Decibel Fest. Hook in. Get down and upload. The mechanical resonance has rendered an image.

Telefon Tel Aviv played Neumo’s last night. My mind reels still. Joshua Eustis and Charlie Cooper evolved their digital schemes. Lap tops directing Ableton like sequencing, delays, filters, Nord keys, and flange to multiple hanging screens showing visual accompaniments and morphing. Stereo panning sprayed the 16th beat glitchings to the sights all over the room.

It was like a gigantic bar code scanner scanning across a rain forest canopy. Howler monkeys swung in the strobes. Neumo’s became microscopic with archetypal ears inside fiber optic intestines. Joshua and Charlie were conjoined and their sound was improbably organic - a sheen of digital blinks and pointed pounds of bass that induced and generated subconscious activities of thought. A whirring.

I spill further, interpretal.

The audio of Telefon Tel Aviv
Is such that

The Sound Is a Scrawl

You can see that
The scapes and dripped sides
Of wet brick city walls
Let on
To many lonely things

The seventeenth story

Ledges
Up cement stairs
Filed down

A perch emerges
Between girders

Halogen clouds
Brush and shove
Through the weathered city
Below

You, sit and survey

There are others that long

Tonight you see
With infrared vision
See through the distant
Walls and buildings and roofs

You see heat
Scores of human forms
Reddish orange
Animals, ovens
Furnaces and engines
Higher heat areas
Glow white
Hearts a yellow
The unpredicted city revealed
Scurrying itself to sleep

Electromagnetically

The infrared shakedown
Of the shadow side
With its sounds
Radars your ears

Noises of the urban hole
And the forms
Putting themselves down
For the night

Mothering tones of 10,000
Bed time stories rise
Simultaneously
The chorus calms
Connected dens

Doors are locked
Discs spun
A palate knife scrapes
Cathode nattering
Sirens lick tires to asphalt

Heated red blurs going and coming
Clicking keys, languages
Heart rate monitors
Grinding teeth

Trains steel diesel insomnia
A seamstress can't sleep
So she sews
Her machine and infrared hands
Move with the weight of an engine
The train on tracks matches her stitches
Stitch for stitch
An immense hushing
Pleasant because it's far off

Somewhere

Channels are changed
Someone injects
Aim is taken
Bullets are on their way

A seismograph registers movement
Miles underground
Tectonic teeth grind
Root mind
Of the metropolis

Millions of people
Hit "˜enter'
And digital wolves howl hollow
In manmade hills

Sleep for now
Above the fray
Curl on this perch
Under infrared cross ties
Bullets won't bother here
They're muzzled
To fade
Before they hit

And Telefon Tel Aviv sways to it all.

Trent - out.