Omiya, Saitama City, (JP)
28/01/2024, 11:30 a.m.

A cold winter sunday morning, opening the window of our home studio in the city of Omiya, Japan. We can see our balcony terrace, Japanese pine tree in the garden and the music room of the city’s high school just next to our place.

We don't know how long this tradition has been going on, the sounds of high school brass bands echo through the street everyday and accompany some moments of our daily life in this neighborhood for around 60 years at least. The sounds of brass celebrate our ordinary life and add some pinch of dramatic or cinematic senses in our daily life.　


Microphones : Rode NTG-5 + ZOOM XYH-6 
Recorder : ZOOM H6

Omiya, Saitama City, (JP)  28/01/2024, 11:30 a.m.

W̸̴̡̢͉͔̠͎̹͓̮̝͓̝̫ͫ̍̊̈̿ͩ̾͗̓̑͟W̴̪͓̪̭͕̭͚͛ͮ̓̌͐͌͘͞ͅ

"Lately, when...
"I knew, on the land I chanted: a word with feet, one hatching another and another and another,
and hatches into earth, into another's boat; remember that tree". And then, in that same shade, a raven
with an eagle's wing sometimes staggered and said, as it kept going as Ä's you, revealing wonders (this is a grand slide of the wretched):
"Born in a place where the land, step by step, kneels into paths, paths into roads & shades, and roads then roads: "eat honey as your work", as the beginning roughens and plays to sleep anew; the moon dirty tells blue, red, 'they are green!' light."
So, as it is, that only the past and the yet-to-come may be, equally forward-gliding, stripped bare essentiality, not fleeing nor soon to be revealed from beneath, but that farther-off ancient white, as well as now, except not quite yet, because your words begin to knowingly answer only at the dawn of the ever-beginning, still lingering in the shadow of the last-minute A. Its suddenness, so tangibly clinging to experience, appears with all its bases thoroughly self-sown, that developing, leaking wake drawn in the water; come, take from it your own.
Black soil pours feet, but the beginning of the chapter giver lets it be known that from the flowers of the land, a pine has become snags, backwoods, lights, splits, pieces, and (at least in the beginning) numbers to embroider the cover in mockery: and not everything at once, right from the first time, let alone perhaps in the end after all, when nevertheless the fore- and hindpaws, at your command, you yourself decide your truths to be, your assumptions, your catches...


W̸̴̴̨̢̢̨̛̘͇̰̬̞̖̘̙̟̦̘͔̪͉̪̔̒͋́̅͒̽ͭ̄̀͌͐̍̎̐̿̂́̔ͭ̓͛͘͟W̧̢̩͓̱̥̜̝̼̫̽ͪ̇̎ͫ̑̓ͥ̿ͥ̓̕͢ͅͅŴ̵̸̸̧̨̤̩̰̜̠̺̮̫̖͕̪͕͙̒ͨ̀́̏ͮ͒͗ͥ͜͟͠



W͇_̲̜͔̰̜͚͇ͪ̓͠W̸̤ͮ͂̈̓W̴̸͇̫̤̑͑ͦ͢

W̸̴̡̢͉͔̠͎̹͓̮̝͓̝̫ͫ̍̊̈̿ͩ̾͗̓̑͟W̴̪͓̪̭͕̭͚͛ͮ̓̌͐͌͘͞ͅŴ̵̸̸̧̨̤̩̰̜̠̺̮̫̖͕̪͕͙̒ͨ̀́̏ͮ͒͗ͥ͜͟͠

Fifty Days

Track included in the seventeenth V.A compilation of People Can Listen Label (PCLVA017)
https://peoplecanlisten.bandcamp.com/album/pclva-017-seventeenth-listen

Mastering by Optionica: www.instagram.com/optionica

Original photo by Inga Makeyeva: www.instagram.com/ingamakeyeva_ph

Bandcamp

Bounce

Init

Memorex

Nodarel

The Pain Of Answering, What's Your Name

Buy Album Here:
magicsquarerecords.bandcamp.com/album/yes…y-network

All music written, recorded, mixed & mastered by Elijah Franks.

"Telecommunication" by PBS'73 is licensed under a © ℗ ® Creative Commons License.

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