A Screen Memory

Mastering: A Campbell Payne

from the label:

Like entering a palatial hall of mirrors, LXV’s A Screen Memory opens with a baroque, choral synthesis. There are seraphs atop gilded plinths, chandeliers overhead. You’re ushered through an ornate, jeweled backdoor, and outside, it’s a beautiful bright day. Down a mossy path the calm patter of rain begins. A brook gurgles. There are voices too, though indiscernible. You arrive at a well brimming with crystalline data. But then a fog descends from behind. And down you go.

The place you arrive in appears familiar, but something is off. Strange transmissions travel the air. Anomalies all around. Paradox reigns. Notions such as backwards and forwards lose meaning as do sender and receiver. The landscape is littered with softwares, broken bells. Looking up, there, some things in the shrouded distance: sonic objects, unidentified, glowing, you squint to get a good look, but before you can comprehend, the brain change concludes, and your paranoia turns to coursing pleasure.