Bits and pieces that rape ears, extorting a complete re-evaluation of the concept of “sonic violence”, except for a short middle section that sounds like a Siberian wind as listened from Honolulu. Endless fragments of almost dadaist deconstruction, without an apparent aim if not a total speaker overload. Yet, “Confessions of a poolboy” works in its own way: taking all the spaces, leaving nothing to imagination and using irony when necessary – did I hear a mangled berimbau there, somewhere? – Boe takes his place at the market of Scandinavian noise-mongers, reinforcing the theory of attracting opposites – in this case, hellish haymakers fired by people living in the most silent places on the globe.