For countless years I have been accustomed to getting lost in the lead gray mists generated by Peter Wright’s music, whose manifestations always seem to appear – perhaps not coincidentally – during personal periods of intense absorption alternated with severe nerve obnubilation. The latter is an unintentional reaction, prompted by a recurring urge to disconnect from the inefficient logic of the quotidian. It’s also paired with the willingness to erase the noise of an ever-spreading nonsense via the “right” frequencies.
Once again, Wright proves to be a master operator of those frequencies. This includes his latest artifact, produced in just 24 hours and nourished exclusively by synthetic sources, as opposed to the glory of computer-aided layered guitars. With indicative titles such as “The Orchestra Of Discontent,” “The Machine Stops” and “The Fog Of The Future,” Wright provides for the fabrication of an acoustic cocoon inside which you’ll want to stay, in symbiosis with the sounds for days on end, not wanting to focus on anything else in the meantime. The core of these drones is rich in thrumming resonances, at the same time assuaging and ominous. The whole conveys a sense of disdain for the nullity of any meaning linked to “clarifications” aimed to derail an exploitable being’s train of (rational) thought.
Now excuse me, but I have to continue listening. Today is the third day spent with Further Reports From The Interior on repeat, yet there’s still a lot of work to do to figure out where, in that uninviting sky, one should look. And I’m not talking about divine signs, as is only logical. Fortunately, someone continues to generate currents that help contextualize the multiple dimensions of a distress that’s attempting to take over, but is ultimately tamed by drone-fueled intuitions, in turn leading us to a new dawn, at last. Do your homework.
MASSIMO RICCI. TOUCHING EXTREMES. 