The Tape Decays: Throbbing Gristle

CUT UP END incantations. Click. Machines hum. Silence clears. Slowly, the tape recorders start to spin: the vortex is set in motion. IBM computer tape: deprogram. Bass throb, guitar alert. Vocal incantations. The vortex, ever slowly, whirl faster; faster, faster. I awake from my dream and lazily concentrate on a group near the front of the audience. From my dream I see agitation, hatred, violence. The machines spin: the dream continues. In the past, it has encom passed boredom, fear, excitement: tonight it continues, incantatory, even stronger than before, a perfect soundtrack.