BREKEKEKEXKOAXKOAX – Sudden Empire Of Tears

Hushroom

The review published today deals with a limited edition of 50 copies, released in 2013. By now you should be comfortable with my habit of retrieving unpolished gems from archive boxes after lengthy stretches of unintended oblivion. But in this case you’ll have to pay special attention. Because Sudden Empire Of Tears is a great example of music revealing singular attributes even if (presumably) composed with relatively inexpensive means. It came to me in times of dire need of something not predictable as most everything generated by humans nowadays. It was a serendipitous soundtrack for the difficulty of an individual hungry for coherence to keep things in check amidst the confusion produced by others.

While absorbing the six-track sequence that makes up the album – just fine on a silent and partially rainy August afternoon – I realized how Josh Ronsen’s art has been imprinted with a raison d’être which corresponds, in some way, to one’s aim of living exclusively “in the moment” (though not without problems).

The small box set also features written and visual fragments of not easy interpretation, definitely relating to Ronsen’s Fluxus-influenced vision. They may or may not enhance the listening experience, depending on your attitude. During certain junctures, one doesn’t really know whether to concentrate on the record (which includes at least two pieces of extraordinary value, “The Hiding Of The Face” for guitar and electronics, and “The Premises Of The Philosophers” for bass clarinet and electronics), or simply let it coalesce with the circumjacent spaces.

I looked at the piles of CDs and books accumulating dust, the objects that lie upon them. I thought back to the decades spent collecting all this soon-to-be-useless stuff with inevitable regret. Then, the mind became imprisoned again by the ghosts of mediocre realities experienced for too long. How to get out of that cage, if not through sound?

In this sense, Brekekekexkoaxkoax’s electroacoustic achromatism represents an affordable instrument of partial rebirth. I had it handy for seven years, without knowing its importance. Major intuitions were delivered from the excesses of mental convolution. A mix of irony and pain was perceived throughout the program, as the sounds continued to spread across the room. I caught a glimpse of this man continuing quietly on his path, disregarding trends and aesthetic commandments, exalting frequencies and combinations that are crucial for a conscious attempt to heal.

Artists like Mr. Ronsen are a lone wolf’s solace.

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