Set Fire to Flames
Sings Reign Rebuilder

"Your bulldozers and wrecking ball can make match-sticks out of the rickety staircase and crookt/creaking floorboards - but they can't erase the recording that was made here."

Far from the city lights. From the cries of the streets. In a dilapidated farmhouse, near demolition. For about five days, in a semi-permanent state of wakefulness.

Thirteen individuals from the vibrant Montreal (Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Exhaust, 1-Speed Bike, Fly Pan Am, A Silver Mount Zion... relatives and friends, in short) decide to break down any boundaries between the fog and the earth. Everything blurred, subdued, and volatile. Sometimes they remember gravity and return to simple choral melodies for string instruments of infinite sweetness. Other times they stumble upon a carpet of uncoordinated percussion supported only by a gently stroked violin. A distant howl of a siren. The world, it too had something to say at that moment. The creaking of a door. Footsteps on gravel. The gust of wind, more oppressive than the starry winter sky. Like being blind on the top of a mountain.

Walking in mid-air.