In 1943, Imber went the way of Toonerville.
Now who cuts the grass at Imber? Andy Griffith? Does he whistle a somber tune as he follows the course of the stream?
Griffith’s whistle, KÖök’s whistle, is — in actuality — a long exhale, a lament. A wind of fume jitters the reeds. The wind, blown through bellows, weaves in and out of overtones and doorways, through the shells of brick and mortars, leaving goosebumps. The sounds it produces dip into one another, creating microtonal memories, as their micrometers move mere millimeters at a time.
Scrapes on tape hardly break the solemnity. A citizen, stranded on the outskirts of Centralia, wishes to return to the inner sanctum, but is denied access. The wind continues to blow in “Imber Dock,” unobstructed by organs.
• KÖök: http://www.kook.no
• Va Fongool: http://www.vafongool.no