First: telegraph wires across the plains. Then a very slow, at first imperceptible rumble, gradually picking up strength, producing an auditory sensation out of which a dijeridu points it’s elephant trunk audio, waving towards the dawn in highly stereophonic bursts.

The dijeridu keeps up its recurring screwing and bending of audio, while the cello and the oboe paint aboriginal signs of survival on rocks and tree trunks, while someone whispers in the sand…

This is called Breathing [cello, dijeridu x 2, oboe, tapes, effects], and the way I see it, it is the breathing of dawn, as the body of Earth lies half-awake, the bleak color of dawn spreading across the Outback horizon. The dijeridus sound piercing and penetrating as the light grows in intensity. The creatures of the Outback surface of the planet have to face another day.

This does not have me think about music at first, but rather a jingle jangle thoughtscape, a maze of biological cables and circuits exchanging – or stopping! – messages and visions and shreds of those, as they move around inside the brain at the speed of nerve impulses, scaring whomever carries that brain on top of his body, while his legs cast long shadows in the first morning sun.

Track 2 is R.Ism V.2PF [piano x 2, sampled flute, tapes, electronics]
This also has a very inconspicuous beginning, finally materializing as the echoing sounds of pianos way off somewhere inside a hall, very distant, dreamy, like someone else’s recollection of Moriz Rosenthal or Ignaz Friedman at the turn of last century, from 1800 to 1900, planted in your contemporary brain by the unexplainable whim of fate and the powers of delusion, or perhaps as a vision bestowed on you while half awake, half asleep, in that transitory state where you taste death and rebirth while still held firmly against your bed by the pull of planetary gravity; Al Margolis distributing spider webs of transparent electronics.

So far this CD has brought on a strong and elusive scent of dreams, visions and alternate states of mind and life, most beautiful, and, in a peculiar way, deprived of flesh and blood, of body; instead presenting recollections of body, reminiscences of life – of lives – which dance around, fly up and flutter around, only to sink back down into the nameless jungles of oblivion, into soaring, inward voids of forgetfulness; in wonderful, misty displays of Holy Amnesia.

The pianos emit rays of illusive tarantellas, skirts flying in black and white across mud floors, dust rising – but as in a mirage, and that is what this is, yes, I found the proper description of this piece and the earlier ones too, but especially this one: mirage music. If, Bwana has diligently produced mirage music, and it’s quite wonderful to be in it without a body, without a certain predicament of here and now, your spirit dissolving into the sea of all those other spirits, dissipating in the light of dawn… as the flute paints calligraphic exclamations against the sun that rises in your mind.

Track 3, the last piece - is called Barump Poc [wind, organ, vocals, cello, strings, tapes].
A brown, softly dawning rumble appears like the organs of Koyaansiqatsi, that magic, ominous music by Philip Glass in the film by Godfrey Reggio (1983) based on the old Hopi saying that something is wrong in the world; there is an unbalance that needs correction.
This is also the message that I get from this piece and from the whole CD, it seems.
The modal chords of Barump Poc and the angelic voices far off into invisibility further strengthen my desolate, transparent sense of destitution and dissolving reminiscences.
So much of the content – the auditory content and the frames of mind of it – sort of pictures a situation beyond correction, when the world of Man has gone so far into perversion that the only qualities left of this world are hidden in visions and memories of bodiless spirits floating in and out of Holy Amnesia – and I get to think about the goldonder Aniara and its 8000 passengers adrift towards the Lyre, lost forever along a never ending trajectory into incomprehensible space, a cocoon of memories for the voids of Deep Space Amnesia.