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Rating:
Free associations of ideas, objects flying disconnected.
Recurring thoughts but not sequential, here music occupies space, not time.
Anarchic psychedelia escaping on a thirty-five millimeter film. There's no need to search for a meaning because there isn't one. Emotions, palpitations floating in the air, extremely painful electric shocks, there is something majestic and childish in this film called Tette, surreal and understandable, concrete and elusive, illogical. It's an impersonal work, morbidly full of itself, embarrassing.
I feel ashamed to identify with this music, yet it's part of me.
Sounds and concepts are distorted and wrapped in radioactive fog. The sensations are dilated and amplified, the chromatic contrast is at its maximum. The abrasive chops of Donahue and Grasshopper's guitars are thrown into the mud by Thorpe's flute. The worst noises are also the most childish, they suckle milk from the breasts. The nursery school choirs and background carousels take on a threatening, cumbersome aspect. The schizoid sentimentality of Yerself Is Steam is here brought to an extreme consequence, the result is a raw diamond, an imperfect universe of sounds.
Everything is excessive:
There is only one thing in Boces that I think we should have extended more.
(words and thoughts inspired by the incomprehensible notes in the booklet)
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