hours of pecking at the usual, hoping for a break right after to put my feet up on the coffee table, wind down, listen to something stirring—maybe even have a book in hand. in that brief silence the brain walks with a certain lightness, careful not to slip off the edge into rotting existential thought.
pondering over the mundane, the ticking of the clock growing louder, establishing slowly that its all average—and maybe that’s okay. functioning like a rainy cloud stays put on the top of my head. but I don’t mind the feeling of being drenched—if the raindrops are warm, like the ones I’d dance under when I was young.
like the idea of yin-yang, the mixture of good and bad, the little bad in the good, and a little good in the bad. the perpetual cloud of sorrow still fixed atop my head is casually dilly-dallying in a sunflower field. another year older.
1996
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Silent Night by The Necks / Australia
roll around in the mud, in the garden, in the dark. float on your back in the ocean at midnight. float away with The Necks.
such a delightfully dainty tune on the record from The Necks. An endless expanse to drift, the wind carries the scent of it wherever it flows. record split into two discs, there’s lightness and calm on Side B, a 54-minute stretch of White—lush and sublime notes, gloriously bright. Side A, Black unfolds on a slightly dangerous end, mystery lingers as you make sense of notes and snippets of dialogue, playing out a sensational murder/thriller film noir in the mind.
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Welcome by SIMM / Milan, Italy
woozy, slithering tempo. soundtrack for a smokey bedroom affair. the album speaks sensually.
an experimental project by Italian guitarist Eraldo Bernocchi from the mid-1990s, this alias has only a few works to its name, but each feels like a doorway to a dimly lit dungeon. hazy atmospherics bring a gentle wobble to the knees as you tread lightly, sweat forming on your forehead, lips pursed. the paced-out rhythm speaks the language of the dark, the disoriented, and the unfamiliar, pulling you into its enigma.
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Beat by Bowery Electric / New York, United States
like speeding down the highway with singular focus. the heart pulses in sync with the beat. a steady control over emotions.
revisiting the New York-based duo, Lawrence Chandler and Martha Schwendener as Bowery Electric from the 1990s. a blend of trip-hop, drone-heavy textures, and electronic machine music—an absolute delight for the stereo. the band’s three major albums each carve their way into the senses with a lucid, visceral impact.
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Anima Beat by Anima Mundi (Susumu Yokota) / Tokyo, Japan
funky rhythm, tribal percussions. the movement of nature captured in all its calm and chaos. the sound ebbs and flows, fast and slow.
a gem from Susumu Yokota’s crazy discography of about thirty albums, all produced in a matter of two decades. I hold great admiration for the works of this genius. from effervescent tones and timbres to the most obscure scrapes of sound, his palette is wide and peculiar. ridiculously engaging, its an invitation to either immerse, reflect, or let loose.
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Who Can I Turn To Stereo by Nurse With Wound / Galway, Ireland
out on a freaky quest through the Irish landscapes with Halloween guests. the album drapes a mysterious allure around the season of fall. rusty leaves, chill air, crisp.
avant-garde traditions and surrealist daydreams are clubbed together by Nurse With Wound—a three-person band that eventually evolved into the solo project of Steven Stapleton. cuts of field recordings and found sounds imbue a whimsically sinister ambience into Stapleton’s distinctly unorthodox approach to musical storytelling. the narratives are ominous, and the results are raw and utterly fascinating.
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The return of Drexciya, Drexciya / Detroit, United States
a classic spacetime trip. squelching acid liquid gold of the ages. man and machine music with a heart and soul.
an imagined underwater civilization inhabited by descendants of pregnant African women thrown overboard during the transatlantic slave trade, Drexciya’s mythology is centered on these “mutant aquanauts,” thriving in their submerged utopia. the blood runs warm in the depths.
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Long Season by Fishmans / Tokyo, Japan
deeply sensitive, nourishing from within. repetitive keys induce a trance-like state forming a bond. togetherness.
there’s a profound sense of belonging by the end of Long Season, even for those who don’t understand Japanese. I’ve recommended it way too many times. this 35-minute epic demands your full, sincere attention as you simmer in Fishmans’ psychedelic-pop-ambient world. a revelation by the end of it.
the list goes on but for now this is all. stay tuned ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆