Isambard Khroustaliov and Ben Carey – Field Recordings From Other Constellations

Not Applicable

An immediate ignition; a series of fluttering electronic sound signals arrival. The where is hard to spot as the constant chirrup of unknown variables the static stutter of distant disturbances. A settled reflection sits atop a burr of metallic brogue that is alive with chatter, the ironic sound of rebellion.

This could be the last bastion of anti-AI before it is overwhelmed with the rush of the anodyne future. Here the random is entwined with structure in a way that only sentient beings can predict. The where is still hard to say, but the synth processions have a human rhythm that is intercepted by the whirl and flutter of thoughts. It moves sedately, welcoming with many arms, sounds decaying, savoured and considered before immediately being reborn, repurposed and refreshed.

The aftermath of a signal hum and drone, a beetle flicker of resonance in the depths. There is a constancy of movement at a remove, a beat of sorts submerged and subtly infused with a distant tone that reflects years of travel, refracted through unknown quadrants. A Geiger counter life-flow is scattered, its crevices explored; while just above silence, we are inducted before a wave of paranoia erupts.

The future sounds reflect analogue obsessions; the tap of a typewriter or the release of pressure valves as the embrace of old and new continues unchecked and an unknown language begins its first faltering steps. It is the language of pressure and release, the drawing together of the diverse, plunging it headlong into unexpected unions. There is something oddly warming; a playful heart obscured by a skin which has grown calloused over time and the scorch of distant atmospheres. The distant outpost manned for millennia keeps its constant transmission as the skin grows and the language evolves.

Sounds are remembered and distorted, distended and inverted to produce something new, but with a tang of familiarity; a distant essence that licks at the lizard brain yet curls with a warmth that finds tenderness in repetition. The sounds are considered and reflected, tasted on what passes for a tongue and then released to settle, pooling at the edges of perception, an eventual drift through time and space that never ceases as the search continues.

-Mr Olivetti-