Livores

by Hertz Kankarok

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about

LIVORES is painting bruises on the skin, and under the skin. It's a full palette and a choice in tastes. There is a séance: ghostly figures appear and disappear. There is the power of an ancient rite: we are there with our ears. After all, as Marius Schneider suggests, there is no magical act that doesn't involve an acoustic phenomenon.
"Music is what we are. Here a destiny starts".

credits

released October 31, 2015

All music by Hertz Kankarok and Dario Laletta.
All lyrics by Hertz Kankarok.
All arrangements by Dario Laletta.

Personic People:
Hertz Kankarok – vocals.
Dario Laletta – drums and synth programming, all bass and guitars.

Recorded and mixed by Dario Laletta at SiNe Studios in Acireale, Italy, from August 2014 to September 2015.

Mastered by Brad Boatright at Audiosiege Studios in Portland, USA, October 2015.

Logo by Hertz Kankarok and Gianlorenzo Di Mauro.
Cover and artwork by Gianlorenzo Di Mauro.

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about

Hertz Kankarok Acireale, Italy

Hertz Kankarok is a solo project born years ago in Sicily, between the sea and the volcano. It is a weird combination of different musical styles and influences with the only aim of creating dark music and deep vibes. Let's resonate with us, then. "Music is what we are. Here a destiny starts". ... more

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Track Name: Our Will Injection
OUR WILL INJECTION

It’s a promise.
Everything is permitted.

As we go through any substance,
Even death, our will is eternal.

It’s not a blood oath.
It goes way beyond blood.

It closely concerns our most deep nature,
The vibes we create with.

We live in sound. (In sound we trust.)

If you’re hearing our frequency
It’s just because we’re all around you.

We can inhabit sonic spaces.
(Sappiamo abitare spazi sonori.)

That’s how our destiny touches us
—Our destination.

For this is our will injection,
A vow for all to hear.
It causes changes, a reaction.
It casts its spell—by ear.

Since you know all of our words
Are likewise sound and unsound
We’ll allow you to hear
Just what we want you to,
Therefore believe us when we tell you
There is still plenty of sound which can’t be heard.

Listen deep to this vibrant voice
Which hides the dark seeds of our will.

The common ground is a singing ground
Where we creators create ourselves.

Dramatis personae. Personic people.
Music is what we are. Here a destiny starts.

For this is our will enchantment,
A note in tune, a thrill.
It’s a ritual, a commandment.
It’s the message of our will.
Track Name: We Are the Ghosts
WE ARE THE GHOSTS

I.

It’s maybe all about Romantic portraits,
Old canvases pocked with wormholes,
Old-fashioned manners of wearing hair and clothes
Forever stuck in the illusion of movement and time
—For in the end we all belong to the dead.

Brush away the shadow of doubt;
We are multidimensional drawings, written shapes,
Trajectories carved on the never-ending texture.
Plunged into mist, darkness and mysteries,
We dance in a ghostly revel—nightmarishly.

Let there be vacuousness, since we are vanishing smoke,
Audacious stains and nothing more.
We are merely perceiving anomalies
And the universe, with its majestic architecture,
Is as blind to us as we are blind to everything.

A ghost-like ballet with death at the end.
O sweet dance of reality, you’re a ghostly revel!

A dread party of drunk skeletons
Dressed with elegant arrogance,
Drinking and gazing at the image of life
Through grim glasses of bones.

II.

Restammo immobili, fantasmi effimeri,
Al ballo dell’eterno senza tempo,
Sicché ogni notte ci trovi, se vuoi,
Dall’altra parte di questa parete.

Dello spettacolo di vita e morte
Fummo spettri e spettatori. Lo siamo
Ancora. Non ci appartiene l’esistere.

Scivoliamo sul presente, nere ombre
Crepuscolari, al limite di corpi
Su cui getta la luce i propri raggi
Esiziali, sprigionando il mistero insondabile…

We are the ghosts.
Track Name: Occvlta Plaga Inferorvm
OCCVLTA PLAGA INFERORVM

Erano gli anni acerbi
In cui il destino è inciso;
I primi ingenui spasmi
Deformavano il viso.

Boccioli si schiudevano,
Quasi monili arcani,
In fronte ed apparivano
Stimmate sulle mani.

Livide, buie chiazze,
Stimme dell’Anticristo,
Tingevano la pelle
D’un color cupo, tristo,

Ché il parassita subdolo
– Satana, la mia sorte –
Dava in escandescenze
Viola come la morte.

Nella stagione dell’adolescenza
Entrava in noi come un vento che svelle
L’occulta, pruriginosa semenza:
Violacee efflorescenze sulla pelle.

Non profferii parola
Al tempo del battesimo
Sulla rinuncia al Diavolo;
Per questo all’incantesimo

Soggiacqui, velenoso
Come il morso dell’angue:
Perché per me l’Inferno
Fosse un fatto di sangue.

Resto marchiato, infetto,
Per scelta e per destino.
Con ostinato orgoglio,
Prode, luciferino,

Mostro le cicatrici,
Segni di distinzione
– Le ribelli medaglie
Dell’antica stagione.

In quest’epoca infame, d’acquiescenza,
Di sconcerto e pandemonio dell’etica,
Nel culto della piaga è l’impudenza
Di chi compie un’avversa scelta estetica.

Nel mio inferno trionfale
Luce l’irriverenza.
L’intimo parassita
Sin dall’adolescenza
Nutro di tenebra e febbre e irruenza.

L’indole nera, il male,
Vale per me l’essenza
D’un’immaginativa
Libera: la potenza
Vi sigla il patto con l’intelligenza.