This appeared randomly in my playlist and I find this to be a very unique string instrumental.

Cassette Recorder Audio Processor is the shit!
https://shop.propellerheads.se/product/crapre-cassette-recorder-audio-processor/

used here:
http://gurgamothlives.galvanicgames.com
https://youtu.be/t-s0Lkwse6w
https://youtu.be/-D85xW5_hro
https://youtu.be/HuqNpqZ-6kg
https://youtu.be/YGmrFK--I6s
https://youtu.be/2h9TN3nJnZ0

Bremsspurpiraten - Hub Ribs

Purpura

Cross Talk

sketch 014

Apocrypha

After having told of cities without sun, at night, when  smog  vanishes, one’s gaze is searching again for a  corner of  nocturnal skies, it searchs stars and planets  where the mind can project itself, where it could still transcend.    

Looking again at the Moon, and dreaming of sidereal trips, how not to think about Apollo 11’s contentious challenge, about Neil Armstrong and companions., about their long round journey to the satellite, and back, and above all about their trip ‘inside’, conquering their inner space , as J G Ballard would say?

That’s Armstrong, a six-acts trip, six scores to get lost, a music aimed for motionless travellers.


Liftoff

I write music to express the colors flickering in my mind or to express those words that I can not say, other times it is simply a relief. I never listened a single musical genre, probably because around me I always had people who were listening to different kinds of music.
At home my mother listened to classical music, or The Beatles, at school I had a friend who listened Punk, another Rock, another Metal, another Pop and Rap and so on.
In the end, despite the prejudices that each genre has to another, for me it was just music, played notes asking me to be listened, understood  until dismember them to take from them everything I could.

Sometimes I wonder if to write music is not a drug. It takes ten seconds of a proper melody and then I consume my time listening to those ten seconds even for two hours without stopping, leaving my mind travel, stripping the flesh off that melody of everything and when there is nothing left, I go on finishing to write the piece.
Then, after a week, two, maybe a month, I don’t listen it anymore, I don’t like it anymore, I have dried up all it had to give me.

It’s something of a paradox to those who have emotions, but to fear they controls them leaving them to die, and those who do not have the relevant emotions, desperately looking everywhere for them.

Today I write music, because I can not help it. For documentaries, movies, small business or private, and when I have time, I write a few albums.

Purpura

Erik Vansaren

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