Viscera
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This first release by America's premier psychotic weirdo duo was described by Objekt magazine as "Music for the insane asylum/ lobotomy ward". 60 minutes of dreary, croaky voices chanting and spewing out disjointed texts about isolation, alienation and mental disease -- everybody's favorite subjects. "Une cassette dense... dure a entendre... mais necessairement a ecouter..." (Open System Project). Titles include "Drifting Into Sync", "The Message", "Slipping Away", "She Wants To Forget" and others. Excruciating minimalism, great for quaalude parties."
- January 1985 Cause And Effect Cassette Distribution Catalog |
Side A
1. Slipping Away 2. The Message 3. Cause And Effect 4. Mysterious Pleasures 5. With Eyes Open 6. Ruins 7. In A Foreign Film 8. Alone Side B 1. She Wants To Forget 2. Abandon 3. Black On Black On Woman 4. Drifting Into Sync 5. October 12th 6. Selling The House 7. Pieces 8. Black And White 
review by Dave Mitchum from ND issue 3, 1984
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listing for In A Foreign Film from the Winter Spring 1983-84 Aeon catalog
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In A Foreign Film was the first full-length tape that Debbie Jaffe and Hal McGee recorded and released under the name Viscera. Industrial gothic minimal synth avant neo-primitivism. Most of the songs consist of abstract and expressionist poetic texts recited with a sparse instrumental backing of Casio MT-11 and VL-Tone keyboards, clarinet, Boss Dr. Rhythm DR-55 drum machine. Recorded at 821 N. Pennsylvania Street, Apt. #22, Indianapolis, Indiana, in 1982. Originally released by Mirth and Merriment Productions, on cassette in 1983, C59; re-issued by Harsh Reality Music in 1990; and HalTapes since the mid 1990s..
The equipment Debbie Jaffe and I used was primitive, but was a step up from 60 MINUTES OF LAUGHTER. Along with the tiny toy-like Casio VL-Tone, we had a new Casio MT-11 polyphonic keyboard. We had recently bought a Boss Dr. Rhythm DR-55 drum machine, just like the one our friends Rick Karcasheff and David Mattingly used in their band Gabble Ratchet. Deb played clarinet on a couple tracks. We performed most of the vocals using our Shure vocal microphone through my guitar amplifier. We used the amp for the keyboards too. All of the pieces on IN A FOREIGN FILM were recorded with an Audio Technica stereo microphone directly into our Pioneer CT-F750 cassette deck, which had stereo mike inputs on the front. It was an odd time. Deb and I were living in a hole-in-the-wall $130-per-month apartment in a crappy old building in downtown Indianapolis across the street from the Public Library. We lived there from the Summer of 1982 through early 1984. Apartment Number 22 at 821 North Pennsylvania Avenue was dinky, essentially one room. We prepared our meals in a tiny kitchen which had a gas oven which was always on the verge of blowing up. The bathroom area had one of those old-time footed bathtubs. The plaster and wallpaper were flaking and peeling off the walls. The apartment was hot in the Summer because there was no air conditioning. In the Winter we got heat from an ancient rickety steam heat radiator. We could not afford a telephone, so we went across the street to the Library to use the pay phones. The apartment was overrun with mice and cockroaches. Downtown Indianapolis was a depressing place to live. There were a lot of direfully poor people living in rundown buildings that had once been luxury accomodations before all the wealthy people abandoned them and moved out to the suburbs on the north side of town. There were hundreds of homeless people living in alleys and condemned buildings, foraging for scraps of food in garbage dumpsters and trash cans in fast food restaurants. Within a few blocks of our apartment were several mammoth, gray, icy-looking war memorials made of huge blocks of Indiana limestone. Winters in Indiana can be bitterly cold, with harsh winds that can drive the wind chill temperature as low as 70 degrees below zero Fahrenheit. Sometimes we almost literally did not see the sun for six months at a time, as gray clouds blanketed the sky from October through March. It is little wonder that I sank into bottomless pits of lethargy and hopeless depression for months on end. I was unemployed a lot of the time. I resorted to temporary jobs and collecting discarded cans for money. Deb had spotty employment, but at least she could type, so she got odd jobs at various offices downtown. We were on the U.S. Department of Agriculture food stamp program for about a year. I had a lot of emotional problems. A couple of years before, in about 1980, I had been diagnosed as schizo affective schizophrenic. I was told that this condition was caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain and that this might very well be hereditary. I was in psychiatric counseling and took prescription medications (Lithium, Stelazine and Activan) that were intended to derail the psychological rollercoaster I was on: from stratospheric emotional highs to the depths of suicidal despair. They did the job so well that I felt like my consciousness was in a box. Instead of calming me down this had the effect of making me more anxious, because I felt like my mind was in a prison. Debbie and I were broke and depressed and both more than a little crazy. But there will never be another time like it. Our intuitive collaborative powers were at an all-time high (a truly invigorating, joyful, creative feeling!). We knew each other so well that we could complete each other's sentences. The bed, floor and chairs were littered with hundreds of books, tapes and scraps of paper on which we had written poems, tracts, manifestoes. The words poured out of us as we tried to make sense of our lives and the struggle of existence. Rick Karcasheff had made dozens of tape copies for us of intriguing recordings by underground audio artists from all over Europe, Japan, Canada and the U.S. It was around this time that we first learned that there was a worldwide network of people who made recordings in their homes of their own electronic and experimental music. This was an exciting time because we were finding out all about the hometaper scene. IN A FOREIGN FILM by Viscera was the first tape we did that we sent out and traded with other audio artists. Deb and I set about making our own unique and very personal audio statements. One of us would choose a poem or other scrap of writing by one or the other of us that we found lying about or in a notebook; the other would search for a sound setting on one of the Casio keyboards or a simple pattern on the drum machine. Then, with little or no preparation or advance planning we would turn on the tape recorder and let it flow out of us! We filled up several cassettes with these spontaneously created sound works. In a way they were like miniature audio theatrical pieces. We chose to use the name Viscera because we wanted to create works that were as direct and straightforward and from the gut as possible. We strived to scrape away artifice, to get to the root, the core, the essence of existence, to baldly express our personal sense of the politics of experience. What did it mean to exist? I had the sense that existence itself was suffering. I also believed that each person must find his own personal vision and meaning (if any) of life. We both believed in the power of art to redeem life of its seeming meaninglessness: all the boredom, confusion, contradictions and pointlessness of existence. If life was hell and if absorption in self was hell, then Viscera presented windows into that hell! Yes, it is true that I had read a lot of existentialist literature: all the Dostoevsky (Crime And Punishment, The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov), Camus (The Stranger, The Fall, The Plague) and Kafka (The Castle and The Trial). Samuel Beckett's bleak vision of a meaningless world in Waiting For Godot had made a big impression on me. The dystopian visions of William Burroughs had convinced me that reality itself was a vast conspiracy of cosmic proportions. I could not get enough of Ingmar Bergman's films (Cries And Whispers and Persona were my favorites). At this time I favored music that presented a morbid, pessimistic view of life (Joy Division and early New Order, as well as Throbbing Gristle, Cabaret Voltaire and a little Nico). expression of psychological/emotional states ---info actually intended to be conveyed existence as struggle/is suffering redemption through art absorption in the hell of self existentialism Camus nausea ennui Dostoevsky Kafka mind/body dichotomy -- escape from body Castaneda/Burroughs Joy Division/New Order/Throbbing Gristle inappropriate (or deadened) emotional responses "profoundly amateurish" -- imperfections = genuineness ---Syd Barrett, Wild Man Fischer Bergman Persona disillusionment -- societal expectations theme of black and white And, in 1983 we got Kent Hotchkiss's Aeon Distribution Service to carry it! -- wow! -- what a coup! -- now we were in the Aeon catalog along with people like Nurse With Wound, Whitehouse, Borbetomagus, Human Flesh, Nocturnal Emissions, Legendary Pink Dots, D.D.A.A., P16.D4, Pascal Comelade, Mnemonists, Lt. Murnau, Maurizio Bianchi, etc. We felt like we had really arrived! The album We Buy A Hammer For Daddy by The Lemon Kittens (United Dairies label) had an enormous influence on our style. IN A FOREIGN FILM may be a difficult listen for many people. The singing/vocalizing is often out of tune, and the instrument-playing is riddled with imperfections. But the tape captures well a time in my life and experiences that I can never forget. The faults and imperfections reveal much about what we tried to express, our doubts, our isolation and alienation, our vulnerability. Originally released by Mirth And Merriment Productions. Re-released by Harsh Reality Music. Dopamine, which is a neurotransmitter, allows nerve cells in the brain to send messages to each other. The imbalance of this chemical affects the way a person's brain reacts to stimuli--which explains why a person with schizophrenia may be overwhelmed by sensory information (loud music or bright lights) which other people can easily handle. This problem in processing different sounds, sights, smells and tastes can also lead to hallucinations or delusions. |
Selected Viscera lyrics from In A Foreign Film
Slipping Away No stopping No standing Is there a message slipping away There is a life slipping away I am a blind man I need a energy transplant One could say I’m out for tea Coffee A drink of water Cars hiss by on the pavement I smoke a cigarette I become a picnicker With blanket and picnic basket I want to hear the old songs I want to hear the old ballads I need a new national policy No stopping No standing Is there a message slipping away A life slipping away The Message Big words in a childish scrawl on a blackboard Big steps Ringing bells All the sounds in my ears All the memories passing me by I wrote the message so all could see A big tree and a little bird comes And sits on a branch And the wind is blowing And I hear voices calling Down the stairway I give to you the letter I wrote you When you turned away And wouldn’t listen any more I give to you the letter I wrote you When you turned away And wouldn’t listen any more Mysterious Pleasures The stockades were empty The streets were black Above the city the searchlights scanned Empty space I had my eye on you When you opened And stuck your head in the sky Mysterious pleasures I can’t understand Walking human photograph Your bedroom is in negative Distorted faces Fugitive semaphore A most disturbing element I had my eye on you When you walked out on the balcony And welcomed death like a friend Mysterious pleasures I can’t understand With Eyes Open One: I’m falling Two: Resistance falling away Three: I’m drifting down Four: Am I falling? Five: Yes, I am falling Six: Down down Seven: Defenses against sight Eight: falling away And Nine: I’m beginning to see the light At the end of the tunnel I don’t know what I’m doing I know exactly what I’m doing I’m learning how to forget I can’t forget a thing I’m flying through the air My feet are flat on the ground I’m becoming nothing as the lights go out I’m becoming everything in a breath The ships are landing I can see their red lights flashing in the sunset I’m falling Learning to accept the sights With eyes open In A Foreign Film Last night he thought I was a fool Did I treat the children right? It’s hard to tell The rough red skin of his neck The black ink pen The callouses on my mother’s fingers Once in a foreign film The soundtrack was in synch With moving mouths Joking expressions It is time! I used to meet him in a downtown restaurant We conspired together We decided that what the world needs is an entirely new set of needs I’m looking out for him I want the best for him She Wants To Forget No matter how she talks she’s still as lost as the day she forgot about tomorrow And no matter how she talks she’s still as sad as the time she found out about sorrow Give her a hand She wants to forget Give her an eye to see She wants to forget How her faith let her down She wants to forget In the hour of her greatest need she turns away from it all thinking and fighting the memory of her fall In the hour of her most secretive desire she still turns away from the belief that puts out the fire Give her a hand She wants to forget Give her an eye to see She wants to forget How her faith let her down She wants to forget Black On Black On Woman I never really learned how to live I knew everything I know at birth I never had to learn how to forgive I forgive everyone for everything they said and did The woman with the broken mind stole a painting from the museum and threw it in the sea She sees you in the line Just imagine how the wife killed the man and then turned away and put on a black dress ...until all the laughter died away You remained frozen, out of touch with the woman who came to lift you up She sees you She’s waiting for you She sees you in extremity Drifting Into Sync Lucifer stepped out of his body into a blue blanket of sniffing noses drifting into sync He had tried this many times before and had at last succeeded It was something he had always wanted to do and had practiced it He had tried to merely wish himself out of his body and it hadn’t worked It would take much more than that A city bus like the back of a giraffe’s skeleton lost in transit the emergency exits popped open ajar, frightening transition smelled like danger but Lucifer feared nothing he moved to a nearby streetlight a glowing element It would take much more than that Lucifer couldn’t fall asleep that night He found it hard to lay his head on a pillow He was newly remodeled a beach blanket crusted with sea salt He made preparations to re-enter the Sync Room There was a sour metallic taste in Lucifer’s mouth radioactive crayons a cool afternoon rain, sprinkling she colored the snowman with pink polka dots on his belly He loved her street south side uptown downtown He blinked his eyes and he was there in an instant a gleaming bay a beaming city on the borders of imagination October 12 th I used to fight wars and used to achieve everything I wanted I used to complain about being forgotten not worthy of discussion a subject overlooked I used to be patient and used to achieve everything I wanted I used to complain about being neglected not worthy of a second thought all my virtues: (...laughter) Look: the rain has ceased I’m tired I’ve talked so much I’ve talked so much all my words forgotten I am as innocent as a lamb I can’t forget the day I ran away from the burden of freedom Look: the rain has ceased I’m tired I’ve talked so much I’ve talked so much and all my words will be forgotten Selling The House Mother said, “Don’t sell the baby; Don’t sell the house!” Why should I listen? How long would the words come? I feared I had developed too many of her qualities I had the potential to be just like her The thought scared me Horrified and vanquished She dropped her bags never Look in my direction See something else besides yourself for a change I did not even follow my own advice Falling short of every expectation I could think of My alienation My delirious misgivings shed light in fur bags and expensive dreams Kitten love The doctor thinks it’s rooted in her childhood Her life story in two breaths two heavy breaths... The girls in hot rods playing the game because they were taught well a stolen script everything was always as it used to be silence in the night windows black and reflective the people inside invisible holes... Pieces Everything is cold and dark Don’t ever say no to me Every word I speak becomes an island crawling like life across a mirror Everything is more than I can take Everything is no sense I can make Once I could make sense of the things in my heart all the pieces falling apart Life spills into the cup Sense impressions cut-up Everything falling apart Nothing rising up |