music, and I’d give my firstborn to join their cult.”
“Indian Jewelry have invented their own sonic language through which to pump all their endless paranoia, panache and aplomb. Must be scary to be the competition.”
“Indian Jewelry stand at a kind of musical crossroads where the gloriously dark moments of rock n’roll’s past hang side by side with clunky rave synths and a droned-out attitude. The stuff of Indian Jewelry is that primal, dark rock n’roll. The sixties as apocalyptic nightmare, as Altamont; the seventies as lawless New York where proto-punks Suicide endure pain to convey their message, filtered through an old Polaroid of the near ethereal, a fading glamour emerges, an almost holy release. Do they see their music as dark? “Any music lighter than ours is only fit for playing in elevators or energy drink commercials.” states Erika who claims she ultimately wants to reach “the Mexico of the mind”. This, coupled with a large, revolving line-up leads me to believe Indian Jewelry could make a pretty nifty cult: “We’d sell your sister to your mother, but we’d only rent your brother to your uncle.”
“Indian Jewelry do not make dark music to trip to; they make dark music to pack with you on spirit quests. Taking the bad acid freak-out aesthetic of fellow Texans the Butthole Surfers, and cutting it in with the droning electronic menace of Suicide, Indian Jewelry are the new robot shamans, projecting nano-bot visions on expansive wastelands and conjuring snippets of digitized desolation… “
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