Saturday, May 22, 2004
My head is buzzing with a million thoughts wildly collapsing into each other at a breakneck speed, like a chaotic traffic jam amidst the synapses. I'm sorry that I can't now concentrate on your latest CDR that the mailman just brought me, of your latest glitch installments you've put together with your Powerbook, and too bad I can't give you any feedback since all this stuff just sounds the same for me. Perhaps I'm just jaded. You've got the sounds but where are the songs; is this stuff supposed to touch my soul somehow? Your anonymous bedroom existence, just huddling by your computer night after night, dreaming of "making it", as thousands of other hopefuls like you around the world do. I don't want to put you down, but it feels like I'm listening to the same record all over: these experimental-minimal-glitch-ambient-noise cut-up soundscapes, again and again... and every day the mailman will drop another one in from my letterbox. I listen to your CDR once, probably absent-mindedly while reading newspaper and sipping my coffee, and when it's over I'll put my own CDs back to the player: Scott Walker, Nico, Tim Buckley, old blues collections, Parliament, The Who, Elvis, Bowie, Wigwam's "Being", "Nuggets" boxes... I'm sorry -- nothing personal, but if your music just managed to touch me like these can, maybe I could give it a try. Now it's just "listen once -- file away". And boy, my shelves are full of CDRs like that.