Description
NOTE: these records have one significantly bent corner, as seen in the accompanying photos. This condition is reflected in the price of the record
A new entry in the lineage of frigid, opaque, eye-poke records from New Zealand. There is tornado howl, there is what-does-this-button-do? bewilderment, there is robot birdcall, there is the crunch of unwelcome boots on an icy plain. There are, in the words of Clinton Watkins’s gallerist, “very short, rapidly colliding pieces.” I don’t know how Watkins makes these sounds! Field recordings of failed satellites crashing into the atmosphere? A chisel applied directly to a tape head? Microphones given arms and legs and taught to fight each other? I do know why Watkins makes these sounds—he describes this record as “a personal sonic representation of lifelong, recurring night terrors.” This is a helpful guide for ‘nothing_everything’ which is so present in each moment, like each horror is discrete, transfixing, and leaves the brain immedately, replaced by a new one with the logic and fullness unique to dream.
