February 22nd, 2017
– Woyzeck, Woyzeck! Yeah, you old drunk, call me Ziggy, will you?
– Why so anxious, Zigmund, let me sleep. I had the most perfect dream you interrupted.
– Call me Ziggy, I dare you.
– Calm down! Oh, the fields and the forest, Zigmund, there was a forest! Argh, you lonesome idiot, why did you have to wake me up? Tell me, why?!
– Damn, you won‘t call me Ziggy, not when I need. Should have expected that much. Well, shame on me.
– What‘s the obsession about?! Why you‘re holding hands behind your back?
– This! You won‘t be calling me Ziggy. Only when I say.
– Hell! What the…
– Fuck! I know, right. I‘ve got my piece, haha, oh yeah, I got what you couldn‘t get.
– Ok ok, you got yours, now take this thing out of my face! You weren‘t going to shoot me, were you?
– Nah, old wise man, I wouldn‘t waste this bullet on you, your days are already short as it is.
– Where…how did you get it? I will suspend my disbelief as to why you would need it.
– My needs none of your business, you‘re straight on this. Found it by the hole.
– But it does not leave tools, or else we could have done something since we lost ours that night.
– Something more specific, Woyzeck?
– Build something.
– What? A wall, a street?! Then bang our heads against the wall, while getting lost in a street?
Don‘t you see the futility of all of this work? We had our run with oil, heck, somebody must have used it to build that wall and that street, and we got what? Fucking cactus juice, that cheap ass whisky! You got no peace, that‘s for sure. Well, I got mine. Come to think of it, the perfect tool for our predicament.
– You‘ve got war.
– So be it, I got war. It‘s something though, not all that crap pile of means for survival. By the way, why haven‘t we thrown all that garbage into the hole? Damn, we must be dense as fuck.
– You‘re steaming. Remember, we thought of burying it in the sand, but the shovels were gone.
– Alright. You can‘t hurt me now, moment of truth.
– I know.
– What you know?
– That you threw the tools into the hole.
– And you didn‘t say anything? Hard to believe.
– Didn‘t want to worry Joseph.
– Oh, Jose. What, do you think he would have had a go at me? I‘m not afraid of Joshua. He doesn‘t have it in him. You know, like we do. Or used to. Before you got, yeah, you know, what I mean.
– You‘re not hearing me, I was worried about Joseph, not you.
– Yeah, yeah, protecting your son from harsh realities of life.
– From harsh realities of those incapable to cope with life.
– Shit, old man, you know I could shoot you right here?!
– I don‘t care. I know you couldn‘t, Ziggy.
Zigmund points the gun at Woyzeck. Holds it.
– Not worth it, your temple is not worth this bullet.
– Then whose is?
– Nobody‘s. I will keep it like this. Just wanted to fuck with you.
– I bet you did.
– Oh, here come Joseph, newly born out of infinite pregnancy of the desert.
– Woyzeck, what is the gun doing in Zigmund‘s hands?!
– I am as baffled as you are.
– When did you get it?
– Found it by the hole.
– Must have been dropped by that man I could not understand.
– Yeeeaaa, the bearded comrade, speaking fire?! Who needs words, when you got action! Telling the truth, am I, am I?!
– Stop waving this thing around! You‘re going to get us killed.
– No way, can‘t happen.
– Is it empty?
– No it has only one bullet, so, no way I can get us killed. Maybe you, maybe Woyzeck, maybe me, but three of us not possible.
– Not exactly right, you could…
– Don‘t give him ideas, Woyzeck! See, he‘s raving mad now.
– Warlord! Fucking warlord!
– Pass me the bottle, Woyzeck, quickly, hurry.
As Woyzeck tries to reach for the bottle, which was left by the end of the pole, something appears in the hole. Zigmund rushes to it.
– Now what this idiot going to do?!
– Forgive me my heavenly father, but this asshole is bringing it here!
– Partners in crime, I present you – what‘s your name, dear?
– Zigmund! What the hell are you doing?! You know she will not survive here!
– We‘ll see, we have time, and cactus juice. Whisky? Do you want some whisky, dear? No? Then maybe you can answer one question? Shit!
Zigmund jumps to the side, letting his hostage half-loose.
– I told you, you idiot.
– Why she‘s…he‘s…why?! What the fuck?!
– Because that‘s what happens to things of the hole, if they‘re not in the right place. I warned you.
– Are you one of them, old fool?!
– As you and Joseph, and – yes – me, are.
– Can‘t be right, I don‘t believe you. Now you‘re fucking with me for real!
– I bet you‘d wish.
– Calm down, both of you. Let it go. Ziggy, let it go!
– Fuck! Just fuck!
– Easy here. Woyzeck, pass me…oh, right , it‘s here. Take a sip, Ziggy.
Zigmund drowns half the bottle down.
– I should have shot it. I should have shot it.
– Yes, son.
Zigmund still shaking, just stares at the hole, till he drops.
Now again just two workers drink, as one lies with his back in the sand. Desert drones.
January 18th, 2017
– Did you find it?
Asks Zigmund cleaning the sand off his face.
– No, not aglimmer of hope.
– You should have looked for a piece of a soul instead, my friend.
– Will do next time. Thanks for priceless advise, Ziggy.
– I didn‘t say it was priceless.
– Name it then, retroactive as it is.
– For one, you could stop calling me Ziggy, and that young man – son.
– You‘re upping this quite, don‘tyou think?
– Well, that, or you could go on with the glimmerless searches.
– I‘ll consider it, Ziggy.
By all appearances transaction is not yet complete.
– Hey, young one, who was it this time?
– Joshua, come, don‘t make us wait. Some cactus juice might get you flowing, perhaps?
– Thanks, but no. Don‘t wanna talk about it.
– Why? What‘s the matter?
– It‘s just… I could not understand a word.
– Too riddley even for you, heh?
– No, not that. Literally, could not understand it.
– But who was it? At least give us that.
– A man. With a beard.
– Oh, a comrade!
– Yeah, well, not quite, but yeah, for the sake of peace, that one.
– What‘s with this peace thing getting into you – first the wise one, now you, Joshua.
– And the difference it makes relative to you – is?
– No, nothing, just wondering, you know. Why not war, for example – since it seems none of you are getting any peace. Not even a piece.
– Yeah, there you go again. The master of advise.
– It‘s ok if you don‘t like it, you don‘t have to patronize me all over.
– Not left?
– Not, right.
– I would know.
– Yes, you would.
– Woyzeck, help us out. You being all old – and wise – we seem to be stuck at the crossroads.
– With what?
– With this riddle we are having.
– You mean your unfunny and stupid word play of right and left?
– Yes, precisely that one.
– I‘d say Joseph is right n this one and you‘re wrong, and there‘s nothing else left.
– Ouh, how surprising that you‘d side with Josy here! But for the sake of impartiality – I got this one from you, Woyzeck – imagine that I‘m right. Who – or what – is then left and what that makes Joshua?
– I‘d still think that Joseph is not wrong, and since you‘re right also, well…All that is left is this desert.
– Let me get this straight. If you subtract me and Joshua – and you don‘t count: being impartial judge – and an old one! – from the desert, it just is there – with no rights or wrongs, just fucking left lone?
– Yes, what‘s your point?
– Obvious, why don‘t we just jump into the hole?
– And never come back?
– Who cares? The desert doesn‘t, not anymore.
– You do understand that the hole won‘t disappear, and somebody will come, and then won‘t find anyone, and will stay here, hoping for the answer? You see what happens in this case?
– I do, but I can‘t be bothered anymore about somebody else.
– Have you not thought – empathy putting aside – that if you jump into the hole, you will end in the same desert, just, you know, not here?
– So then what do I lose?
– Well, for one, me, since I would not jump under any circumstances.
– Why not?
– Because if it is like it is, it has to be this way. This is our desert and out hole, and we have to be faithful to our fate. If everyone starts jumping around, what do we get? A chaos, that‘s all. We have to have a dream and keep on looking, if not for oil or peace of soul, then for something else.
– Ok, ok, enough of your moralisms, we know you are wise even beyond your age. It‘s just doesn‘t feel right to me. Joshua…Where‘s Joshua?!
– He went off.
– He never left farther than the pole and the hole. Boy, something‘s going on and I don‘t like it a bit.
– He‘ll come back, don‘t worry. Here, let‘s have a drink, I‘m thirsty as hell, godforgiving.
– Oh, that‘ll do, Woyzeck, like good old days, no pun intended. Cheers, sage.
– Cheers, Ziggy.
Now only two men drink, while the dot way across them is Jozef, looking for only desert knows what.
December 23rd, 2016
– What the fuck?!Who done this? Joseph, Woyzeck, who did this?!
– Wouh, wouh, take it down a notch, that spirit was hard, Zi…shit, with apologies to language masters and elders, you got a black eye in your your drunken mug, Zigmund!
– I know, Woyzeck, woke up my face to the pole and this sun – you know how it tends to show your soul, so yeah, apparently mine has a dint of black in it.
– Wouldn‘t that be ironic.
– Iconic, my dear old sage, but don‘t drag me into your reflections of being, Woyzeck, was it you?
– Are you kidding?! You must be. As I remember you saying you see me through all the words and all.
– Guess words are too thick even for you. Joseph, you?
Jozef still slumbering the desert sands off.
– Brother? Brother?! I‘ll give you brother alright!
Woyzeck gets a hold of angry and disoriented Zigmund, who, to all indications, wants to fuck the brother up.
– Stop this right now, you inconsiderate fool! Can‘t you see – black eye, black hole?!
– Well, tell the truth, I can‘t, not in a width I‘d like to.
– Somebody – or something – must have come this night and hit you.
– Like sneak on me, while I was…damn it…blacked out?
– Cheap move! And now I won‘t be able to get even, since – Joseph?! Wake the fuck up!
Jozef in a slow and low voice.
– Since no one the same comes through the hole two times.
– Bingo! Setting aside the riddley vibe in your phrasing. Nobody comes back from the hole.
– Just comes.
– Yes, captain obvious.
– And leaves…
– So, Jose, was it you?
– Again?! I know who was it. Or at least margins of what happened. And no, it wasn‘t me.
Jozef gently slaps his palm on his forehead.
– Tell us, then, quickly, you…
– Water?! Are you out of your sandals? Now he‘s telling it was water.
– No, give me some water!
– You know we have none. Pass him the juice, will you, Woyzeck?
– Cactus incoming.
– So, you were saying…
– Somebody came out of the hole and you went to meet it.
Zigmund, startled into a who, me? expression, tries to spit, but nothing comes out.
– Yes, well, not exactly of your own desire. We had a bet. You said you could pretend to be me – the beard thing, and you still have my T-shirt on! – and ask it the simple question.
– You weren‘t dreaming – in fact, are you dreaming Joe?!
– I‘m telling you like it is.
– You went to it – him, her – I couldn‘t make it out – and stood there for some time. I assume listening, though you never do, and then boom! , it hit you.
– So you say you don‘t know who it was? A girl, a man, fuck, maybe a kangaroo?!
– Yup, you got this nailed – it was a northern kangaroo.
– And that would be?
– A rabbit. A rabbit punched you in your stupid – albeit pretty – face.
– With a dick?
– Perfect timing, Ziggy, that‘s a verbatim of what I saw.
– Hear this, Woyzeck, now you tell me the kid is not dreaming? Nah, untill proven wrong, I‘ll hold one of you accountable for this masterpiece.
Zigmund tries to scratch – or caress – his black eye.
– Argh, hurts like a bitch.
– We all are dreaming. All the time.
– Says the sage.
– Can‘t be bothered with this anymore. It‘s just not worth it. Will go look for something.
– And that would be?
– Peace of soul, Ziggy. Son, want to join me?
– It‘s ok, papi, I‘ll lie some longer.
– It was a black rabbit.
– It was a black rabbit that hit you, Zigmund.
– Racist bastard.
– Either that or you got beat up by a woman.
– I know it was you, you slimey piece of…
Zigmund tries to jump on a relaxing fellow worker, but feet get stuck in sand, which makes him fall right next to Jozef. Now both men lie in parallel – Jozef facing the empty sky, Zigmund black eye buried in sand. The small dot way across them is a man looking for peace of soul.
November 30th, 2016
– You know how he tends to become at the last leg of hangover…
– Don‘t dare say son! I swear I can‘t take it anymore.
– Oh, no, Zigmund, I‘ll save you a kidney – you have on left, don‘t you? I‘ll to that this time.
– You better. You better, wise old man. Right?
– Yes yes, as you say, godwilling.
– Hey, both of you, something‘s coming!
– Look, a squirrel!
– Nah, Ziggy, somebody‘s bigger, I go check. Though duly noted.
Jozef smiles as he walks slowly to the hole.
– Damn this young one, he gets to talk, get it? I mean no offense, but I know you right through all the words, Woyzeck, right through all this time.
– I do, Zigmund, godwilling he‘ll tell us something. As he always does.
– How about godwailing, Woyzeck? It‘s not the real thing, isn‘t it?
– I guess not. Still, better than nothing.
– Why you go to the hole? I mean, after you stopped looking for oil, what do you do there? Haven‘t seen you bring back nothing. Or talk, ha.
– I talk.
– You do?!
– I do, not to the animals, sadly.
– What then?
– Well, it‘s difficult to explain…
– But godwilling, Woyzeck, godwilling.
– Fuck you, Zigmund.
– I wish.
– I bet you do, you drunk little shit.
– Ok ok, no need to rile up, old – wise – man, forget I asked. Josy there, he will tell with no greed.
Woyzeck sighs as he stands up and goes deeper into the desert.
– Who was it this time, Joe?
– You didn‘t see?
– Nope, was arguing with that cranky old man.
– Bout what?
– Nothing, that life, is all.
– Not left?
– A woman.
– From another desert she said she was. She said, if you look at the sky, you can see her eyes.
– Yeah, that‘s what she said, and when I asked what did those eyes see, she said, the dying of unmoving and the ascendance of the thirsty.
– Dude, Joe almighty, why is it that they all speak in riddles?!
– I don‘t know, maybe it‘s just us, who been here long, that have forgotten how to hear them.
– Yeah, right.
– Not left?
Zigmund spits like a camel.
– Here‘s a suggestion – how about next time you try and not indulge them poesies, just cut straight to the chase and ask them something simple.
– Like what?
– Like why the fuck we are here?!
Jozef starts laughing.
– Ziggy, my friend, how about I ask you the same?
– Why we are here?
– Not what I asked.
– Oh, sorry, my bad. Why the fuck we are here?!
– We are here, Joe almighty – by the way, do you like that name?
– Not your best. Think I‘d prefer Joe your highness.
– Ok, Johannes, as I was saying, we are here…
– Jozef! Zigmund!
– What the heck?!
– What‘s happening, Woyzeck?!
– Come here, quickly. Faster! Look, look! Not at the finger, you fools!
– Can‘t see nothing.
– Yes, Woyzeck, what is it?
– Don‘t you see it?! Further, meeting the horizon.
– Still nothing.
– Look, look there – a squirrel!
– O h m y g o d, couldn‘t have done one of your – dare I say – groundbreaking stand ups at the better time. Aplause, ladies and gentlemen. Johannes, drop the curtain!
– Why Johannes?
– It doesn‘t matter, father superior, don‘t lose the way for the path, or whatever the fuck that‘s supposed to be. I‘m done with y ‘ a l l for the night.
Jozef, having had not properly stopped stopped laughing.
– Ziggy, Ziggy, you haven‘t finished – so why we are here?
Zigmund strolling to the farthest end of the pole.
– For the fuck of it.
– Yeah, I will keep on indulging them their metaphors, Zigmund, ok with you?
– Whatver floats your boat, Joshy, if you get my drift.
– So what was that about Johannes, and who did you talk today to?
– Ah, not important, and – I did talk to a woman as a matter of fact.
Woyzeck, suddenly at ease.
– What was her name?
– Fatima, I think, or Athena, couldn‘t clearly make through the accent.
– Strange, that doesn‘t seem to have been a problem for you before.
– You‘re right. Maybe it was something else, like the noise of the desert.
Zigmund from the end of the pole.
– Don‘t need to shout, the pole is not that long.
– If we are going for the celestial names, my pick is Carmen. You wanna know why?
– We know, we know.
In unison say Jozef and Woyzeck, sitting down.
– Pass a whisky, Ziggy. Son?
The workers sit, sipping whisky from the bottle. From time to time moving closer to and farther from each other, as the night unanimously and relentlessly approaches their stomachs.
November 17th, 2016
Too much sunshine as three workers rest on an iron pole in a middle of an American desert.
One is polish, and, accordingly, goes by the name of Wozzeck, or, if more national, Wojciech. For
the sake of spelling economy and cultural integrity he will be referred to as Woyzeck.
Opposite of the jolly Pole, but still on the iron pole, sits his friend, companion and contradiction – a
Lithuanian welder, known by his national name Zigmas, whom, in order to humour his most read
writer, I will call Zigmund – keeping a Z for the aforementioned cultural integrity.
Walking in front of them we find a third worker, who, knowing neither his origin nor established
nominal preferences, will be called different names due to the requirements of situation , arising in
the course of a story.
For the inaugural naming I‘ll ascribe him name of Jozef – with a Z , the first reason being all too
often stated inclination for cultural integrity, the second, and much more important, the
elusiveness of historical – as well as metaphysical – meaning throughlying this name – the earthly
father of Jesus, the dictator, known for starving his broes and foes, the greatest propagandist and
last but not least, the most famous character of modern literature to have never had a chance at a
The reasons that brought – or, shall we say, collected – them here are of obscure nature to all of
Woyzeck thinks it is a duty that graciously befell them. To Zigmund it all boils down to simple
fuck knows, while Jozef neither questions nor cares to react to the underlying unknown of their
Whether it is related to the proximity of a black hole situated twelve times twelve yards to the side
of one end of a pole, is not clear. However it might be, the hole is there and has been so for as
long they remember. While the length of their memories might be quite untrustworthy – due to the
propensity, very workmanlike, of the trio to drink – the scope of the memories is vast and rich.
Woyzeck remembers having had poured oil, that he had found some few miles down the desert,
into the hole. Zigmund states that all the alcohol they‘ve come up with, was brought by and
through the hole. Jozef regularly finds some animals, at times even human ones, residing close to
the hole, and takes time to talk to them. Both Zigmund and Woyzeck are unable to understand the
languages the animals use, though they swear they see them, maybe just to assure Jozef his sanity.
If it‘s not obvious yet, Zigmund is short and stout, sporting a beard – the attribute he shares with
tall and and on the slim side Woyzeck and a round, but not fat, middle heighted Jozeph. The
physical differences in body compositions of workers are evenmoreso highlighted by the fact that
due to time and very little desire for upkemptness beards of the men are very alike: the sort that is
dense at the roots and rarified at the ends.
Jozeph, being the youngest of three, likes to refer to Woyzeck papi. Generally it is met with
unnoticing acceptance, though at times of hungovery anxiety Zigmund throws a small tantrum and
starts calling Jozef a bastard. Woyzeck, the most polite and intelligently inclined, refers to Jozef as
son, whenever he senses that the young one needs support, which – the sense- is the case quite
frequent. Zigmund, becoming the middle man, tends to vacate the conversation, and wait at the
hole for a bottle of cheap, yet priceless, whisky.
October 19th, 2016
“If there was a recipe for a dream team then the ingredients would probably just consist of Marrach , Bad Poet & Chtin Mara as with this collaboration they will for sure leave a long lasting psychological audio impression; in fact I was so impressed that someone needed to press me out – back to my normal human form.
Seriously what these three people had created here will be very worth to dump your ears in; it’s damningly original and with that comes not only joy, but also inspiration. These three collaborators are basically muses waiting for you to be inspired by!
You really should just hear it with your own ears, but as you are clearly still here with me, let me try to explain a bit what you could expect when going for this very interesting release. It’s pretty weird, but it’s a very cool kind of weird, they call it ‘trip-step’ but it’s hard to define what and if there is a real genre out there covering such blend of thrilling stuff.
I’m not entirely sure who is responsible for what on this release, making it basically a bit like the three musketeers; all for one and one for all. I guess the bad poet is providing the vocal narrative within these tracks. Think of the awesomeness of the story telling of Linton Kwesi Johnson’s ‘bass culture’ but then entirely played out in an autistic aural scape in a psychologically twisted, probably psychotic artistic brain. Think of brilliance that is fairly touched and coughed up by a world of imagination. It is pretty much the best you will probably hear all day!
The bad poet voice has this calmly over it, sophisticated, insane, coming from all kind of ways, whispering horniness and details about voyages of surviving with anxiety. His words seem to be manipulated with machinery, making it even more paranoid and fun; I’ll tell you that it will be a very exciting listen when you tune into this collaboration of the brilliant (or insane?) muses.
Music wise you will be in for such a original ride. think of unexpectedness, raw freedom, manipulations, poetry. Schizophrenic beats, sexiness, super round belly of bass, a blend of love, a touch if passion, sickness, psychotic epic episodes, artistic darkness, a wonderful curse, deep distress, hyped up freaky moments, whispery times, rhythms to die for, bass to fall on your knees for. Dirty thoughts, horny horns, whooping buildups, low lying voodoo vibes…. The list goes on & on…
The artists provided some track details that I would like to share with you, as I believe they are quite helpful in getting an idea of ehat they are about.
“‘habitus poeticus’ on eternal male poet obsession with parts of female
body and the imagined physics of its potential for delivering the existence
from its conflicts.”
Music wise you could expect drum, rhythm and super sexy weirdness drooling over hour glass shapes with out of the blue round sounding bass that are setting the shapes and sizes of the obsessed and imagined body parts. It’s like listening to real life fantasies popping up out of the poet’s mouth accompanied by dominant whooping horns and thrilling undertones. What could and would the poet and friend do to something they are so obsessed with if they ever get the permission to engage in these feelings? Somehow I see them here channeling the characters of Clockwork Orange.
‘*in lexus eternum’ – is about dealing with anxiety and panic (lexotanil is ananti-anxiety drug).*
This track is a marvelous tool for people who do not suffer from anxiety to actually go through an anxiety episode in music form. It’s of course a must hear (being insanely intense and a somewhat educational experience). From the beginning you can hear the anxiety kicking in; you feel the fear of opening the door and stepping into the world that waits outside with its people. It gets expressed with carefully brought frightening details making you feel like a panicked person looking left and right from paranoia.
Luckily the pills are kicking in (making the world smaller as it is) and they sound so cool and jazzy; the drug is like a blessing making the anxiety going away. Like this the music is ready to face the night and nothing will stop it until a panic attack kicks in once again and you’ll wake up from an unconsciousness state somewhere on a unknown floor. Don’t poop your panties as this insane psychedelic psychological jazz attack is intensive and cool at the same time!
“‘amor sonus’ – based on opening theme of e.varese’s ‘arcana’ and build around the story of his life (including quotes i found of his)”
It is like an autistic psychedelic story told by voice, brass and drum. It’s bringing a wicked feel into its storytelling of the highest order, think of a energy that is sleek and full of slick brewing horn sections. Material that can be easily used for blowing up the premises with miraculous drumming and melodious surprises that roll exceptionally! It’s dope for the aural lovers!
“‘de corpora mali’ – of body as space/place for things that are alien, but also can transform it.”
This one is filled with deep expression, dark undertones & worldly barks of slow mysterious banter. Think of electrocution through bass and walking through the mountain like an elephant. Yes, that’s right: Walking THROUGH a mountain. It’s like hearing an grotesque alien unfamiliar with the boundaries that we experience here on earth.
“‘argumentum humanum’ – of continuous dark blue history of human movement around the existential hole, which is – being disconnected and yearning for community.”
Uh… I mean this description should probably tell you all that you need to know! You are dealing here with indescribable (but hearable!) awesomeness at its original finest! Highly recommend to tune in / download freely through any of the following options:
September 12th, 2016
“Piano Attic is Martinas Rakshtinas aka Martin Rach`s another issue from the year of 2016 (Late Autumn Quartets, Winter Quartets,Fall Quartets were issued before it). The Lithuanian musician’s 2-piece composition, especially the title track used to draw upon piano-driven experiments where are represented a pile of broken, ragged chords being subjugated to the force of electronic algorithms. The soundscape is a slow-motion one where any of the chords used to have enough free space around to be amplified and progress into another second of time. Of course, because of that the issue is slightly lethargic and even dreamy. It is built on a simple base, where the keys are disguised by electronic effects at a part extent. In a word, the title track is a case of the transmission and modification though sounds. The second track The Portrait of a Lame Man starts off differently with faint glaring droning being saturated with skipping “errors, which later will be complemented by lone piano chords. By listening to it one can see ghosts coming from the attic, from the slots of an old piano. The more you listening to it the more you can hear the music sounding like a dropping piano, which in turn is transposed and as if moving further and back spasmodically. In a word, the result is intriguing and playful. ”
July 25th, 2016
“As the title suggests explicitly the whole consists of 4 compositions. It is a notch in a series of seasonal quartets. It’s a peculiar issue where different and intriguing facets and methods in music are juxtaposed against each other. Martin Rach, the artist from Lithuania uses various instruments (metalophone, zither, kalimba, bongos, Korg Volca bass) and at times special treatments for those ones. More profoundly, improvised noise, droning scalloping and ambient hisses are the follow-ups to lone string plucking the outing started with in fact. Furthermore, there are represented a bunch of grey, superimposed areas of sound thereby providing two folded sonic appearances. The issue comprises some definitive turns – from exquisite stringed and glockenspiel-tinged arrangements (at least they used to sound in that way) to rough and strident synthesiser-based shows (at Raving Threads); from new weird-esque folk tunes to pummelling yet variegated noise beams to ear piercing droning (at Root Architexture). In spite of it throughout the course the listener can perceive the determined direction on these diverse elements. Indeed, it is not chaotic it is expertly built up. It is a pre-eminent issue indeed.”