Description
When I first put this record on I always think “I wish I felt like this all the time.” There’s a weary desolate spirit to it, the gaze into a wide, placeless expanse. While this expanse could sit anywhere: desert, arctic, ocean, the desolation evoked is very specific. It’s not EVERYONE HAS ABANDONED ME or EVERYONE IS DEAD but instead I’M AWAKE AND EVERYONE ELSE IS ASLEEP. A kind of hushed knowing: you’re not alone forever you’re just on a private trip. The kind of trip that requires space to think, places to rest. Did you ever feel like Loren Connors or Dylan Carlson play TOO! MANY! NOTES!! ? This record has the space you are searching for.
The thing is, by the time this record is half over I always think “Oh I do feel like this all the time!” Once the static and lurch get underway I feel so sure-footed in the off-balanced rumble. My little strategies for navigating the dumbness of the world/my own dumbness echoed in the resonance and poorly-bent notes. My sudden delight at a purple flower or dog’s grin similarly echoed in the small melodies and warm pushes. Is it enlightening? I don’t think so, it’s more commiserating. But I never spend enough time trying to sort it out since the last seven minutes of the record are simply brain-erasing wash, like three copies of Dreamweapon playing at the same time. It is amazing to live in a world where you can just listen to these songs any time you like!
Released 2023 by No Label NZ. Edition of 30, hand numbered
