The end of architecture. The concrete triangle’s disaster. The incurved obsession. Prefabricated ugly fastfoods preparing prefabricated untasty food are pumping up alongside the soulless american roads. Futuristic needle towers stinging a crying sky. Thousands of hideous neon signs flashing artificial pink and blue, yellow and red gazeous insanity. Massive visual and intellectual pollution. But somewhere in this air-conditionned nightmare Henry Miller described, wild young people are burning keyboards and playing for prisonners, trashing motel rooms and calling upon the demons of hell. Spacies Googies would have been part of them if they lived this time and this space. But they evolve in another kind of troubled era and in another kind of urbanistic nightmare. A rectangle city making them drive-rocking in circles. Their ride is fast and loud in this rolling town. They don’t care about the side streets. They don’t care about architecture, every house looks the same here. Spacies Googies are speeding up straight to your face !
Boogie be good / Rock me tender / Burning Folsom Prison Sound