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TOURNIQUETTE
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TOURNIQUETTE I'm such a huge fan of Logan Rivera's vocals in this, which actually led me to start listening to Gillian Carter and I absolutely love it. Favorite track: Grease Log (feat. Logan Rivera).
Cullen Milligan
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Cullen Milligan I first saw this magnificent collective of artists in March when they opened for Uniform, Thou, and Full of Hell. Immediately blown away. Had the pleasure of seeing them again with Knoll & Sustenance (another excellent regional band) and was once again blown away. The point I’m making is that the entire album is stellar. From cover to cover. This album has everything you could ask for if harsh music is your thing. Buy the album and punch a fascist in the face. Favorite track: Niema (Living Close).
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  • Streaming + Download

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  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    **BEGINS SHIPPING 11/11/2022**

    12" record of 'Slow Murder' pressed on brown-in-oxblood colored wax.
    Limited to 200 units worldwide.
    Also has booklet of artwork, lyrics, photos, and credits included.

    We can quote more accurate international shipping if you send us a message!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Slow Murder via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day
    edition of 200 
    Purchasable with gift card

      $25 USD or more 

     

  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    **BEGINS SHIPPING 11/11/2022**

    12" record of 'Slow Murder' pressed on oxblood a-side / orange crush b-side colored wax.
    Limited to 200 units worldwide.
    Also has booklet of artwork, lyrics, photos, and credits included.

    We can quote more accurate international shipping if you send us a message!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Slow Murder via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day
    edition of 200  36 remaining
    Purchasable with gift card

      $25 USD or more 

     

  • Cassette + Digital Album

    **BEGINS SHIPPING 11/11/2022**

    Cassette tapes of 'Slow Murder'
    Printed sticker, inside print on j-card

    We can quote more accurate international shipping if you send us a message!

    Includes unlimited streaming of Slow Murder via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 1 day
    edition of 200 
    Purchasable with gift card

      $10 USD or more 

     

  • Slow Murder CD
    Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    A limited edition first press of Slow Murder CDs with the All-American Redux tracks added on the back end.
    Beautiful jewel case with printed disc and single panel insert.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Slow Murder via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Sold Out

1.
“We are born into a preinvented existence within a tribal nation of zombies and in that illusion of a one-tribe nation there are real tribes. Some of the tribes are in the business of sucker-punching peoples psyches in the form of maintaining the day-to-day job of government—they sell the masses a pile of green-tainted meat; i.e., a corrupted and false history as well as a corrupted and false future, and although that meat stinks of rot and pus and blood, this particular tribe extols these foul emissions as if they were virtues made of glorious sensitivities: “Raise Ole Glory while we do it to them again ...” Then there are other tribes which work hand in hand with the government, offering slices of meat in the form of doubletalk; or hope—hope as a chain of submission. Then there are the tribes that suckle at the breast of telecommunications every evening after work and are fatally lulled into society’s deep sleep. Day after day they experience waking nightmares but they’ve either bought the con of language from the tribe that offers hope, or they’re too fucking exhausted or fearful to break through the illusion and examine the structures of their world. There are other tribes that experience the X ray of Civilization every time they leave the house or turn on the tv or radio or pick up a newspaper or when they suddenly realize their legs have automatically come to a halt before a changing traffic light. A civil war and a national trial for the “leaders” of this country, as well as certain individuals in organized religions, is the soundtrack that plays and replays in the heads of members of that tribe. Some members of the tribe understand the meaning of language. They also understand what freedom truly is and if the other tribes want to hand them the illusion of hope in the form of the leash—in the form of language—like all stray dogs with intelligence from experience, they know how to turn the leash into a rope to exit the jail windows or how to turn the leash into a noose to hang the jailers. But when the volume of that war reaches epic dimensions, and when the person hearing it fails to connect with another member of the same tribe who can acknowledge the sound, that person can one day find themselves at the top of a water tower in suburbia armed with a high-powered rifle firing indiscriminately at the ants crawling around below. That person can one day find himself running amok in the streets with a handgun; that person can one day find himself lobbing a grenade at the forty-car motorcade of the president; or that person can end up on a street corner, homeless hungry and wild-eyed, punching himself in the face or sticking wires through the flesh of his arms or chest.”
2.
humanity is a vile stain a streak in the drawers of existence building a shit monument to the absolute pits who the fuck would be proud of a species like this? all of these changing heads (free me from the) have got me caught up in (silence of) the eternal sleep of (interior) the statues that we are (life we live) a ghost on their way to claim the wrong, blood flows no matter who it’s from “Some of us are born with the cross hairs of a rifle printed on our backs or skulls.” - pg. 58 will I spot the fault? will I fight the sun? will I change the plot? will I turn the gun?
3.
“another city dying of a disease whose anatomy was just beyond the inhabitants’ grasp.” - pg. 30 I feel so defeated in here (I’m just a dog inside a cage) (The repetition’s gotten old) It’s all so bleak, I want to (SNAP!) (I just need to remain focused) Please don’t treat me this way (Blinded by my daily rage) (it’s not just me, we all) HURT! (I have nothing but anger now) (I’ll bury it in my papers) When did I lose integrity? (Growling at the passerby) (WAIT!) I’m reduced to the lies I sell (I work, I fuck, I sleep, I seethe) (I am only doing my job) it has me wanting to DIE! bleeding currency into the culvert all the profit has run from my body bleaching on the tar running through the business district (PUT ON YOUR WORKIN SHOES BOY) Logan: [on what stilts should we hold our wealth now? what will tax do without a balance? the sunset of money burning on the horizon how will we pay for all the wrong we’ve done? I have no mouth, but I must shriek, when it falls apart, what will our paystubs hold?] my wallet’s been bleeding since before I was born the heart of the pocket consumed by cancer always praying to a corporate god but I never get an answer I don’t hear a thing approaching the end of work life balance set myself on fire hang me from the fan bring the office down my life as the match
4.
it is through the righteous care for others that you begin to believe that certain people should not exist. the police, the kkk, the nazis, the confederate flag-wavers, the every day racists whether blood or water, the abusers, the rapists, the misogynists, the billionaires, the capitalists, the future is brighter when they exist no longer and through the fight you begin to learn that what the system says is right is often not what is right when will they finally find value in only human life? born of the cloth cut from southern value make a scarf of all the threads I refuse tightened around my neck, the heritage I reject in the tree branches, am i a faggot or was it trans panic? a long repeating, cyclical history silence being beaten into you for the small fee ticketed by prison systems built for profiteering if you’re brown you’ll never win if you’re queer you’ll never win if a native you’ll never win if you’re disabled you’ll never win your world will always be burning down your place will always be in the ground they’ll be shooting up fanaticism until a fatal overdose the divine cocktail of patriotism, personality, and perverted ethnocentrism always scanning the room like a soldier in a hot area, watching for the next move that grubby little rat hands can make disease of mind, body, and country. be sure that when the plane is crashing to put the ventilation system on democracy before yourself. always put others before you and business above all. then put whatever it is a cop says right above that. bastardize the moral ground you stand on, nose up, high and mighty what will happen when the earthquake comes and knocks you off personally, I’d like you begging on your knees, family weeping all your prayers go unanswered now that the tables have turned bleak this blood has run cold, writhing and striving toward the brand new american dream of bourgeois success built on the backs of the poor and the manipulated masses a consistent tap on the poker table of life asking for help with a deal bad enough to make you an honorary Kennedy but for the love of god (office) do not shake the table or start up the card counting subservience is the new black and for that my heart beats red my view goes red my heart beats red my blood runs cold and red and all these systems are cracking the people in its teeth and all these dreams, they only show how the system is broken beyond repair without a mass change without a mass change without a mass change without a mass change without a mass grave oh fuck I meant change never a waking thought never a waking nightmare never a waking fear of those “above” us no more shifting, falling over no bullies acting as murderers no more shameful thought left in who you are you love you fuck you have you feel you do you help you hold I feel myself changing freed from interior life a shattering of the screen you put the gun in my hands you put the knife in my hands you put bullets in your head you put stab wounds in your back there is no more excuse for what it is you consider to be the correct way of using power no choice but open fire oh how long we’ve begged for life mercilessly pleading and falling apart at your feet do you see us? I’m waiting if you’re living behind the blindfold I’m sure you’ve never seen the things I’ve seen the view is different from the top but here at the bottom it’s enough to make anyone come undone and come undone and come undone and come undone and fucking snap right back fucking break a neck and fucking rear your head like a cornered animal fucking drink the life of a spineless bastard fucking slit the throats of every vile pig in navy blue with blood the same no longer clay pigeons so many moral conundrums all different levels of being egregious amounts of abhorrent eliminate yourself as judge and jury bury all your police so many lives were robbed now it’s your turn to feel the fear we’ve felt let me tell you about something you lack let me tell you about love
5.
we were better hunks of clay on the cosmic wheel and should just return to pre-creation. we’ve been pouring bleach in the soil of eden waiting for seeds to sow burning the roots of cul- ture expecting something beautiful to show the beast in the garden was just us all along [I think it’s best if I mind my business but how many apocalypses have niggas lived in? it’s just because of life through my eyes that i aspire to more than a semi-charmed life in a so-called community shit get a lil hot then you doomer me my nigga who is “we”? with ya ass you never wiped on all y’all thought ya found zion and awoke with no shoulder to cry on] twelve inch politicians sweetly lull us to sleep then rob us blind for their american dreams we’re doomed to grow, our destructive life actualizing and the poor are just collateral damage, our safety not guaranteed what crops should we expect with a mass of toxic seeds what harvest will we lord when we’re spitting on beauty once we locked everyone in, the earth was almost set free then we fucked it all up for profit and greed it’s always a struggle, there is no use denying it we’re all expendable when we’ve been dealt a hand of shit at the end of the fight, the ruiners should all come with, each head decapitated we have all been sold up the river, pollution lines all of the banks, the black banks and now we want to make a change but it sucks we’re probably too late, we’re too late I guess once we all die maybe the world will finally be a better place, a good place rotting bodies lining streets, all atoning for the mess they’ve made, we all made heaven’s capacity has been exceeded, so now we all will just be erased, all erased when the fire comes to take us all away, I swear that “all I want is some sort of grace”, just some grace -pg. 103
6.
Cesspool 03:59
(Religious leaders love to work their way into the foreground of thought, gentle manipulations for the belief system that you aren’t good enough to stand on your own, always pushing you to regret the things you have and treasure all the things you hate. A progressive shame aged like wine for you to take off the shelf and consume at their command, sent around like communion.) (The bad series of routines that lead to nothing I care about continue consuming me as I search for love in the light of god. I am continually told that I will not be enough no matter the lengths I go to to try but am told I’m simultaneously too much for this almighty figure. The end of this cycle feeds right back into the beginning of this birth that feels so wrong to possess.) disgusting presences staking their claim over the public conscience the tendrils of influence spreading further by the day as you pray for some difference the lined pockets of deceptive creatures circling neighborhoods of those without hope crawling back to the gutters after a long day of peddling the same trope blindsiding the weak with poison thought all desperate and in need of a path to walk now volunteering for goodie points with god and praying every day for the pardon aught your god’s not coming here for you cowardice is all that they’re selling to you a cesspool of narcissistic predators consuming the flesh and wealth of underlings that they believe to owe them things for the infected implant of their well-being (I’m standing here looking for the loopholes In the speech your scripture’s selling to me I’m standing here looking for the loopholes In the speech your scripture’s selling) it’s a lie they raised on their farms then slaughtered to feed all the masses preciously picked with investor’s pride but personally I cannot wait to go to hell to finally get some reprieve from the religious pigs and bleeding-to-death machine I cannot wait to go to hell so I may finally get release from stupid meaningless degrees of fellowshiply fodder speech I cannot wait to go to hell to finally get a fucking piece of the messy jigsawed answers, who calls the shots I cannot wait to go to hell to spit in the face of god on my way falling to the depths, ma- king my peace if your god is out there he’s a fucking sadist a manipulator with a new glowing facelift dog eat dog and brother clubbing brother in the name of a holy awful motherfucker one of the biggest tragedies in history was the fellowship coming before the wire hanger
7.
“and when I react with feelings of murder I feel horrified and tell myself that it is fascist to want to murder these people and in my horror at my feelings I attempt to rationalize them by going further saying but in this culture we accept murder as self-defense against those who try to murder us and what’s going on here but public and social murder on a daily bases and it’s happening in our midst and not very many people seem to say or do anything about it. There’s not even an acknowledgment of murder from most of my friends… // and i want to throw up because we’re supposed to quietly and politely make house in this killing machine called America and pay taxes to support our own slow murder and I’m amazed that we’re not running amok in the streets, and that we can still be capable of gestures of loving after lifetimes of all this.” - i am playing pretend for those who pray whether it’s when they see me or every day i am playing pretend for the ones in blue whether it’s a uniform or just a suit i am playing pretend for this machine that’s eating everything i love and me no one else is playing along if the world is a stage then i’m being booed off I don’t remember my lines sometimes i think it’d be easier to just take it and die then i keep getting kicked up from where i lie your pound of flesh is worth more than mine I’d like to see what makes it so divine
8.
“as each T-cell disappears from my body it's replaced by ten pounds of pressure ten pounds of rage and I focus that rage into nonviolent resistance but that focus is starting to slip my hands are beginning to move independent of self-restraint and the egg is starting to crack - america america america seems to understand and accept murder as a self-defense against those who would murder other people and it's been murder on a daily basis for nine - count them - nine long years and we're expected to pay taxes to support this public and social murder and we're expected to quietly and politely make house in this windstorm of murder but I say there's certain politicians that had better increase their security forces and there's religious leaders and health-care officials that had better get bigger fucking dogs and higher fucking fences and more complex security alarms for their homes and queer-bashers better start doing their work from inside howitzer tanks because the thin line between the inside and the outside is beginning to erode and at the moment I'm a thirty-seven-foot-tall one-thousand-one-hundred-and-seventy-two-pound man inside this six-foot body and all I can feel is the pressure all I can feel is the pressure and the need for release.”
9.
Unawarewolf 04:55
possessed by the need of what’s inside me I am searching for something in the way horror with no one else left beside me become the thing that takes them all away stray identity politic animalistic, gone ballistic an interchangeable head the blood of strays beneath my nails I’m going hunting, I’m going hunting no better feeling than to kill I’m going hunting, I’m going hunting my head goes silent I’m going hunting, I’m going hunting when emptied by the thrill [I will take them all] all my life I’ve wanted this control all my life I’ve wanted this control to take back all the security that they stole i will take it from them staring at the reflection in the water trying to understand its ripples as my own curvature what when where how and who is this creature bleach out the roar in my head as their eyes go pale if god didn’t want me to take then why did he make everything frail i so direly want to know if god didn’t want me to kill then why did he give me the tools why did he give me the tools why did he give me the tools why does everything crumble so easily in my hands? I so direly want to know I’ll just keep killing everything that made me this way and i will just keep seething no apathy, only rage “Dance is gone, and beauty, and love and music. Smoke remains, and hunger.” when backed into a corner the beast is in us all

about

Spanning just under 35 minutes, Slow Murder shows The Holy Ghost Tabernacle Choir venturing into longer form songwriting. Our sound is deeply rooted in post-hardcore, mathcore, and 90s screamo styles but with this album we moved outside of that. Pulling elements from spidery noise rock (akin to Slint, Sprain, and The Jesus Lizard) and angular metal (akin to Yautja, the Melvins, and Full Of Hell), we harnessed a sound that is both more focused and more mature without deviating from our expected chaos.

The record was recorded by Scary of Black Tusk at Hidden Audio in Savannah, GA in February of 2022, and was mastered by Jonathan Nuñez of TORCHE at Nuñez Sound. It features guest vocals from GG and Pierce of SOUL GLO, as well as Logan Rivera of Gillian Carter. Savannah-based label Graveface Records has partnered with us to ensure that every person involved has the same degree of love, care, and similar values for the record.

Rife with the writing of David Wojnarowicz as a central thread, and the looming 30th anniversary of his death later this year, we felt it pressing to have this release centered around that time.

credits

released October 14, 2022

The Holy Ghost Tabernacle Choir is:
Nat Lacuna - Vocals / Noise
Aaron “Sleve” Cooler - Bass / Vocals / Synth
Aaron Givens - Guitar / Vocals
Tanner Jacob Hamilton - Drums / Vocals

Recorded and Mixed by Chris “Scary” Adams at Hidden Audio in Savannah, GA
Mastered by Jonathan Nuñez at Sound Artillery Studio

Vocals on “(picturesque ruins)” by GG Guera
Vocals on “Grease Log” by Logan Rivera
Vocals on “Doomed To Grow” by Pierce Jordan
Synth on “It’s All Undone, It’s Bullshit, There’s No Wow Factor” by Chris “Scary” Adams
Cover Artwork, Logo, and Typeface by Nat Lacuna
Layout by Ryan McCardle

Graveface Records 2022
GRAVE180

Excerpts from the following:
David Wojnarowicz, 'In The Shadow Of The American Dream: Soon All This Will Be Picturesque Ruins'
David Wojnarowicz, 'Living Close To The Knives'
David Wojnarowicz, 'Do Not Doubt The Dangerousness Of The 12-Inch-Tall Politician'
Mary Doria Russell, 'Children Of God'

The Holy Ghost Tabernacle Choir would like to thank Chris "Scary" Adams, Jonathan Nuñez, David Pérez, Ryan Graveface, GG Guera, Logan Rivera, Pierce Jordan, Kristen Osborne, Mal McGee, Jenn Carroll, Scott Haupt, JonRoss Maddox, Jake Givens, Brett Cooler, Teresa and Ty Smith, Jennifer Farmer, James Siboni of Tiger Records, Gunther Schenk of Radio Active Records, Jeremy McGuire of Salvaged Records, Paper Wings Records, Matt Burns, Keith Edge, Timothy Walls, Mike Ciero, Robbie Melton, Joe Napkin, John Edwards, Allison Long, Eric Walker, Russell Long, Tilley Komorny, Elliott Brabant, Jake Steele, Grey Rettig, Temple Cantrell, Jackie Buckalew, Ana Boulineau, Cory Curly Swope, Stephen Wilson, Mike Boyd, SOUL GLO, Gillian Carter, Frail Body, Midwife, Mukqs, To Forget, Flagman, KNOLL, ZETA, GILT, Glazed, Capra, Machinist!, Malevich, Lazer/Wulf, Rhythm Of Fear, Full Of Hell, Uniform, and The Body.
We wouldn't have been able to do this without you.

In Loving Memory of Niema Ross and Danny Robertson.

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The Holy Ghost Tabernacle Choir Savannah, Georgia

left to right:
tanner // drums / vocals
nat // vocals / noise
sleve // bass / vocals
aaron // guitar

photo by wolfe eliot

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