I wonder what my life would have been like had I been born in a different time or place. These thoughts aren’t birthed from regret or out of past decisions gone awry, but out of curiosity of eras and nations I will never know. It’s why when I die, I hope there is a heaven and it allows me to have remote control access to God’s DVR—no commercials, just eternal marathons of our history and our future. I want to know it all; to breath, taste, feel, and understand my minute place on an overcrowded planet always willing to cut off its nose to spite its face. I have no idea if Connor Camburn has the same thoughts, but his self-titled cassette as Litüus makes me think we share a similar thought pattern as it concerns the everything of nothingness. These lengthy compositions juxtapose various underground influences into a hopper of post-industrial soup. But Camburn’s restraint—unlike the frenzied forwarding and rewinding of my death dream—is what allows Litüus a clarity my vision lacks. It is not concerned with absorbing every piece for personal consumption but rather transmits history as it happened and as it will occur into rumbling works of European-based noise. Extinct languages, forgotten tribes, paradises fallen into the sea—Litüus is a warbling tomb of these things I yearn to see but will never know.
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