T. Mikawa - Cloud Carpet Bombing

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Joie de la Blumpy
Noise Fanatic
Posts: 323
Joined: Sat Jan 22, 2022 5:14 am

T. Mikawa - Cloud Carpet Bombing

Post by Joie de la Blumpy »

T. Mikawa - Cloud Carpet Bombing
Via No Beat Shit, Mr Hamilton/keraunograph recently talked up, in the most enthused of terms, the latest T. Mikawa solo joint, prompting me to immediately snap one up, so contagious certain gradations of enthusement would you not say. So here's me, now, having listened all of once or so and uh no surprises given the recent direction, supreme laser noise up the hidey hole, sounding nothing like anyone else, or shall we say blissfully unencumbered by concerns for where noise is supposed to be coming or going, at least from anyone not named T. Mikawa.

But that bliss, says me, is contagious. There were indications of this direction as early as Gyo-Kai Elegy, which was much praised at the time (and I believe is still). But once the mania set in, for the long haul, enthusiasms were noticeably dimmed, at least in some quarters, at least when these sorts of blissfully synthetic heresies were attached to Incapacitants. However, no less were there indications, particularly in Bloody, Innocent And Strategic (the last full length proper, circa 2014), of a profound desire to razor that blissfully innocent smile straight off your fucking face, and replace it with one much wider, redder.

I've sometimes suggested that on some level Mikawa, especially the later era Mikawa, may be very consciously picking up shards of fragments of where Monde Bruits left off. But, like, pissin hard. I'm willing to entertain the suggestion even more, at least today. Perhaps even more than the studio tracks in I, Noise, the earholes might legitimately reconfigure impressions of the intensely infested city of writhing synthetic zipper-wyrms as hyperdriven Psychosomatic Performance, better still hyperspasmic spirals of the Selected Noise Works, spastic, maybe, spasmic, certainly, stripping back sensibility, sensory debility, pissin harrderr, spiraling razors up the hidey hole, spearing smearing spiraling squealy-mouthed piggypeaks, up up and away through tubular glassy-smooth chambers of zzzzziiiip yeeeOWch jeezus mother of

cosmic zipper trauma.
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