It creates time and space. It flows, evergrowing, one wave after another. It fills the ambience and it fills the body, floods veins and organs with electricity. An appendix, an epilogue, it grows within you, makes you imagine cables and microphones and amplifiers, instruments like weapons, the dirty hair falling down, the eyes staring into space, or the body bent, the muscles in tension, the gaze focused on the wooden floor of the stage. This is potential volume, the invention of levels of experience, the recreation, through sound, of what we conceive as "listening."
It is the absolute dimension of sound. The evolution of a collective organism: sounds pile up one over the other, gradually, respectfully, creeping into your skin like passionate kisses or an unseen hairy insect. The drums join to set a regular rhythm, a pace of unstoppable sexyness, the beauty of distortion, the emotion of expectancy. The musical translation of suspense, made to be experienced loudly, alive, live, every time unique.
Crank it up. Let it creep into your mind. Close your eyes and imagine the perfect aestheticism of pure rock and roll. Play it loud. The Dandy Warhols at their best, no concessions: just the art of rock. Ten years have passed, and this still sounds fucking awesome.
Blow up your speakers: this is what makes life be worth all the while.
Powered by Castpost
No comments:
Post a Comment