(Petman portrait from here)
We were surprised to find that Ondness hails from Portugal. The reason for this is that in his dub techno/jeep beats if your jeep was a spice harvester we find a very English kind of anomie.
If someone wrote it up, it would read like the texts of those who have described the feeling of a mass media blasted, mega-complex society.
If it was going to look like a place, it would look like the parking of a warehouse in one of those mysterious industrial states somewhere in between East Croydon and Clapham, or the back of an office building against which rest transparent bags packed with corp-speak-raped language, waiting for the shredder.
A minute shift in the components of the music – a degree of shrillness in the drums, a twist away from the obstinate rolling of the cardiac bass-line – would transform these sites into platforms for drama or splatter. This would mean release from our intense focus on their terrible stasis. But that would also be a distraction; it would make them props or phases, instead of protagonists and destinations, dioramas that throb with secret meaning, like mementos in Finn’s stall, or ruins in the zone of Tarkovski’s Stalker.
Ondness – Edit sombra
Ondness’ ‘Poor Man’s Twilight Zone’ tape is out in Where to Now Records.
We have been reading the latest issue of MIT Technology Review (on the possibilities opened up by cheap gene sequencing technologies), watching videos of Boston Dynamics’ terrifying mecha, and imagining the deep learning algorithms inside Google’s coalescing brain not as friendly service-providing slaves, but frowning insectoid operators in an assembly line fed with shameful secrets and pathetic aspirations.
The terrible possibilities of all of these developments become apparent when you pump your perceptual frame with darkness, and that is what we are doing with Alex Barnett and Faith Coloccia’s help.
Their ‘Retrieval’ is a device designed to hurl our feeble minds crashing through paranoid networks of dystopian possibility. Each of its sounds works as a clinical exhibit of the location of the outbreak, just before it happened.
Featuring: The abstracted hum of the refrigerators in a server room or in a lab of blinding white full of sleek machines toiling almost in silence, the understated beep with which those machines log the anomality and the microscopic needles of noise when the prophylactic measures are violated, the rhythm of the infection spreading fractally through the network, and the ersatz-winds of muted epic with which the alien intelligence bootstraps itself into being, flexes its powerful muscles and wonders, where to now?
Barnett and Coloccia – Switch
Buy Retrieval from Blackest Ever Black.