Have you laid awake at night, wondering what the end of the world might sound like? I’m sure many expect the bright lights of an (un)expected mushroom cloud to light the sky close to their homes, but most of us won’t be anywhere near ground zero. So, it may be a whimper. The sound of a rustle, like that of a breeze slowly picking up. Then the sound of trees uprooting and animals suddenly rising to life, raising their voices in unison. The din of static and smoke and electricity as power lines fall, roads collapse, and gasoline tanks explode. The fillings in your teeth will ache, your electronics will fizzles, and monolithic towers built in praise of the free market and democracy will crumble. Most likely, there will be no sound. There will be no nuclear fallout or the droppings of bombs — we tend to relegate those activities to peace time. What will likely happen is the silent attrition of power being changed by a handshake and a wry smile. No matter how it happens, it won’t be like film, television, or video games. Yet it will certainly sound like Excavatums. The decaying infrastructure of this cassette is visceral and tangible. It’s the sound of the end, and though we all live through our own post-apocalyptic nightmares and scenarios, no one said the end had to be bad. No one said the rapture had to take us away to be successful. As destructive of a force as change may be, it’s also cyclical. It’s part of life, and to deny it — or worse, turn it into cheap entertainment fodder based on uncertainty — we condemn ourselves to live in fear. We pull our hair out and plug our ears, but the noise is still there. We cover our eyes and turn on our sleep machines but it’s still happening all around us. Sometimes change is heinous and unruly, and we’d rather be ignorant of it than accept it. But
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