Labels: Chmafu Nocords – God Records
Review by: Captain Fidanza
Dear Slobodan Kajkyt,
This morning I received from you a piece of music so introverted that for the first two and a half minutes I thought you’d sent me a blank disc. When it finally ghosted into life it sounded like the sort of music that soundtracks the game Ben plays on his Playstation in which people turn into spiders and you have to kill them with a spade.
Round about the six minute mark, a note sounded in the distance which was gradually joined by a few others which slowly coalesced and drifted through my room like a unwanted spectre until the point at which I had to open the window to let something pure and natural in to combat it. After about ten minutes I started to wonder whether or not what you had sent me was a live recording of the Videodrome signal and my brain was quickly developing a malignant tumour which would eventually render me completely insane.
Imagine my relief when, a few minutes later, the familiar sound of a repetitive drum sound displaced the unearthly whisperings and provided me with somewhere in which to moor my fragile psychological vessel. But like the sirens on the rocks which so enchanted Odysseus, your lilting call continued to plague mine ears.
I don’t know whether or not that was your voice which started calling out to me after about twenty five minutes as time and space had ceased to have any meaning and had collided with reason and truth and evolved into a purer form of terror than man has ever known. Somewhere in here resides the phantasm of Popol Vuh and by the sound of it, Florian wants his synthesisers back, if I were you I would go to his grave immediately and offer some form of restitution. I don’t know for sure but I would imagine his remains are interred somewhere in the desert at Sinai.
It was at the very beginning of the forty fourth minute that I started to see colours that have not been invented yet, a voice that smelled like emancipation told me the name of one of these new colours was “Kel’Jan” but it may have been tempting me like the serpent bewitched Eve. I will spend the remainder of my days in pursuit of that voice and the clarification that only it can provide.
I think I may be sitting in a cave high in the hills of Lebanon, writing these words on the wall with a piece of wood with a coal-blackened tip, because as forty became fifty and later twenty five or six to four, a grinding screech which sounded like an angle-grinder giving birth to a malfunctioning power drill invaded my mind like nothing before. I can’t find my way out of this cave and there is little to nourish me so for the sake of our burgeoning relationship, I will bring my notes to a close now and commend you once again on a piece of music so immersive I have forgotten who I am, why I am or why I ever was.
PS. Find the person who wrote your press release and shoot them. Describing something as “John Cage meets trip hop” is the most ridiculously absurd sentence ever written in the English language; if John Cage had ever written anything as mad as this, he would have instantly had a stroke and died. Oh, hang on…
Yours sincerely
Captain G.B. Fidanza