I know I don’t have to worry about Luciernaga, nee Jao Da Silva, at all; he’s going to get in touch when he needs to with his carefully curated wares. He’s not like that tape-label-ownin’ guy in NYC who kept mispronouncing Goebbels. He comes correct, and “Sleeping”/”Wandering” might be his finest exhibition of new-age drone wares yet, sparkling like a brightly colored painting and glinting like water licked by sunshine. “Wandering” is the track on which I choose to focus my gaze, as its deep, resonant strings and ever-so-tiny squeaks speak volumes without a word being uttered. It’s like watching a key scene in a movie wherein each character meats his maker or triumphs at the risk of all, usually in slow motion, as the highly paid actors try their best to look earnest and emotional. It’s so evocative I almost wish I could overcome my SAD and talk to Da Silva about this piece, as its among the best drone I’ve heard, ever. Effortless, too; inevitable as the seasons, steady as the hand creating it. I’m in awe of “Wandering,” and it’s… in awe of me, maybe? Lots of love in this record room. “Sleeping” is more of a traditional cassette-scene drone drizzle, coming down hard and consistently until ur ears are wet as a puppy dog’s glistening nose. It’s another soundtrack cut without a movie to make better, but it also stands firmly on its own, furnishing a bright landscape dotted with lazy clouds and a distant, surging sun. If you’re going to slap a couple of drones onto a 7-inch, do like Luciernaga does and make every… second… count. It’s a tough pill to swallow, sure, but it’s easier than printing up a bunch of vinyl that doesn’t get traction and ends up lying around your apartment. “Sleeping”/”Wandering,” in addition to offering two sides of quality, is of an extremely limited quantity (100 on clear wax) that won’t last long if past Da Silva projects are any indication. File that under: Advice.
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