Penelope Trappes spent a year in a small piano studio in East London crafting the majestic collection of dystopian lullabies which is Penelope One.
But why am I telling you this? You know it already. The dark spaces in Penelope One are wormholes that cut through space and time, bringing you into the outskirts of the zone when she made it. You gaze inside like a Tarkovskian Stalker, mapping the territory, pristine pools and wild hills and strange megaliths, all haunted, all haunted. You probably have been there before, and you are definitely there now, as the silver synthetic melody around which Low is embroidered unfurls in front of your eyes, illuminating your way down a stone spiral staircase, to a place below where there be monsters, and truth.
If video game marketing departments had any taste, they would use musics like these to promote Hidetaka Miyazaki’s dark fantasies, and these videos would look like the dance of shadows in a hazy Jacques Tourneur hallucination, and we wouldn’t be here writing this, because we would be lost inside them, dancing with the cat people and powerful projection of dreams, mysteries and fears, dancing in that darkness, forever.
The excellent folks at Anti-Ghost Moon Ray are releasing the Second Volume of the Annual General Meeting Record and it is a very great thing, and highly topical too. We need a soundtrack for these strange days of psy-ops carried out by undead technologies, server farms foreboding like Harkonnen cathedrals, and eerie dreams of algorithms that have no eyes, and must see. The Second Volume’s decomposing freestyle jams, poltergeists of dub dissonance and rare moments of searing beauty could well be it.
If you need proof, just check I Speak Machine’s Blood from a Stone, which sounds like Cabaret Voltaire remixing Scott Walker for a cyberpunk edition of The Drift. The personal becomes political, the technological becomes paranormal, and it comes inside you.