212 words about Sunn o)))
9pm, Sunday 10 June 2012, Brighton UK.
An hour’s anticipation and then, incessant thrum breaks in waves upon bodies too vulnerable not to receive every frequency and modulation. All around, smoke-cataracted sight fosters horripilation, a kind of corporeal tightening and unfolding, buoyed by tidal swells of sound. Faces flushed in distorted sonic undulations until a gradual aural loosening delivers them onto a plane called loud: no more beer stink and cloying aroma of warming, closely packed hair and flesh, but a seeming-infinite auricular space over and under, its edges burred only occasionally by faintly discernible chatter. Otic orientation suggests sheer cavernous walls hewn from vibration; distributed rhythmic textures offer exquisite marbled cornicing, arabesques which bear down from all sides. Sudden whining drone and subsequent alteration in the auditory atmosphere of this palatial shadow-place intimates movement but what towards? Low rolling chants, and voices raised in invocation indicate an inner sanctum. Organic vocals electrocuted and flayed upon a mesh of artificial timbre coil around we, the inhabitants of loud; penetrating whispers knit, incantatory, through consciousnesses already divorced from that and this. A screech high above implies a tear in the sonic fabric, radiating ripples of fear and hinting at the approach of some as-yet-unperceived, immense aural menace.
At which point: you’re lost.
~ by schoolboyerrors on June 26, 2012.