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2000 A.D. In the desolate fields and open air drug markets
of Western New York, Bad Noise Productions glued itself together with
rusty cars, pirate stereo components, children’s instruments, reams of
paper and gallons of ink; a dilapidated beast spewing handcrafted
grimoires, magick objects, bogus spiritual pamphlets and electrified
Chris lives in Iowa now, and I live in Brooklyn, but Bad Noise was
never about sitting still. The beast moves with us, we cobble it
together out of whatever’s at hand. Noise is everywhere, you can
read a book on John Cage if you don’t believe me. Bad Noise turns
up the volume of this perpetual ambience and scrambles its
We want to seduce you, not to turn you into a believer, but because
you’re attractive and we want to touch you. Bad Noise gives off
real pheromones designed to get you high. ‘Man needs play and
danger, society gives him work and safety,’ someone said. Bad
Noise is a part of that danger. It’s hungry and it wants to play
So play with us, send us things in the mail, click our buttons,
download our noise; it’s always free.
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