Traversing the airport terminal, ham-and-swiss six-inch swaddled in wax paper and cradled in the crook of your arm, you juke through openings in the migrating multitude with the grace of a third-string fullback. Mustard-y shreds of iceberg lettuce are left in your wake, a trail of leafy greens prostrated across the gleaming linoleum. “way of the flesh (drum & lace mix)” is the action painting left behind, your sandwich’s stray sauces squashed beneath the Skecher-prints of outbound tourists and the urgent strides of those en route to business functions and academic conferences.
Colorado-based producer Hibikure brings these splatters of fluorescent yellow ooze to life, choreographing their sentient movements from a hidden control room via telepathic communication. Viscous strings of French’s frantically snake around potential footfalls, making their separate ways towards their respective flights.
Hibikure’s whirring breaks descend on squealing nightcore samples like a rogue ceiling fan blade - it’s the cacophonous scatter of incoming disaster. It’s a break in the dam, tornado sirens on the aural horizon, an airport congested with the residue of delays.