It took me a good while before deciding to write about Carl Michael Von Hausswolff’s most recent investigation of the “beyond beyond”. Instances occur where the unembellished elucidation of a procedure denotes such a level of prescient acuity that a supplement of narrative risks to destroy both the integrity and the logical undermeaning of the outcome.

After the effective starkness of the composer’s lines (“a connection with the unknown and with the energy field clusters and mental abilities of post-mortem life forms that would be the incorporeal essence of a living being”) it is impossible not to recall the “heavenly epic” theories of numerous incoherent “scientists”, and silently chuckle.

The inability of recognizing the reshaping of matter as the exclusive symbol of continuity inside an infinitude which remains unnerving for less than pragmatic specimens lies at the basis of today’s global cerebral wreck. Every body – including the apparently inanimate – is defined by a degree of intrinsic vibration. The combination of those frequencies is essential for providing elements of actual development; in this sense, adjectives like “inharmonious” or “strident” should not even exist.

Only the limitations of the individual brain/ear apparatuses keep sticking quality labels and rules of acceptance on a collective counterpoint of unique existences. On that account, no one can afford to trumpet a correspondence with theoretical “superior entities” designing a nonsensical flawlessness. There are none, until proven differently; and the “proofs” coming from sheer trust (or, more incisively, human delirium) are not acceptable.

An elementary truth inevitably hurts a dysfunctional mind. Isn’t it much better to rely on celestial bullshit? How to proceed otherwise in the daily struggle against the acknowledgement of one’s fundamental uselessness in the nominal “great scheme of things”?

In terms of mere “musical” content, Still Life – Requiem stands up there with the finest work by the Swedish scanner. In just over half an hour we’re treated with chorales of reverberant quintessences and barely measurable signals from the innards of the audio spectrum, in accordance with Von Hausswolff’s interest in the abnormal ranges of audibility. The album begins and ends with the same sound; a genuine loop symbolizing the stochastic cyclicity of transformation within the continuum of a merciless rationality.

All of the above is probably too hard to fathom for people in search of answers they’re never going to get. Von Hausswolff’s connoisseurs – plus listeners interested in John Duncan, Asmus Tietchens and the likes – need no further prattle but two words: compulsory listening.

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