Dan finds himself made redundant because a robot voice has taken over the Hellebore Shew.
* Introduction: Conflict with a some kind of robotic voice thing, leads to a lamentably shambolic fight in the studio.
* Catch the nail-bomber.
* Kerb Crawling in the 22nd centuary, interrupted with an actual act of wandering around.
* A high-brow link, interupted as the robot thing attempts to eat Dan’s notes as revenge for disconnection. On radio… nobody can hear you cry (except the engineer)
* Untitled Track – “Just a Load of Noise”
* The real Dan Wilson unmasks an imposter.
I love this. It reminds me of The Fear Merchants “Mental” psychoanalytical opera thing of yesteryear. Harmon knows that of which I speak authoritatively, since he also, or a friend of his, did a Misanthrope show with a computer that was fickle in love. Recall?
I love the whole idea of a person, a human person, arguing with a computer.
But my problem with this shew is this: when I tried to remove the CD I had burned it on, the power cord started jumping around neurotically, and a stench-ridden black smoke came out of the speakers.
When I tried to switch modes from CD to Radio, I got an ugly little flash of electronic shock that nearly killed me, ask my wife about it.
DJs of unfairness may smirk at all this, but at least I have my fleas to comfort me and to talk to all hours of the night and day. The way the little buggers bury their sweet little heads into my epidermal layers is so cute and adorable. Don’t you think?
You need to get Resonance FM to gather all the wonderful songs and put them on a hit CD mp3 download file so we can listen to really innovative musik when we tire of talking.
They keep me locked up beneath the stairs. I don’t steal anything, so why do they smack my face? Nasty wallops don’t change or improve anybody. I can’t fit in with their fastidious regime as I grovel under the dead steps.
Keep the music, and a little vocal commentary, coming.
A stroppy robot AND an android doppelganger in one shew? Are you trying to mess with my brain? And your droppings are a bloody nuisance. Every other tree in Epping Forest has one wedged in it. The rangers have you in their sites, mate. You’ll be done for littering. Think you’re radical? You need help. You’re a candidate for the Turner Prize. Need I say more?
Great show.