Get all 38 Carlos Santos releases available on Bandcamp and save 40%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Echoing the Chorus of Life, Teufelmusik, Die Zwitscher Maschine, FLUXUS, Quelque chose prie la patience des nuages, Falling into wide spaces, Transition Zone, Studies on Colour Field Modulation, and 30 more.
1. |
Whirr
16:15
|
|
||
|
HAPPY ENDING
...someplace he had just wandered into and now he wondered not just why or how or even when, but who, who was this someone occupied as much as the one occupying, in there some self or not-self going on, or two of one and/or the other, like some seared seer in some sad seersucker wandered into a euphemism like WASHROOM or RESTROOM in a lost and futile decade's diner (the Future Diner the neon had declared, whether promissory note or veiled threat), no washing or resting initially in mind, but then transfixed by the circulating signs of the stall door message handles turned in every case to occupied (or some semblance thereof, like occupied [some message in numbers, a puzzle mathematical] or occupied [promotion of said diner's food] or occupied [state of being resulting from said food, leaving one or it or here the past tense of a noun] or occupied [some great bird not just extinct but now misspelled]), but somehow slipped away to stand in the recent past of an exterior doorway, backlit by the diner's neon or the desert sun, the air a threatened veil, dust motes en regalia…that the digestion was a metaphor, some puzzle of hearing, some auditory hallucination, like a watery echo of an essential but incomprehensible warning, muffling up through the narrow passages of nothingness pinched between the trio’s machinery, whether promise or admonition or domination, some subset let loose, some variation on the solid state, like promise or admonition or just admonition, even domination…(the real song realized not on the jukebox’s recurrent medley but in the artfully sustained creak of the wooden screen door’s rusted hinges and muted thud-click when arriving back in place, the ring of hammered metal from the adjoining service station, the rush of fuel from the gas pump outside, the terrible memory of things as yet unhappened, nothing so hollow as the sound of a mridangam or all that rubbing, a dead letter office of lost sounds finding new life)… or some misbegotten pilgrim’s perplexed arrival at a tripe festival later rendered stranger by learning a little further down the road the festival subject had been apple pie, then graced with the realization that if tripe were an occasion for commemoration and celebration he truly was among the blessed, truly he…by the stream of…sat…to read…"More than the absence of hope, it was the dreamclang--hirsute, bloody, vituperative--that made the sounds of the diner so refreshing."
Stuart Broomer
|
||||
2. |
Hushed
16:59
|
|
||
|
HAPPY ENDING
...someplace he had just wandered into and now he wondered not just why or how or even when, but who, who was this someone occupied as much as the one occupying, in there some self or not-self going on, or two of one and/or the other, like some seared seer in some sad seersucker wandered into a euphemism like WASHROOM or RESTROOM in a lost and futile decade's diner (the Future Diner the neon had declared, whether promissory note or veiled threat), no washing or resting initially in mind, but then transfixed by the circulating signs of the stall door message handles turned in every case to occupied (or some semblance thereof, like occupied [some message in numbers, a puzzle mathematical] or occupied [promotion of said diner's food] or occupied [state of being resulting from said food, leaving one or it or here the past tense of a noun] or occupied [some great bird not just extinct but now misspelled]), but somehow slipped away to stand in the recent past of an exterior doorway, backlit by the diner's neon or the desert sun, the air a threatened veil, dust motes en regalia…that the digestion was a metaphor, some puzzle of hearing, some auditory hallucination, like a watery echo of an essential but incomprehensible warning, muffling up through the narrow passages of nothingness pinched between the trio’s machinery, whether promise or admonition or domination, some subset let loose, some variation on the solid state, like promise or admonition or just admonition, even domination…(the real song realized not on the jukebox’s recurrent medley but in the artfully sustained creak of the wooden screen door’s rusted hinges and muted thud-click when arriving back in place, the ring of hammered metal from the adjoining service station, the rush of fuel from the gas pump outside, the terrible memory of things as yet unhappened, nothing so hollow as the sound of a mridangam or all that rubbing, a dead letter office of lost sounds finding new life)… or some misbegotten pilgrim’s perplexed arrival at a tripe festival later rendered stranger by learning a little further down the road the festival subject had been apple pie, then graced with the realization that if tripe were an occasion for commemoration and celebration he truly was among the blessed, truly he…by the stream of…sat…to read…"More than the absence of hope, it was the dreamclang--hirsute, bloody, vituperative--that made the sounds of the diner so refreshing."
Stuart Broomer
|
||||
3. |
Tumultuous
13:22
|
|
||
|
HAPPY ENDING
...someplace he had just wandered into and now he wondered not just why or how or even when, but who, who was this someone occupied as much as the one occupying, in there some self or not-self going on, or two of one and/or the other, like some seared seer in some sad seersucker wandered into a euphemism like WASHROOM or RESTROOM in a lost and futile decade's diner (the Future Diner the neon had declared, whether promissory note or veiled threat), no washing or resting initially in mind, but then transfixed by the circulating signs of the stall door message handles turned in every case to occupied (or some semblance thereof, like occupied [some message in numbers, a puzzle mathematical] or occupied [promotion of said diner's food] or occupied [state of being resulting from said food, leaving one or it or here the past tense of a noun] or occupied [some great bird not just extinct but now misspelled]), but somehow slipped away to stand in the recent past of an exterior doorway, backlit by the diner's neon or the desert sun, the air a threatened veil, dust motes en regalia…that the digestion was a metaphor, some puzzle of hearing, some auditory hallucination, like a watery echo of an essential but incomprehensible warning, muffling up through the narrow passages of nothingness pinched between the trio’s machinery, whether promise or admonition or domination, some subset let loose, some variation on the solid state, like promise or admonition or just admonition, even domination…(the real song realized not on the jukebox’s recurrent medley but in the artfully sustained creak of the wooden screen door’s rusted hinges and muted thud-click when arriving back in place, the ring of hammered metal from the adjoining service station, the rush of fuel from the gas pump outside, the terrible memory of things as yet unhappened, nothing so hollow as the sound of a mridangam or all that rubbing, a dead letter office of lost sounds finding new life)… or some misbegotten pilgrim’s perplexed arrival at a tripe festival later rendered stranger by learning a little further down the road the festival subject had been apple pie, then graced with the realization that if tripe were an occasion for commemoration and celebration he truly was among the blessed, truly he…by the stream of…sat…to read…"More than the absence of hope, it was the dreamclang--hirsute, bloody, vituperative--that made the sounds of the diner so refreshing."
Stuart Broomer
|
||||
4. |
Ring
10:47
|
|
||
|
HAPPY ENDING
...someplace he had just wandered into and now he wondered not just why or how or even when, but who, who was this someone occupied as much as the one occupying, in there some self or not-self going on, or two of one and/or the other, like some seared seer in some sad seersucker wandered into a euphemism like WASHROOM or RESTROOM in a lost and futile decade's diner (the Future Diner the neon had declared, whether promissory note or veiled threat), no washing or resting initially in mind, but then transfixed by the circulating signs of the stall door message handles turned in every case to occupied (or some semblance thereof, like occupied [some message in numbers, a puzzle mathematical] or occupied [promotion of said diner's food] or occupied [state of being resulting from said food, leaving one or it or here the past tense of a noun] or occupied [some great bird not just extinct but now misspelled]), but somehow slipped away to stand in the recent past of an exterior doorway, backlit by the diner's neon or the desert sun, the air a threatened veil, dust motes en regalia…that the digestion was a metaphor, some puzzle of hearing, some auditory hallucination, like a watery echo of an essential but incomprehensible warning, muffling up through the narrow passages of nothingness pinched between the trio’s machinery, whether promise or admonition or domination, some subset let loose, some variation on the solid state, like promise or admonition or just admonition, even domination…(the real song realized not on the jukebox’s recurrent medley but in the artfully sustained creak of the wooden screen door’s rusted hinges and muted thud-click when arriving back in place, the ring of hammered metal from the adjoining service station, the rush of fuel from the gas pump outside, the terrible memory of things as yet unhappened, nothing so hollow as the sound of a mridangam or all that rubbing, a dead letter office of lost sounds finding new life)… or some misbegotten pilgrim’s perplexed arrival at a tripe festival later rendered stranger by learning a little further down the road the festival subject had been apple pie, then graced with the realization that if tripe were an occasion for commemoration and celebration he truly was among the blessed, truly he…by the stream of…sat…to read…"More than the absence of hope, it was the dreamclang--hirsute, bloody, vituperative--that made the sounds of the diner so refreshing."
Stuart Broomer
|
||||
5. |
Blister
15:08
|
|
||
|
HAPPY ENDING
...someplace he had just wandered into and now he wondered not just why or how or even when, but who, who was this someone occupied as much as the one occupying, in there some self or not-self going on, or two of one and/or the other, like some seared seer in some sad seersucker wandered into a euphemism like WASHROOM or RESTROOM in a lost and futile decade's diner (the Future Diner the neon had declared, whether promissory note or veiled threat), no washing or resting initially in mind, but then transfixed by the circulating signs of the stall door message handles turned in every case to occupied (or some semblance thereof, like occupied [some message in numbers, a puzzle mathematical] or occupied [promotion of said diner's food] or occupied [state of being resulting from said food, leaving one or it or here the past tense of a noun] or occupied [some great bird not just extinct but now misspelled]), but somehow slipped away to stand in the recent past of an exterior doorway, backlit by the diner's neon or the desert sun, the air a threatened veil, dust motes en regalia…that the digestion was a metaphor, some puzzle of hearing, some auditory hallucination, like a watery echo of an essential but incomprehensible warning, muffling up through the narrow passages of nothingness pinched between the trio’s machinery, whether promise or admonition or domination, some subset let loose, some variation on the solid state, like promise or admonition or just admonition, even domination…(the real song realized not on the jukebox’s recurrent medley but in the artfully sustained creak of the wooden screen door’s rusted hinges and muted thud-click when arriving back in place, the ring of hammered metal from the adjoining service station, the rush of fuel from the gas pump outside, the terrible memory of things as yet unhappened, nothing so hollow as the sound of a mridangam or all that rubbing, a dead letter office of lost sounds finding new life)… or some misbegotten pilgrim’s perplexed arrival at a tripe festival later rendered stranger by learning a little further down the road the festival subject had been apple pie, then graced with the realization that if tripe were an occasion for commemoration and celebration he truly was among the blessed, truly he…by the stream of…sat…to read…"More than the absence of hope, it was the dreamclang--hirsute, bloody, vituperative--that made the sounds of the diner so refreshing."
Stuart Broomer
|
||||
Carlos Santos Lisbon, Portugal
Musician, sound artist, sound collector, digital audio manipulator and graphic designer. Interested in field recordings, soundscape composition, improvisation and electroacoustic music. Uses maxmsp software, microphones, speakers, piezo elements, modular synthesizers, spaces and a pair of ears in good working condition. Works as a graphic designer, sound art practices, field recording. ... more
If you like Transition Zone, you may also like:
Wave Debris
by Diana Duta & Julia E. Dyck
An otherworldly release uses modulated frequencies, feedback, & field recordings to explore the sensation of unperceived natural phenomena.
go to album
RADIANCE V: FOR FRANZ WRIGHT
by Stephan Mathieu
The fifth entry in the twelve volume limited edition RADIANCE Subscription Series, is a stark electroacoustic invitation.
go to album
Before Nostromo
by Stephan Mathieu
A tense and unnerving musical homage to the sound design for Ridley Scott's science fiction masterpiece, Alien.
go to album
Interstitial
by Oh No Noh + Jenny Berger Myhre + F.S.Blumm
Free-flowing, loosely structured songs that borrow lightly from jazz and ambient but expand in directions all their own.
go to album
Performed on the 1975 La Trobe Serge ‘Paperface’ modular synth, “METASTABILITY” is full or curlicue electronics.
go to album
Cataclysmic System Binding Loss
by Carbon In Prose
Shards of static & distortion crash against disarmingly beautiful piano & synth melodies on this riveting new record from Carbon and Prose.
go to album
Home Recordings 2018 - 2021
by Yara Asmar
Lebanese multi-instrumentalist deconstructs classical tropes through an eccentric array of instruments, including disassembled toy pianos.
go to album
