There are records that should be saved in our inner hard disk – forever. There are composers working in semi-obscurity that should be brought out to trace the path to our future. Brent Gutzeit’s “Drugmoney”, a perpetual bliss for resonant piano strings, is a work that I played thrice in 24 hours from the first time I heard it. After a slow, softened tumbling of metal sounds starting the process, Gutzeit unwraps a series of unconsciously hallucinatory submarine fadings with the same emotional consistence of motor airplanes’ rumbling sound when perceived from a long distance. These almost fossilized drones position themselves overhead, like menacing clouds that don’t want to release a single rain drop; every vibration follows its course according to a pattern of pulses everyone will experience differently, depending on his body/mind relation at that moment. The almost immobile mass of lows is actually imperceptibly shifting, until a trace of light is showed towards the record’s end: here natural and animal field recordings diminish the tension for a while, only to be quieted – again – by a final resurgence of claustrophobic entrapment.