Windpipe was like a chimney still there a thousand years after the fire. The whole land was that – flat, empty, grey – except all of our brick chimneys. It like the last act of the movie, like the world was ending or he wasn’t going to win or kill the bad guy or save us all whatever. And just as all this is happening, before it even ends, it slowly fades to black and the credits start rolling. Went from explosions to mere relationships.
And I’m like, “What the fuck? I’m trying to watch that.”
And the guy next to me turns to me, and he’s all wearing his old-timey railroad outfit and he’s got this long metal rod. And then I realize it’s Phineas Gage. I tell him he looks particularly tired.
And he’s all, “Yeah, each of us is given our own apocalypse. The world ends differently for everyone. Like someone took a bag of spaghetti and put a rubber band down at one end of the bundle of pasta and put the other end in a pot of boiling water. So you get a plate of spaghetti that’s all raw and straight and parallel on one end and all cooked and wiggly and tangled on the other. Then they dump a bunch of sauce on top but it looks like blood and guts.”
And I’m like, “Is that what you’re doing here in Los Angeles?”
“Yep. Fixin’ LA traffic by givin’ everyone their own personal train track - start out straight over there, then all wiggly over there.”
“What’s with the metal rod?”
“You look tired. Are you sure you’re not sleeping?”
“I breathe wood smoke. All the live long day.”
released October 3, 2019
Text by Brian Patterson
Music by Colin Cole
Mastering by Adam Badí Donoval
Art by Micah Giraudeau
Memory and reality blur in the ambient music of Kajsa Lindgren. Based on archival recordings found in her parents' basement, the Swedish composer sends sonorous strings and piano through echoes of the past. Lars Gotrich