Buscar:tusco

it’s a pleasure to bring together, on this album, musicians with whom we feel a very special connection, namely Felicia Atkinson, Büþra Kayýkçý, Carmen Villain, Kuniyuki Takahashi, Pavel Milyakov,
KMRU, Ana Quiroga, Abul Mogard and Pedro Vian. All of them have been very generous in their willingness to participate in an artistic experiment: to build bridges between architecture and music.
Each of these artists chose a space and translated it into a piece of music, and the result is a sonic kaleidoscope through which specific territories can be gazed upon from unexplored points of view. The
compositions that make up this compilation are synaesthetic windows through which we can observe with our ears. To look through them, all we have to do is listen and we’ll be able to contemplate, in a unique
way, spaces located in such different places as Vilches (Chile), Istanbul (Turkey), Oslo (Norway), Sapporo (Japan), Nairobi (Kenya), London (England), Rome (Italy), Berlin (Germany), or even in imaginary universes.

In the late 90’s, east-side LA was in the throws of a post-indie explosion; a network of stoned bands ranging from neo-psychedelia to pseudo-country overran Spaceland (our generation’s Troubadour) and the local Silverlake Lounge. I was playing freakbeat records twice a week in dive bars, half of Spacemen 3 was crashing at my house (my drop-out roomate was Sonic Boom’s tour drummer) and it was during this blur that I met Raymond Richards, a clean-cut all-American pedal steel guitarist playing in Mojave 3 (the country-tinged side project of 4AD shoegaze royalty, Slowdive). I was instantly swept off my feet, head over heals in love with Raymond's weeping tone—the most chill-inducing, emotionally responsive dialog I’d had with music since discovering Satie as a child—it was then and it is now, truly haunting. After a year of personnel trials, my roomate and I stole Raymond for our own band, and not only did he smother our songs with his enchanting steel, he was virtuosic with a variety of atypical instruments such as baritone guitar and theremin, he utilized them all. The band was short-lived—I joined Ariel Pink, Raymond fled to Portland and me subsequently to New York City—but in founding the ESP Institute years later, there was always a recurring mental note; we must make Raymond’s pedal steel album. I had managed to wrangle his blessed performance on a remix for Project Club’s El Mar Y La Luna, but it took almost a decade until I once again wore the producer hat and we began working on The Lost Art Of Wandering, a title borrowed from Sam Shepard’s Stories. Spiritually candid, expansive yet enveloping, this is the strung-out, visceral country music that simply radiates from Raymond. Each song is his set of coordinates in a vast open terrain, holding a sentimental familiarity, a truthful longing for the simple comforts that diffuse life’s complications, a place to get lost. –Lovefingers