The Aquarium Drunkard Interview :: OSEES’ John Dwyer

John Dwyer is a force of nature. I ran into him first when he was in Coachwhips—and at least four other bands, not including joke bands, of which there were several—setting up a battered PA on the floor at Beerland one afternoon at an aughts SXSW. A ferocious, giddy, prankster-ish ride of a show ensued, so good that later in the week, I went back for another round. That was a long time ago, but Dwyer has kept up his adrenalized pace, churning out multiple records every year that span disparate genres, involve completely different sets of people and evolve constantly. Even his main current gig, the OSEES, shapeshifts continually, sometimes drone-y and psychedelic, other times brashly cheerful garage pop, still others gleeful ghoul punk like the Cramps. It’s hard to get a handle on the OSEES, let along the dozen or so other projects that Dwyer juggles, and he’s not about to make it easy for you. He changes the name of the band pretty much every time he makes a record, just to screw with the music press.

For his most recent OSEES album, A Foul Form, Dwyer shifts again, this time revisiting the punk and hardcore that shaped his Rhode Island adolescence. And since he’s looking back, it seemed like a good time for us to look back, too, in an interview that spans the Dwyer career so far, from Providence skate punk to SF garage rock to Castle Face honcho to free improv experimenter.

Dwyer is not a guy who worries about how he sounds or what people will say or what kind of critical reception his music will get. In a way, that heedless, headlong commitment to whatever he’s doing right now is the thread that connects everything.Not giving a fuck has helped elevate us to where we’re at. This place where we’re comfortable and we have good fans who enjoy the show,” says Dwyer. | j kelly

Aquarium Drunkard: For the last several years, and maybe as long as a decade, you’ve been getting away from punk rock and going towards a drone-y, motorik sound. And with this record, you’re going right back into it. What happened?

John Dwyer: You know, just for fun.It was kind of a whim. We wanted to write some really primitive stuff. The way things were at the time, it was the perfect time for me to work on this at my house. We’ve been toying with this idea for quite a while. Every record has a banger or two on it, but I think the idea was that this would be the concentrated version of that, really abrupt and 35 minutes long. It was really super fun to write and super fun to record. And my drummer Dan, who fancies himself a punk drummer, really enjoyed it immensely. To the point where I am now uncomfortable.

AD: You did this during COVID?

John Dwyer: Technically, we’re still there, so yes. But I did the vocals over Christmas last year while I had COVID. It actually kind of worked out perfectly. The two times I’ve had COVID it’s been a weird blessing in disguise where I was like, okay, now I just have to focus. And I didn’t get laid out to the point where I was super sick. I was just had a mild cold kind of symptoms. So, I just stayed home and finished the job that I had been pecking at, and the record happened. It was actually really fun to work on. I switched from smoking joints to vape, just for the recording process.

AD: At the Castle Face site you list some of the bands that got you into music and that, I think, especially had an impact on this record. Rudimentary Peni, Crass, Bad Brains, Black Flag, Screamers, Abwarts, Stooges. I was wondering if you could tell me a little bit about your origin story. How did you get into punk?

John Dwyer: When I was a kid, I didn’t really care very much about music at all. I think that weirdly in, like 1984 or 1983, I saw a movie that had some AC/DC in it, and I was instantly obsessed with that. AC/DC kind of flicked on the switch for me…no pun intended.

Shortly after that, I was searching for my group of friends, because I wasn’t into sports, and I went to parochial school, and I was really not into religion. So, I got into skating, which I was terrible at. But they were a good bunch of guys, and there were some real dirt bag punk kids in that crowd, and that started bringing me around that music. I heard all kinds of shit like Ramones, early Chili Peppers, Cramps, Misfits. There were a couple dudes at school that were sort of metal heads but also into punk that were bringing in cassettes at this time. This was like back in probably late 1980s, mid-1980s.

AD: How old were you?

John Dwyer: Let’s say, 1986, I would have been about 15. 15 was right about when I came online with this shit. There was a place called Luke’s Record Exchange in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, that was right near my high school that we could fuck off to after school, and they had, like, all kinds of stuff. It was almost like a toy store. That was the aesthetic. They had cassettes. They had a huge bootleg collection. So, I bought cassettes of Celtic Frost and Voivod tapes. It was a metal shop more than punk. They also sold screen printed patches and pins, so that was a real eye opener. Because punk culture is a world unto itself. Like in Mexico City, where they have those big punk flea markets.

I was going there a lot. There was also a small cassette shop in a strip mall that was closer to where I lived, not as close to the high school. There were a lot of loading docks that people liked to skate at nearby. That was where I would go a lot. And those guys—I can’t remember their names, but there was a guy and a girl and they were older. They would just constantly recommend stuff. I don’t know if they were trying to sell me shit or they were just interested. But they would be like, oh, if you like that, you’ll like this, and I would just buy tons of shit there. That was where I first heard rap as well, like early gangster rap like Public Enemy.

Skaters are really good, too. I still sell songs to Thrasher and skaters in general for their videos. They always pick these cool deep cuts. They don’t buy the same songs that everybody else buys. The skaters have interesting taste.

AD: You’re one of the last generation of people that got into music without the internet, I guess.

John Dwyer: Yeah, totally.

AD: It would be a lot easier now.

John Dwyer: Easier but, it’s a different time. It’s funny. If you have an account at Bandcamp, one of the things it shows you, which is something I would never think of, is that people’s attention spans are so fucking short now. You can see how many people have listened to a song, and how many people have listened all the way through versus just skipping it, you know. It’s just a weird world of instant gratification that has really changed perception and discovery for arts.

AD: I find that the fact that you can see how long there is to go on a song is really distracting.

John Dwyer: I am really good at just putting something on. If I’m streaming something, I like Bandcamp quite a bit. I think they have a pretty awesome model set up. Because they’re really good to the bands and you can do all kinds of shit with them. But I like YouTube as well. I’m sure they don’t pay decent royalties. But I don’t go to Spotify. I’m on there because kids are harassing me about not being on there, but generally I just stream rips of records on YouTube and stuff. Or I own it. Like I have a huge digital music library, but I’m really good about putting stuff on and just…

AD: All the way through?

John Dwyer: The guy who’s like “Listen to this!” and then turns it off after 30 seconds. We always called that the coke DJ. Just let it play. I always took umbrage at that vibe of music listening where you didn’t have the patience to actually make it through the song. I’m really good at calming down.

AD: That’s how you got into loving this music. How did you switch to playing it?

John Dwyer: I just realized one day that I could do it, you know? This record actually leans into that. I also was seeing a lot of shows. I was really lucky to grow up in Providence which has like a million all-ages shows. A lot of punk and hardcore and metal bands came through there. So, I got to see the stuff in person, and I remember watching it and not thinking “I could do this” but being like “This doesn’t look that hard.”It still took me a while to hone my skills enough to not be a catastrophe, but I saw a lot of train wreck bands. I remember seeing Rorschach back in the day and being like “What is this?” Loving it. But at the same time, it was a mess.

AD: How did you get from Rhode Island to the West Coast?

John Dwyer: Rhode Island is just really, really small. It’s super tiny. I’m actually going there this week, and I’m super excited about it. But I’m only going for three days because you can see it in three days. But like, you know, it just got really small. I ran out of people to play with. I’d been in that band Landed. I definitely just wanted something new. I had traveled around a little bit. We did a road trip to Chicago, Austin, Texas and San Francisco. And San Francisco just won. It was such a beautiful place. And I think right when I got out of the car and went to a café, the girl working behind the counter was like, “What?” And I was like, “Oh yeah, this is it.” It was so rude. I was like this is great.

AD: You’ve always been in a bunch of bands.

John Dwyer: I try to stay busy, you know?

AD: I mentioned that I loved the Coachwhips, and I think at that time you were in about five other bands.

John Dwyer: That was when I was doing a lot of drugs. I was young, so I had tons of energy. I had nothing but free time because I kept my overhead really low. I didn’t have anything. Now I have all this shit, so I’ve slowed down quite a bit. My life is no longer the simple thing that it used to be. Coachwhips was a really fun time. I have a lot of fond memories. I have a lot of catastrophic memories.

AD: What was the deal with playing on the floor though? Didn’t you refuse to play on the stage?

John Dwyer: It was like this weird standoffish thing. We would always bring our own PA. That’s a real Providence thing. Providence bands, like Landed in particular would play on the floor and I always loved that, because there was literally no barrier between the crowd and the band. All these bands from Providence used to do that, Lightning Bolt, Force Field, Arab on Radar, it was like a scene thing we brought from Providence.

But also, I would constantly do battle with sound—I’m just going to say sound men, not sound people—because back then it was always a dude who gave me shit about it. I can barely think of any sound women that I ever met on the road then, honestly. It’s much more prevalent now. But these dudes would get mad. They’d be like, “You’re doing it wrong.” And I knew I was doing it wrong, but start your own fucking band.

So, we would bring our own PA and just tell them to fuck off. We would play on the floor. I would bring my own mic stand. It was so satisfying. Like really kind of heady, but also so satisfying to see this grumpy-assed old guy be totally miffed that I was like, “We don’t need you.” And they’d be like, “What do you mean?” And then we’d do the show and be successful at it with literally nothing from the club but an outlet.

I don’t do that anymore. Now we bring our own sound people on the road.

AD: That makes a huge difference.

John Dwyer: Yeah, yeah. There’s a couple of places we go, like in Austin, where I always trust the sound people because their fingers are sticky from eating ribs and it’s like a different vibe down there. Because these guys have done mixing for a million different bands, and we play at joints that know us, so we’re familiar territory for them in a weird way. But for the most part, we bring Enrique or Leesa with us wherever we go. I’m bringing our French sound guy over here for our September tour.

AD: When you came out of Coachwhips, you started up the OCS, which I believe was spelled O-C-S at that time. It was kind of a home taping project?

John Dwyer: That was actually going on back in Providence before Coachwhips. That was my first approach at recording music by myself, was those tapes. That took on all the variables in nomenclatures over the years and changes in personnel. It’s sort of remained the same band even though it’s changed so drastically over time.

AD: That’s what I wanted to ask you. What’s the common thread? It’s got a different name every time and different people and makes different kinds of music. What makes it the OSEES?

John Dwyer: Me.

AD: That makes sense.

John Dwyer: What did Mark E. Smith say?

AD: If it’s me and your grannie on bongos.

John Dwyer: It’s still the Fall. I always loved that. I’ve met that man. I wouldn’t put us in the same boat exactly, but I would say that if I’m doing it, it’s the OSEES.

AD: Why do you change the spelling all the time?

John Dwyer: Because it seems to aggravate the press, which to me is great. I have nothing but contempt for the music press. So, it’s just great to me. They’re like “You changed your name again?” and I’m like “That’s right, bitch.”

AD: There was a band called the Spizz that changed its name slightly every time they made a record.

John Dwyer: Yeah, I think it’s fun. Who cares? I have my own label. If I was working with another label, they would be the only ones with a legitimate gripe. They’d be like, “Really, you’re going to change your name again, because it’s really hard to google you.” But not giving a fuck has helped elevate us to where we’re at. This place where we’re comfortable and we have good fans who enjoy the show.

AD: You were in the Bay Area for a long time, and you were sort of at the center of a punk garage scene with Sic Alps, Ty Segall, Kelley Stoltz, Fresh and Onlys, and probably a bunch of other bands that are escaping me right now. What was that like?

John Dwyer: San Francisco was great, man, but it sold out so fast, with the tech industry. The tech people moved in and made this utopia that’s actually not at all a utopia. They sort of ruined the vibe there. But geographically, the city is incredible. It’s such a beautiful, perfect place and I didn’t have a car for 20 years, you know. I really love LA, too, though, though it’s very different. I kind of feel like anywhere you hang your hat is home.

I do feel, about San Francisco, that I was very, very fortunate to be there when I was. I think it was my ambition and drive that floated me there. Because when I moved to San Francisco, it was full of great bands. Weird bands. San Francisco always made great weird stuff.

People were very flaky. I was like, “We’re going to have all these dumb ideas for bands.” We almost did this band. It didn’t happen, but it was going to be called the Yuppies. And we would meet at 8 a.m. at the practice space. We were actually doing it for a while. We were going to play shows outside in the financial district and sort of shit the bed. But it was funny. I’d have these dumb ideas and I’d manage to convince one of the dudes from the Icky Boyfriends to show up at 8 a.m. to rehearse. And we had all this ridiculous stuff. It was like Khaki Attacki. A joke band related to basically working in the financial district of San Francisco and being a yuppie at the time. Which was the biggest insult you could throw at somebody at that particular time. Little did we know that the tech industry would move in and just make all the old pains in the asses seem like great people.

AD: What were some of your favorites when you moved there?

John Dwyer: My favorite bands from back then were the Deep Throats, Space Boy, man there were so many. Deerhoof.Always good. Still good. Deerhoof is the fucking champion. They’re still going. The Subtonics. And tons of noise acts. Weasel Walter was there for a while from Chicago. He had a bunch of shit going on there. Total Shutdown. Oakland had its own scene going, too, like Neurosis and all the metal bands. Really a very, very vivid amazing scene, and I was there at the right time.

AD: Do you need that to do your work? To have other people doing crazy things around you?

John Dwyer: Oh yeah, for sure, inspiration and I mean, fuck, I’ll straight up rip somebody off. I have this ability to be so inspired by somebody that I’ll say, “I want to do that.” And then I can’t do it, so when I do it, it comes out all wrong and it would never be recognized. I do that more with famous stuff, not with my own contemporaries. I’ll be like, yeah, I love this Hendrix song, but when it’s done it’s unrecognizable.

AD: Did you move to LA because it was too expensive in San Francisco?

John Dwyer: Yeah. San Francisco just sucked. The house I was living in sucked. I lived in a great place for a long time. We finally got evicted. It was my fourth time being evicted there. But, yeah, people were leaving in droves, and clubs were closing.

Basically, these people who had moved into the neighborhood, I would describe them as thumbprints. “Do you know where I can get good chocolate?” They would just approach you on the street and ask you some fucking question. Just an exhausting type of human being. My friend calls them slow bo-bos. Because they’re slobs and clowns. They were paying people tons of money to come in from all over the world, and they loved San Francisco because it was what it was. They loved that it was far out and drugged out. And then they pushed everybody that did that out, and it became this very homogenized place, full of incredibly rich people, who are very diverse. It’s not a white problem. It’s like a job issue, a class issue.

AD: It’s like New York.It’s too expensive for anybody but rich people.

John Dwyer: But there are a lot of people who have nothing. The people on the streets and the people having mental health crises there. The Tenderloin is like the Thunder Dome now. More so than I’ve ever seen it. But geographically, like I said, it’s a perfect place. Some of the bars I love are still there. There are still some places that are the exception to the rule, that have managed to stay open and still be great, but it’s definitely taken a hit. And LA is huge and ripe for the picking at the time. Again, I feel like I’m just fortunate.

AD: Tell me about Castle Face. How did that come about?

John Dwyer: Castle Face has been around since 2007. It started because I couldn’t get anyone to put out my record. That’s a really dumb answer to that question, but it’s relatively true. I had a friend who did commercials who had money and he liked what we did. And we were getting fucked up together, and he was like, “I’ll put out your records.” He did for a while and then I took it over eventually.

AD: There are a few record labels like that, that are run by artists. They’re just so good.

John Dwyer: I do love being on my own label. It’s certainly a lot of work. When I do a record with another label now, I realize how much more work it is to do your own record. I worked with this guy in Austria all the time named Rock Is Hell, Joachim. I send him the stuff and then he just mails me the records. And I’m like, fucking hell, I don’t have to do anything beyond make the music. Which to me isn’t really work. That’s the fun part.

AD: I want to talk about some of this other stuff you’ve been doing lately besides OSEES. I loved that Damaged Bug record you did with all the Michael Yonkers songs. How did that come about?

John Dwyer: Oh, thank you, yeah. He’s a pleasure of a person, and I think he’s a fucking genius. I was stoked that he was stoked, you know?

We surprised him with that, too. He didn’t know. We just sent it to him, which was really cool. I had never heard him until Sub Pop reissued Microminiature Love. I have Sub Pop to thank for that. But basically, Coachwhips went to play in Seattle, and they’re like, oh, hey, you’re playing with this guy, Michael Yonkers, who is this OG 1960s and 1970s guy, and two of the dudes, one dude from Unnatural Helpers and Jed from Sub Pop at the time, who is now in Zig Zags were backing him up, and it was fucking great. We became fans overnight.

Michael Yonkers had taken a train all the way from Minneapolis to play the show, because his back was so fucked up.

AD: That’s right. He’s got an amazing, terrible story.

John Dwyer: I tried to convince him to make a documentary and he wouldn’t do it. This was probably ten years ago now. But I was like, this is the time, dude. You’re still alive. All your old players are still alive. But there was some problem with his health care and NDAs from whoever almost killed him. He couldn’t do it. What a shame because what an interesting, wild personality he is. He’s done so much weird shit. And he always, what I really liked about Yonkers was that he always…he would never take the easy way. He was like, here’s my new record. It’s a capella. And everybody’s like eew. Or like, here’s like my newest and last record. It’s just guitar feedback.

AD: That was one of the things I liked about your record. You didn’t just do the songs from Microminiature Love that everybody knows. You did one of the acoustic folk songs.

John Dwyer: For sure. I loved all of them. I definitely wanted to do a crosscut of all of his stuff. And it was tough to pick, honestly. Because so much of it is good. There’s definitely a bunch of stuff on the cutting room floor. Basically, me and Tom sat down just with a metronome and started going through the songs and seeing what sounded good right out of the gate, before we even started laying down tape, and that was how we ended up with nine songs.It was a spread of rock, folk and synth stuff. Keep it interesting.

AD: It was a good record. You’ve also being doing some of these long-form, almost jazz projects like Bent Arcana and Witch Egg. For those, do you just get in the room with different people and do an improv record? How do those work?

John Dwyer: Yeah, pretty much. It started, obviously during COVID, it was perfect timing to start working on shit like that, because a lot of it is editing and mixing. There’s no writing. For Bent Arcana, we did five days of jams. Probably about two or three hours a day. We weren’t in there a lot. My studio is small—my home studio—but it would be five of us in there. And then I went through all the reels of tape. It was about six hours of music. Whittled it down to three hours and then down to an hour and a half, and then brought in all these other players who had never played with these other people before, and they just improvised over it. That record in particular was a big project. It was like ten people. And then I went through at the end and edited everything down and cut it down. Sort of Miles Davis style. Can style. Just chop things up. Got it down to 45 minutes, and that was the Bent Arcana record. And then I made seven more of those.

AD: I feel like that was bleeding into the OSEES stuff, too, because it was getting longer and more sort of hypnotic.

John Dwyer: Yeah, for sure. I have a brand of music I like. I love repetition. I love things like Steve Reich, for instance, on a very simple level. Where the tearing apart of a chord starts to mutate into something completely different. Using the same elements. I love long-form jams. I love Collective and Can, even Iron Butterfly. Any long jam. I’m all about it. I never understood it, but people complain to me about two pretty dumb things all the time. People are like, why two drummers? And I’m like how the fuck can I answer that question? That’s like “Why do you fuck so good?” And I’d be like, I don’t know. Let’s have it the other way. Why not two drummers?

But also, like, “Why are some of the songs so long?” And I’m like, well, obviously this isn’t for you, if you don’t want to sit down for 20 minutes and veg out, then I don’t know what to tell you. You’re not my kind of person.

AD: I always wonder how people decide how long songs should be, especially when they’re super repetitive. Because it could be any length.It could be ten minutes or 20 minutes. How do you know when it’s over?

John Dwyer: You really don’t. It’s been a while. We’ve been leaning away from the really long stuff. We’d play a festival and just do “The Dream” for half an hour. Or “Block of Ice” back in the day. I did get really into letting it go. And what’s cool about it is that eventually it turns into a different song. Like you’re baking a cake and eventually it rises, all the other ingredients come to the forefront. We still do that, but the reason they’re shorter now is because I think we’ve gotten better at it. We can get there a little faster. Because there’s definitely tedium involved. I realize how bloated and gratuitous it can seem and selfish, but also, who gives a fuck? It’s my stage, you know. But it’s also really fun to play that stuff, honestly. Having a rhythm section playing repetitively, and having other people do filigree and flourish is super entertaining to me. It’s jazz, too. It’s improvisation.

AD: I don’t really have any preconceptions about how long songs should be. But you can’t make a structured verse-chorus pop song 20 minutes long. It’s got to be something repetitive.

John Dwyer: No, pop definitely has a formula that is condensed. A pop song is supposed to have all the elements you need – what you’re feeling, your elation, your sadness, whatever, all tapped into a pill. Which is great. I love pop. I love Bowie. I love Abba. I even love Madonna, you know. There’s a lot of shit that I like that would surprise people, I think. There’s nothing wrong with a pop song. I love all the girl groups from back in the day, the Phil Spector records, Motown, these hooky songs, and always with the same band in the background, just crushing it.

AD: You’ve been doing this for a long time. Do you have any favorite memories of playing live?

John Dwyer: Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes during improvisations, you can kind of forget where you are. There’s this weird transcendental meditation kind of moment, which is pretty cool. Also getting to meet people that I respect sometimes, like just other players. Like I met John Surman last year, this English horn player that I really like. Mark E. Smith.

AD: What was that like when you met Mark E. Smith?

John Dwyer: Uh, I Fed-Exed speed to myself in New York from San Francisco because you couldn’t get it in New York, and then somebody told him that I’d done that, and we were playing a show together, and he requested my presence at a bar so I could get him high. He was awesome. I understand that he was somewhat of a nightmare of a person, but I have nothing but fond memories.

AD: Did you read the book that his bass player wrote?

John Dwyer: Yeah, I did. Both Hanley brothers wrote books actually.

AD: He does sound like a nightmare, but an interesting nightmare.

John Dwyer: It’s like any other time where somebody’s from those days. Things have changed and people can’t get away with that kind of behavior anymore. But, you know, Lou Reed’s book, Cosi Fan Tutti’s book. To be fair, you’re only getting half the story there. But at the same time, it’s like, people were fucked up and not nice to each other all the time. People’s egos got out of hand. People claimed credit when it wasn’t due. I’ve always really tried not to do that, because I’ve been in bands where people have taken my credit. There’s no way to not take an affront to that kind of behavior, and also it’s just fucking greedy, base, human lizard brain shit.

AD: It’s not just music. That’s human beings.

John Dwyer: Sometimes you’re just going to let it wash over you.

But an expose is exactly that. After I read the Lou Reed book, I was like, fuck, maybe I didn’t want to know all this. But he was a fucking junkie and if you’ve ever known junkies, no matter who you are, what walk of life, where you came from, when you do heroin and you get addicted to it, you become the same piece of shit as every other junkie. They all do the same things. They say the same things. It’s amazing. It just turns you into this weird prototype zombie junkie. But anyway, he gets a little bit of a pass. But still I’ve seen a million people behave exactly like that. Men and women. It’s like damn, dude, it doesn’t matter if you’re famous. You still act like a piece of shit sometimes.

AD: What else are you working on now?

John Dwyer: We have a live Bent Arcana coming up, which we’ve released one single from. It was from the one show we played here in the States. It sounds really good, I think. And it has a zoetropic strobe animation on the D side of this double LP, where if you put a strobe light on it at 404, it’s all these death head moths flying. It’s really cool. And I’ve never seen that before. I’m not sure if anybody has ever done that before, but we’re going to go ahead and say we coined that for now.Until somebody else is like, “Fuck off.We did that first.” But it looks really cool. There’s some videos coming from that soon. And I have a couple of other projects I’ve work on at my house. One has already been mastered and it’s off to the press, but I’m not going to say what it is because it’s not announced yet. And another one that’s in the tubes. That’s got a lot of interesting people that I never thought I’d get to play with. I’m taking my time with that one because there’s no rush on it. And then I’m building a studio here in Los Angeles.

AD: Nice. One that’s not at your house?

John Dwyer: No not in my home. This is going to be a proper, professional studio that’s for hire. It comes with live-in engineer Eric Bauer who is one of the guys who produced us and Ty Segall, Sic Alps and Heron Oblivion. He’s done a million bands. But he’s bringing his studio down from San Francisco, because it’s just dead up there. We bought a building down here. We’re making a studio.

AD: Have you been listening to anything good?

John Dwyer: Yeah, I have actually. This week, I’ve been really heavy on Bowie again, and also I’ve preordered all these death metal records from contemporary bands that have slowly been dripping in now that vinyl production is back up. There’s this band called Artificial Brain that I like that are super tech death metal. They’re really outrageous.

What else? I’ve got Spits last record up on the pile. That’s been out since last year but it’s fucking great. It sounds like early Spits. It’s really good. Harold Budd. The reissue of Pavilion of Dreams is fantastic. Matthew Bourne, this pianist I like that does synthesizer piano stuff, just in an amazing prepared piano record called Irrealis. That’s beautiful. I want to say like Stockhausen, but it’s not abrupt or fast or anything. It’s really quite lilting and lovely. And then this lady, Anadol. She’s from Istanbul, but it’s not Turkish music per se. It’s really far out. She has two LPs, and they’re contemporary, within the past five years, she’s really weird, meandering, poppy but also soundscape-y. She samples her own voice and cuts it up.It’s really cool. | photo Jeanette D. Moses

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