D-Styles - Phantazmagorea      
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written by BDT & ME    
* The capitalized titles are the song titles as read upon the album inlay cover.

On the cusp of sleep there I lay...headphones on...(former Invisibl Skratch Piklz and current Beat Junkie) D Styles new album "Phantazmagorea" navigating the way. My head nodding off to illusory beats, smoke screened visions, blurred faces and whispering voices. My senses in tune, I lead with my ears...BOOM...THWIT, THWIT...VOOM....I hear a voice next to me..."Welcome to my mind, it's the most BEAUTIFUL UGLY SOUND" I turn and see D Styles with a sly smile and watch as he performs a shadowy puppet show of turntable gestures. He walks into a room and beckons for me to follow...the legendry punk rocker Jello Biafra sits on a stool on a stage and begins to speak...("JOHN WAYNE ON ACID")

"Ladies and gentlemen...are you ready to rock...live at the Ritz...exclusive east coast appearance...John Wayne on acid!"

My eyes adjust with camera like precision and zoom back to take in a studio audience being manipulated to clap and laugh by D Styles.

Suddenly the studio lights turn off except for one lone spotlight shining on a man who begins to speak...("HAMBURGERS AND CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM")

"Sometimes I can live a whole day without saying very much to anybody, not needing the algebra of words or the chemistry of people to make the world go for me. I sit outside and watch the cars go by and listen to the chattering birds and watch a little girl across the street watering a lawn."

Spotlight out...blackness on...ominous keyboards begin to play...a woman's voice ("WON'T YOU BE MY NEIGHBOUR")..."His neighbours called him a regular sort of guy. He loved hamburgers and chocolate ice cream."

Blackness out...spotlight on as D Styles cuts in screams, moans and sinister laughs. Scared, I run back out of the room and into the corridor...

I reach into my backpocket for my Tibetan Book of the Dead but, before I can pull it out I feel air beneath my feet and drop through nothingness landing into a chair in some kind of holding cell. A table in front of me is all that's between me and Charles Manson. His eyes bun into mine and my mind signals to my body to move but, I'm bolted down like I'm in an electric chair. His mouth opens ("CHARLIE'S AN ANGEL")..."Maybe I should have killed 4-500 people then I would've felt better, then I would've felt like I really offered society something you know. If I wanted to kill somebody I'd take this book and beat you to death with it, and I wouldn't feel a thing, It'd be just like walking through the drugstore."

With wide eyes I look on as turntables appear on the table and Manson morphs into a laughing D Styles who rips into a song he dedicates to me..."LIKE THAT CHALL!"

The environment changes into the two of us driving down the coast of California. A beautiful day as I put my hand out the window to play in the wind. I look over at D Styles who once again gives me that sly smile. I look back to my hand...


I scream as words convey meaning to my consciousness that my hand is missing...cut off by the razor sharp cutting of D Styles. I lose consciousness and fall through dream space as words from the song "TERROR IN DUB" enter into my head space..."Terror"..."6 million ways to die choose one"...."Murder"...

Images...of a Rastafarian droid operating on my physical surroundings, which is thick and humid like before a summer thunderstorm.

I wake to full frontal nudity and porn star chants in a song called "CLIFFORD AND HIS MUSTACHE"...bodies upon bodies in various degrees, begin to part like the red sea...D Styles scratches alone and yells out "Who's YOUR FAVOURITE DJ?"

I begin to laugh hysterically. He throws out a "FLOTATION DEVICE" and tows me away. He's thought of everything to bring on this boat ride of sorts (guitars, violas, drums, bass, wah-wah pedals) and I congratulate him on the good job he's doing. He responds by scratching over a beat...

"I got styles from here to Tennessee/ My shits straight from the soul goddammit!/ Spectacular...miraculous flow/ Flex on me? I don't think so/I'll take your brain to another dimension.

Now he's "MR. ARROGANT."

I dig into my backpocket again and pull out my Book of the Dead...

"Do not be afraid of him, do not be terrified, do not be bewildered. Recognize him as a form of your mind. Recognition and liberation are simultaneous."

Hmmm...I then reach to pull out my pocket dictionary..."Phantazmagorea...crowd of dim or unreal figures; exhibition of (gory) illusions."

Ahhhh...the question remains, am I dreaming or am I dead? Sensing movement I look up and see an extra large D Styles in my face with an answer to my question...

"WAKE UP!!!"

And so I do. Groggily I stumble into the washroom where I splash water onto my face and stare into the mirror and tell myself it was only a dream...

Suddenly my face morphs into D Styles who winks and smiles back and says...

"What is a dj who can't scratch?" Whereupon he lifts his hand up to show Freddy Kreuger knife like fingers...horrified I...


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