tension stuffhead

In the beginning, a complete lack of tools or templates for production in the traditionally sanctioned manner didn't prevent us from simply taking brush directly to fabric. So excited were we by the release of Fire In The Kitchen's LP Theory Of Everything there was no holding us back.

Using a design inspired by an abstract scrawl originally featured in the header of FITK's first press release ("We didn't have any press so I put it there to take up space." — Bob Bannister) we broke out the paints box and had at it, eventually figuring out that stretching the fabric first would really help if you're going to do something like this.

The lettering proved particularly problematic; many one-time stencils immediately disintegrated in the effort to come up with a satisfactory result. In the end, we adjusted our definition of "satisfactory".

Roaming the aisles of Pearl Paint's fourth floor in search of textile ink and other materials brought to our attention a truly marvelous resource: A machine operated by counter staff which utilized toner residue from any common photocopy you provided to burn a cheap, temporary synthetic screen. One "pop!" and you were in business.

Temporary being temporary and all that, we hit upon the notion that ¾" foam core (easily obtained only two floors below) could be fashioned into a frame. And that if you really taped the living shit out of the sucker, it might be waterproof enough to get a couple dozen rinses out of before falling apart completely.

Maybe.

The new technology enabled designs of a much more detailed nature to be reproduced and, as luck would have it, such a design wanted reproducing right then: a shirt based on the cover art for Tono-Bungay's seven-inch single Profit & Loss.

Our genius down-and-dirty framing system evidently left something to be desired in terms of tensile robustness however, as distortion in the printed image clearly demonstrates.

We quickly realized that complex designs served only to point up the shortcomings inherent in tension headache's production methods. Lucky for us — or perhaps rather as a result of some intentional side-stepping by us — the next design that came up for dissemination was far simpler in concept.

Fire In The Kitchen's double-seven-inch EP Glow featured a stark cover image anchored around the outline of a 6L6 vacuum tube fully warmed up and luminescent. In an effort to save the extra expense that a spot color adds to printing, the record cover art paraphrased the anode component's "ready for rock" violet iridescence with the cheaper "process blue".

But another stroll through Pearl's fourth-floor treasure-trove turned over yet another "Eureka!" –– the existence of DARK BLUE GLITTER TEXTILE INK. This priceless resource enabled tension headache's staff to tart up shirt production with a bit of extra glow-y realism from a design that was otherwise utilitarian of necessity, merely by a bit of adroit application with the brush after the main motif had been printed. (Click to see glitter ink detail.)

Refinement of method did not kill off the delightfully "homespun" essence featured in anything Tension however: One can still notice discernable image warp in the final product, caused by stretching the fabric over a surface not intended for the purpose (in this case, a pizza stone covered with newspaper).

Finally, inspired either by the desire to try something different or the desire not to have a multicolor bathtub any more, we did what anyone else would have tried in the first place: Going to the guy who has a tee-shirt printing business and seeing what he charges for a run. When it just so happens that that guy is a guy you see every week because you work at one of his vendors and he gives you a good price, you then ask yourself what you think you've been doing all this time.

Circumstances congealed once again to suggest a need, as a shirt designed at tension headache required production for a bunch of upcoming road shows. And so it happened that Tono-Bungay's tour in support of Sold By Volume had a real, pro-quality shirt to hawk at gigs; an item to be genuinely proud of rather than one which only made you think longingly of your poor, beleaguered kitchen table back home every time you saw it.

The only downside to this kind of production stems from fact that you are not actually sweating over each and every shirt yourself, and it therefore becomes easy to order up a passel of 'em –– many of which are still kicking around here somewhere.

Limited edition created for inclusion in the "Heat Identity" assemblage box set (Heavy Conversation, 2004). This full-track, ¼ inch tape loop can be played in either direction and at any speed. The foil-lined plasticine slipcover contains a fake-woodgrained box with a facing of fake Dalmatian fur. The box holds a single piece of specially-recorded tape spliced into a loop of about 5.5 feet in circumference.

This release (which occasioned one of the most hilarious reviews ever, see hype) was itself inspired when, according to anti:clockwise, "She dogged me." Retaliatory symbolism abounds throughout; click the image to explore the full packaging.

Distribution of the "Heat Identity" box was strictly limited –– only 30 copies ever existed. This exclusivity makes J.O.A.C.,M.O.N. an admittedly inefficient warning to those who would toy with a:c's affections and think that they can get away with (or at least go un-outed for) it, but the effort of producing thirty of these bad boys did take a lot of the sting out of the whole miserable episode.

What could be better than more of a nutty idea?

Satisfied with the results of "Jack Of All Ceremonies…", anti:clockwise went tape loop crazy again in advance of his next tour. The idea: have something outrageously expensive to sell and see if anyone will buy it. In Nashville, one guy almost did.

Eight separately boxed loops, each about 32 inches in circumference and again full-track ¼ inch, are gathered into a box set. The whole represents a suite of deconstructions dedicated to the the mysteries of physical passion as explored through its auditory aspects. It's all done very artistically of course, but it quickly becomes apparent (to anyone with a tape machine) just what is going on here.

The whole thing worked out pretty neatly: eight seemed the perfect number for a set of infinites, and that number of smaller boxes exactly fit the larger. If only that fellow in Nashville had had the $80. Click the image to explore the full package.