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Whispers for Wolves: Language of the Dards (Tauu and Twilight Sing 100,000 Songs of Milarepa: Noise Narratives Part 1)

Whispers for Wolves: Language of the Dards (Tauu and Twilight Sing 100,000 Songs of Milarepa: Noise Narratives Part 1)

Label:Boring Machines
Release Date:2008
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Whispers for Wolves

By Bret McCabe | Posted 8/6/2008

Sound and visual artist Melissa Moore first started popping up around Baltimore with manipulations of field recordings, pushing and pulling her way through sounds (sometimes extremely faint ones) and the very physicality of noise, often via the use of instruments and electronics of her own creation. Under the nom de one-woman band Whispers for Wolves, though, Moore ventures far, far into the woods, passing the Freakville commune where bearded hippies and Exeter dropouts build better bongs and stockpile canned goods should the revolution come, past the camouflaged armed compound where the redwhiteandblue bloods can't wait for the revolution to get here, and out into the musty, truffle-lined paths where the fairies and sprites share nature's top-secret hallucinogen with a few fortunate CIA exiles and the aliens who built those heads on Easter Island, invented the Chia Pet, and bequeathed Bill Hicks unto us. And all we have to say is: Where can we score ours?

The three tracks traveling through nearly 42 minutes on Language of the Dards scuttles along like a creature just learning to walk at first in the clicking, ominous intro to "The Collective Darkness" before a stark acoustic guitar strum stumbles into the muck. It's a fitting intro to a sonic odyssey that is equal parts Sir Richard Bishop exotic and wondrous and Thomas Pynchon paranoid and nutty. Moore re-creates the make-love-then-war rumble of Amon Düül 2 in the opening moments of "Kuu Aari Hassu" before a haunted guitar and possessed voice invites you behind the curtain to where the really crazy stuff happens. By the time you're flying alongside the blender drink of beats and atmosphere on the closing "The Woman Eagle," your third eye is wide open, you're seeing 20/20/20, and that Matrix nonsense about there being no spoon not only starts to make sense but begins to feel downright profound. Don't freak out, though: Just hit repeat, put the headphones back on, and see where the next ride with Language takes you.

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