(The Locus Of Assemblage)

Transmitting from who knows where, Cornucopia’s world of plughole electroacoustics reaches its very top right here. A lonesome low drone mantra opens the dance, inhuman but flattering to my nerves; from here, after a few minutes, real life sounds and heavy computer/effect treatments find a mutually rewarding relationship, domiciling themselves in a time capsule where obsessiveness and anger are left out the window. After a while I’m hooked: everything sounds familiar, water and jet noises (real or…?) predominate among a vast fecundity of miniaturized pictures of existence. The body becomes renitent to action while the contamination is by now completed; without clamouring for attention, Cornucopia have stuck their finger right into my energy channels – and it works wonders.


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