(( PRE-SALES: more copies will be available around the beginning of April ))
Limited edition of 157 copies (of which only 100 are for sale) with unique hand made collages on every cover.
“a few years ago, my mother gave me a small stack of 45s of some of her favorite songs as a kid; chuck berry, the platters, and others. when i began to listen to the records, i was not only excited about the music, but the surface-scuffs from my mother’s repeated listening over the years of wear and tear.
the source for u.t.r. and o.t.r. is a recording of ‘somewhere over the rainbow’ by the dimensions.
what you are hearing are the processed sounds of the surface noise at the beginning and end of the record – the first and last notes of the song.
the experience of listening to a vinyl record is not only a durational experience, but a physical experience. when the needle is dropped upon the record at the beginning and picking it up at the end, it is a kind of performance.
in this piece, i wanted to explore the unintentional sounds – to emphasize the ‘before-song’ and the ‘after-song’.
in the final seconds of listening to a 45, when the needle becomes trapped in the repetitive rhythm that is born of a locked groove, these clicks become a process of disintegration. the constant clicks offer a kind of lullaby like the aging process of a human being’s body and skin as it changes. every time a piece of vinyl is played, new wrinkles, scars, scratches, scrapes, chips, and detritus are created and so here, i wanted to highlight the unintentional soundings caused by handling, to move away from the perfect veneer.
the more a record is handled, the more the music is transformed to an entirely different atmosphere – where disturbances and interruptions can overwhelm a song.
listening to the sound of a needle trapped within the final groove of one of my mother’s records, i think i must be hearing the exact thing she heard while listening to the same object possibly 10 years before i was born. as the record continues to offer the clicks and nothing else, i imagine my mother falling asleep to one of her favorite songs. there, in her darkened bedroom, she sleeps to the after-sound of the needle stuck in a groove. as she sleeps, her ears absorb the minimalist rhythmic click, like a lullaby – and as the needle endlessly circles the outer realm of the record label clicking until morning…”