Darren Tate: unspecified instruments.
Yet another reclaimed promo from 2009. And the fact that I forgot to plug at the due moment a precious CDR by a personal friend-hero – as always, a limited edition adorned with nonobjective graphics and, internally, a rare photo of Mr. Tate himself – forgetting it amidst the heaped-up discs makes my legendary guilty conscience grieve even more. Oh, well. When An Insect Visits Your Window may appear a title better suitable to the Yorkshireman’s “resident” settings, those where the echoes from the contiguous streets take center stage. You know how it works: staring outside, possibly over an autumnal sunset; cheerlessness, recollection, that girl/boy you love and she/he doesn’t give a damn. Then suddenly a bug walks right in front of your thoughts and there’s a choice to make about what to do: eliminating it from the equation altogether or observing its moves (it usually depends on the kind of arthropod in question). However, in this instance it was not meant to be: the record’s three segments are deprived of extrinsic aids and replete with periodical synthesized waveforms, corroborated by infrequent slashes and scrapes on the strings of an electric guitar (with relative flanging protuberances and hums). The prescription is naively – and hypnotically – efficacious, needing no further self-examining delineation, at least in words. The sounds push the air molecules while letting your mind relocate time and again inside a state of torpor as one imagines Tate and the insect ironically smiling at the reviewer and thinking “poor man”. Need me to restate it? I will: brilliant – and inimitable.