A collective of tape-makers somewhere in Egypt go by Thinis. They press eerie experimental washes to tape in extremely limited batches. One album, a split between These Myths and Jabpir + the Void, was released only on the cassette it was originally recorded on. It sold. The rip is all that’s left of it.
sometimes i just sits by youth (Egypt)
Youth’s sometimes i just sits, one of Thinis’s new offerings, moans, cries, and hiccups in space. The voice’s only companions are some cotton-swaddled synthesizers, just barely dotting the landscape. The record is frightening not because we’re not sure what will happen, but because we can’t tell how long the limbo will stretch on. The ennui simmers. We wait for it to break; it never does. Like the opposite of hypnotherapy, sometimes i just sits entrances with its anxiety.
Sometimes it folds into beautiful forms, like at the tail end of ’222′ as it revolves into ’333′. Something like a beat—a single, repeating chime—adds the record’s first hint of architecture. But when drums finally creep in on track four, they just come to stir more chaos. The album might grow more concrete, but it never shakes its restlessness.
Fault by Oedipus (Egypt)
A similar tension ripples throughout Oedipus’s music, though the producer draws upon more concrete points of sound to realize it. Fault fills with glassy arpeggios, itchy beats, and clipped vocals, each song a shifting, colorful terrarium — alive, but boxed in. The title draws a line between personal guilt and geological unrest, between cracks in the earth and the mind.
‘Morse’ stands out as the centerpiece of the four-track EP, its wordless voices buzzing around a buried dance rhythm as if in search of some obscure destination. The track ripples like a detuned television; waves of static streak across the frame. It’s artificial, but it breathes. It’s empty of language, but trods mutely toward unspoken desires. The motion of wanting is bigger than words.
Like the artist’s pseudonym implies, Fault evokes wandering around in a pained blindness. The EP’s cover complicates the metaphor; is the masked figure, impossibly tall, having his eyes pierced out? Or is he firing projectiles from them at some target out of the frame? A tag beneath the record reads “void-gaze”; this is the sound of staring into nothing, of letting the horrors of former sight dance where the eyes used to be.