A Way to Listen to Patzr Radio

Now up to episode 237!

/ By Marc Weidenbaum

The Patzr Radio podcast, its raw everyday noises coddled and collated, filtered and warped, by Jimmy Kipple, always surprises. What begins here as industrial whine gives way to a shuddering, a rabid flux, that is animal-like, maybe actual animals, such as the quick motion of sea creatures fleeing a net, or simply “-like,” some mechanical device nearing collapse from aeons of use and abuse.

The entries in this ongoing series (episode 237!) are short because they should be listened to on repeat. By the time you get to the end the first time, you understand more about where it began. When it begins anew, you understand the subsequent transitions better (when the whine dies out, when one sound transforms into another). And the more you listen, the more those changes take on compositional quality, the more the piece becomes a composition. Noises become motifs, transitions become development, and alterations become narrative.

And after listening to an episode on repeat, you’ll want to listen back to other episodes and sense how this piece helps unpack previous ones.

Track originally posted at [soundcloud.com/patzr-radio](https://soundcloud.com/patzr-radio/patzr-radio-two-hundred-and-thirtyseven-argu).

Epic Alejandro Morse

From the forthcoming Adversarial Policies

/ By Marc Weidenbaum

Alejandro Morse has shared an initial pieces off a forthcoming album, *Adversarial Policies*, due from the Static Discos label. It’s an epic recording, halfway between a vast granular synthesis daydream and an Ennio Morricone western score. It tracks a thick rising cloud of tremulous drones, as if a string section had been left to keep a hostage negotiation under control. It’s enthralling.

Track originally posted at [soundcloud.com/alejandro-morse](https://soundcloud.com/alejandro-morse/never-again). Morse and Static Discos are both based in Mexico.

twitter.com/disquiet: Home, Rain, Insects

From the past week

/ By Marc Weidenbaum

I do this manually each Saturday, collating most of the tweets I made the past week at [twitter.com/disquiet](https://twitter.com/disquiet), which I think of as my public notebook. Some tweets pop up in [expanded form](https://disquiet.com/2021/09/20/domestic-activity/) or otherwise on Disquiet.com sooner. It’s personally informative to revisit the previous week of thinking out loud.

▰ Dust never sleeps

▰ 2021 is, in part, sitting alone in two different virtual conference tools associated with a single meeting’s calendar invitation, and waiting to see which (or if, yes, either) will turn out to be where the meeting will take place.

▰ Hometown telephone pole graffiti

▰ I did make it to [Escape Pod Comics](). If only this place existed when I was a kid.

▰ You can go home again, and you can learn things about your home in the process.

▰ Sometimes I stare at the crates of records against a wall near my desk and think: that exact space could hold an upright piano, and if there were a piano, it could (eventually) play more music than all these LPs combined. (I kept the LPs and bought a guitar instead, but yeah.) I’m actually 3,000 miles from my desk at the moment, but in a way that lends perspective.

▰ Pro tip: turn off the ceiling fan before conducting the interview you intend to record. (Turning off the rain is another story.)

▰ Fairly certain this week’s Disquiet Junto project has the best/worst pun in the 508 consecutive weeks to date.

▰ If you’ve been living in a rain-starved region for years, waking up to (from?) the sound of the roof being pummeled by a storm feels somehow wasteful. (It also sounds like thousands of tiny horses are rushing past frantically overhead.)

▰ The sheer volume of insect noise in my hometown is insane.

And now I have Hall and Oates in my head. “They only come out at night …”

And now maybe you do, too.