Important
There are certain things we encounter, as humans, that are completelyout of our control. It's like when the cat pukes on the carpet and thecleanup time causes a tardy departure for work and every traffic lighton the way seems to turn red right before you get to it, only to get towork to be subjected for hours of douchebag clients who treat you likeass and equally frustrated co-workers who also didn't pay tens ofthousands of dollars on education only to end up working brainless jobsfor shit pay. Noise provides a multilateral theraputic escape. Ikebanaisn't about high-brow high-gloss music periodicals spin doctoring theart value of Japanese perverts, it's about that certain release thatparents accuse teenagers of by listening to loud rock music. This trulyis noise, and, thankfully to light-hearted masters, it's as enjoyableas it is regenerating. With all due respect to Will Rogers, I never meta Merzbow remix record I didn't like. It's no surprise that MasamiAkita's noise works well when in the hands of competant and relativelyinteresting audioheads. 29 tracks is a lot to digest, but thecollection does have its golden moments. Pluderphonic commandersNegativland offer a humorous re-take on a 1950s radio warning with "AnActual Attack," (mucous is certainly a word which is never usedenough), Alec Empire returns to his big beat armed assault roots with"Digital Hardcore," and Bola both mimic the painful sounds of tinnitusand provide belly shaking beats of "Klunk" from Bola. I'm also partialto the jiggy Atari 2600-drum 'n bass of The Drummer as "Luxus," thesymphonic studio storm of Jack Dangers' "Available Memory," andHrvatski's thumpy humpy bumpy ride, "Toru Pup." Lowlights are few butthey do include AMT's Kawabata Makoto's seemingly endless loops offeedback hiss "Revolved Jane" and DJ Porky that Subliminal Pig's clichehip hop scratch opener "Takemitsu." Whether it's enjoyed in the car athigh velocities or at loud volumes at stoplights while the chump in theVolvo in the next lane is confused, noise presented like this—in avariety of relatively small spurts in alternating styles—is an auralmassage. It helps to put the chaotic mess of a life aside for a certainmoment, leaving behind the frustration of feverishly digging through adrugstore for a goddamned antacid while Diana Ross/Lionel Richie duetsplay and welcomes warm comedic memories of filling up at a gas stationwith young college boys staring at the engine of a VW Jetta (see linkof the week) like monkeys at a Rubik's Cube while only the girl in thecar is the one who can both check and change the oil. By the time I gethome, I have left my work at work. I feel jubilant and renewed andready to do an 8-ball off a squeaky clean pair of large boobies andhave sex with somebody who thinks I'm ten years younger.

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