It's an absolute delight to discover new composers, particularly when they know the audio wonders that have come before, enough to mold marvels of their own. When they recruit talents in sync with their bold endeavors, all the better. It's good to sweeten the artistic pot.
In the case of Submarine Broadcasting Company's "Suburban Solitude", de Souza and his creative partner, T.R. Hand, helped me flee (or make that, defy) the titular landscape and cocoon myself within a subconscious sojourn.
The opening track, "Traffic Ritual", initiated the cerebral jaunt, allowing me to avoid the asphalt paths to travel a sprawling sea where I became as a great, aquatic mammal, snapped from my industrialized rut, free at last to probe, discover and plunder.
The churning current prompted me to pursue the unreachable horizon, where the sonic surge of "Interlude I" called. It was then that the water ascended and spread, thickening into the red sands of Mars. Into the planet's crusty canals, I stumbled, entering an unexpected blast of inexplicable, windswept vegetation. "The Culture Working" had begun.
It was nice to be back on grassy Earth (if that was, in fact, where I was), but after ample time spent within the lush passage, my spine tingled, opening the door to "Interlude II", which if but for a moment, reinstated a sense of symbolic, suburban contrivance: ominous, I inferred, but beyond any doubt, conquerable.
When the hum-spun "Commercial Meditation" came to enter my head, I fostered no fear, even when that colossal, slithering serpent sprung from the grass, its fangs glistening, its throat widening...
Into its esophagus I slipped, immersed in the composition's gossamer chords, my body and soul entangled. Was I being devoured...dissolved? No, the meditative notes assured that my captor was the one being assimilated, my poisoning presence its symbiotic victor.
As satisfaction overcame me, the dissentient melody neutralized, while my heartbeat quickened in rebuttal. Through new eyes I saw the mundane offerings of suburbia: the little houses, their picket fences and queued, potted flowers. They were as strange and potent as anything found along the terrains I had trekked. Indeed, all was good. All was grand. By golly, the motivational duo of Glauber K.S. and T.R. Hand had redefined the essence of my perception...
But that wasn't the end. For a musical desert, there were more electronic morsels to taste, served by de Souza, who's part of the electric-guitar quartet, which includes fellow Brazilians, Dino Beghetto, Pedro G. Paiva and Daniel S. Mendes.
The quartet's concept album, "Improcreations", is as welcoming as it's abstract. Among the tracks' amorphous blotches, I splashed, revisiting segments of my life, both good and bad, the process as purging as a hard, summer rain.
Through "O.U.A.T.I.Po.A.", I found my consultation. Through "0002" I seized the strumming strokes of hip regret. Through "TrvdiciOnvl", I spewed unfailing, spit-in-your-eye joy, only then to enter a practical vantage via "Terremoto'"s somber stroll.
My senses steadied at the album's close, but I felt no less revived, the euphoric aftertaste charging my consciousness for hours on end...
I'll be forever appreciative of de Souza and his masterful accomplices--forever in their creative debt for "Suburban Solitude" and "Improcreations". I'll listen again to each selection from each album, but can only surmise what visions might arise. No matter the manifestations, I'll be thankful to absorb each blossoming path.
Perhaps you'd like to consume de Souza's collaborative concoctions as well. If so, the enchantment awaits at ...
(for "Suburban Solitude") https://submarinebroadcastingco.bandcamp.com/album/suburban-solitude?fbclid=IwAR1BQoMWxYf40VHCklabcH1DlZ6RiDJogJuVuxb1-20NvNwVwaZotBCgqA8; and at ...
(for "Improcreations")
https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/improcreations/1184075331
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