Charlemagne Palestine
Jamaica Heinekens in Brooklyn

THE REVIEW

Today at exactly 16:08, strange noises began to fill the sticky afternoon air, electronic bbbbzzzzzz sounds that made our ears perk up.
Then, thousands of Jamaicans, Haitians, and Cubans came out of the stereo speakers and flooded the courtyard. All of them suddenly under the milky sky and a suffocating heat to dance, drink, dance, eat, dance.

We also go out (a Milanese and a Bolognese) into the courtyard to listen, when among the crowd we seem to see a guy walking very slowly, he's funny, he seems to move in slow motion in contrast with the lively movement of everyone else. He wanders around attentively with his little recorder and captures all possible sounds created by the joyful crowd celebrating. Every now and then we lose sight of him, and meanwhile, the noises increase in variety and intensity.

The Bolognese tells me they are series of drones, created by synthesizers and filters for sound modulation, intertwined to create a noise that covers the music and the voices of people; in reality, without realizing it, the noise itself leads us to distinguish the voices, the melodies, the laughter, the helicopters.
And in the meantime, the volume rises in an imperceptible but constant crescendo until it slyly reaches such a level that for an hour it isolates us from all real daily sounds (including 3 missed calls).
Then it ends, suddenly everyone leaves, and the silence finds us dazed and drunk with ringing eardrums, yelling at us how much we enjoyed the party.