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Done With Faith: New Music, New Listeners

Updated: Mar 18

This is a fitting way to start an aleph om blog: .G-2 and moleskin in the passenger seat. The accoutrements of life are ultimately so trivial in the sense of their material value, yet for some reason the juxtaposition of their trajectory through space is musical to me. It is doubtless a factor in my taste and perhaps a testament to anything reserved from my spiritual refinement, but in a simple way (that is still eerie to me-- perhaps reminiscent of the Chönyid Bardo) it at least provides me the tools to achieve a modicum of peace now and some of the awareness that now is truly forever. One of my favorite daydreams is that at the event horizon of some black hole (or some white hole) when the cassettes that I record music upon are all turned into infinitesimal spaghetti that the sound magnetically encoded upon them will be ripped off and play in open space, repeating the live takes, resuscitating the moment(s) those comprovisations were devised just seconds before being systematically sealed forever in inconceivable nothingness. Instant generation loss.


From Oculus Artificialis Teledioptricus
Johann Zahn, 1685

When I write I think about ancient symbols, resonant archetypes of human ascendance, and imperceivable objects a good bit. It seems likely to appear to the layman that the reasons by which I would express such strange music and those reasons by which I would be, in some mind, compelled by paradoxes are generally the same. They're not. As I mentioned in my last blog post, my statement-- artistic or otherwise-- does not suffer contrivances with the need for meaning. I am here to do the work and be awestruck by it. So much so am I preoccupied that time ceases. I succeed in my visions inadvertently, and with some inertia the flow meets no resistance, like water finding the surest course to fall from the sky. It rains more, and then I choose again what I do; yet how it does feel to fall...


The Fall of Icarus, by Bernard Picart
Bernard Picart, 1731

Now I am in a pizza parlor, waiting for three ladies to finish using the restroom. My thoughts race-- two of them specifically:

The first thought is that before someone spills water on this moleskin I would first like the chance to at least threaten the transgressor. I would probably say, "whosoever spills over and damages this journal, I shall tan her that I might use her hide rebind the pages." The threat itself is a coloquially queer fantasy; tanning is old fashioned, animal violence is a low comedy, and that the underscored subject should be female is obviously less than respectable or graceful. Sure though, the ideation of a threat in an old-world pizza parlor has sort of a timeless quality to it. Just by kind of sitting sit in the ubiquitously grungy dining room of a pizza place in Farmington Hills that's been open since 1999, you can channel the rage of some monarchical chud, imagining he really did have a tanning rack set up in his garage. The retrospective of considering such an idea to bear any hope, let alone any truth might cost my second thought the race. It seems a superfluous turn-off out of context. I would never say or threaten that seriously, right? Of course in all truthfulness-- I would be the much more likely party to spill on my moleskin journal. Could I use the skin of my own ass to rebind the journal? Am I threatening to tan my own effeminate self? Now we're talking.


My second thought was this:

The pretense of hospitality is simple (and its simplicity is correlative to high risk/low reward arts of all kinds). Just treat people equitably, y'know? I've had to cancel service because sewage water was coming up in the bar. I wouldn't have ordered food from a place where that was happening either. A host should foremost not have to seek the convincement of his guests that the room is not flooding, the kitchen is not on fire, and consuming for pleasure in addition to sustenance is not critically useless. You don't have to tell me twice, but when the worst happens it should be so humorous if the most gracious Maître d' postured himself in denial for mere moments, sweating nervously through the collar of his shirt when given the choice between swallowing his pride and submitting to the seconds it takes to evacuate the building in full awareness that his posterity is billowing through the dining room doors with black smoke while the chefs are screaming and rolling around in the grass out front. "Excuse me, Miss. We are having a maintenance issue, and we are unable to-- EVERYBODY RUN!" At least he went back in.


Stop it though. Not every idea is a good one. You don't need to justify it. As a matter of fact, committing to a bad idea is like trying to turn shit into Shinola. I've been told of my latest single: "too psychedelic, too ambient, too trebly, too shrill, boring, not enough bass, doesn't pick up until three minutes, I don't get it." I was told that my own aunt was genuine and succinct while sweetly, "I wish I liked his music more..." which is perfect. This is everything to me. Others have said of it: "very engaging, great mix, good experimental work, original composition, sounds fantastic." The irony is it that I recently received over 10,000 streams-- my most ever-- on "Grass Waves," which coincidentally mostly seemed to come from the playlist, "Lofi - Night Chill." This is particularly funny because after going to check out the playlist I honestly didn't find it to be that great. Furthermore, "Grass Waves," doesn't even fit that well on it. The whole ordeal led to multiple popularities in Finland, so if you're reading this from Helsinki, cheers to you! It is so encouraging to scare and confuse some real people, and it helps when the cosmology of the first part is supported by the shared delusion of correlative fandom. Thank you.


I think that this single will make a lot more sense soon. Maybe the tracks I chose are not the best representation of the total program, but I am so confident in their order (this might be helped by the fact that I've had it sequenced for two years). I am finally releasing my album, Planes of Broken Mirrors, this Friday. So how would I consider the spiritual implications of attempting to market-- how did I put it?-- "the divination of serenity, bliss, dissociation, hopelessness, depravity, and unconditional love?" For me it's just not likely that it could come out with any other vessel than music...writing I guess too, and I think that is reinforced by the consistency of my network. It might feel bleak in the moment to think I could hold up such stark ideals in same level light of objection, but ultimately, the hypothetical instances, the comedy: as short as it falls with some, it flies farther each volley. Like sending a message in a bottle down the river I am doing all that I have done and I am in all that I have done with faith.


It's quite frequent in my life I've been faced with others challenging their faith. Maybe in lieu of this I have become stronger in my resolve, but another access that is afforded me by their doubts is unraveling their cursedness and discovering the sweet and innocent beauty of its reciprocity. I can't help but to know, and yes, it is knowing the Sidpa Bardo, now, which I will explore with you all another time. Listening to this final single track on cassette currently, it is exactly how was meant to sound even with its inexorable spaghettification. There is something haunting about it in the context of the full album. It is a sign of things to come.


Indeed, there is much to celebrate. Please join me this Wednesday, March 20, at 10:00pm for a Bandcamp listening party, during which I will throw out a few Easter eggs and recount some of the recording processes along. I will drop the album the next day at midnight. Furthermore, there is a Big Show at Corktown Tavern, 1716 Michigan Ave., Detroit, MI 48216 this Saturday, March 23, doors at 6pm. I will be selling cassettes and doing some very intense guitar and MIDI synth experiments. Look forward to some more live performances, more merchandise, and exciting news to follow. If you like this blog and my musings, then add your email to my contact list. I only really share wildly ambivalent philosophies, psychedelic music, and abstract accompaniments of surreal imagery. My eternal regards to those that support me.









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