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An extremely rare and sought after 1983 cassette of wasted psychedelic-lounge by Amos & Sara , aka The Homosexuals’ bassist (Amos) and mysterious U.K. D.I.Y. phenomenon Sara. This is seriously deranged material. Sara hollers out-of-tune drug-anthems above the repetitive drum machine as Amos (barely) slaps out some Latino jams in the haze of debauchery driven by the washed-out synth permeating their evening’s soundtrack. There is a lot of banging and a lot of phased vocals and even more weird “noise” occurring behind the scenes. No amount of purpose could yield such a bizarre concoction of popular noise. Invite To Endless Latino is the perfect cassette; homey, strange, beautiful, mysterious, quaint, soft, particular and simple. I dream of accidentally making music this singular.
"It ain’t a connection that most people feel able to draw but art and torture, they share this profound similarity. Both inspire the human mind to its greatest creative heights. Ok, maybe I’m jumping the gun here. I should explain. I really got started on this thanks to my cousins, Luis and Ramon. My cousins are collectively known as Los Rubios. It ain’t a family name. It’s on account of the hair. I share the same genetic trait. Somewhere, in our line, a white European ancestor. Ok, not all of us come out this way. When we do, we’re entirely blonde… blonde as a stack of ripened corn in the noonday sun. You heard of Bahia Blanca? My cousins, they run a small boat out of the harbour there. Shark fishing. That’s their thing. Back then, we’re talking ’76, it was just starting to take off. Tourists coming down and throwing the big dollar around. You know how it is with little men. They like to catch the big fish. Makes them feel bigger somehow.
Luis and Ramon, they told me this story. One day they’re out on the boat. That particular day, they didn’t have no takers so they figure they’ll take the boat out anyway. Hake, gatuzo, squid - fishing to fill their own bellies. That’s when they hear the plane.
Luis and Ramon race back to port. Pretty soon, a big crowd gathers. The harbour master comes running.
‘Ai, ai, muchachas,’ he groans. ‘This is a bad business. Seguro, a very bad business. You boys poking about in the hornets’ nest. Why you not leave these women to the sharks?’ While the Rubios are protesting, the local inspector arrives. He is angry beyond belief. He dismisses the harbour master and the crowd of onlookers with violent curses. He steps onto the boat.
Overhead, in the place inhabited by saints and angels, a gentle half-hearted Bossa starts up and then grinds to a halt. The silence is broken only by the sound of a shaker - it could be a rain stick -
being crushed underfoot. And you will find me there at length, all the life in me rising like a wraith into the noonday sky, a dragonish mist that forms a garment for each of us to wear as we dance to this endless latino!