There is little in our different relationships to great cities that is not ultimately musical in some way or another, be it the immersion into the rhythmical polyphony of architecture set against hundreds of passing cars and people, the indescribable drone of the massive coming together of sounds and noises over vast distances, or the strangely silent corners one finds a few steps off high-traffic avenues; whatever our place in it, the city is always already noise, a deluge of electricity that is often as life-affirming as it is life-negating, a kind of infinity that can perhaps be only understood by means of an improvisational state of mind.
My Brooklyn
gives listeners the tools necessary for this spontaneity, weaving an immense overview of how we speak of all those spaces and how they speak of us.
Connors is here at perhaps one of his most ‘extrospective’ moments, where many times…
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Grigiabot 