PRE-ORDER: RE-PRESS COMING LATE APRIL (BLACK SLEEVE EDITION)
Tantalisingly mysterious output from the Lost Domain camp with the (only-partial) unveiling of Seraphim, a project whose personnel are apparently "unknown to each other". I have pressed the label on who is involved here, and I've been met with only blank spaces. I'd usually screw my face up at such enforced secrecy, but on London Is Tired of Me, it feels crucial to the message. The ghosts of Lost Domain alumni and extended family trees feel very present here - think Thomas Bush, John T. Gast, Inga Copeland, Jolly Discs - though it also feels like a very purposeful fracturing and abstracting of those aesthetics into a cut n paste mixtape format, a seepage of non-diegetic and diegetic sound, the accidental and the intentional, and mutated memory failure. Yes, we are reminded of other things, but can we trust our own minds to not be telling us a lie? The effects are distinctly hallucinogenic, the form slippery and scattered, unable to sit still in its chair. And is there even a chair there anyway? You may have imagined it. Since there is more than one artist involved, and all identities hidden, comparisons with other media are perhaps more telling. Specifically, I think of the time-dissolving narratives of Anti-Clock and Radio-On, where sound and song interact with shifting environments that question the definition of reality. Indeed, reality is a mutable and relative construct. London is Tired of Me - whatever version of London that is - reflects the uncertainty of that shifting ground in the secrets it insists on retaining. Good luck working them out where there are no apparent answers.
