BLACKDANCE

1. Waves of Changes and its glacial, archaic intro, a sound coming from beyond the grave, a dreamlike, orgasmic rise, sounds that complement each other, collide; pink noise, white noise, sounds flirting with saturation, pleasantly molesting the ears; 6 minutes on the clock and we are in the stronghold, the air becomes more serious, vibrant, invasive; the percussions seem bewitched and crash against the speakers; the crescendo becomes sharp, the sounds-noises uncontrollable, archaic jolts in low frequency; the last third is already there, this noise intensifies, becomes hoarse, a percussion returns; the jerky mantranic rhythm attacks your ears a little more, you start to drool, white foam, a sign of musical overflow, appears; the end is very/too brutal and creates a lack, you tremble, quickly let's move on to the next title.

2. Some Velvet Phasing made me think of the works of Jean Michel JARRE which would only be released 2 years later; a wandering ambient sound that will search deep within you for your progressive instincts and mix them with this primal musical cry; it's simple but beautiful, it's on a register of languorous irritation to lull an evening when the rain and the night fall on you with much anguish; a wandering in the moonlight confronted with the staggering, immense cold and which shows that what is short can also be good.

3. Voices of Syn with Ernst Walter SIEMON on bass vocals imprinting his lingual touch from the start; Klaus intervenes with keyboard vibrato, pushing the air and infusing it with a dagger of notes; little memory of this sound heard the first time, coming from the left, from behind, advancing in front... at the time when we only had a pair of speakers; today one could believe that Ernst is in a side room and that Klaus is there with his digital synth, the analog taking up too much space it must be admitted; 5 minutes and it whirls around us like the cavalry of the good old days, yes the Indians could only be mean remember; 6 minutes and it starts, the bass rises in range, the beep becomes oppressive, the voice goes underground; we enter into the Berliner sound, the one from which we cannot return, just like prog drifts, a common fact; we drift to this metronomic tune where only a piano in the distance imprints a semblance of melody. The rise becomes oppressive, the crescendo is at the limit of the audible, it feels like the slack tide of a high tide, will it increase or start to ebb? The pad has gone irremediably to the left, it tears out your eyeball, fortunately the throbbing organ recovers the stereo; In terms of sound, the slack water is there, we are waiting for the last wave like the magical wave of the tidal bore, watch out, last jolt, last ray of note of light, it's over!