Two albums – 6 and 空隙 – with skeletal visuals, colored for a polarity that may or may not exist. Through our world visual spectrum, white reflects light while black absorbs. In 空隙’s domain, the matte design of 6 draws the line of sight directly into the skeleton’s pelvis, that seems to be sinking further and further into the six. The noise falling alongside splits into six parts. One is Angelo Badalamenti spinning slowing in an office chair. We’ll get into Two in a minute. Three borders on torturous, but ends before the bugs-are-crawling-all-over-me hallucination kicks in. There’s a ghost begging for something he loves on Four. I’m expecting to hour Five on the next plane I take. Six is equal parts meditative and crushing, bridging the two albums nicely.
The dim lit 空隙 is 6 nihilist counter, beginning with an apocalyptic speech regarding the cyclical nature of, well, nature. The second track from 6 and “見て” from 空隙 stood out as complimentary. “6.2” is loud, but soothes more than it tears anything apart, and I feel the opposite of “見て.” Inside the low-lying washes, the voided, multiple-minute sections of near absence in “見て” create a rad ultra-minimal track. We get our noise back in “ドローン” and 空隙’s finale is a man’s extraterrestrial hysteria.
Getting past the comical skeletons, these two albums from 空隙 are great noise experimentations. I don’t know whether 6 and 空隙 were made together or with each other in mind, but from the outside perspective, they belong bent and stitched to either end of one another, looping ad infinitum.
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