A ceremony marks an occasion. Not all ceremonies are solemn affairs – we have wedding ceremonies, after all, and those tend to be rapturously joyful – but when somebody drops the big “C” word, I tend to think of formality. Of procedure. Of reverence. Dino Spiluttini’s “Ceremony” is the big “C” “Ceremony,” an event etched into the granite of our heart’s calendar that we will not soon forget.

(“Granite of our heart’s calendar…”? I’m losing it.)

And so it is another capitalized moment, an Affair, that Spiluttini invites us to with “Ceremony.” “Ceremony” marks the end of the line, the “closing of a chapter,” the last gasp of Spiluttini onto magnetic tape. He is finished, you see, with the cassette scene, with you and me, and this document is the eulogy to his endeavors. We will no longer hear his luscious sculptures of reverential sound, his amplified supplications humbly offered. We will no longer bask in the all-enveloping tonal clouds, the hushed grandeur of his craft. We will be cast adrift in our emptiness with nothing to guide us toward that everlasting light.

Unless, of course, we buy his records on vinyl from here on out. He has NOT forsaken vinyl. All hail vinyl!...grk….ekkk….ccckkk… [chokes in grip of Cassette Gods editorial board]

Dino Spiluttini