It might be the slowest-crawling race for attention ever, more drawn out than the primary debates, but drone music (secular drone, Blue Tapes calls its subgenre, “half-truthfully”, they confess) is a race, which if one wishes to see the full granular details of said race one must have a powerful lens, one of those lenses that magnifies the audio wave patterns while simultaneously bringing milliseconds into focus. Luckily we have one on hand here. It seems the race has begun. blue eighteen’s bent leaning out towards the grandstand at full speed around the stretch turn, rough and reckless enough to win the Cigar Mile. Normally no stick is needed: the tape simply goes, a handicap. A certain amount of fiddling around with the knobs and a snap-to-it deep mood is required to ensure the sources are angled right, to trot forth with diligent mechanical inebriation right out of the gates, but once the tape is rolling and the reels are spinning, even the jockey gets to sit back and enjoy the run, often to a greater degree than the spectators. Less so Chemiefaserwerk, busy with the bridle and reins, engaged in a sort of puppetry, or ventriloquism, making the machines talk strange talk, impersonating insects, the humping of bacteria, the scatter of rust knocked off brake rotors. Rough treatment alright, rough and reckless, curve around the roller past the playback head bumped up against the pressure pad cross the tension arm and back round the hub now again around the… Chemiefaserwerk must have one of those lenses himself.
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