In explaining the everday sounds of his nearly hour-long work “L-C (loop coil),” its composer, Darius Ciuta, quotes that bounty of everyday knowledge, Wikipedia: “A coil is a series of loops. A coiled coil is a structure where the coil itself is in turn also looping, these objects are used commonly and are very important.” Dogs bark, voices express simple facts, waves crash, bicycles ride past. This is how “L-C (loop coil)” proceeds, each entry following the previous with an unclear sense of certain division between elements, and a steady level of sonic voyeurism that’s more eavesdrop than first-hand experience, except when the stray sound comes suddenly if momentarily into (sonic) view, as when the bicyclist veers a little too close for comfort.
And then, on rare occasion, there are musical tones — loftily held chords as well as slow melodic figures — that unfold themselves, like soft blankets laid out on a beach, or a color being added to an old black and white picture (MP3). The tones are like glue, like tape, like thin bits of cellophane adhesive holding together fragments of reality.
More information, as well as a massive “lossless” FLAC version of the file, at impulsivehabitat.com.