The room waits. Furniture covered in plastic, vinyl carpet runners contoured in every walk able route. There is a silence, a deep unused hush passing through years then decades. A clock chimes with a repeated sequence and each sonic vibration causing the room to shudder with sprawling arrays of ragged fissures. There is more. A prolonged quietness interrupted to reveal the sonic disturbance it’s nestled over. Plastic and vinyl exhaling previous years of life, coffee stains, pet hair, dirty feet, physical properties boiling beneath the smooth exterior. There was life, motion and commotion, built over years of use. Covered now to create a facade of pristine sonic restfulness. This energy is restless. External vibrations slowly decaying the protective shell. A vase falls and breaks, stale water spilling out across the slick surface, the room gently roars with a complex menagerie of aural wonder. The door opens and a gentle older man enters, drying up the water and removing the glass. All quiets again and the room waits.
A low rumble, shuffling metal upon metal, a paralyzing clang catching conscious off balance. The juxtaposition of serenity and early tremors of chaos. Lost Teeth nibbles at thoughts. Like a dragon fly unfortunately caught in a screen room, almost bouncing against the ceiling and it’s lone bulb of light. A beautiful insect held within an unnatural environment. Capture and release is quickly facilitated. Lost Teeth seems like this, an aural energy of gorgeous complexity caught in a recording. We listen and hear these passages pressurize the containing boundaries. Thoughts dart with ideas of how much creativity is really lying beneath. Like ice cracking as an unfortunate soul steps forth. Will the sonic constraints of recording parameters hold, or will speakers shatter with the patient mite Ypsmael + Eloine perfectly lay down?
In physical format on compact disc (r) in an edition of sixty. This is a Chocolate Monk label release out of the UK. Copies are currently available.