“On a windy hill as lovers should be” Marc Matchak’s words and James Emrick’s sounds huddle close—arm in arm, book in hand, an earbud from a single set of headphones plugged into each of their ears.
They stand shoulder to shoulder, though gazing in different directions, and all the while knowing that “not everything which is held … can be seen,” like friendship, or love, or myself when I realize that I can’t feel you next to me anymore. I look to the side and the wind has blown you far away. Here I am, alone on this hill, still knowing you are near.
The open book flutters listlessly on the grass and the second earbud dangles against my chest, abandoned, as a snapped-off heel lying in the middle of the sidewalk. I imagine them there, stopped in their tracks by the heel, with Marc musing on the fateful yet unbidden action of this symbolically mundane event, and James thinking about how to capture the sonic moment of the snap and the messy orchestra of vibrations left thereafter. And what does this mean for their moments? And why have I stumbled into this event? And how can the personal be affected into a socialized real?
Each moment is eternally potent and the two move through their lives capturing potential. These pieces are full of surprises, like the pit of an olive as it hits your tooth, or the swirling grain of a thick slab of marble. Certain sentences smash like a glass bottle against my head. A mindlessly pressed piano key explodes with richness. Each work gathers itself into a curious ending, which is perhaps where these two pieces most potently meet. My heart seems to lift during both and I’m whisked off the hill to some other inspired clime. We will not stick or be stuck, forever.
There is something about this release that floors me as people do when you least expect them to. Their voices are so sure. Read and listen in full by downloading Tick from Gauss PDF, and at Marc’s behest, “go now to your friend,” next door, down the street, in another part of town, across the country or the world. Go to them even if they are imaginary, or they exist to you only as an alias. Each glows as a soft beacon in the endless gray.
More about: James Emrick & Marc Matchak
