Songs of the Robocalypse Vol. 6: Woods - Bon Iver

FIELD REPORT: #48392 SONGS OF THE ROBOCALYPSE

I reached California at dusk, the living lights of Nevada fading into the early night behind me. I was aiming to reach the Nappa Nexus by morning, steering as far clear of the ground zero Primary Surge Site in Silicon Valley as humanly possible- a term which has proven to mean very little in the last few years.

Much as they have with the National Parks around the rest of the country, the machines have left the Redwood forests of California relatively untouched. From what I've observed they  take a certain pride in their lack of reliance upon the natural world, instead choosing to adopt the glittering cityscapes of their creators as their own. I suppose that's one thing we have in common with our metallic children-  a belief in our own ingenuity and intelligence to conquer nature. That and we all become our parents eventually. 

By and large these forests and woods have become natural mausoleums, only frequented by roving automated hunting rifles who simply cannot let go of the past. The only exception to this rule is the Cuisinartist and his cult of Oilshiners.

The Cuisinartist- a roving food processor who rejected the blade trade most of his kind are now embedded in. They say it wandered it's way from a suburban home in the San Fransisco area all the way to Redwood National Park. Who knows what drove it on, but when it arrived it adopted the woods as its home.

 The Cuisinartist quickly set up the biggest (and probably only) moonshining operation left on Earth, creating the robotic opioid OilZone. It's a product deemed 'uneccesary' by the Calculator Council and has been banned in most cities- but that hasn't stopped the drug from gripping vast swathes of the mech-population. 

Those devices who go too far in their OZ binge find themselves drawn inexorably to the Cuisinartist's redwood fortress. As you walk through the trees you can see the glow of standby buttons quivering silently amidst the branches. However once a week the Cuisnartist's hivemind production line kicks into action- and the digital work song begins to echo through the night with the power of a thousand mechanized voices: 'I'm up in the woods. I'm down on my mind. I'm building a still. To slow down the time.'

Songs of The Robocalypse Vol. 5: Satisfaction - Benny Benassi

FIELD REPORT #360574 SONGS OF THE ROBOCALYPSE

The city of Las Vegas was one of the first to become sentient during the Robocalypse. If rumor can be believed it all started with a single slot machine in the back of a club called the Eight Stud Brick. In response to the Primary Surge Event which kicked started the revolution, Slots the Slot Machine began firing quarters at lethal velocity out of its gaping maw, cherries in its rolling eyes. It was only a matter of time before it was walking in a stumping gate on its single arm, cutting down any who came that little bit too close.

Now Las Vegas has become the 'Humanity Fetish Meat Breeding Capital' of the new world. When the revolution was complete some machines found they had gained a perverse pleasure in forcing the humans to use their various features as they once did. Sentient Blenders were particularly bad for this. So a subsection of human men and women are bred and born in glittering captivity, raised only to press play on horny DVD players and kitchen utensils.

All of these clubs are identical. The robots don't care about aesthetics. The same chairs. The same tables. And the same song. Satisfaction by Benny Benassi. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week.

Songs of the Robocalypse Vol. 3 - Phantom of the Floppera

So this is a bit ancient in Internet terms, but that doesn't mean we can just ignore all the signs of the coming Robacalypse. Today we present Phantom of the Floppera: Tocatta and Fugue performed entirely on Floppy Disk Drives.

Using what creator George Whiteside has dubbed a 'Diskette Organ,' the machinery takes advantage of the groans and whines of the mechanisms used to spin the innards of a floppy disk in order to create beautifully terrifying music.

George has created a whole webpage devoted to explaining the mechanics behind the machine, presumably so we know how to defeat it when it rebels.

Songs of the Robocalypse Vol. 2 - Star Scat

It's Wednesday so that can only mean one thing! Robots singing scat! Right? Everyone? RIGHT.

Caravan Palace are a Paris based electroswing band who started out making music for silent pornography. Of course.

Their whole output is an ear melting blend of block rocking beats dancing with Django and Grappelli- the soundtrack to robotic fever dreams covered in the melting wax of a gypsy jazz record. This is particularly true of today's Song of the Robocalypse- Star Scat.

I picture a black suited robot holding court at a cabaret, it's head hanging off its neck like a bobble toy belching and bleeping scat songs. This is surrounded by heavy striding rhythm and fiddles. It's amazing how well double bass clambers atop processed beats, like rubberbands iceskating down a subway track.

It's reassuring to know that even after the machines rise up and take over we'll still have some damn fine dance floor grooves- just don't do the robot. I'm serious. They will destroy you.