A new sound report from Montrèal and beyond, in which the vocoder becomes the poet’s best friend. American folk music has reached its point of no return. The 22th century awaits somewhere at the horizon. New friends get introduced. Borders disappear.
Tooth got took out; Can’t feel my face. Drove 16 hours in a day. Called for the daily prayer at that payphone off 87, but the lady vanished – now it’s just an automated voicemachine. Does God hear pre-recorded prayers? Does God use the internet? Anyway — last three songs are other people, stuff from this year. It was an alright year. Teen’s are almost through.
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