Grinding singsong, Seidmen is dancing on the edge of the table, discworld, rumbling over spines while someone is crawling under the surface, under the tapestry of socialization, where the wild things are and your neighbor is moaning in his dusty absurdity. Where the bone machine is roaring from spheres of the canalization, upside down, bottom up. On top: candles and masks, I put a spell on you, voodoo is in the air. When female voice is processed by man’s mouth, energy cut down, it’s raining nails, like teardrops, like filigree thoughts simultaneously falling apart – the decay of material is omniscient. Rainmaker, I can see the amphibian’s wooden backplate dawning, feedback, flashback, we can’t stay here, this is bat country, however: loop (again and again). An uneasy sense evolves – glimpsing through the shadow of your fingers, visions of the nightmare manifest in the unknown, waiting around the corner, there’s execration. The little shop of horrors opens when the cuckoo clock strikes and dolls corpses ask for the next dance. No eyes and no sense. Then cracking noise is overtaking, maroon mulhollandish, skirmish shivers, and somewhere a didgeridoo barks, desperately, and fails, fades into a monotone humming, final tone. A parasitic noise, heartbeats leading to the reconciliation of Latin-American guitars and tropic percussion, longing for escape exotic illusion absorbs docile, soul travellers or zombies, are we human or are we dancers?

(Review of Appearance #1 by Franziska Mucha. SPL2011 will be Appearance #2)