Do This Justice

by Abstraction

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about

My wild foray into the, until now, unexplored depths of aggressive and upbeat music. Do This Justice crackles with energy and creative heft spanning from inspirational spoken word to gritty ambient to classic EDM to dark progressive rock to what can only be described as synth punk.

This album is my submission for NaSoAlMo13 (nasoalmo.org, a challenge to create an entire solo album in the month of November).

credits

released November 30, 2013

Waiting for Your Executioner: Audio samples used (with permission) from Shut Up & Sit Down: youtu.be/RgFeQ-SbUwI?t=5m47s

Robot Uprising: Spoken word text adapted (with permission) from this Reddit post: www.reddit.com/r/singularity/comments/1r8e7w/is_it_the_future_of_us_or_the_end_of_us/

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Abstraction Minneapolis, Minnesota

Hi. My name is Ben. I make things, sometimes for other people.

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Track Name: Waiting for Your Executioner
Right, forget ghouls and goblins, forget vampires and werewolves. Let's look at the monster who really existed.
Track Name: Call to Action
We don't need your satisfaction,
What we want's a call to action.
Things we do can all be summed,
Do this justice, our time has come.
Track Name: Robot Uprising
I've never adhered to the idea of trans-humanism. Yet I do believe that the Singularity is coming, and that what will happen then will be truly dramatic and spectacular. I don't see it as some kind of phase, a transformation of humanity. Rather, I see it as its end.

It is possible that some humans will either be uploaded into machines, genetically modified or augmented with nanotechnology. But it will be an anecdotal event when compared to something as dramatic as the creation of an Artificial Intelligence.

If human beings are uploaded or augmented I don't think it is appropriate to call them human anymore. They will be something else, something new.
Track Name: Within the Trees
Within the trees, you can't find me.
Within the trees, I can be me.
Track Name: The Sea of Everything
Here it is again: the empty canvas. It is one of the many nemeses of creativity, maybe the most powerful. Some poor souls have sat for days, or weeks, or even their entire lives, expecting happenstance or divine intervention to grant them direction or inspiration. Irrecoverable minutes slip by spent drowning in a sea of everything that is possible. The sharks begin circling. However, there is an escape.

One note, a lone stroke of the brush, a solitary word triumphant on a page, is the only thing needed to start the crystallization process of an idea. With a single, simple act, the continuum of infinite possibilities collapses in on itself. Options considered mere moments ago now seem absurd and frivolous, foolish to waste time on. The first footprint on your canvas is paramount, as it defines where all the other steps lead. Now, the impossible question of “What can be made” has been distilled to a far more reasonable “So, where should this go next”.

The path illuminates like the foggy glint from a lighthouse, offering guidance for your project in an otherwise gray purgatory. However, it is known that a lighthouse offers both direction and warning: salvation is this way, but the course is churning with danger. Unseen horrors lurk under the black water. Tentacles writhing, waiting to pull a hapless or vulnerable idea into the cold, dark womb of the sea, never to escape, or be saw or heard by anyone but its creator.

This course has no map and rarely a guide, only personal experience from other, similar trials can light the way. Those past adventures were often failures, even though they started strong with vision and reliable bearing. Too quickly, these ideas are ran up against rocks and washed away or, worse, were slowly picked apart until nothing original or inspiring remained. Crawling home bruised, hobbled, beaten; anguished over losing another creative child so lovingly nurtured. Time spent nursing a shattered ego back to health is dark with fear and self-loathing. Sitting broken, the mind an empty husk, wondering if anything is still worth making and questioning the meaning behind this madness called creativity. The spirit may be temporarily broken, but never defeated.

Never defeated while that empty canvas sits, waiting, taunting. It is a silent and ubiquitous reminder of unfinished business and the beating taken during the last bout. Its siren’s call is the constant challenge of creative potential, of unexplored territory, of the inner strength involved in getting up dusting yourself off, and trying again.

So here it is: the empty canvas. What mark will be made on it today?