New Album Opaque Dream Mechanics 5/26

This project is deeply personal because of the coincidental events that shaped its sound and recording. It's hard to describe, but I experienced a blurring of art and life. For this reason, I want to explain exactly how this album was made and how the events during its creation intertwined with the music itself.

The album consists of two longform pieces meant to be listened to as a whole. Sounds move slowly like clouds floating past each other, with plenty of intermingling. The first piece has more clarity and resolution, while the second is more compressed and slowly deteriorates. I wanted it to feel like a dream where I was aware and conscious of the scenery but limited in what actually happens within the dream. There are familiar drones with unpredictability in their movement and quality. This project began by randomly selecting electronic instruments and field recordings early last year. I created short phrases with these sounds and then fed them into an old digital turntable (CDJ). I used a looping technique that I previously used on my side project Csolnit. I call this looping technique "pooling," where playback no longer loops conventionally from a defined start and end point. Instead, there is subjective control of audio playing and reversing within the defined length of time in the actual audio itself. Imagine instead of running in just one direction around a lake, you decide to go forward and backward multiple times around the lake at your own pace. You might linger at one place for the view, slowly go back a bit, then proceed at full pace to another spot on the lake before moving to another vista at a different pace. This process felt human to me, even though I was using old digital equipment. I could hear what worked and didn't work as sounds molded on top of each other. I was in complete control, yet there were mechanical-like actions underneath everything. As I recorded this live process of moving, or "pooling," around audio, the project came to life. Just as I was making progress, I had to pause the project. I received news about the peaceful passing of a family member, my Grandfather. It was difficult news, and I didn't exactly know how or what I was feeling. It was a confusing and transitional period for me, and the recording sat for months. After the funeral, I naturally thought about my grandpa and the idea of dying in one's sleep. I listened to many podcasts about death, hospice care, and euthanasia. I read many articles about utilitarianism philosophy concerning suffering in old age. I also became very interested in the medical use of psychedelics at the final stages of life. The idea of dying in one's sleep or potentially during a dream really is the ultimate trip. Eventually, I stumbled across the recordings I had made earlier that year. I was now distanced from them and hearing them in light of my grandpa's death. I wanted these dream-like recordings to end in a way analogous to passing away in one's sleep. I wanted to soundtrack what it was like for a dream to die. I treated the recording like regions of the brain slowly deteriorating. I fed tracks of the recordings through an optical cable. Audio is converted and carried through an SPDIF fiber optic cable. The output signal is actual light in the cable. As these light pulses carry the audio recordings, they travel back to an audio converter to re-create the familiar analog signal. While my recordings played back through the optical cable, I slowly unplugged and moved the cable away from its input. The sound of unplugging the cable from its source created distortion, static, and eventually silence. It felt fitting because the idea of "lights on and off" is often used as an analogy to the brain. Like being in control of the loops or "pools" of sound, I created a manual process of slowly moving the cable in and out to make moments of connection and disconnection. Sure enough, the dream-like sounds drifted away. I could hear their removal from the mix; I could hear the brain shutting down and the dream ending.

When I listened back to the recording with its changed concept, it became unclear whether this dream was ending in death or wakefulness. This ambiguity gave me optimism in its sound. This album certainly was a way for me to grieve and make sense of my grandpa's death, but it also allowed me to treat decaying sounds as precious memories that simply did not have the clarity they once had. The patina of melancholia from death can also be beautiful. Mixing music with static and distortion took many months. However, listening to the decaying sounds allowed me to process my grandfather's death. I don't and never will connect with churches and religious processions. This album, however, allowed me to memorialize and connect with him after he died in a way that was truly secular and heartfelt. It was my way of making sense of his death. I originally planned to release the album over two days, May 13 and May 14. This is representative of dying in one's sleep. My grandpa went to bed on the night of the 13th and was gone by the 14th. But then another unfortunate coincidence happened just a week before its release. I received notice that my mom had left home to be with my grandpa on her side of the family. My other grandpa was near death, so I put the release on pause.

Sure enough, and quite miraculously, my other grandpa died on the 15th. I fell back into a synchronicity of art and life that week. The music and events were undeniable. The record's concept was solidified. Changes to the recording and modifications to the artwork were made, all while I was listening to the album in light of both of my grandparents' deaths, nearly one year apart. The tracks are now titled "May 14" and "(Or 15)." This signifies both dates when each of my grandparents passed away, while maintaining the transition from one day to the next over midnight in one's sleep.

These coincidences occurred without a clear causal relationship but hold a significant and undeniable connection to the music for me. Its creation and release parallel the occurrence of my grandparents' deaths. This was a blurring of life and art that is deeply meaningful to me. I hope the listener has meaningful experiences while listening to it too. O·paque Adjective, English not able to be seen through; not transparent. "the windows were opaque with steam" O:pa Noun, German Grandad or Grandfather "Ich Vermisse meinen Opa" I would like to deeply thank my partner Laura for supporting my artistic endeavors and reminding me why I continue with music as a hobby in the first place. I would also like to sincerely thank Will Mork for the brilliant album artwork he created on short notice and for his "secret" contribution to the recording. Additionally, I would like to thank my friends in the music community who attend live shows with me and have great music-related conversations. I would also like to express gratitude to anyone who actually read everything I wrote here. While art is inherently subjective, those who take the time to read the statement or information behind a painting at a museum undoubtedly gain insight into the artist's world. This insight enhances their experience of the art. In my eyes, this brings the listener and artist closer together. "Opaque Dream Mechanics" is dedicated to David Hahn and Norman Giebler.