Isidore Ducasse: S/T (Vinyl)

The world shimmers in a haze of heat. A tongue, what was once a tongue, you peel it off the roof of what was once a mouth. No sound. A crunch of brittle grass underfoot, but from the once-was-mouth, no sound, no voice. You entered the vast expanse and everything fell silent. Crunch, crunch, crunch. And the dust clings to everything.

A film, a western that was never made, a story never told. All the stories we tell about the desert are attempts to stave off the desert. To hide from its oppressive heat. We want to be sure that the person in front of us is not a mirage, that the silence does not swallow all. You cross the great wilderness, and you come back with a story. If you come back. This story is in fact the sound of the desert, because in the desert itself there is no sound, no words. The story must be told for the desert to be.

So this is the thing about Isidore Ducasse – whoever she is: the music fights off the silence, even as it lapses into silence. It tells the story of a film that was never made, a story that remains untold. This telling – the telling of the untold story – is the only evidence you have that the story ever existed. That and the dust that still clings to your body. It must be a beautiful story. Haunting, savage, yet beautiful. Full of blistering sun and nighttime cold, miles that rattle by without change. Grinding drones and heady vibrato. Sparse, empty, yet as heavy as the afternoon heat. A story you think you might have heard before. – Fluid Radio