Parahrono

Time in isolation has turned into an amorphous mass. Repetitive housebound activities render even the most well-organised of us struggling to keep track of time. Desperately seeking to extract an iota of excitement, mundane occurrences are seen in new light. With a pair of Cageian ears and through the assistance of trusty intoxicants, the busy street by the window turns into a clamorous symphony; each vehicle becomes a distinct instrument, with their different tyres, transmissions, and powertrains inducing unique timbres within this accidental composition.

Parahrono is part artistic expression, part reassurance; as long as vehicles are passing through, the world is yet to collapse. Focusing on the sound, the mind plays its usual tricks. Time becomes distorted; rhythms gallop alike drunken louts, textures intertwine in their frantic pursuit for attachment. The mundane becomes superb, and vice versa. Queens Drive in Childwall was recorded through the windows of a ground floor flat, the composer’s own isolated bubble. A pair of condenser microphones are poking through the blinds, and another pair of contacts attached to the glass, itself now a resonator, victim to the violent gusts of air blown by the passing vehicles. As long as vehicles are passing through, the world is yet to collapse.

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