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The Heat Death of My Hometown

by Jimbo Jones

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1.
I stick me head over the wall, and the heat and the noise hits me face like a hot gush of piss. The fuck did I leave that bike? It's on the corner where we met Dave the rave.
2.
This was the end; and a faint glimmer of fear began to pierce the fog of his mind. He pressed his face against the pane of the window and gazed out into the darkening street. Forms passed this way and that through the dull light. And that was life. The letters of the name of Dublin lay heavily upon his mind, pushing one another surlily hither and thither with slow boorish insistence. His soul was fattening and congealing into a gross grease, plunging ever deeper in its dull fear into a sombre threatening dusk, while the body that was his stood, listless and dishonoured, gazing out of darkened eyes, helpless, perturbed and human for a bovine god to stare upon.
3.
4.
5.
6.
Frain Bried 08:04
7.
The buildings of Dublin city range, From townhouse to tenement, From Gothic to Georgian, From castle to Coolock, From slum, to bum, to sitting in the sun, Portobello, tops off, braindead, lobster red. From Facebook to tech firms, From tech firms to tax breaks, From tax breaks to Airbnb to your landlord knocking on the door telling you to pack your bags, There’s no place for scabby students anymore; eating beans on toast, arguing over politics at four in the morning with Maggot Brain blasts from an iPhone perched delicately inside a tea cup. From Brownfield to Greenfield, From Greenfield to Whitefield, From Whitefield to Micheál raking up lines on a Friday evening, Behind the scenes Christmas party, Jim’s passed out; too many white wine spritzers. “Do you want another bump?” “Ehhh no. Im on an anti-conscious diet, I only ingest substances that I am completely unaware of. I haven’t had a conscious sip of water in weeks and my skin feels amazing.” From beyond the Pale to the Anglo-Saxon way of life, Hyberno-English never sounded so good as when accompanied by the deep chimes of a construction site. A suited man lowers a barrel of brick to the bottom floor, Not knowing that the mass of the bricks exceeds his own, the man is shot sky high, Pulley wheel pivots, and for a moment, one truly believes pigs can fly. However, this is short lived, as upon encountering the ground, the barrel’s bottom breaks, Returning the man back to his subservient position, Head in the gutter, heart in the sky, Aeormaphobia - fear of cranes, Often experienced by the likes of those whose personality transcends the 9-5 your ‘rents wish you had, By Danny, aged 27 still living at home with his ma sucking on chicken goujons till his mouth goes cotton. From Meibion Glyndwr to FLNC, Holidaying has never been so exciting, The chance of seeing a real life Jackson Pollick, in the flesh, dressed in blood guts and cigarette butts, Really gets my taint a tingling. A true appreciation of the arts is hard to come by these days, Especially when so many of us are tempted by the hedonistic lifestyle of bigger cities, brighter lights, and better rents. Emmet Kirwan can help you reminisce, but the reality is, the bold arrow of time only goes one way, And no amount of stock drops, face lifts, or stolen artefacts is going to change that, This self imbued immortality will section us out of our motherly sanctuary, And leave behind an incision that cleaves communities One day soon, the ghost of Fitzgerald will beckon an arm out, In the form of a can of Dutch Gold and squashed box of Amber. But nothing will ever be the same.
8.
DART 08:16
it’s like the DART on a latesummer evening when you’ve been glazed over, staring out  past all the strained commuters reading their phones and their newspapers  and their Virgil (in Latin, even) with tired eyes and suddenly the sea bursts into view without you even having to ask for it while you’ve forgotten it was ever there and you nearly can’t believe how beautiful it is the gold on navy against overarching pink and so of course you don’t tear your eyes away from the window until  the last possible second, and you  have to sprint for the doors with  the breathlessness of it all, that’s  what it’s like -  when I hear the bell ring, and I open the front door and you’re there suddenly, finally waiting.

about

All proceeds will be donated to CATU (catuireland.org), a grass roots organisation aimed at supporting those hit hardest by the issues raised in this piece of work. This album is pay what you want however, if like many Dubliners, you too are sick of the systematic failures in our country, I strongly encourage you to donate whatever you can afford in order to tackle these issues. Even better, consider becoming a member of CATU; there is power in the people!

"The Heat Death of My Hometown is the debut album from Dublin producer Jimbo Jones. Built from the frustration of skyrocketing rents, ever-stagnant wages, and the erosion of cultural spaces, this concept album guides the listener through a detailed narrative in a rapidly decaying Dublin City. Documenting gentrification and emigration in a once-vibrant city, Jimbo creates a tapestry of sonic textures and electronic beats that maps out the entropic process assailing his beloved hometown.  
  
Through the use of field recordings ranging from pedestrians and protesters to public transport and pub talk, an immersive world is created that “captures an anxiety” (Nialler9 Podcast) imbuing modern day Dublin. This album features samples from local creators such as Kojaque, Emmet Kirwan, and Una Mullally, showing the pervasiveness of this feeling across the breadth of the city. The album’s diverse collection of wonky beats overlaid with spoken word segments mirror these ideas and capture a chaotic vision of the world within these city limits."
 

credits

released February 26, 2021

The Heat Death of My Hometown
Composed by: Jamie Mathews
Published By: Jamie Mathews - Copyright Control
Performer: Jimbo Jones, Meadhbh Slattery
Produced by: Jimbo Jones
Recorded and mixed by: Jimbo Jones
"Fear of Cranes" vocals recorded by Fiachra @daylightrecordingstudio
Mastered by: Beau at Ten Eight Seven
Artwork by: Ben Brophy @buscar.bruscar
(P) 2021 Jimbo Jones

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Jimbo Jones Dublin, Ireland

Between patching feedback loops into analog gear and recording the drunken ramblings outside a chipper at 3am, Jimbo Jones is a music producer that attempts to convey reality. He achieves this through the creation of an ever-changing array of tones and melodies, backed by off-kilter rhythms and interpolated field recordings drenched in humour and political undertones. ... more

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