My sound pieces begin with electromagnetic energy already present in the environment. Radio static, interference, and stray transmissions become raw materials from which unexpected rhythms, textures, and sonic relationships emerge.
Working with analog and digital electronics, I manipulate and reshape these signals, often using my own body as an antenna to influence the radio's reception. Chance, instability, and environmental conditions remain active in the process. I act as a facilitator, listening and responding as the work unfolds. Many pieces emerge through a single, uninterrupted encounter with the material.
This invites a different kind of listening—one in which apparent noise reveals its own structures, unfamiliar sounds suggest unexpected relationships, and the boundary between intention and accident becomes increasingly difficult to locate.
Voices surface, overlap, and recede, briefly assembling into something that resembles order before dispersing again. Fragments arrive without context; moments of apparent information dissolve back into uncertainty. Assembly Retired lingers in that unstable space between signal and accident, where meaning seems perpetually on the verge of organizing itself.
Tiny impulses gather, scatter, and answer one another. What begins as a field of clicks gradually suggests something more organized: signals exchanged, instructions passed, perhaps even a conversation taking place just beyond comprehension. Marching Orders (for Moths) inhabits that uncertain territory where noise begins to sound intentional, and where listening itself becomes an act of imagining intelligence.
A descent in slow motion. The beat is ancient — slow as stone, a heart forged in magma, pulsing beneath time.
Every measure folds like sediment, each sound a trace fossil of pressure and patience.
This is a music of descent, not falling, but remembering how to sink.
Weight becomes rhythm. Silence becomes shape.
Vaguely Clinky is a study in minimal, percussive textures — digital chimes, metallic taps, and fractured pulses layered in intentional, airy intervals. Each sound is a piece of tuned debris, carefully positioned to build a delicate architecture of rhythm and space. Both mechanical and playful, it invites close listening to the negative space between collisions.
Eating a TV Evangelist dismembers the smooth certainties of broadcast spectacle.
Layers of distorted speech, static, and corrupted rhythm grind against one another in a caustic ritual of deconversion.
This is transmission-as-autopsy — a noisy, irreverent audio collage that chews up spiritual commerce and spits out static. Feels like a broadcast meltdown — preacher’s cadence shredded by static and digital corrosion.
Greyhound Indiana is a slow-motion road movie for the ears.
Long, textural drones blur like headlights on wet pavement, while distant harmonics evoke the melancholy of transit.
It’s a study in movement and memory — an endless ride through small towns seen from the cracked window of a midnight bus.
Rah Um is an electronic incantation — layered pulses and fragmented vocal textures swirl in a slow, ritualistic build.
Evoking the cadence of a half-remembered chant, it blurs the line between synthetic and human breath.
This is sound as ceremony, a looping prayer to signal and noise.