A compilation of rhythm, autoregression, routine, tendency, recurrence: find yourself an island on which to find nothing but a panoramic sea. You touch the water here: you listen to the song. Somehow, you are uploading continuous your mind onto the thing before you and you fasten onto a compilation by which each wave comes: ritual, ritual ritual ritual ritual.

The waves are multi-media directives. You understand nothing. All you do is bury your head in the waves, and wait for the air to at some point run out. It never does. And now your feet are patterns in the ground, your thoughts are textures of the moisture in the air.

You listen to a song and all you can remind yourself of is your old friend at some point sandwiched in between pointless chronologies there, with you, playing on the piano, the song that’s always played, the ritual that’s shared with you. The first track does it, but brings in some alienated tempo of melancholy, and also flourishes; the first song is dream translated into a language. That language is spoken explicitly come the second track, and the third. The a f o r e m e n t i o n e d first fathoms in memory like a platform. My train makes the trees like white noise, I remember, I jitter, I remember again once more, my hand onto the table, then window. Autumn spoke to me and now I am this alienated tempo, perhaps. Perhaps I am person after all.

Smiling away the latter pauses of a much beloved rhythm

signed off  optimistically.

… And a return ticket to say this label geht ab. I have been quietly moved by their creations, as with a few other websites that emanate the most attention-deserving developments / relations / I’m impressed, excited.

I look back, I am newly acquainted in the following second by a music that breeds reflection and more reflections and more reflections. The crumpled up day, month, year: they unravel like the units of time they are. I look a little closer and see rhythm like I feel words: the truth is constantly evolving and I feel humbled by the music on this EP to admit that. The extreme, the tempo, the time-tampering artist is a shaman of repetition, the concepts sound almost like a ghost-story, almost like a love-story, certainly like a spiritual distraction: I’m engrossed.

Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.