Without Retrospect, The Morning is Celer aka Will Long’s snow-covered and glacier-depicting audio shard on Alessandro Tedeschi’s Glacial Movements label, released in December 2012 and available to purchase and stream at Bandcamp. The label is an astute place for Long’s seven synth- and organ-driven Ambient tracks, the front artwork does live up to the selected material. And this time, the concept of selection and singling material out in order to form a cohesive work is much more meaningful than expected, as the album is recorded over the course of two years, from 2009–2011, and in four different locations, crossing borders of seasons, states, countries and oceans. Such a strategy contains certain risks: how can a wintry grace or icy isolation be properly constructed if the material is created in-between different projects and work phases, revisited only arbitrarily without the focus of a definite goal which is eventually called Without Retrospect, The Morning much later? Turns out that this album is – bar one exception – terrifically coherent, concentrated and a true-bred addition to the Glacial Movements catalog. Celer’s impression of winter does match the listener’s expectancy via frosty synth funnels and snow-covered sylvan organ washes, but these are only textures. The timbre, meanwhile, is twofold, comprising yearning undertones and moments of utter loneliness. Without Retrospect, The Morning sparkles nonetheless, as if it wanted to turn around the influence of its droning molecules and stretched vesicles. It therefore offers a great opportunity to be reviewed in-depth as part of my Winter Ambient Review Cycle 2013. And this opportunity turned into reality.

Cautious brightness, vestibules to sun-dappled times, a glazed moiré as implied by the softened sine overtones that are equipollent parts of the light blue organ fluxion: Holdings Of Electronic Lifts is a beautiful Ambient vignette of three and a half minutes, eminently bright yet archetypically Celer-like. It contains a distant New Age tonality, but the synths – or processed stringed instruments – are emaciated, purposely desiccate in order to showcase the hibernal tendency depicted in both the front artwork as well as the overall aesthetic topic of the Glacial Movements label. Meanwhile, one of the most interesting synergies is presented in A Small Rush Into Exile in which Will Long presents both a self-imposed forsakenness and the resulting elation that comes with it. Therefore, it so happens that a haunting mélange of eldritch-elasticized icicle complexions (complete with dissonant sinews) clashes with poignantly fragile segues of euphony and contentment. In the end though, this titular small rush is carved out well, unleashing a stern moment of isolation in a dark cavity.

Said dark cavity is ostracized in the following composition which turns into a crystal antrum. The title Dry And Disconsolate may hint at a diametrically opposite mood range, but the resulting piece of over ten minutes not only is a glacial and moist one, but also resting peacefully in itself. This tranquil peace, notwithstanding the soothing opening phase, is not a given. Helical polar beams pierce through a wraithlike – and comparably wadded – synth fluxion whose whitewashed, silky gentleness even reduces the recurrent tension and pressure that is spawned by the simultaneity of the undulating layers. Said tension is further augmented by an oscillating low frequency undercurrent which adds an aerose gravitas to the argentine loftiness. Dry And Disconsolate turns out to be one of the fully fleshed out tracks. It is even enthralling, but the stringency of the seemingly incompatible and fighting forces or timbres makes it a paradoxical hybrid of portent awash with light. On Variorum Of Hierophany, Celer fathoms another dichotomy in one of his iciest tracks: a warbled and strongly intrinsic aeriform ice floe towers above an ethereal river of Detroit-compatible luminosity. Fir-green, strangely thermal and therefore unexpectedly warm, its amicability is severely perturbed by the flying sine siren. Both layers are disconnected, yet cross-pollute their respective presence.

A Landscape Once Uniformly White follows, a strikingly peaceful track with no antagonistic antipodes or antimatter sewn into its plateau. This is the Drone track of the album, and although Will Long is not particularly fond of this overused genre depiction, this vitreous artifact is certainly droning, but benignantly so. In lieu of incisive sine strings, mellow rivulets and billows are floating through a particularly dark and quiescent backdrop of blackness. A Landscape Once Uniformly White breathes and exhales tranquility and slivers of enigmatic wonders. It lives up to the wintry theme and rewards listeners who turn up the volume; since there is no bass aorta traversing by, the pristine purity of the synth formations can freely expand and emit the microtonal granularity and different shades of the surfaces. What is amiss here is then moulded into Distance And Mortality, a downright pompous arrangement of rubicund strata. Heavily wafting bass protrusions cause a mephitic air, polyhedron beams mercilessly illuminate the scenery with their oppulent incandescence. I am tempted to guess that this piece comes from a completely different recording session. Previously, cacophony and dissonances were easy to digest, as the partaking elements were whimsical, lightweight and frosty, but the sheer strength and power of the organs triples the tension. An almost histrionic addition, with its dimension emphasized via the exclamation mark at the end of this very sentence! The long-form finale With Some Effort, The Sunset pays homage to the album title both grammatically and semantically and ends the album with a wonderfully somnolent, carefully balanced blending of iridescently plinking fractals, silver streams of wondrousness and purity as well as hidden but detectable traces of harmony and glee. While not being joyous per se, this last illuminant enshrines a certain joy in-between the cold coating of ice shards, frost and crushed snow.

It could be the case that Without Retrospect, The Morning was never meant to be released in this particular form and with Alessandro Tedeschi’s Glacial Movements label in mind. There are certain hints sewn outside the music-related boundaries. Firstly, and as mentioned in the first paragraph, the recording timeframe spans about two years, from 2009–2011, with all their springs and summers and whatnots. Secondly, the tracks were created in four different locations – California, Mississippi, Alberta, and Tokyo –, with the last of them, as fans of Celer know, being the “interim-final” destination of Will Long’s restless voyages. These biographical and production-related facts neither spoil the album, nor are they detectable in the ambiance itself. Except for the comparably gargantuan Distance And Mortality, every vignette and 10+ minutes piece sports and emanates the same frosty color range and comprises of identical, therefore consistent textures and patterns. Will Long’s knowledge as a curator is as refined as his composing skills, and indeed, both of them are needed on this album… and grant its very existence. Despite the various periods, seasons and cities, the common denominator is the transformation of winter in all its glory into shimmering Ambient music. Cold and situated in sub-zero climes, yet never exclusively crestfallen or dark, Without Retrospect, The Morning is a glitzy work full of prolonged coruscations and a solemnity which exchanges glistening particles or other pointillistic devices for wave-like, serpentine spheres.

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Становящийся в наш суетной век все более редким (а отсюда и все более желанным) явлением, дневной сон имеет существенные отличия от полноценного ночного отдыха. На фоне череды порой очень даже последовательных видений, порожденных спящим подсознанием, дневной «отдых разума» наполнен, как правило, фрагментарными вспышками неуловимых образов, выхваченных из окружающей реальности, приобретающей сюрреалистические оттенки, но оставляющей за собой ощущение некоей «незыблемости» бытия. Впрочем, многие эту точку зрения наверняка оспорят, ведь сон – дело сугубо индивидуальное. Но вот Уилл Лонг, создающий сейчас единолично произведения для «Celer», почти наверняка согласился бы со мной – надеяться на это позволяет недавно вышедший альбом «Radish», где как раз и собраны треки, с помощью которых Уилл постарался описать свои дневные сны.

«Radish» – работа без четких структур и границ. Без объяснений, обещаний и сложных концепций. Просто семнадцать коротких зарисовок, неожиданно начинающихся и не менее неожиданно заканчивающихся. Продолжая реализовывать идею «бесконечных короткометражек», представленную когда-то на дисках «Nacreous Clouds» и «Capri», Лонг словно бродит по квартире в сомнамбулическом состоянии, прислушиваясь ко всем окружающим шумам, проходящим через фильтр заглушенного сознания и предстающим в голове слушателя нереальными объектами, потерявшими привычные очертания и обильно приправленными инграммами,  гештальтами, мыслями и воспоминаниями, сливающимися в блеклую, размытую картинку. Поэтому в дело идет все: уличный шум, гул водопроводных труб, бормотание телевизора и звуки бытовых предметов. Несколько композиций хрупки, как звон хрустальных бокалов, некоторые – массивны и тяжелы; одни стелятся ментальным грузом, другие массируют мозг тонкими и нервозными («Celer» всегда ими умело манипулировали) высокими и нарочито грубоватыми частотами, несколько же треков-крупиц этого затейливого калейдоскопа весьма легки, нежны и эфемерны, как волна тепла, обнимающая тебя, когда веки закрываются и жаркий летний полдень уходит на второй план, уступая место видениям куда как более интересным, мягким и уютным.

Слушать «Radish» строго рекомендовано именно в таком состоянии. И лучше на повторе. И хорошо бы отложить его еще и на ночное время, чтобы отгонять тяжелые сны, обитающие в неизбежно нагрянувшей темноте.

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Tralasciate per un attimo le nuove e per certi versi sorprendenti derive innestate con i suoi due nuovi progetti Rangefinder e Oh, Yoko, Will Thomas Long ritorna all’abituale alveo di Celer con uno dei lavori più evanescenti ed eterei tra i cento e oltre pubblicati negli anni sotto tale denominazione.

L’idea sottostante all’ora abbondante di soffi ambientali, articolata in quattro tracce, della quale si compone “Climbing Formation” nasce a mezz’aria tra terra e cielo, tra i riflessi di un tramonto senza fine, inseguito da Long nel corso di un viaggio aereo che lo riconduceva all’attuale residenza giapponese.

Calda e vaporosa è appunto la consistenza delle undici “concatenazioni” che formano le quattro pièce, dilatati frammenti generati da organi, synth e loop assortiti, espansi fino a sublimare bagliori corruschi cristallizzati in una durata, al solito, imponente ma in questo caso fedelmente rappresentativa della placida narcolessia di iterazioni e graduali punti di snodo di composizioni le cui frequenze subliminali a volume elevato rivelano l’incessante moto degli elementi di un’atmosfera impalpabile.

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Will Thomas Long is the name associated with the synth explorations found under a new guise called Rangefinder. It might not be a household name per se, but TOME-followers and/or ambient music obsessors might also know him from the more-commonly associated nomenclature, Celer — an act many, many releases into an impressive career, most-recently landing on tape with something of a stunning masterpiece for Constellation Tatsu. (which Nathan is STILL borrowing by the way *shakes fist.) But of course here we have a different beast altogether; if Celer is a sound that can be defined by it’s wallowing ambient beauty, lakes of synthesizer made for a nice relaxing bath, then Rangefinder pulls the cork at the bottom of these bodies of liquid synth and let’s that water flow… fast. Of course, there’s no real tempos to be associated with this music, no beats-per-measure, and really there’s no measures. So how can we describe this music as being fast? How does Long create the illusion of rapid motion with such a sweeping, blinking blanket of tone? We often discuss ambient or drone music in terms of its ability to move, its inherent forward motion, but when it’s a slow-feeling piece, somehow that doesn’t seem quite as remarkable of an observation. Therefore, Long is treading on new ground with this his approach here, the synths themselves and their thrumming instabilities, shuttering arppeggios and chords, feel like they are travelling at warp speed. This is a new kind of ambient music, bracing and arresting, packed with inertia and soaring through the cosmos. Long lays out several chord progressions which succeed through boiling, bubbling strokes of Major and minor intervals, sometimes plunked out on a piano or danced out of what sounds like an organ made from laser beams. The sheer variety of textures, not only across the breadth of this breathtaking tape, but within individual tracks themselves, is a thing to behold; notes sound like they’re coming from buzzsaws, bows, strings, plasmas, fireflies, pools of blood, solar flares, amoebas, brain waves… and each note arrives as an unstable, pliable thing. Heavy vibratos, tremolos, tones squeezed and stretched to the max, and of course general reverberous and distorted effects are carefully chosen for each to keep the listener guessing, nerve-endings stood rapt in attention and tickled to death with each new sonic glimpse offered.

There is an element or two that is sacrificed in all of this: The main thing is that the immediate and compelling paintings of beauty that Long is nearly famous for (or should be, amirite?) are not exactly gone altogether, but a bit hidden. With the focus on these strobing textures, the harmonic subtleties are a bit harder to pin down and recognize, or even make sense of, and sometimes it seems like they might not even be there to begin with. And while there is still lots of gorgeousness in the compositions if you look hard enough, the pieces also have less clearly defined structures (beginnings, middles, and ends). Themes appear out of nowhere and wander about before ever really concluding themselves. But hey, maybe that’s OK. In fact, it very much is ok, mostly since this is the first Rangefinder tape, and it feels like Long was probably looking for a new vehicle to drive his instruments around in, joyrides to nowhere in particular for these experiments. Here he’s just testing out all the gears, making sure everything works like it should. The results are beyond thrilling for beat-less synthesizer music, and point with a fat finger towards a compelling future for all things Rangefinder — if he can take these new points of reference and map them out into a full, seamless journey, we’re really going to have something. And hey, I think a new tape might already be out, or is at least on the way… I’ve been flipping this 800 yen piece of merchandise over and over in my deck for months now trying to figure out how to write about it (and, of course, I have likely failed even now), but hopefully this little post gets folks hip to the even greater greatness that’s on Long’s long horizon. The best part? Whether it’s more Rangefinder or Celer material, it’s bound to be brilliant. What do they call that again? Oh yeah, WIN WIN.

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“En la mitad de la noche digo tu nombre. En el medio de un baño digo tu nombre. En el medio de un afeitado digo tu nombre. En la mitad de un sueño digo tu nombre. En el medio de una nube digo tu nombre. Oh Yoko. Mi amor te volverá loca”. Una de las canciones más sencillas, solo cuatro acordes insistentes, y a la vez una de las más hermosas declaraciones de amor sirve para dar identidad a un proyecto de electrónica casera que sorprende, de la misma manera, por su simplicidad. “Oh Yoko!”, la pieza final del “Imagine” (Apple, 1972) de John Lennon, es el nombre escogido por un dúo radicado en Japón, solo que eliminando el signo de exclamación final e introduciendo una coma entre las dos palabras. También es el motivo para impulsar una nueva plataforma, Normal Cookie, editorial artística con sede en Tokio y fundada el 2012, dedicada a publicar sus propios sonidos.

Oh, Yoko son Rie Mitsutake y Will Long. De este último sabemos principalmente por Celer, su proyecto infinito y sus incontables trabajos de sonidos paisajistas y la oscuridad que yace debajo de ese panorama. La muerte de su compañera Daniel Banquet–Long supuso un golpe fuerte, pero el ritmo de trabajo no se detuvo, sino que impulsó aún más nuevas ideas. Por su parte, Rie es una artista japonesa que comenzó a tomar lecciones de piano a los cinco años. Sin embargo, no fue sino hasta el año 2000, después de pasar por varias bandas, que comenzó a registrar sus propias canciones. Desde ese entonces, y bajo el nombre de Miko, ha publicado dos discos, “Parade” (Plop, 2008) y “Chandelier” (Someone Good, 2010). Luego de un single, “Seashore” (Normal Cookie, 2012), tenemos propiamente su primera colección de canciones de Oh, Yoko, catorce piezas de pop electrónico de fidelidad baja que se recuestan sobre un colchón de sonidos orgánicos, ruido de segunda mano y texturas análogas. “Grabado en Tokio con un montaje de instrumentos acústicos y electrónicos vintage, micrófonos clásicos, found sounds y juguetes, ‘I Love You…’ es la primera declaración de Oh, Yoko de la apertura de la creatividad en momentos capturados de un simple hogar y la vida en la ciudad”. La fragilidad se apodera de las armonías infantiles que recorren cada centímetro de este álbum. “I Love You…” es débil, y esa debilidad hace que los sonidos que en su interior habitan deban ser tratados con el mayor cuidado. Y esa es precisamente la forma en que estos acordes son manipulados, con la máxima atención y esmero. Electrónica hogareña recubriendo melodías de almíbar que se derriten en la boca como algodón de azúcar y colorantes. El estruendo de la vida urbana se encuentra con el murmullo que reside en un hogar ubicado dentro del caos de su arquitectura, la geografía agreste y artificial convive con la naturaleza aislada en un parque inserto en medio de bloques de cemento. El bullicio de las tardes y la tranquilidad de las noches cohabitan en este trabajo de tiernas piezas de estructura simple, adornadas con luces como las de un árbol de navidad. “Heaven’s Gate” resplandece con su electricidad en medio de la calma acústica y la respiración que sale de los pulmones de Rie. Las flores de fuego iluminan la panorámica azul oscuro, y la lluvia de estrellas deja su rastro borroso sobre una fotografía fugaz. Siguen las melodías reservadas, encerradas en las paredes de la habitación. “Toumei” apenas asoma la cabeza sobre el cuerpo. Sin embargo, minutos después “Grand Prix” trae la sorpresa de la mano de una caja de ritmos y la alegre efusividad que brota de sus circuitos. De pronto, sin quererlo, sin pensarlo, los pies marcan el tiempo. La timidez se vuelven sensaciones extrovertidas. Pop multicolor en movimientos circulares. El desplazamiento ondulado permanece pero desacelerado. “I Did This, I Did That”, sintonías cazadas desde las emisiones en aire y las palabras recitadas. Música espacial que parecen cristales cósmicos, justo en el vértice opuesto de la lluvia cayendo sobre el suelo asfaltado de “Song With Coyotes”, una canción con coyotes e instrumentos de juguete, folk adiestrado entre la humedad, como los sonidos ásperos de “Treehouse”, sonidos encontrados en su estado natural. “Daylight Lunch”, “Keio Line” y “Take-Off” se evaden en las armonías que se pierden en el cielo y sus bordes expansivos. El regreso al folk digital viene con “Boîte de nuit”, una balada minimalista tendida sobre electricidad fina, un puente de delgadas fibras que sostienen la melodía, tiritando mientras la voz de Rie pronuncia palabras que me son indescifrables en mi ignorancia, pero que me reconfortan como si me las dijeran suavemente al oído. Tras el breve quiebre de “Newsbreak”, “Radio Days” recupera la quietud en una pieza que apenas parece esbozada, otro momento de fragilidad con los susurros como protagonistas desde la distancia, los mismos de “Ice Skating In The Dark”, solo que intercambiando el atardecer por el amanecer. Rayos de sol sobre el horizonte despierta la vegetación que levanta sus hojas hacia el cielo. Las notas reiteradas que podrían repetirse por la eternidad tienen como acompañante a la suavidad expuesta con una claridad abismante, Miko y el canto amable junto a los paisajes luminosos. El folk estelar y el murmullo que desborda familiaridad esconden las melodías de exquisitez inagotable. Otra vez el sol oculta su brillo anaranjado, al mismo tiempo que las palabras descansan sobre las líneas horizontales de acústica digitalizada. “Love Song” se propaga indefinidamente con sus breves y esporádicos destellos.

“I Love You…” es una hermosa declaración de amor compartido que nos es entregada para que creamos que algo más es posible. De estructuras simples y acabados artesanales, estas canciones nacieron para ser amadas y tratadas con cuidado. Rye y Will nos muestran la intimidad de su hogar, y con ello el ruido doméstico que adorna sus habitaciones.

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This intriguing electro-pop album seems to float above my player, a gentle female voice singing something beautiful in Japanese with an 8-bit keyboard adding a slow rhythm over a synthesized underlayer of ambient music.

That’s “Tourmi,” perhaps my favorite cut on this dreamy collection. “Grand Prix” is more rhythm heavy, but still floating in the same time field of unobtrusive pop soundlings. Low-res audio infuses this tea ceremony; it’s as if all the Casio keyboards of your youth got together and went to Julliard. Another noteworthy track is “Song with Coyotes.” Raindrops fall off the digital leaves of a tropical forest as a harmonica tunes up. The band searches for a sound that they can’t quite hit, and exotic birds cry out in the background “Arrrrrthuuur LYYYman! Arrrrrthuuur LYYYman!” These must be Hawaiian coyotes.

Oh, Yoko mixes low tech sounds, complex overlays, pop culture samples, and breathy intimate vocals to create a special place of calm and reasonableness and a place of childlike play and inquiry. How can you not relax? Even the coyotes are relaxed.

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This is the debut album for the duo of Rie Mitsutake and Will Long, released on the relatively new label Normal Cookie from Japan.  Given that most of the previously unheard artists I have received from Japanese labels have been of the highest quality I was excited as to what I may hear.

‘Heavens Gate’ opens up this 14-tracker, with lo-fi analogue electronics and female harmonies that float of kilter against one another, slipping off parallel that works more than it should in theory; either way I was surprised as to just how engaging this was as a whole.

There is more than a pop influence to Mitsutake and Long’s work.  When the former sings, it’s more often than not in her native tongue; but this is rarely an issue and she still manages to hold the listener regardless of their linguistic skills (or lack of).

There is something so unremarkably simplistic about “I Love You’, that it’s remarkable in itself; and whilst it would be easy to dismiss a lot of the output on the release, the retro sensibilities fit a certain guilty pleasure of mine when it comes to a lot of Japanese music, regardless of genre, somehow often owing more to the music I listen to than is immediately obvious.

This debut will most likely find itself at some point onto my phone for listening to whilst travelling to work and that’s no mean feat in itself; a peculiar, yet strangely alluring album that I enjoyed from start to finish that holds its weight well in the originality stakes.

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It’s wonderful to see Will Long, for so long associated with Celer, exploring an entirely new direction in Oh, Yoko, his group project with partner Rie Mitsutake (aka Miko, known for her full-length albums on Plop and Someone Good), with whom he manages the Normal Cookie and Bun Tapes labels. The fourteen songs on their debut Oh, Yoko album offer a striking blend of lo-fi vocal pop and electronic experimentalism, with all of it created from found sounds, toys, field recordings, and vintage electronic and acoustic instruments and recorded at their Tokyo home base. Sunny in spirit, the recording is marked by a playful and explorative sensibility, and seemingly documents Long and Mitsutake working through the process of pinning down the Oh, Yoko identity. Though the duo issued the Seashore EP earlier this year, it featured a single original only, making I Love You… the first in-depth presentation of the group’s sound.

Things start promisingly with “Heaven’s Gate,” a shimmering synthetic soundworld against which murmured vocals, acoustic guitar, and melodica intone, and gentle ballad-styled pieces and serene, entrancing settings for organ, synthesizers, and vocals (“Toumei,” “Daylight Lunch”) follow in quick succession. Lyrically, the songs are sincere and straightforward declarations about love, nature, and simple pleasures that Mitsutake typically sings softly in her native tongue though sometimes in English, too. Instrumentally, the music is often soothing in style and design, though an unexpected element occasionally surfaces, whether it be the ‘80s-styled drum machine rhythm coursing through “Grand Prix,” the relentless synth stab in “Keio Line,” or the warbly synthesizer fluttering through “I Did This, I Did That.” While most songs include singing, some are largely instrumental soundpaintings, such as “Song with Coyotes,” which accompanies field recordings (of nature sounds and, yes, coyote yelps) with melodica wheeze, kalimba plucks, and Mitsutake’s wordless musings. While an experimental radiophonic vignette like “Take-off” is interesting, the fifty-eight-minute album’s most affecting moments arise during traditionally designed songs such as “Boîte de nuit,” whose hazy lilt exudes a seductive aura reminiscent of Mazzy Starr, and “Radio Days,” whose soft, nostalgic glow evokes the feel of a ‘60s radio ballad.

That I Love You… is marked by an occasional non sequitur isn’t a crippling weakness; if anything, the abrupt shifts in mood and style from one song to the next keeps the listener on his/her toes waiting in anticipation for what comes next. Having said that, it is jarring to encounter “Newsbreak,” containing Paul McCartney’s infamous first public reaction to John Lennon’s death (“‘Drag, isn’t it?”), appearing amidst Oh, Yoko’s other songs, though, once again, the effect, though odd, isn’t unpleasant. If anything, the randomness is consistent with the duo’s desire to distill the everyday moments of home and city life into aural form, which they do repeatedly on this consistently endearing recording.

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L’ennesima pubblicazione della sconfinata discografia di Celer può rappresentare l’esempio perfetto per smentire i luoghi comuni tanto sull’immediatezza creativa di opere sperimentali quanto sulla magniloquenza espressiva sottostante alle frequenti lunghe sinfonie ambientali di Will Thomas Long. “Radish” consta infatti di ben diciannove brevi tracce prive di titolo, contrassegnate soltanto dal loro numero progressivo ed elaborate nel corso degli ultimi due anni a partire da frammenti strumentali, field recordings, suoni e rumori dalle matrici più disparate.

L’incessante successione delle tracce, sostanzialmente antitetica al loro essenziale contenuto, offre una sensazione di continua mutazione delle istantanee in movimento di Long, che disegnano una sequenza mutevole tale da restituire nell’ascolto lo stream of consciousness nel quale è stata compilata. Come la concisione di respiri che si avvicendano spontaneamente l’uno dopo l’altro, i diciannove brani mostrano una tecnica di impressionistiche suggestioni sonore, talora prodotte da frequenze e rumori appena al di sopra del livello della percezione e quasi solo nei passaggi relativamente più articolati (due sole tracce superano i cinque minuti di durata) sviluppate in minute partiture di placido ipnotismo ambientale.

Pur rinunciando a lavorare sulla persistenza, Long non ha depotenziato il contenuto immaginifico delle sue creazioni, quanto piuttosto ha inteso cristallizzare il fascino degli elementi più volativi di un descrittivismo emozionale costituito da un pulviscolo di brevi schegge sonore, la cui valenza in questa forma viene anzi esaltata.

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