Fennesz
Endless Summer

Stopping on the edge of a crowded square and searching for a story; banal, original, spicy, gray, plausible, or surreal. Extracting the honey from the insect-like hustle and bustle of people. The style of clothes, the texture of smells, the cut of accents, the improbability of postures, and the incessant jumble of clipped phrases.

Heating up the engine of the sixth sense and lubricating the other five. Wine? Maybe, but on a full stomach. Smoke? Could be, but with a short roll.

Theory of glitch applied to human beings.

For Alva Noto, they are a system of values in precarious balance, a bubbling cauldron of small unconscious oscillations. For Alva Noto, glitch is a philosophy that stirs chaos.

For Vladislav Delay, they are the communication (verbal and non-verbal) of actors on a stage, the intentions (revealed and not) of the characters in a story. For Vladislav Delay, glitch is the dramaturgy of a theatrical pièce.

Then there's Fennesz. Fennesz and the glitch. The glitch of "Endless Summer" and Fennesz.

And his diviner's guitar, shaped like a "Y".

It doesn't matter if it vibrates with folk reminiscences, liquid wanderings, or drone concentrations; what matters is that it's the gaze of a man with his sixth sense on and the other five lubricated, fishing for arpeggios in the sea rippled by computer distortions, uncovering paths by slicing through digital scraps.

That particular voice, that eccentric outfit, that smudged makeup, that vivid detail that ignites the imagination in the midst of a teeming crowd and becomes the starting point to weave a story.

For Fennesz, glitch are grains of sand from which to sift out flecks of gold, tavern gossip that inspire folk legends, stars of an artificial sky tracing melodic routes. They are what minutiae in newspapers were for Mayakovsky: occasional irritations that directed his saber thrusts.

"Endless Summer" is an album with an intense flavor, hypnotic fragrance, and changing hues. An album with the texture of a thousand refractions that speckle a seascape at sunrise; the sun of an endless summer, of an imagination perpetually on alert.

The noise of a boot echoing on porphyry, a cigarette butt smeared with lipstick, a newspaper clipping thrown onto the sidewalk: stories are everywhere. You just need the humility to bend down to earth and gather them.