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God is Data

by Pinturas Negras

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  • Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album

    Gatefold card case with a testimony letter containing all the lyrics and credits!
    Artwork by Marcelo Aires and Sofia Fernandes.

    Includes unlimited streaming of God is Data via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
    ships out within 3 days

      €10 EUR or more 


  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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      €8 EUR  or more


Woke up three times last night breathing nervous about shit that should have been done two yesterdays from now. Numb, red-eyed, screaming at someone who could have been there: the other half, at the same time perfect and the serene embodiment of all my flaws. You should never have to look in the mirror in a day such as this. Pseudo-jet-lag can make reflections very unforgiving. Brain starts to function, finally phasing in, information pulses, flows as possibilities thin and results become the expected. Five minutes ago I was dreaming of talking cats and hidden rooms, now there's a desk waiting for me, hypoallergenic plastic flowers, witty saying on tea cup. All very neat and tidy. I face the computer's blank screen, still waiting for that silent confession: I see the world in numbers. I see the pattern in us. The walls are built around us, bind us to protect the vultures. I am the world in numbers, I am the pattern in us. Dazed beyond any change, I find my luck in the number 111 I tell myself this lie, every night when alone. Another restless day passed in sheep's skin fading to normality holding on to the certainty that things will soon change, no more repetition without function. Within me lives the snake, a taste for difference comes when I'm asleep. Desire for a different art, a feel for the abstract, need another dimension, Jack of hearts breaks out of his cocoon. Planning a strike at the very flank of sanity, distortion and mutation, all part of the system, spectrum-enhanced, not program limited. Only brute outcome. Results may vary. Deny the world in numbers. See through the pattern in us. Tear down the walls around us, leave no bounty to the vultures. Deny the world in numbers, transcend the pattern in us. Dazed beyond any change I find my luck in the number 111. The wars of our days are fought in silence. The truths we find clear are never honest.
(...I am a born lover of repetition...) Coordinating, anticipating our moves, enter the weavers of life. Alienating, making damn sure that the truth lies hidden in plain sight. (close eyes) A sleight of hand turns the cat's tail into a sword. Deserted highways, the blue light says you're not a god. Among the side-effects of solace found in grains of salt, the breathing room is lessened, questioning nothing at all. Contact detected, a nervous cringe falls behind on memory. Recurring plot patterns blur the eye, the siren numbs the primitive. Filterless, screaming mad as a dancing bear, MY SOUL POLLUTED! Murder-ballad troubadour, a mummer in shades of madness. Mr. Sands dreaming of vertigo, a broken string among the leading tones. My lucid term now over, I'll face storms of fine sand with foreign names…
God is Data 03:59
I know you have the shakes my friend but kneel before this altar. Put your faith in the only agent of truth he who weaves the threads that merge into reality. Embrace this change. A little trust in machine is never wasted, cast the dice in the game of life, open eyes and dream like no other has. Lanterns guide us, pixelated red skies, sketches for a holy book. God is Data, at the point omega, force our eyes to take a look. Follow me in the path to renewal, mechanical arms to strengthen and potentiate. Each drop of humanity they take a step further down the road to different immortality. Ascend into the quantum digital, where the needles hurt no longer. Become a man machine. Reborn from the spiral, Zealot of the ultimate. Lanterns guide us, pixelated red skies, sketches for a holy book. God is Data, at the point omega, force our eyes to take a look.
Triskele 01:35
Faces I do not know recognize me, then ignore. I feel the breaking coming close. The mask is falling apart and people will soon know me, the one I am no longer. Cast your eyes upon my guise of deceit. Believe it true! Pay no mind to the cracks lining my eyes and lips, they fade to nothing once you come to terms with the fabrication. I killed a hundred angels in a single day of glory and still your every instinct tells you not to fear me. Some wear their mask out of obligation, an overwhelming concern with duty or pride but I am an initiate of another cult: My face lies covered in the veil I choose. I killed a hundred angels in a single day of glory and still your every instinct tells you not to fear me.
Poacher 05:09
Sing like the Colossi at Memnon until Julia comes up for air. Eastern radio holds my attention, the melodies tuned to prayer. Reception reports, colliding ocean waves, a deaf singer at 52. Outdated Russian sisters, unclaimed signals, tell me, what do I hear? Hail the foreign rhapsody, dark lantern's finest fruit. Birds of a feather in primitive form fly by in unseen traffic. The third worst poetry I know I should fear, unwelcome nocturne flare is the season of the year. Shockwave engage, shortwave enrage. Like a chant the words come out their lips: poetry for the wicked. The caster is no more, you stole the voices of women and children, now fall repentant.
Tarare 02:52
Captured in enemy territory, crossing the limit of provocation, a war impending, left to blame is your appetite! To clean up the scene of a crime, the letter could prove you guilty. But with your crude design, you ate it, filthy! The midnight watch will cut you open to get it, in sorrow and in anger regret it! Fat fuck, ball of grease. Disease cannot account for everything. The vapor, gets me on my knees. Stomach aching, about to hurl. (close eyes) Once and again my hunger strikes. My stomach purrs and I'm hungry for wildflowers. Maybe eating the prison cat was a bit too much...The firing squad takes aim, tastes fear in blood-shot eyes. Thoughtless wait for the hand to wave you away from time. With no remorse, I'll play the headsman tonight. Actor of sorts, face now your final curtain call.
Arachne 03:42
There's an L-shaped corridor, leading me away from sleep. The room it leads to, full of treasure I can't keep. Audience turns to ash, air outside is burning, three lay at the table knowing all. The moth that lived, feasting on her sister's corpse, upon a broken light bulb, mercury as second course. The drink to quench my thirst brings more wood for the fire. Clouds of rust, vitriolic empire. (close eyes) She seems like she’s hardly there, yet every gesture seems so sure. Her green eyes closed, focused in another world. And then she turns to me: signs are lost, words dismantled, whispers merge. Headless man in my jacket smiles and holds back laughter. Earplugs dampen the noise, monochrome follows shortly after. Gallery of a dark place, unlikely dealt first hand. Black caped men overtake words from a heathen land. An obsession with the obstinate makes you stop moving pictures to not miss the event. Facing the risk of being loved from afar. The art of keeping harm far from yourself. Arachne dreams of death, open door to another world. Where she is what she will, free of spirit, porcelain.
OneOneOne 05:40
I am reborn, I am remade. I, digital, one-man upgrade. I come, dressed as an angel, made up of silicon and carbon fiber, primed for no reason, processing in infinite parallel lines too fast for speech to articulate. Syllables merge into one another, speed enchantment catchphrase catalyst mortuary, ceremony broken wrist, escape velocity, dead arms, red-out, mist. I dare to leave a trail. Silent over-heated song by a cyborg nightingale. Put against the hum, background noise, radiation screech, I just can't hear from all this static. Half-moon, half-mad, information overdose, under-fed, brain dead. Victim of a 6am mind rush, adrenaline substitute, data boost, head crush. Hard to keep my head above the water, liquid breathing, thought disorder, maybe it's time control became priority. Post-human ascent. Deep thought, further into the core. In an odd tale of ones and naughts, we are the chosen ones. Giving a human side to central processing. Differences in behavior lead to colorful results. They fade into blurriness as dream returns, redundant like the music they try to follow. The dancers drift and wear away only to be stopped by a change of tempo.


Events took place as follows:
- A pianist composed a bunch of metal songs on an eight-string electric guitar.
- A harpsichordist decided he wanted to sing. Added words.
- A drummer liked what he heard and joined.

We made an album.

Two fearless guitar players join us for our live performances. We promised not to eat them.

Good times.


released September 1, 2016

André Lourenço: vocals, bass
Ricardo Pinto: guitars, bass, keys, vocals
Marcelo Aires: drums

© 2016 Pinturas Negras. All rights reserved.
All music by Ricardo Pinto and André Lourenço. Lyrics by André Lourenço. Drum arrangements by Marcelo Aires. Additional sound effects by Ricardo Oliveira.

Recorded, mixed and mastered by Ricardo Oliveira at Stone Sound Studio (Portugal) between October 19th and 25th, 2015.
Additional tracking and pre-production by Ricardo Pinto at RPM studios (Portugal).

Artwork by Marcelo Aires and Sofia Fernandes.
Photography by Ana Sofia Dias.

Produced by Pinturas Negras.

This album was funded, produced and released by the members of this band.
Proceeds go directly to the artists involved.


all rights reserved



Pinturas Negras Portugal

Pinturas Negras is the band that ended the world.
Its written history has been pieced together from sources as varied as the menu of a long gone Chinese restaurant or the obituary section of a 19th century English newspaper.
The music is heavy. The words follow suit, crafting a sound not unlike the stranger side of MTV2 from twenty years ago.
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