Stuck in traffic for hours, long after I desperately had to get somewhere. I’m still intent, which is past reason.
What she’s doing on the guitar reminds me of the mid-’90s experimental electro scene. Ooh, nice bit of panning. Does that come off live?
I bet it would be good live. They played in London, just recently, and a bunch of other places, including Bristol I think, before.Yeah, this’d be probably good live. The suspense, the nameless urging. A dark room, lights, a moodily pulsating womb.
Mate I remember this one time,
we were in the pub and this massive corn-fed giant farmer kid
walked past my mate, sittin dahn,
he like paused, and then just smacked him in the face so like,
fast, all you saw was my mate’s head snap slightly back, like,
but blood exploding everywhere,
and the other guy like a slow mo, you know, boxer replay, like matrix time rebound,
time travel.
Doing away with time.
It’s several songs of the same song. A single with remixes, no, metamixes.
Metamixes that are actually the same song.Its a study in the materials of the record; the performers. Materials being:
This tremolo skittering, oh percussive shimmer, the parameters of thine effect ramped and oscillated, ever constant; that ghoulish reverberation trajectory, reverb upon reverb, a melody’s phrase hidden within, a bird’s brief flight through pitch; the relentless drums: Masako; Yuri; Sayaka.
The realism of the live drums.
The hi-hat’s straight roll 16s, endless, within the context of other programmable rhythmic sound, are rendered reliably human. Plus the timbre warp of the kick drum: more pleasing and immediate than the ramping electro-acoustic stuff.but Where the fuck is the bass?!
And What the fuck is that guy doin’ – hey fuck’s sake! what the fuck. Ah fuck it. Bet he’s a cyclist too. 4 out of 5 cyclists don’t know about blind spots, by the way. Seriously. I knew one. What I like to do, now, is keep them in my sights now, the whole way back, unless they’re doing under 30 or above 45, keep em in my sights like. Like not too close, but just so I’m always there. In his rear view.
Is it held back to the point of no identity? Minimal has killed ’em all? Nope, I don’t reckon. Banging, sort of. Techno, but more direct. It is muscular, or perhaps sinewy. Works on the lizard brain. Deeper. There’s hardly any actually solid bass, though, apart from the kick drum. What’s goin’ on geeza. No good for the car. There is a clear structural format, which is extremely well paced. Urgent. I can’t decide if the very slow, arching variations in the electro-acoustic sound are accelerated drastically to signal structural changes, or if those arching variations are becoming more noticeable in the tiny changes they make as the piece goes on, just because of the stilled sonic environment they exist within.
Oh, the contemporary fashion for restriction of variables. Creating a frozen place, a space where you and the music inhabit. Or is it a cave of music you dwell within. Frozen not meaning cold – frozen in time.If a slice of time was frozen, I would imagine the essence of that moment – the passions in the air – to become frozen too, in place, in time.
It is a skill to perform this magic.
So I leapt on this big corn-fed mother fucker, barged him into the far wall, my mate made it out the door, reeling and bleeding.
The guy actually ripped his own shirt off, and into shreds, at this point, under my hands, as I held him there, him yelling like,
then I’m out the door, to the car, he’s right behind me,
but first I’ve got to pop the bonnet and re-attach the battery –
Anyway. we spent a while like running off into the dark, drawing the fella aat, while the other one would leg it up to the car, and like, do a part of the process, like put the key in the door, or, then unlock it, or open it… each time, before the guy would get bored in the dark, and come running back in to the light, then that one would have to draw him out… and other one would leg it back to the car, just, keeping on going man, for hours, like time travel.
Doing away with time.
-Barnabas Y-
