I know there’s an alien hiding in here somewhere. Or a half-moon revolving above a branding iron. Small acts of arson are viewed through the passenger window of a moving vehicle: a shotgun house burns on the diagonal; tornadoes singe dirt; motor oil burns off the engine. The songwriters close their eyes, their faces on hot towels, while the tube amps warm up, while the tour bus idles. The barefooted songwriters must be careful of the mesquite thorns, dropped along the path like jacks. For this reason, Sandra Boss has thoughtfully left space in “Perfekt Termisk.” The silences are warning sighs, and breaths between the gentle burping geysers and the softly flowing pahoehoe. We are given time to move to the side. If we don’t…
• Sandra Boss: http://sndrbss.blogspot.com
• BIN: http://totem.menneske.dk/BIN_Physical.htm
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