I don’t know what you’re expecting from Bastian Void these days, I really don’t. We’ve left the soupy synthesizer phasmagorias long in the past, having since graduated to incredibly intricate and tactile electronic works, of which we at the Bureau have compiled a thick dossier. We’re keeping tabs.
But despite Joseph Bastardo’s artistic shapeshifting, and despite the fact that we’ve lost track of him somewhere over Nara, Japan (whispering: that’s where Muzan Editions is), we are always ready for new Bastian Void material, and we are always ready to follow him regardless of whatever direction he happens to take. Here, on Acreage, we find a subdued yet invigorated Bastardo as he fills his lungs with the Far East and exhales a perspective of it both frigid and delectably thawed, a delicate balance that requires a deft touch.
Acreage thrives like a secret society somewhere deep in the mountains, surrounded by trees, a complex of diverse individual personas that work together toward a common goal. There are four main culprits, but that’s because there are “Acreages 1-4.” Surrounding these catalysts toward a narrative cohesion are the tunes that comprise the glue, the mortar keeping these inconsistently shaped rocks from tumbling to the ground in a failure of engineering. This is no failure; this is all glue.
And like any good secret society worth its founding principles, Acreage busies itself with establishing and sustaining a momentum of existence in which Bastardo can prosper in his tinkering and worldbuild to his heart’s content. It’s like a dream nestled beneath the canopy. Who knew it spread for miles and miles?
(Well, we did, but we redacted it.)
[Visit full site to view media]Acreage by Bastian Void