In a fluorescent motel lobby, a little radio behind bulletproof glass plays the American hit parade. That night I dreamt of Natalie Wood on an endless loop, leaping and yelling “hit your lights” on the edge of a cliff, her arms swinging through the headlights again and again. The next morning I began assembling this collection of reverberated songs, AM radio chatter, and looping vinyl crackle, recorded between 2009 and 2014. Satellite fuzz and love among the ruins. These are soundtracks for long drives, cheap motels, and late nights.
"They’ll challenge each other to walk ten miles into Death Valley without any supplies. They wager money on it."
A dusty ballad plays in a grand old ballroom filled with tailored men and elaborate hairdos.
One night I found a cassette tape at the bottom of a shoebox while cleaning the attic. The label said Jim Reeves Roast, June 1978.
A busted tape loop of sludgy Coltrane with a shot of Connie Francis in a ballroom filled with radio static and feedback.
He heard it somewhere southeast of El Paso. An old Mexican ballad maybe, not that he could understand a word of it, but the woman’s voice was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.
A dusty ballad plays from an old radio in an alley but the machines can’t find it. A blurry sequence of songs starring the Ronettes, Autechre, Suicide, and more.
Whenever I get into the car around sunset, I want to keep pushing west into the Mojave desert. All that strange spiritual space dotted with cheap motor lodges that advertise color television. Starts off with The Counts, Dale Hawkins, and Wanda Jackson.
Two pitched-down dub records meander through a field of mid-century blues and ballads. Featuring Françoise Hardy, Pole, Dean Martin, and A Rocket in Dub.