The slow bubbling of machine with frayed belts coughs up spew and dirge as the traffic of trains pass through ghosts who are tied to the rails with phantom ropes. We hear them howling but the howls are whispers, subdued, quiet and unafraid. The train runs over the ghosts and the calm comes. In the distance a buzzsaw saws and things fall from their shelves without being touched. A bottle breaks, the vacuum vacuums the vacuous air as the sound waves of LATHER float through and become whispers of another time. And then soon? there is music. A horn blows softly over rocky terrain. Strings are scratched without being plucked. A cassette player runs in fast forwarded, slows down, stops and rewinds. Swells of sound bloom and die. Are we at an industrial warehouse? Is there a party after? And then … the cinema! and … click, the tape stops and you are worried you did not hear enough but fear not for you remember there is still side two.
Quieter, just as haunted. A whirring of string sounds cannot tell which direction to go so they move back and forth in a frenzy without managing to leave. Like a bug undecided buzzing in the green sky of dusk. A signal emerges as signal noise, beeps beeps beeps and the clangor of a bell, harsh and sweet, calls our attention to something else. But what is it? What is it calling? I cannot tell. Yet the bell tolls and tolls. It is a church bell or a bell at home or school? Wherever it may be, the bell is haunted, no doubt. Listening is an experience. There is much going on and we want to put our finger on all of it. Yet. And yet we cannot. Things slow down. Time slows down and passes. Listen, can you hear the time passing? Keep listening for soon it will pass and leave us to flip the tape once again in an endless cycle of noise
-Ricky Lemonseed
Quieter, just as haunted. A whirring of string sounds cannot tell which direction to go so they move back and forth in a frenzy without managing to leave. Like a bug undecided buzzing in the green sky of dusk. A signal emerges as signal noise, beeps beeps beeps and the clangor of a bell, harsh and sweet, calls our attention to something else. But what is it? What is it calling? I cannot tell. Yet the bell tolls and tolls. It is a church bell or a bell at home or school? Wherever it may be, the bell is haunted, no doubt. Listening is an experience. There is much going on and we want to put our finger on all of it. Yet. And yet we cannot. Things slow down. Time slows down and passes. Listen, can you hear the time passing? Keep listening for soon it will pass and leave us to flip the tape once again in an endless cycle of noise
-Ricky Lemonseed