disc one track one - 10:00

Kevin Austin - Static Gestures II (Formant Pulses)

ANALYSES: writing to sound visual representation of the sound's passage shapes and shades of sound

writing to sound

It starts up. Under the ears, around a little.
Like an engine, but too perfect, purring, like an uncontrollable electric cat.
It goes around and drips into little drops, getting bigger like rain. Slowing down,
and speeding up. Like liquid iron rain. A car surrounding all circles. A zone, a buzz…
It slightly gets annoying as it tickles at the skull, under the ears, but the hairs dance.
Dark, and shaded, in true blackness . There are coins of sound trying to expand and grow
a stronger magnetic field here. In different ears, on different sides, like satellites to the head,
(which doesn't hear sound like this often… though it must exist, with its own stage like this - somewhere). Circling, purring, trying to live, perhaps just like life trying to hold itself in primordial broth, where "it" first sparked…
Bubbling hope, trying to escape, to not break the bubble, but maintain shell…
dripping softer, slowing down, the engine has cooled, the pond is cooling.
Lungs begin to puff. Puffing into circles again, of iron or atoms or molecules, less hostile to life. Now like a fly, it circles around the pond we managed to emerge from…
(by some mathematical probability, and depending on some perfect putts and circles,
and things that emit sounds like this one) drilling the mind,
as if to make an elaborate set of roads in there. Through darkness,
and just for sound and light to zoom around in.
To make my head as much a void as the universe - though the void does not exist spatially,
- but perhaps to drill more space into my head, so as to use these roads later…
for thoughts and other magisterial things that may wander and fly,
and lean up against walls to huddle.
Like sound, coming into itself like circles, begging for life,
trying to push enough, but collapsing in, and trying again…
It seems we must always come back to this.
"It" still zooms in and out, slower and longer, straighter and with more lax,
but too fragile, too much pressure packed into such a tight vessel.
Only electrons dance, making sounds by their interactions. Interactions…
This sound seeks interaction!
Perhaps it cries out for some other perfect beast to make harmonies with.
It begins to die like a puddle. Drips onto the surface, and sees its own reflection.
Feels dizzy, produces a harmonic whimper, does a kind or ritual, noble, but modest dance,
in its place… dark concrete and black metal shining… into hard gray liquid skies.
Rubbing up again, creating crystal fields of sounds and rings -
and away it goes - like a bubble.

passage of sound - the pencil keeps time

analysis by Sophia Male

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