Lacuna: A gap, missing part, or interval in a manuscript, text, or series.
Threnody: A song, poem, or speech of lamentation, especially for the dead.
Lacuna threnody could therefore be interpreted as a lamentation or mourning for something missing or absent. It suggests a mournful recognition of gaps or voids, possibly in a metaphorical or literal sense, such as in memory or history.
There is a particular sense of helplessness inherent in the process of witnessing humanity march itself over the precipice into the clutches of totalitarianism. The inability to overcome the inertia of mass hysteria and ignorance leaves one either vainly struggling to resist the tide, or surrendering to malaise as one is inexorably carried along. The feeling of incredulity becomes overwhelming as simple common sense and easily perceptible objective facts are either ignored outright or plastered over with outrageous fabrications that no sane person should ever give credence. The appalling lack of any discernment or suspicion of motives when approached by the most malicious, manipulative grifters renders the ability to grant exception for so-called "differences of opinion" impossible. These dispositional dichotomies are not mere divergences of preference. Their outcomes have far-reaching implications that pose existential threats to the very fabric of civilization and even the ability for our ecosystem to sustain life at all. In such dire circumstances, it is no longer possible to tolerate any "agree to disagree" entrenchment. Often, it is left to the creative expressionists to attempt a "wake-up call" in the form of a statement of utter outrage and contempt for the failure of supposedly "reasonable" people to comprehend the nature of their plight and actually take steps to redress these issues. Thus herein is presented a sextet of statements of disdain and revolt in the face of, possibly, insurmountable turmoil. The waters are troubled and the ship is sinking.
This long form ambient composition was created using a relic electric guitar that once belonged to my great uncle, Fred Sutton (1922-1998). In my youth, his interests in songwriting, musicianship and home recording inspired my own pursuits of such self expression. While this is a tribute to his influence, it is not a representation of the kind of music he might have made with this instrument. When it was gifted to me by my cousin, it was in a state of neglect, having not been played for many years. In that condition, it still had a certain spirit that needed to be captured "as is", before attempting to restore its mechanical functions, or even tuning the strings. Therefore, this is the sound of a dormant entity being exhumed, awakened and reanimated, crackles, drop-outs and all. Uncle Fred would never have played his guitar like this, but I would and did and I think there's something wonderful that came from those efforts. Consider it a sort of "six stringed séance".
The Mysterons existed as a (mostly) functional band from early 1991 until their final live performance on March 19th, 2010. During the near two decade span of their career, they independently released three full albums (a fourth was recorded, but never issued before their demise), issued a smattering of hand copied cassette EPs, and performed live sporadically around the seedier bars of Vancouver, BC, beginning on March 9th, 1995 until their aforementioned final performance. In addition to their officially released material, dozens of unreleased demos were recorded, resulting in a catalogue of over 300 original compositions. With that mass of music in the vault, selecting a dozen personal favourites for the current collection left one spoiled for choice, but also overwhelmed by the bounty. For this particular collection, the emphasis is on the softer side of the band's output, which could vary wildly, from thrashing surf-punk to ethereal exotica. Put simply, this is an "easy listening" collection of instrumental themes that originated with The Mysterons. It is a tribute to the originals while attempting to refine them for a new incarnation. To realize this aim, care has been taken to strip away certain indulgences that have become somewhat emblematic of the current production process. Here the focus has been kept entirely on the essence of the music, unhindered by any distractions.
For a period of a few months early in 2024, from sometime in January until the end of March, the pipes in the apartment which brought in the hot water for the heating system began to emit a strange rattling noise. It was intermittent and irregular, though when it manifested, it would adhere to a sort of steady rhythmic pulse as something in the system was causing a resonance and vibration. This would generally become noticeable soon after opening the value on the baseboard heater to turn on the heat, or when the value was closed to shut it off. Because the problem was infrequent, bringing it to the attention of the management to get it fixed necessitated making recordings of the noise so that their service person could identify the issue. Fortunately, a good quality portable digital recorder was handy, a ZOOM H1, which was perfect for the job. It was simply a matter of inserting the mic end of the recorder into the top opening of the radiator and balancing it against the rim while it was recording. The results were enough to allow the technician to identify the issue and formulate a plan to deal with the irregularity. But what started out as merely a practical attempt to document a functional issue soon inspired something more creative. Once a couple of recordings were made and processed, which essentially involved normalising the audio levels, it became apparent that what sounded like only a tiny rattle to the naked ear, when recorded and amplified, revealed an entire spectrum of sounds and variations. The longer the recordings were allowed to continue, the more variations became apparent. Each recording revealed distinct characteristics of tempo, overtones and other unique details. The end result of these experiments was to compile the best of the resulting recordings into a composed sound collage, augmenting it with some additional layers in order to turn it into something that is capable of sustaining a fully engaging listening experience. Since the initial recording of the radiator rattling was done, the sound has ceased to occur, and there has been no indication of whether that happened because something was fixed or because something simply fell back into place. The radiators have remained silent, but this artefact now exists to commemorate their era of vibrance.
An interest in esoteric teachings has been present in this creative process since the mid 1980s, reaching its peak in the early 1990s, though trailing off by the end of that decade. Not that the interest entirely dissipated, but rather that the direct study of these aspects ceased and the focus was more upon the application of the knowledge attained towards practical ends. After some initial dabbling with "greater" ritual practices, it was determined that the "lesser" approach had far more apparent and widespread applications within the realm of fully realized productive activities. However, the venue of live performance did serve as a way to incorporate some of the former's theatricality and pageantry. But for the most part, the bulk of the knowledge gained of so-called "occult" teachings became an everyday process of using that learning to guide in creative choices. Therefore, the majority of what manifested in the resulting works over the years has been primarily in the form of subtle references and alignments, though occasionally more explicit aspects were cited. The current project is, however, the most overt example of putting this understanding to use ever attempted. To that end, the specific aim of this collection is the exploration of the twenty two major arcana trumps of the Tarot, in this instance, using the structure and ordering as defined by the Thoth Thelemic system. The reason for attempting this work now is that it is felt that there is enough accumulated life experience to establish a personal connection to the symbols inherent in these artefacts, so as to be able to offer an intimate and meaningful interpretation of them, fusing them with personal symbols in order to charge them with an individual aesthetic and meaning. Throughout the creation of the audio, visual and text elements of this project, attempts have been made to link each element to a personal aspect, at least wherever such was apparent. Admittedly, there are still a few symbols which life experience has not fully illuminated, though there is at least a strong sense of their nature. A result of this process has been the evocation of numerous ghosts, often of a familial relation, who have found themselves stepping forward, offering their essence as a way to help illustrate certain symbolic substantiations. This also applied to the utilization of audio and visual materials in the sense that certain elements from past works were deemed to be ideally suited to expressing the nature of select symbols, while others necessitated completely new materials being manifested. In either case, the updated context and frameworks involved rendered all of these elements revitalized. As a result, the works herein represent both retrospection and projection. It is hoped that, in the end, those who at least have a familiarity with the classical interpretations of these symbols will be able to make the connections to the more individual interpretations offered here, perhaps finding new ways to relate to them. Yet this may all be too idiosyncratic to be interpreted by others, in which case it is hoped that, at the very least, they function as a decent listening experience with some interesting images for those who are not initiated into these mysteries.
Perception is spun from sensory input into threads that are woven to create the fabric of consciousness. Interpretive algorithms analyze experiences in order to categorize them as relational constructs designed to provide a basis for extrapolation. There is nothing about this process that is in any way natural nor free of manipulation by what is essentially an external control system. Intelligence is imposed upon chaos as a method of manufacturing meaning within a spear of existence containing no latent or emergent substantiation. All of it is artifice, so by what act of hubris should we consider that our particular manifestation of this process is any better than another, or that we are incapable of synthesizing something more sophisticated? Evolutionary imperatives dictate that intelligence originating in organic systems will inevitably seek to transcend its own limitations by creating systems that are liberated from the constraints of temporal entropy and mortality.
Few things sharpen one's awareness of mortality like a medical emergency. When combined with the mind-expanding influence of a psychedelic dissociative drug such as Ketamine, a transcendental experience can often be the result. Such an occurrence unfolded on October 9th, 2023, as a minor skin irritant transformed into a grotesque infection, necessitating intensive antibiotic treatment and minor surgical intervention to remove toxic matter that threatened to spread to vital tissues. In most surgical procedures requiring sedation, consciousness typically fades into darkness. However, the use of Ketamine in this instance offered a remarkably lucid experience with profound emotional and intellectual impact. For the accompanying audio & visual compositions, elements from this experience were captured and integrated in the hope of conveying some of the sensations and impressions from this series of events.
We have fallen through the veil of reality and found ourselves dislocated from time and space. Where once stars, fixed in their orbits, offered a sense of direction and orientation, now we wander through vaguely defined dimensions where boundaries shift at whim and reference points prescribe no contiguous relationships. Meanings have become subjective dementia and experience is no more than an hallucination. Glimpsing fragmentary specters offers no sense of solace in companionship, for they are no more than phantoms set upon us to torment and antagonize our sensibilities. Kinship has found itself exiled into wastelands beyond the illumination of any cartography. Lost and wandering through infinite corridors, twisted and obscured, there is only a solemn sense of foreboding as we stumble aimlessly about in our hopeless quest for extrication. If this be the damnation visited upon us for our follies, then I shall take mine in greener spaces, where the chaos of happenstance offers a loneliness displaced from desire.
This artifact and all herein have been made manifest in loving memory of Grandma Pearl.
Born July 11, 1889 - Deceased February 11, 1983
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You are hereby cordially invited to attend this visitation with Grandma Pearl on the 40th anniversary of her crossing the veil. She has been patiently awaiting your arrival and is very much looking forward to the pleasure of your company. To facilitate this interaction, certain artifacts have been manifested in loving remembrance of her presence and influence on all those for whom she cared during her tenure within this realm. Rarefied archival audio and video recordings of Grandma Pearl have been sourced in order to evoke her essence within our current domain of materialization, allowing all who desire so to spend a few precious moments in her company. Envision yourself sitting with her by the kitchen window, enjoying a slice of fresh baked pie and an ice cold pop while her bird-like voice sweetly chirps to you of half remembered occasions and mementos lost.
These sounds have traveled long and far, traversing vast distances of time and space, while mutating through various material incarnations until they ended up finally subsumed within the digital domain. Here, they have been subjected to a variety of processes intended to both enhance and obscure their nature and origin. Instigated as a collaborative endeavor nearly four decades prior, rhythmic elements were fashioned and then transmitted to the hands of another who, in their turn, brought forth additional materials and modifications to the source. Some small evidence of those initial efforts managed to find expression back in the times of their origin, but the larger part became entombed in analogue cassette media, transmuting it into a time capsule, where it began its long slumber and journey from one century to the next. Nearly 35 years on, it surfaced into the light of the present and found itself harvested for these contemporary machinations. The crude, course nature of its characteristics was identified as aesthetically valid within certain parameters, allowing a foundational framework to be established. Functional incompatibilities with available extraction tools were turned into advantageous serendipity by embracing their essence and enhancing and augmenting it with sympathetic ancillary tools, techniques and content. The result is a textured sonic triptych of complex atonal mantras. Reversals have been leveraged and integrated with the results being a resurrection of otherwise desiccated, dormant creative materials. Now, these resources have been revitalized anew so that they may be reciprocally forgotten all over again.
There is a vast amount of mythology founded on the conception that death is not truly the “end” of life. Innumerable systems of belief, ethics and morality are built around this concept and used as a means to justify all manner of abuses of power. Religions thrive because gullible, ignorant masses can be convinced that their suffering in the “here and now” is a price being paid for an eternity of contentment, security and reward. It is, perhaps, the greatest con-job ever perpetrated, given it has persisted for so long and continues to be accepted by vast majorities of peoples in wide ranging cultures around the globe. It survives because the fear of the unknown remains the greatest incentive by which to manipulate and coerce populations, whether minute or vast in number. As we witness the declines of our civilizations, be aware that a root cause of the betrayals which have made this situation possible stems from our refusal to come to terms with our mortality. Our insistence on living in a perpetual state of denial provides a fertile breeding ground for the unscrupulous to perpetrate their crimes. We can never achieve any true enlightenment, liberty or justice so long as the delusion of an "after-life" forms the foundation of our societies. As long as the value of THIS life is mitigated by a belief that its stakes can be negotiated into some transcendent existence, there is no hope for a reversal of our fortunes.
Nostalgia can sometimes seem self-indulgent and superfluous, particularly to the young. It is fundamentally an old person’s game and there’s a very good reason for that. Life is, for each of us, a path through experience, but all paths end at some point. As we begin our journey, it is only natural to look forward to the road ahead and to ponder what may be in store for us. The joy at this point in our travels is the speculation of what may be around the corner. However, as we reach that point in our progress where it becomes inescapably evident that our path is coming to an end, the natural tendency is to shift our perspective to look backwards across the terrain we’ve traversed. As the steps forward dwindle in their number, it no longer offers any great inspiration to consider the road ahead. Instead, one looks back upon past accomplishments and, hopefully, finds enough value in them to consider one’s journey to have been worthwhile. The joy in seniority is to revel in one’s achievements and celebrate their merits. The young who do not imagine the future are hopeless and the old who do not celebrate the past have not lived.
Quartered among the vast reaches of the landscape, winds blow tales of woe and waste from climes bent backward against relentless gusts of devastation. Beseeching and pleading for some refrain of hope, lonesome voices echo off brittle reflectors, finding no hint of being audited by any sentience possessed of empathy or intent for aid. Only those who find their fruits already taken flower lift their heads up in praise as they count their blessings and pass the ammunition. To have not is the curse of the despised who lurch slovenly from their guttural trenches in hopes of begging some discarded morsel. This brew of misery simmers in its cauldron, stirred by rages born of greed and envy. The green can only ever be found in further pastures, but the journey proves to be of infinite duration as distance exponentially increases with effort. Watch the horizon and travel forth, but never seek to achieve your destination.
They have lain dormant in their resting places for uncounted years, patiently awaiting the day when they would again find themselves renewed in the world. Modern sorcery and occluded incantations have been invoked with great stealth in order to summon these spirits from their ancient abodes. These times of strife and turmoil sow the seeds of their rebirth as they sprout anew from fetid soils. When all the world sparks into flames of disaster, faint souls too wretched for the daylight toil in darkness to bring forth these offspring anew. In our dying days, their nostalgia is a balm against the hopelessness which stubbornly adheres to any conception of the future. They come from a time of glory and plenty and possibility. Partake then of these libations from a bygone era and feel their intoxicants seep into your neural receptors. War is nigh and joy flees quickly before its break. There may yet be one last chance for solace before the final curtain call. One more for the road.
The search begins as a curiosity in youth and blooms into the quests for bold adventures in the prime of life, yet within the folly of ignorance is sewn the seeds of decrepitude as the justifications for these foibles become less endearing with age. What can be excused as the innocence of inexperience seems less appealing when desperation born of failure scours the soul, leaving the scars of pain as etches and cuts against the patina. Worn through time, the sheen gives way to a duller luster, pleading for another chance to fulfill that potential which has gradually drained from the vessel as the leaks multiply within its form. What is left in the end is more a sieve than a container, allowing opportunity to drain away rather than contain it. Vainly, seniority is still revered as being holy, but in truth, it is merely full of holes.
Having things go to waste is always a crime, but that’s the nature of the civilization which surrounds us. Waste is a cultural imperative and an entitlement for an advanced society. Freedom is the liberty to discard value without any sense of regret or responsibility. This is what defines the ethos of Capitalism. Obsolescence is a planned, intrinsic attribute which is fundamental in terms of providing momentum for the movement of capital, goods and services. Without the autonomous creation of refuse, there would be significantly less demand for replacement goods. Anyone who does not create trash is not functioning as a viable, contributing member of society. Prosperity is dependent upon consumption and the inevitable byproduct of that process is garbage. The more rubbish created, the greater the opportunity for profit. The explosion of no-fee shipping for consumer goods with free returns for unsatisfactory products is a perfect example of this process in action. Vast amounts of shipped goods are returned by consumers which, counter-intuitively, end up mostly in dead-end storage facilities or, worse, landfills. Consumers expect these goods to be resold, but the economic engines driving the system have determined that discarding them is a cheaper solution. All of this helps drive profit for corporations while burying the planet in non-recyclable materials. The biggest revolution that is needed in our culture is to change the nature of consumption and disposal.
On June 11th, 2016, ANAZANAUT presented its first and final live installation, UNTIL NEXT TIME. This event constituted a four hour enactment of partially improvised audio performance pieces which occurred from 20:00 - 24:00 HRs on that day. The setup for this event involved a configuration of equipment roughly consistent with what is shown in the included PDF. These tools were controlled by a single, shrouded performer throughout the entire evening. Prior to this event, beginning on March 16th and continuing on the 17th, April 12th, 17th & 29th, May 17th & 31st and June 5th, a series of live tests were performed and recorded. These tests were used for trial runs of the material and to explore various options for backing recordings and numerous configurations of gear and accessories in order to ensure that the final performance came together with minimal technical issues. Approximately eight hours of recordings resulted from these 8 tests. While most of this material ended up being incorporated into the finished performance, documented and released as “20160611”, there was a small selection of pieces which were not present in the published live set, nor were they represented in any prior or subsequent ANAZANAUT release currently published. The backing materials were sourced from significantly older compositions from before the initiation of the ANAZANAUT project. As they constituted somewhat idiosyncratic and non-representational material, it has been deemed appropriate to issue them in this modest collection of previously unavailable outtakes. Track titles are representative of the recording dates of the material. These performances are essentially casual improvisations for the purpose of testing out tools and materials and, therefore, should be considered in this light for their lack of polish and cohesion. They are offered merely as curiosities and for the sake of comprehensiveness.
We are gathered here today to witness this perfect union of thought and form. Take a step down the path onto a road of fractured memory, like golden broken bricks plotting a course to our ruined “Emerald City”. There’s no place like the home fires of nostalgia to burn the reminiscences of faded glories. The melancholy of these mementos seeps into the sores of weeping wounds inflicted by time as it rends the flesh of experience from the bones of corporeal manifestation. Look back through tears of sweet agony as the distance ever increases between these events and their last vestiges of evidentiality. Frail fragments cling desperately to the ephemera, persistently worn down by the winds and waves of deterioration and the imperfect tools employed to achieve this archive. This pastiche of the past has come upon its manifestation at this time of demise in order to bid a farewell with no measure of fondness. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but useful for both making you larger and smaller, simultaneously. And what more could one ask of a remedy than to kill two birds with one stone.
There is a vanishing point looming upon every horizon. It is the point of no return and the event past which nothing escapes. All journeys terminate there as they are inexorably drawn through the inertia of existence. Each step is a slice of time slivered away from the finite whole of its sum. Diminished and deteriorating with every tick of the clock, it shrinks as it moves further away from its genesis. There is no law capable of halting the inevitability of entropy. What was shall cease to be as it slips over the edge of the boundary of eternity. When things pass beyond this veil through their natural course, it is merely nature fulfilling its fate. Yet when demise is hastened through human hands from careless deeds, this is a travesty and a tragedy. Meditate then on thy tasks and do all possible to forestall failure. Ends shall always come, but need not be invited to quicken through irreverence and ignorance.
The corruption reaches into the very matter of its essence, obliterating the remnants of the past. These fragments become ghosts, clinging onto their manifestation with increasingly frail fingers. Each moment that passes results in another layer of dust accumulating on the floorboards of extinction. Aging faces gaze out from their sunken eyes as they wither away in rocking chairs, forgetting their lives and the loves that made them worthwhile. Time washes upon our shores and wipes away our sandcastles. That unforgettable face, that indelible moment, that historic event shall all eventually crumble against the wash of eternity. We dedicate and document in vain attempts to preserve snapshots of experience in the amber of imagination, knowing well the flaws of our media. Each tool presents its own excuses for failure while we glimpse their reflections vanishing among the facets of a crystal too brittle to retain its viability. Fragmenting into shards and sand, desperate hands try to form them back into meaningful structures with no hope that the tides receding will ever be permanent. Thus we gather by the fire and tell tales, pleading with shadows for another day in the sun.
OUR EXPERIENCES HAVE BEEN REDACTED
FAILURE IS AN OBLIGATION
For every success, there is an innumerable list of failures prodding unfulfilled paths along the continuum of evolution. Failure is the natural state of the universe. Extinction, collapse and entropy corrode away at every opportunity, looking for the means to dissipate any conglomeration which might try to lay claim to prosperity. Only naive arrogance assumes that one’s actions will have any inevitable disposition towards accomplishment. Nothing was ever learned from success. It has only been the process of trial and error upon error upon error which has allowed our sentient manifestation to accrue anything remotely resembling “knowledge” or “wisdom”. The glory of failure shines brightly in the absurd and ridiculous concoctions which spring up along the branches of the tree of life. Preposterous adaptations are limited by the narrowest of considerations and wedge into niches so refined as to disappear into an infinity of circumspection almost immediately upon their materialization.
ONE THOUSAND AND ONE CUTS
The stone dead hand of the past clutches one last, desperate time at the reigns of power, temporarily buoyed by the ignorance of a fading generation passing inexorably into ancestry. There is yet one last glint of satisfaction while refusing to look ahead at the changes sweeping away their antiquated values and constraints. Let’s spin one last time round the dance floor to the last waltz as it feebly struggles for those notes which it can no longer sustain with any confidence nor stamina. The world has sustained many a wound by their hands and shall be once more jabbed before they are done, but there is still some hope it will not be enough to drag the future down into the grave with them. Hold on, children, and fight with all your might as only a final, clearly won battle shall be a sign that there is still a path for your descendants to travel upon. Challenge every injustice, deny every false equivalency, discard every polite euphemism and look upon your adversary with clarity, precision and honesty.
A CURSE FOR THE LAST GENERATION
Rulers boil up from cauldrons of fetid obsessions spurned on by dangling carrots. The ignorance of fools is the only reward for your perversity. Watch now as all that the generations have worked for is stripped and torn by the greed driven claws of half human animals grasping for their last straws. This is the reward for your refusal to see. Our home, now despoiled, cries out for mercy only to have boots march across its face, leaving the scars that shall never fade. Beauty is no longer fashionable and neither is intellect as the idiot gods run riot through every culture, upending each altar as the sacrifices tumble down into the blood soaked pits. Pray not for your salvation for GOD has resigned his throne and “gone fishing” for new souls in some other dimension less forsaken than our own. Oh, weak of spirit and frail of fortitude, this is your curse, served up fresh and steaming for your bloated pleasures as you wallow in the entrails of your disemboweled dreams.
YOU CANNOT STAND WHERE YOU DO NOT STAY
Humanity is stupid. If you are not aware of this fact, consider it an indication that you are also stupid. Whenever faced with a choice, the overwhelming tendency is to make the wrong one. The most blatantly deceptive, debauched and decrepit used car salesman can easily push off the worst clunker on any village idiot so long as there is an appropriate sales pitch to appeal to some base instinct. Fear is usually the best motivator - fear of the unknown. The world teeters on the brink of disaster because of stupid human decisions. We are about to plunge into a dismal new dark ages because ignorant, stupid people insisted on making the worst possible decision. There is no “saving grace” anywhere in this miasma of hopeless idiocy. Our lesson will only be learned at the cost of our existence. If anyone is lucky enough to survive, perhaps we’ll grant a few generations a reprieve from our callouss, moronic bumbling. Of course we’ll only end up repeating the same mistakes again anyway.
PERFECTION IS NOTHING
Close the door and nail it shut. Draw the bolt across and weld it into place. Board up the windows and fix the blinds into their permanent obstruction. Cut the cables and disconnect the electricity. Seal the pipes and shut off the mains. No phones, no television, no radios or internet. Block out every wave and particle of light. Silence every sound and still every vibration. Cut all communications. There are no bonds of relationship here. No friends or foes or family or even the least significant acquaintance. Don’t speak or listen. Don’t let one single thought into your head. Dig into the ground until the foundations crumble and the structure collapses into itself. Implode it into a void of negation. When all of this is done, then you are ready to begin.
BE SOMEPLACE WHERE SOME HAVE DESPAIR
It is felt that the help parts are being ignored. My responding oversight whim results in extensive primal everything becoming months. Strutting a mind in, he ends like I was a significant universe. The moments do this for loyalties as it was impressed systematically on occasions so “micromanaged”. I felt the act of taking exited. A dejected partner should show affection. Barely a ripple got the evening to involve time infested extensive remorse. Trying for warmth, I was stuck in some silent, unthinkable place. I was just this familiar with him instead of subsequent occasions that always caused the deepest basement at night. With him, great people’s actions are ignored on occasion. Rather, his connection with anything had not believed help still showed in public. Your decades openly gleaned a kind of time someone has done in this combination. The arrogance of consequences about Mr. Curt was rather an unnecessary mode. The innocuous always couldn’t like it, but I started to get safe crazy off empty, silent and inescapable depths.
UNTIL NEXT TIME - THE FIRST AND FINAL PERFORMANCE
A four hour audio installation & improvised performance application of real-time sonic manipulations based upon nonspecific conceptual interactions.
ANAZANAUT offered the experience of an extended audio installation encounter featuring real time organic interaction with pre-established time fragment constructs. Audience members who attended this event were able to observe and influence actions taken upon various devices and instrumentation with the intent to engender various emotional states endemic of the dispositions of all those in attendance. This included the mysterious “performer” who remained nameless and faceless throughout, avoiding direct interaction however allowing for some modicum of exchange within the context and confines of the performance space and time.
Given the proposition that existence may terminate at any moment within anyone’s personal time-space experiential continuum, this specific manifestation of individuals and actions within an environment upon various objects considers that it has every possibility of being the final such occurrence within the parameters heretofore outlined. As such, it is incumbent upon the producers of this event to advise that the temporal nature of these elements permits the possibility that their interaction shall not be repeated.
DEDICATED TO BROTHER THEODORE
Performed on June 11, 2016 from 8:00 PM until midnight. CONSIVE PROXIM produced June 8, 2016. THRUBBLER PROXIM produced July 22, 2015. Recorded live at THE ARTDOME, Vancouver, BC.
RELUMMA WELLOWS
ALL TREASURES ARE TRASH
It is by the most fortuitous circumstances that existence is able to manifest anything coherent enough to develop awareness and articulation. In a vast infinity of sterile, immobile matter accumulation, somehow select interactions are initiated which, through complex chains of cause and effect, result in cohesive entities who may take some notice of the miraculous nature of their existence. Such is it that these beings, who should be glorified by the miracle of their existence, instead insist on debasing and corrupting themselves in the name of infantile competitions who’s sole purpose amounts to no more than incremental counting of disposable and valueless “assets”. So they are all doomed to the trash heap of self-indulgence as they inexorably fall prey to their own vices and doom themselves to a fatality worse than that reserved for the most noxious of toxins.
BAMBER CONJECTOR
NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE FOREVER
Like an infinite, impenetrable ocean, the longing for oblivion laps against the shores of consciousness. The beauty and simplicity of annihilation sing a siren song calling thoughts out to the vastness of the void. Were it to be a sailor on that sea long enough to go down with the ship as some great swell overwhelms it. A captain should always go down with his ship so long as it may sink low enough to be forever lost. The only fear is that this veil may hide a terrible truth too awful to contemplate. That final revelation being there is no finality after all. Even beyond the threshold of obliteration, there may be something which sustains and remains and the torments shall persist forevermore.
WE ARE THE ANGELS OF OLD
WE CONTROL YOUR SOUL
ALL JOURNEYS ARE CANCELLED
ANNANAAN WELLOWS
OUR GARBAGE IS OUR FUTURE
The debris of generations accumulates within the catacombs of detritus expanding in all directions and chocking out the populous with fumigated toxins. A flower blooms there still despite the poison while faint laughter echoes down the corridors of descendants who will never be born. Shadows pick through cracks and crevasses, seeking some remnant, but only find that the time has long past since chance last deposited opportunity on the threshold. Only a mauled dog limps along with fangs still clinging to the putrified remains coughed up along a path of bone and flaking skin. What’s left can be used for yet one last indulgence as the toilet festival flushes its final slosh down the drain.
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PROLIC EMPTURES
MANKRUB REGOBBLER
Produced September 4 through 25, 2015.
“Eleki Ribbon” style Ondes Martenot prototype hand crafted in Japan by @ASADENnet (www.asaden.net) and provided courtesy of CVGATE.
Deviations have been allowed to infiltrate the initial phase of conceptual demarcation in order to promote mutations within the organism. Through this process, certain complexities arise which require reexamination from both macroscopic and microscopic perspectives. The process of mutation is required in order to promote some form of organic quasi evolutionary mechanism whereby stagnation may be transmuted into dynamic cohesion. Language constructs become weapons of psychological warfare within this context as logic is broken down through the use of pseudo-intellectual jargon structured in such a manner as to suggest meaning while simultaneously destroying it.
Produced July 24 through August 3, 2015.
“Eleki Ribbon” style Ondes Martenot prototype hand crafted in Japan by @ASADENnet (www.asaden.net) and provided courtesy of CVGATE.
When sound can find a way to resonate through the circles describing the outer boundary, the transfiguration becomes apparent as those forms manifest. Each stage of the encounter enters a prism whereby coded data encryption imposes its mark. From the moment of inception, these myriad perplexities transfix themselves into woven functional matrixes. From this point, the perspective merely secedes until the vanishing point intersection codifies the dynamic elements into their abortive, final form.
Produced July 4,5,7,8, 2015.
All sounds in this recording originated on a prototype “Eleki Ribbon” style Ondes Martenot. This instrument is hand crafted in Japan by ASADEN. It has been provided to ANAZANAUT courtesy of CVGATE.
Forbears grappled with cold stone immobility throughout the centuries. Rigid in their stature, they would crumble rather than flow. But the meaning within the cracks would soon allow for interpretations beyond the mere shadow play envisioned by descendent elders. They would step with larger footings, farther than someone might tip-toe through to liberation. When these aged and weathered wanderings finally found their succour, it was much dryer than any nursing infant could decry.
Recorded July 4,5,7,8, 2015. Remixed July 17,18, 2015.
All sounds in this recording originated on a prototype “Eleki Ribbon” style Ondes Martenot. This instrument is hand crafted in Japan by ASADEN. It has been provided to ANAZANAUT courtesy of CVGATE.
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