Regions of unrest [Now on sale at Bandcamp & Vibedeck] 6 tracks, 57.33 Tuonela on February 18, 2012 03:02
- 1. Genesis, progress and attenuation 16.33 269 plays
- 2. Aftershock 4.40 29 plays
- 3. Rumours of Apocalypse 10.41 21 plays
- 4. Burning Mountain 12.11 30 plays
- 5. In the vast hole in the sky, something moved… 5.29 28 plays
- 6. The gold-plated Dictaphone of History 7.56 31 plays
About
- Tuonela at Bandcamp
- Radio Aphasia
- Angels of chrome and light [treetrunk 178] @ Internet Archive
- VIBRATOR / Prokop Bartonicek
- Drug Dealer Records
- Drug Dealer Records on SoundCloud
- Mystified's Free 2011 Christmas Mix
- Tuonela by orestisguitar
- Tuonela at Vibedeck
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Hand-crafted soundscapes and nocturnal noise...
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After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music. ~ Aldous Huxley
All good music resembles something. Good music stirs by its mysterious resemblance to the objects and feelings which motivated it. ~ Jean Cocteau
All music is beautiful. ~ Billy Strayhorn
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Recommended reading and listening...
http://radiosamurai.blogspot.com/
http://droningearth.blogspot.com/
Drowned Soundscapes (Mix - Free download) by Antropik
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Me?
I've become addicted to drone. Again. In the 60s, as a kid,I used to play my 45s on 16, or backwards, or by hand using razor blades as stylii.
I made cut-up tapes on a cheap cassette recorder in the 70s and experimented with reel-to-reel in the 80s. Yes, I'm old.
Thank you Subotnick, Lygeti, Coltrane, Jimi, Mimaroglu, Eno, Cluster, Tangerine Dream, Klaus Schulze, Frank Zappa, Pink Floyd, Kraftwerk, Throbbing Gristle...
I am not a musician. I am a scavenger of sounds. I use the most basic software to process those sounds, stretching and filtering until something emerges that makes a joyful noise. Or not...
Sometimes I have a story in mind, see the structure in advance. Sometimes the sounds take over and suggest their own story.
Everything changes. Without departures, there are no destinations.
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At Pink Floyd’s Sydney concert in 1972, where they performed Echoes for the first time, the bass bins on the stage were about eight feet high. During the concert, guys crawled into them and sat curled up and rocking gently. Now I know why… I was the kid with his head on the piano, listening to the overtones die away, or pressing his ear to the steel hull of the ferry, enthralled by the sounds it created. I was the kid who formed wordless songs to accompany the sound of train wheels on a long journey, or hummed along with the fan on a hot day.
