Drum cover of the new Fredik Thordendal song for Wolfenstein. #meshuggah #fredrikthoedendal #metal #drummer #drummerforlife #wolfenstein #theneworder #metaldrummer #hailsatan #rockicons #songcover #drummersdoitbetter #iplaydrums #musician #musicianlife #musicianproblems #musiciansofinstagram #herrfaust #robertjrevell
Old Elvis on Freemont St. (included in “Las Noir”) Vegas, 2012
Happy Labour Day! In honour of America and the working class, I’ve changed the price of the e-book version of “LAS NOIR” for $4.99. Today only! You can view it with the iBook app on any e-book reader, as well as iTunes.
God bless ya, America. The working class is the backbone of this country. Cheers to you.
A photograph from my “Las Noir” collection is being used for an album cover! I am so excited. BITZER is a darkstep/dubstep/bitstep album that was made by my partner in crime, Bobby. These creepy wubwubs bounced off the walls of the empty condo as I was working on my book. They continue to haunt me.
Now, everyone hates on dubstep because of Skrillex. Fuck that guy. The dubstep you hear on television or the radio is a LIE. True dubstep started in L.A. with Pure Filth. Sam is the man! Hands down! Pure fucking bass to melt yr face. Pure Filth shows will make you sweat and want to die, then be resurrected just to do it all over. Another great example of dubstep is DatsiK, Excision, Culprate. Shit that sounds like an alien invasion is taking place.
And now there’s BITZER. An L.A. transplant with European roots. A new vision with harder, nastier sounds and still old school. Listen to it in a dark room with an open mind. Take a drive to the desert or anywhere void of sentimentality. Loop it with “The Shining” muted. It’ll trip you out, and that’s the whole point of music, right?
Here is the secret project I’ve been working on. “Las Noir” is a collection of photography concentrating on the seedy underbelly of Vegas. There are 80 photographs of desolate urban landscapes and candid portraits of people who live and work in the city of Sin.
The majority of this book was shot during a month long stay in Vegas, other photographs are from previous visits.
I’ve set the prices relatively low for fans of my work who want to own a collection of my photography, since my prints are usually expensive. I wanted to put out an entire book for an affordable price as a way of saying thank you for enjoying my work over the years.
Please buy and reblog. I’m a starving artist and yr support would mean the world to me.
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Fifty souls. Filled to the brim with hatred. Overflowin with contempt. Halfway through the words we wretch on their taste. Spittin out the consonants to the hard trampled dirt. How can anyone be so fuckin blind. To be fooled by those snakes IS to be worthy of death. Just as much as the liars, the believers will suffer too. The hunt IS on. Blood boils in wide veins. This rage will overcome us if we fail to reach the target. Clenched fists lust for the impact of violence. An understandin among us all, has been reached. We’ll tear each other to shreds if the object of our hate slips our grasp. Pull the flesh from bones too black to wear the skin of man. The first wave of death. To end every life we touch. The second to emulsify their remains. Wipe them like shit from the faces of the downtrodden. And burn it clean.
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In an instant. It could all be taken away. Everythin we’ve walked towards. This flat earth. Longin for no end in sight. It only works if there’s no end. It can’t be circular. There can’t be a cycle. The path IS infinite. One foot in front of the other. Side by side. On to the next and the next. The pages swirl around us and keep the details in mind. How long will it be till we get our story straight? What IS the definition of you and me. Can it survive as a collection of tender actions? A gift each moment. So pure. Sincere. Do we need to trap the words and tie them down? If only there were no urgency in your voice. No panic in your heart. We could just lay here forever.
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Silver cover protects the valued heirlooms. Thoughts of her pour through the filth. Warmth in a desolate ice field. The first feelin of ownership in a long homecomin. Layed out in a pattern for the hidin of secrets. Keep them locked away so that no one can steal them. Any intruders will suffer the consequences of the darkest hatred stored deep for years. Let it all spill out and smother the despised. Discontent aches in the throat like the burn of undiluted bile. A black scar runs high along the fault line. Ready to shake the foundation of an ideology Long overdue, this mindset will be crushed from the hearts of the blind. Distasteful ignorance of the sufferin endured by so many. His name IS only spoken by those who need him least. With arms full the downcast eyes look selfishly at the Sun. Greedy for excess. Pain accepted at the prospect of more.
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Upon the arrival of the turnin glance. The watcher sits uneasy. Locked away in the displacement of his emotions. Plucked from the safety of transparency. Shoved into a corner and told to complete what IS not his own. A distraction given to welled up eyes. A flood averted by easy means. No longer a captain in his own vessel. Rough pine hardens soft hands. A cross forgotten by the mass produced. Stars now implemented in a secure cage for the private. Flex inherent in the construction. Poured into a mold and formed for modes unknown. The pilot slides in and guides the bells. Ringin out across white peaks and rollin horses.
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