LP or not LP? That is the question...

Okay, one last foray into LP Cover lover world.  This time I promise not to persecute any more horrific Christian albums.  Though, to their credit, at least Christian record producers deal with a product that lends itself well to a purely audio medium.  Christians talk and sing a lot about their God, a god who, when you get down to it, can't be seen or recorded.  So when you put a religious record on you can be assured that you're not seeing Him not appear and hence their is no visual regret.

Occultist and magic people face a constant problem in that regard.  It's not easy to translate the spectacle of summoning demons and performing magic into pure sound.  You must either need highly explicit commentary or very suggestive noises for the audience to be convinced that something magical has actually happened.

Which is why this makes no sense:

Stage magic only works in one medium, that's why its practioners are sometimes called illusionists and never called auralists.
"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have just sawn my assistant in half, but now she is rejoined, completely unharmed!"
All I can picture is a sad old man in the twilight of his career, sitting by a microphone while sawing a piece of wood then speaking in a bad falsetto as his own assistant.

At least with this next example the magic is in the actual LP itself - a plastic record that plays a different story each time.

Unfortunately, it was just 256 variations of the same theme - some hideously deformed, red-headed kid constantly trying to elude his caped molestor.


Cold War propoganda utilised every medium it could to convince those dirty commies that the US held the technological edge.

NORAD was so fucking powerful and precise it could even track and record imaginary Western symbols of capitalism.  Hah!  No presents for you, Russia!

I can't even begin to describe the logistical nightmare involved in recording a fantasy tea party underwater.  Once again, an insurmountable visual translation, unless you consider 48 minutes of bubbly noises performance art.

"Hello, son, welcome to the studio.  It's Richard, right?"
"Yessir, but you can call me Dick."
"Dick?  Dick Wead?"
"That's right, sir."
"Dick Wead the... pianist?"
"Correct."
"And this is not a comedy album?"

This is the recording of a woman being attacked by a rape ghost.  Fortunately her apparition alarm has alerted her to the imminent threat.

The French never do anything by halves.  Whether it be making love, fine wine, or surrendering to Nazis, they throw their hearts and souls into each project.  Here they tackle the sensitive subject of alcoholic depression, as depicted by a miserable hobo using a trash lid as a plate and a bin as a toilet.

"Italian style" is old slang for "violent sexual ambush".  Seriously, how could anyone sleep while that freak is staring at them with those rapey eyes?

This is actually a scientific report recorded at the 1967 Aryan Clone Army Labs.  Blue overalls denote urban pacification specialists, green is for counter-intelligence, while the brown-dressed kids will keep the incinerators stoked.

Fuck you, France, you just don't give a shit about anything, do you?