1977

I was six when I first came to NYC, and I had never seen anything like it. The tall buildings were something out of science fiction movies I’d stolen a few peeks from in the rare occasions my parents watched them on TV. 1977. I had no ideas about music. Or art just yet. But what I did have, was a fascination for all the barrage of noise that suddenly seemed to posses everything around me. It was everywhere.

I remember sitting in a hotel lobby eating toast for the first time, watching these giant cranes tearing a building down, the jack hammers pounding away like machine guns to break through the rock and pavement. The color of Rosario was gone. This was a movie city. Black and white. Smoke. Buses stopping and the pneumatic doors making a wooshing sound. People speaking loudly in a language I did not understand. Their din made it seem as though everything was moving in time faster than what was real. And I was fascinated by it. Time, noise, machines… was it melodic? I am coming to believe it was.

This memory came back to me as I was mixing just now. All these seemingly swirling noises, blips, scans, rumblings and sine waves. I force them to be something they are not. But in truth their identity is intact. The crane, the jackhammers, the buses, the trains. All there, synthesized into moving at a time signature of my choosing, trying to focus and understand the flow of things in the universe, creating high entropy with noises that most would find irritating… and all the while still at the center of it as a spectator. Distant.

In the coming weeks, I am going to explore these things to the core. Between this distance between things lies some sort of secret. I want to find it.