There are several street performers in downtown San Francisco who make
a living by beating the ever-loving shit out of various empty paint buckets and
empty liquor bottles with drumsticks. Just to come near one is a sonic
adventure, in itself, as their echoes can be heard from blocks away, those tribal
rhythms bouncing off dozens and dozens of buildings, parking garages, buses,
& the like, all intermingling with the stops & starts of heavy traffic,
pedestrian marches & chatters, various barroom jukeboxes, sirens & the
faint boom of distant airport traffic & trains. The hustle & bustle
itself was already rhythmic, but this explicit pulse adds an element of purpose
to the chaos that bewitches and entrances.
In this way, I have come to not only accept the 4/4 metronomic bass*
that snakes in & out of this album’s thriving-metropolis-dense atmospheres,
but I can deeply appreciate its support in accenting the otherwise blissful
mayhem**.
Fanfuckingtastic for headphone-hiking in rural and urban spots alike,
though the results will certainly differ widely.
*an infamous beat I usually dread like a clown on the front porch at
midnight)
**y’know, as far as ambient-drone soundscapes go
and/or
-- Jacob
An Kittenplan
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