Where a bold pack of neutrinos slide in their custom-made, heavy weaponry packed DeLoreans, and accelerate from the sterile white surfaces of CERN towards the centre of the Earth. They have a bucketful of attitude, these neutrinos, they are the baddest-ass bunch of particles in this quadrant of the galaxy, only they would dare to go head to head against grimacing Einstein and the evil empire of light that shackles us in a 4-dimensional prison. Manly Armageddon vibes at the quantum level.
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty principle precludes a visualisation of their trip, but we imagine a landscape of savage logic, Tron’s infinite reticules layered over a jagged post apocalyptic pastel topography, their linearity preserved at the differential level.
As our neutrinos approach the speed of light time grinds down to a halt, like the prologue to a Mexican standoff in a Sergio Leone western. They convene around a bonfire kindled with a handful of photons, stare grimly at the trans-dimensional tunnels that lay ahead, threatening and alluring like Ballardian overpasses.
Alternative scenarios cross their minds, Event-horizon style chaotic madness, cosmic babe illumination, possibly both. They are randomly allocated to each of these gateways in Schrödinger-like fashion, they speed into the big Other with FWY blasting from their speakers.
We continue our love affair with Edmund Xavier and his FWY’s trucker techno-gamelan escapades as unleashed within the Ventura EP. Watch out for the title track’s superb melancholy drone, like Cormac McCarthy’s existential cowboy gazing into a neuromantic dead-channel sky, a moment before stepping past the borderline.
As you may have expected, the lines of communication between vectors of information entering different dimensional gateways and the Grand Sasso underground laboratories which was their destination weren’t particularly reliable. Ultra-focused boffins have nevertheless been working hard at deciphering whatever transmissions were received during those strange stages of the neutrino odyssey. We have had a sneak preview.
Some of the transcripts suggest persecutions down interstellar trenches (‘trust the force’). Others haunt our nightmares like mantras from nameless gods (and make us fear the potential outcomes of further researches). At least one traveller appears to have entered a parallel universe where chromatic scales and chromatic gradations swap their sensorial roles. The neutrino jockey that ventured that particular way was caught in a kinaesthetic ecstasy that delayed his transit. He wasn’t faster than the speed of light, he wasn’t even faster than the speed of sound. But he reached the speed of love, the rest of the squad are so jealous of this guy!
So Prismic Delight is some LA 16 years old who puts together some incredible slow mo Balearic burners that make your abstract power-ballad obsessed scribes swoon like we hadn’t since the days of Neon Leon/early days Ducktails instrumentalism. We thought that you needed at least two psychedelic tours of duty and a handful of heartbreaks to be able to pull this kind of shit the way it is meant to be pulled, but then, experiential shortcuts can be achieved through constant exposure to the eternal Californian summer, and an instinctive communion with the liquid cycles of the Pacific Sea. Great stuff, you can listen to lots more at the bandcamp.