Lucidly ill audio-machinations suffuse with skittering light drums. Does the speed of sound remain constant absent an observer? Trees' forests in the plotline take hold. Rap still? I once thought I'd reached my goal of writing
liner notes. Then I read William Parker's
WEBO sleeve. The experience was like swapping bodies with my 17-year-old would-be rapper self hearing Breeze Brewin for the first time, i.e., transcendent/formative—take your pick. Somebody with editing chops lay his acapella tracks over drill beats. Takers? This might be another one of those be the change you want to see in the world moments. Peace to Eight Immortals.
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