Email from Young and Hungry

Excerpt of an email from my producer, Young and Hungry, in response to my latest rant in which I systematically curse every electronic musician I can think of--including himself--for having lured me into this supposedly easy racket in which a few well placed bleeps equals a hit record. The whirls and crashes that make up my album, Liebling Farbe, sound exactly like my coffee perculator going through its morning routine--only without the warm bubbly black gratification at the end.

Anyway, you can tell how deep this guy is--the pic of the Berlin Radio Tower was included as an attachment. He's been obsessed with it, ever since he saw Wings of Desire. A few years ago he visited the city and saw it reflecting light in the shape of a cross. He pointed it out to the German girl he was with (the guy gets laid wherever he goes) and she said it was a big joke, that the communists went through all this trouble to abolish religion and they built this huge, state of the art radio tower that reflected a cross every afternoon. Not that Y&H is religious--just the opposite. He likes a good joke, though...

"RE: Fuck Aphex Twin

I’ll tell you it’s not easy to be in love with the ebb and flow of data, which rushes like a river through the innermost center of every great urban cityscape. One must adopt the discipline and meticulousness of a naturalist. However antiquated the notions of nature or the natural may be, the techniques of observation that these late 19th century scientists used are the same ones that we employ--at our monitors, in the studio and in the world. One gives oneself over to crossing the same rain lit corner at the same jingle-jangle hour of each new morning. One builds conduits, harbors--creating the means to float upon information waves to lands nonexistent. Downtown palaces, fountains spraying pina coloda up into the air--those Emperor’s New Pants that you saw (or thought you saw) in a flash at a subway turnstile, as your express train shot past a station, the longing that you feel in your gut as you stand before a glowing billboard. We are all passengers together. Whether riding on the crests of data waves or pressed into the murky sand beneath them, we are merely synthesized ornaments gathered for the party at the end of time.”


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