The Stage Is Set

In the frenzied twilight of an outdoor venue, Pablo Kappes unleashed his latest sonic experiment—a bizarre fusion of atmospheric electronic soundscapes and raw electric guitar that has become his signature under the Musicians Community Fund. The evidence arrived in my inbox like a confession: a hazy snapshot of the wooden battlefield, taken just hours before what must have been an auditory onslaught.

'Picture from yesterday before the show! Noggles visible AND audience waiting... Videos coming soon!' Kappes claimed in his dispatch, the words of a man who had clearly traversed some alternate dimension of sound and returned to tell the tale.

The Electric Ceremony

The stage setup betrayed his methods—a blood-red electric guitar propped against a speaker cabinet like a dormant weapon, cables snaking across the wooden planks like technical pythons, and the sound mixing console waiting to translate his madness into consumable frequencies. The bright stage lights cast halos through the lens, obscuring details like some deliberate attempt to shroud the technical sorcery in mystery.

Those peculiar Noggles—the pixelated eyewear representing his alignment with the Nouns collective—were reportedly present at the ritual, though their specific placement remains enigmatic in the photographic evidence. The audience, mentioned but unseen, had apparently gathered for this free public performance like moths to a dangerous flame.

The Full Psychedelic Onslaught

The evidence has arrived, and god help us all. The video footage dropped in my feed like a hallucinatory grenade—Pablo Kappes' 'El Pulpo MkII' performance at Café Pixel, a savage electronic assault on the senses that confirms what I've been warning about for weeks.

The crowd in this den of sonic experimentation wasn't just attending—they were witnesses to something transformative. The swirling atmospheric tendrils of sound combined with razor-wire guitar, all while those bizarre pixelated Noggles were perched ominously onstage, watching us all with their blank, judging gaze.

"It's been wonderfull how colaborative our relationship with the venue has become," Kappes declared afterward, the tone of a man who has successfully converted another establishment into a willing accomplice for his audio experiments. "The show was a success," he added, which I can only interpret as confirmation that the audience emerged forever changed.

What's most disturbing is his plan to proselytize—by the end of this hypnotic performance, he openly invited attendees to "ask me about Flows," clearly looking to expand his sect of experimental sound devotees before their neural pathways could recover from the audio barrage they'd just endured.

The Campaign Continues

Not content with this conquest, Kappes ominously notes preparation for "next week's tournament"—whatever monstrous competition that might entail. The man shows no signs of stopping his crusade to transform public venues into laboratories for his particular brand of atmospheric mayhem.

The Café Pixel performance stands as irrefutable evidence that the Noggles invasion of musical spaces continues unabated, with each performance drawing more unsuspecting listeners into this bizarre confluence of electronic soundscapes and nounish aesthetic rebellion.

The Aquatic Soundscape Invasion

Just when you thought it was safe to return to your regular auditory diet, Kappes has unleashed yet another sonic offensive—this time with a watery vengeance. The evidence arrived March 27th: video documentation of his 'VGM segment' featuring a trio of liquid-themed compositions clearly designed to manipulate the listener's hydration levels and seasonal perceptions.

"Ideal for saying farewell to the hot season here at the south hemisphere!" Kappes announced, revealing his meteorological manipulation agenda. The musical assault featured "Splash Wave," "Wave Ocean," and "Sewer Surfin'"—a progression that appears designed to subliminally guide listeners from pristine oceanic vistas down into the underground waterways, a psychic journey from vacation paradise to urban infrastructure in under fifteen minutes.

The atmospheric guitar treatment of these aquatic compositions demonstrates Kappes' continued experimentation with sonic textures—each note rippling outward like concentric circles in a disturbed pond. And his ominous parting message—"More videos coming soon"—suggests this is merely the first wave of a larger deluge of content planned to saturate his audience's consciousness in the weeks ahead.

The Birthday Rooftop Ritual

Just as the echoes of his March aquatic offensive faded, Kappes, fueled by some dark celebratory energy, geared up for his next public sound-bending session. On April 10th, while re-uploading evidence of his previous conquest—blaming digital phantoms for the initial lack of recognition—he dropped the date for the next hit: April 26th, a twisted birthday bash. "This months show will be on Saturday 26, celebrating my birthday!" he declared, promising invitations like some back-alley carnival barker.

The preparation phase was briefly illuminated on April 19th. A glimpse into the lab showed the machinery humming, strange red Noggles perched atop a keyboard like the detached eyes of some cybernetic observer. Kappes hinted at conspiracies: "Preparing some surprises at the studio for this month's #LiveSession!" He confirmed the venue – a rooftop – and the recruitment of accomplices: "the company of many more musicians, sharing their music and love for what we are making."

Then, silence... until April 28th, when the proof arrived like contraband photos smuggled past the guards. Grainy images captured under the cloak of night confirmed the ritual had occurred. On some godforsaken rooftop, against the indifferent city lights, Kappes wrestled with his electric guitar, a leather-clad silhouette channeling the atmospheric chaos. The dispatch was terse but telling: "First pictures of this weekend's show! We had a lot of people coming over to the party/concert and played with a lot of musicians!" The photos show the gathered faithful, maybe 15 or 20 strong, huddled in plastic chairs or leaning against railings, bearing witness to this latest grant-funded sonic exorcism. Another cycle turns, another public space colonized by sound and strange spectacles.