We have reinvested the proceeds of our timely exit from the latest zeitgeist bubble into a plot of land in the Tunguska area, and the services of several discredited physicists. With our support, they are deploying equipment purloined from the run down laboratories of Akademogorodok to experiment with the impact of cosmic radiation on soundwave composition in the uppermost fringe of the radio spectrum.
The speculative hypothesis being tested is that, when transmitted through the outer surface of Earth’s cosmic ray shield, soundwaves are subtly reconfigured by the impact of powerful radiations emanating from the centre of the galaxy. The result is similar to the varnishing of memories with time. Accuracy and emotion slide in an inverse relation until music decouples from the concrete and soars into the void, from where it is notoriously hard to retrieve, like a wild bird released from captivity.
In most cases, the sounds that we have captured with our crude antennas are eerily abstract drones like those generated by the Gravitational Wave Detector. But in a couple of occasions, something truly exceptional has happened. If normal sound is electricity, then this is a Tesla Coil.
Let us begin with the transmission of Cub, one of the most contemplative pieces in Solar Bears’ mindblowing ‘She Was Coloured In’ through Keep Shelly in Athens trans-mediterranean particle accelerator.
As any physicist worth his or her salt knows, when you zero in matter and time at the particle level you are able to see not just the now, but the dynamics through which the now arrived from the then. In this case, the liquid curtains of Balearica are slid open into a bacchanal of stroboscopic epiphany over the Aegean cliffs where Gods were dreamt. If it sounds like a spaced out ‘Theme for Great Beaches’ dub of early Simple Minds, it is simply because those guys got really close to the source, and so does this.
Watch them step out of the spherical space that the past slices into the present, like skinny Terminators reopening and old front in the new wave European war-theatre.
I Walk in the City is an existential strut across a city of synthetic tears, an architecture of sound recreating not only the glass, steel and pillars of concrete of which it is built, but also the currents of energy and information that flow through it, and, ultimately, when all melodies converge into an emotional apex, the powerful sigh of its gestalt subconscious.