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Carter Tutti Void – Transverse (Mute)

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Carter-Tutti-Void-Transverse

By Princess Stomper

It goes dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun. I am playing Bejeweled Blitz as I listen because I am a fidget, but I realise as the clock runs out that I have forgotten the game. I have forgotten how to play it. Match. Lines. Of. Three.

Brain. No. Lon- dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun

-ger functions. Why aren’t I bored yet? I keep drifting in and out of focus, but I’m not quite bored. How is this possible? dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun

Mention: Carter and Tutti are from Throbbing Gristle, Nik Colk Void is from Factory Floor. Throw in some bullshit about minimalism – can’t … words … hard … thoughts … can’t – ah, thank you, BBC: “The motif that recurs throughout is that of pace, propulsive forward movement” dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun.

There’s a lot going on here. Layers break apart and swell together, rhythms build up and drift down. That’s why I’m not bored – it’s absurdly intricate. If I pour myself back into my body and listen to each new texture, it’s almost impossible to focus on individual sounds before the next bleep, chirrup or swirl comes in. It’s the opposite of a magic-eye picture – you can only see the whole cacophonous behemoth, and have to do a funny squint to see the dots. It’s a live album, recorded at the Roundhouse in Camden. Pink Floyd had a residency there when they were psychedelic. OK, why has Notepad gone dark grey? My eyes are playing tricks. The cover art is making me feel sick. I should stop listening soon … just not quite yet … dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun

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