Tropic of Coldness
There’s a race to zero entropy in the electronic chill sound. Each collection across my player offers less and less. Sound is stripped to nothing, leaving only a minimalist ghost of rock and roll or jazz to cast shadows on the vapor of an extinguished cloud of cigarette smoke. These sounds come from the duo “David and Giovanni. ” They’ve lost their surnames. The music lost its words leaving only the effort to think quiet thoughts.
“Pride of Our Sails” slowly filters through electronic drones; the sound of wood creaking in the quiet swell appears shyly under slow waves lapping at your player. A barely noticeable segue leads to “Two and Half Stones”. Now the ocean is gone, or at least far above, and the sounds of continents slowly shifting millimeter by slow millimeter now dominates… then fades. Now it’s a repetitive horn vibrating like a European police siren in a that far, far distance. The sound promises civil unrest or criminal activity which only will appear on a back page of a paper no one reads anymore. A guitar string is touched, a small sound timidly runs and hides. You are here to listen to the silences; the sounds are only bookends. You become calm, and the pace asymptotically slows, approaches zero. You are now locked in Carbonite and left to age like a fine Stilton cheese. This is chiller than chill, colder than cool.