on 24 July 2001
This is almost not music at all, but things will happen if you listen to this in the right conditions. It consists of 4 long, shape-shifting drones, each named after a psychoactive compound and designed to facilitate time travel. The tracks lift and separate almost imperceptibly, so that whenever you think you've settled into some kind of (albeit rather funereal) groove, the track has morphed into new tones without you noticing. Play this in the kitchen at midday and you'll hardly even notice it's on (though even here played loud enough the air can shiver and you might frighten some children), but play it late at night, with your mind fit for soiling, and weird things will happen. Time does get disturbed as you get sucked into each drone and you'll start hearing micro-rhythms and melodies that you're not sure are really there (rewind and they'll have changed yet again - value for money as well then!). Very recommended indeed for the kind of people who sit in the dark wishing for a little 24hr autism to help them through the night.
Not an easy album; at first nothing connected and it was left to sit on the shelf.
Imperceptibly it begins to shape shift; a series of high low drones gaining vibrancy, timbre and scope. More abstract throb than Lustmord, it needs to be played loud, then drift on fast/slow running currents. The Time Machines then finally works its magic; a series of tones washing and tingling over the airwaves, distorting the mood. Either a soothing massage or a delve into recesses, nooks, crannies and caves depending on mood orientation. Soundscapes arise like heaving tides then wash away.
Music for alchemical inner walking, perhaps no two people will follow the same journey. I sat there throughout the album reflecting whilst Junior 2 drifted into a deep sleep. For her it was a sonic lullabye for me it a gear shift backwards.