Oh, eyes of the windows, secretly watching those who pass through the city. Oh, emptiness between houses, leading into other voids. Oh, explorer of windows — this time, not necessarily of Vilnius.
While the physical record forms are slowly maturing (but indeed, they are maturing), the forces embedded in sound, like nocturnal moths, strive to be heard. And here it is — this dizzy spell of the Windows Exploring, made for an exhibition, yet capable of being its own independent creature.
Where would we be without this melancholy, without the crickets crackling in electricity, without those mentioned distances between the houses? Windows, windows, thousands of windows like kitchen constellations. Leftfield-ish illbient, site-specific sounds, a sprinkle of ambient, and that familiar hauntological mood.
“How to hide in time?” .
I don’t know, but I can hear it.
