Iain Banks Transitioneers flit between an infinity of possible universes. They occupy a body for a short period, undertake a task, deliver a parcel, send a message, assassinate a foe, or one who would one day become a foe. They are endowed with a special sense of the history of a place called Fragre, which they use to orient themselves as they navigate the many worlds.
20JFG are transitioneers in a way, they drify between the infinity of possible universes which is the musical opus spilling from humanity’s collective Godhead. They are filled and sent, they receive, listen, and die as they do so. The universes represented by the songs that they explore have their own Fragre, a sense of history and place acting as a metadata category which is numinous, it cannot be written.
Let us try and fail, it doesn’t matter. You can flit to the place we are talking about easily, through that door called ‘play’.
Once we go past a certain event horizon of historical accretion, our past becomes a net absorber of information, rather than a source for it, and each attempt at explanation or comprehension makes things obscurer, and more likely to obsess us– like the millennial architectures that cover the cradles of mankind and civilisation like strange jewels, or scar tissue.
Fantastikoi Hxoi’s latest reconfiguration of Greek folk tunes in Dream Weapons is an evocation of such places, of the sense of threat and awe we feel at their power – power that may be Byzantinely literal, if the conspiracy theorists and Hermetic scholars are correct. Power that is also a demonstrable syllogism because these are the sites where the cultural, religious and military wheels of the leviathan whose belly we inhabit started rolling. We are in their thrall, and this is their beat.
Download the rest of the Dream Weapons EP from Fantastikoi Hxoi’s website.
A sense of déjà vu in the elements of the Police des Moeurs song that describes this world: drum machine beats angular like a brutalist cityscape swerving in parallax past the vector of our mass transit, the burps and cries of synthesisers graphing the trajectory of machines of death and vigilance above, intoning a sad melody for those who fall in love in times of stagflation.
Or a déjà vu in the elements of this world to which the elements of the song refer: the end of spring and a totalitarian flashback, humans turned into data points followed by drones in the sky, and apparatchik algorithms in the digital glasshouse, people fighting machines in the automated marketplace.
This is the world we live in, in the surface in the cusp of tomorrow, at its heart a replica of yesteryear. And this is its natural song, to which we dance and we cry.
& Here is the video for Échéance, by Emilie Serri