Those Who Walk Away
The Infected Mass

Here comes a noise, the mask of the Red Death moves among the seats. We are falling. The end.

A reinterpretation of Gavin Bryars' "Sinking The Titanic". A modern revisitation, we fly, but we die. Different expectation but always Death, like the Red Mask. Times change.

Falling into the abyss, only a hiss, ecclesiastical voices, a string quartet, and one floats among voices found à la Luigi Nono.

Found voices, black boxes, "This is the Control Tower."

Air sliced by dead engines, free fall, suspended strings, wonderful suspensions from Greek tragedy in a carcass symbolizing decay.

Heartbreaking wonder in its beauty. Fall of the Modern Gods. And all that remains is a labored breath and a lament of strings, the last echoes of a life falling.

A life that's falling. Let's hope to land on our feet.

Many voices. echoes ................................................. it was beautiful