(Durtro / Die Stadt)

The sunlight cutting through the window reflects itself on my writing paper, projecting a stencil shadow of trembling leaves upon the white sheet. Meanwhile, William Basinski’s “SatiEnoesque” loops sound like another presence from a non-existent ancient radio at the opposite side of the house, like if the ghosts of an old man’s hands played decaying memories on a forsaken piano. To the ones who eternalize their own nothingness, Basinski posts a memento of caducous contemplation where the safety of solitude leaves room to the fear of being not heard in our prostration. These heart-ravaging sonic experimentations from 1981 inflict a coup de grace to the whole plethora of hasbeens and neverwases dealing with new ambient and loop treatments; William is so unique, you’d recognize him shining in a thousand suns. As it often happens, the “chrome primitive” can teach a lesson or two to modern elitism.

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