What an exciting listen — that creeping tension weaving the fragments is ace — a stretchy saturate for all that delicious atonal action to dance in divergent colour and sparing tuning.
Eight tracks at eight minutes each, sixty-four minutes each, echoing the sixty-four squares of the chess board, and its eight rows and eight-column structure, each square firing a randomised fragment of John Cage. Antonin Artaud accents bubbling tramp-like to a detuned grate and splattering of keys, those cavernous volcanics of piano inners suddenly illuminating the headspace with heavy debris.
The shoplifted patchwork gives your speakers a real workout, a mauling mooch finding a strange union to noisily explode. Sparks of sudden laughter flutter as a discoloured tune waves its tattered arms to wither on some sustained ectoplasm. Warbling gong-like oscillations, rubbing into the kick-start whorl of a dynamo to dialogue exit the silence.
A kinetic complexity whose knotty detunes circumspect, finds a typewriting William Burroughs and cracking whips, then parachute-lands into a rumbling rebellion. An absolute ton of details that leap-light your senses, ending on a mulched keyboard’s squelch.
Another triumph from the Opening Performance Orchestra that injures your imagination good and proper.-Michael Rodham-Heaps-
