Wat Necrocene by Mirt
This year has been quite successful for Mirt. Not only he brought back Brasil and The Gallowsbrothers Band. He published quite a few releases at his field recording label Saamleng. And last but not least we have a new solo album, beautifully released on transparent vinyl.
Before I have even started to listen to the contents of this elaborate work that Tomek has created, he sent me something that hasn't been included for some reason in the download before the album has been released. And it is a beautiful write up which I thought is some sort of, a form of manifesto. But it hasn't been this way - it is not necessarily obvious but a form of a reference that makes it clearer and probably easier to find references and make sense out of the concept(s) that this album has.
Anthropocene as the current era is often named, here is labelled as Necrocene. Through visible signs of damage, irreversible, through the ignorance and purposeful domination over all creation - human species placed itself in rather dire situation, a point of no return.
Mirt is a master of both elaborate and elusive compositions that have a lot to do with a modular synthesis but the means and tools have really not that much of a meaning, as the final result does.
He is a weaver, a delicate tissues and lace of materials that resemble something organic or create an illusion of such.
This album in particular gives me a feeling of an imaginary field recording - something that is so deceptively organic that is almost like rich soil that helps to breed the nuances and create narratives on both a micro- and macroscale.
How can so much be put in a material that deceptively feels minimalistic but it is far from that.
The signal is fading.
The server keep humming.
The temple still standing.
Or perhaps it has already collapsed.
The image cannot be refreshed.
The prayer buffering continues.
The looped bird’s call emitted is still >>>>>>
ÎÂ% ĽŹ{sŇę4>«B€Sp×^jÔŮS2ěůrĽź–3ň›†ŠŚűW2>¦3"W–: just without any emitter.
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„No doom-court stood,
no judgment-hall was raised.
Beneath ruin's roof no hidden right awoke,
no guilt was gathered,
no soul was bought back.
Still the signal-smiths labored,
the iron-thought engines turning in darkness.
The stray glitch-spirit knew neither oath-friend nor foe.
Wyrd swept both together,
and all dividing marks were lost in the m1š t. ű ~ ÷í÷1đ~~^rfenen\}R‹F‹T˘ bąaąvÉ‹Ů‹Ö ČµĽµĽÄ
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A hallucination of algorithms. To bring back something that is almost/already lost.
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