OVERSCAN “Conscious” C37 (Constellation Tatsu)

I wish I were more finely attuned at deducing the quality and caliber of a musical project’s output via assessing their nom du guerre. Fun fact: there are simply far too many great recording artists out there with unassuming (read: terrible) names! Here, I just couldn’t get behind the name “OverScan” to further investigate the artist. It just took me waaaaay to much time to actually think about those compounded terms and their relationship with my own personal narrative. There was nothing catchy or quirky or witty to me about the name. If this brilliant artist weren’t part of Constellation Tatsu’s spring batch, paired with Sarah Holyfuckingshitsofuckingawesome Davachi, I’m fairly certain all my spring break naps and painting sessions would have been devoid of these sweet swells of dark/cosmic bliss forever,…and that’d be a crime far worse than savvy self-promotion.

This tape opens with “Old Haunts”, sounding like some wayward angels tuning up in a slimy cave somewhere, their trebly beams of smoky light shimmering outward absentmindedly to play about the glistening, groggy walls and ruffled backs of pissy rodents who have ceased to care less about all celestial jam sessions henceforth. After the midpoint evacuation, a slowed down, near doom-metal bassy black shadow plods along, threatening to lure attention from all them higher, shinier Hz of life…until the end, where it decides to shave a few layers off itsownself (the doom-metal bassy black shadow) and join them Hz in their higher ranks of unholy matrimony.

Track two, “the Next Morning”, could be a candid Stars-of-the-Lid-meets-new-age-tribute-band performing; not at a singular wake, but for an entire constellation of cemeteries, for a hundred years. Straight. The feeling is paceless; a deconstruction of repetition, as if saying the same thing over and over and over again would only mean the first sentiment; double plus sad synths wash upon the shores of sorrow or something…but the kicker is the young, devil-may-care field recordings patiently washing in and out, knowing no grievances with death, but simply kicking up sand and shiny surf within those waves; reminding us of new life summoned from such interplay.

“Terrorvision”, to keep this review more concise, sounds like a summary of what Atreyu might have felt like internally as Artex slowly drowned in quicksand, horse eyes stoically blinking in slow motion…Fuck it. I can’t say enough about how brilliantly composed this collection of sounds is, so, maybe, instead, you ought call my bluff and find out for yourself via the links below. Also, sorry, but the aforementioned SHFSSFAD tape sold out before I could even get a copy, so maybe just copy her songs for free onto a cassette tape yourself and then throw money into an envelope and send it to Canadia when you get a chance.


- - Jacob An Kittenplan