Robert Rich
Trances/Drones

Prologue:
Drifts & Lucidities walk the blade of wakefulness that peels the consciousness of my mind.

Sirens of the dream & Bacchants of the daily life vie for the time of my flesh.

Spells & Logarithms elevate and extract the latent images of my memory.

Trances open doors & Drones close circles.

“Trances” (disc 1):
In a cave, drops fall one after another, slow, indifferent. Around a hypnotic electronic chirring, spectral sound waves settle, obscuring the gaze while a humble synthetic piano hints at small primordial dances that proclaim the renewal of the world; forgotten rites that wither in dying suns.

Out there, the voice of the forest moans. Guttural reverberations shake the flame of glittering silver stars that illuminate the vault of the dark celestial cathedral like funeral candles. The mind is a blank page that murky synthesizers fill with enigmatic pantheistic psalms... Is it the end of which beginning? The air is cold, the blood is warm, and the cruel laugh of the moon mocks the clumsiness of my steps.

It’s the beginning of the end. A fine drizzle smooths out creamy chords that gently devour the marrow of Time, soft cartilages where the cold geometries of the more formal Brian Eno are patiently thawed by warm diffused timbres in which the aroma of ancient incenses lingers.

&

“Drones” (disc 2):
On the shore, the ebb and flow of the wave gifts precious electronic wrecks, organic litanies are traced and erased on the sand by slow briny drones. Traced and erased incessantly in an eternal foam of high tones and low tones.

…Is it the beginning of which end? A menacing soot covers the walls of thought; no light, no glimpse. Gray waves rise from the depths of memories and overwhelm everything I have become in a mute agony of wide-eyed silence.

It’s the end of the beginning. I can finally free myself from my human vestiges and float in the electronic echoes of Rich, in his Pantheon of mysterious pagan drones where the mystical purity of Steve Roach is filtered through dense earthly algorithms and returned to human measure.

Epilogue:
I want to liquefy and flow into the interstices of things, I want to brush against crowded and colorful crowds without ever touching them, and I want to live in the connections, junctions, and links.

I want to live in the impossible “&” that ties and separates the Drifts from Lucidity, the Sirens from Bacchants, the Spells from Logarithms, the Trances from the Drones.