Because there is something about the way a computer speaks, mispronouncing everything. Very un-Rock, this type of fickle melancholia that hangs over the show. We enjoy being in the studio and watching things coming together, but confidence becomes a bigger issue than before, with time budgets fractionating, boundaries must enclose, not cut, the relevant pathways to any sort of solution. Yet not much of this matters to the show, since the effects imagineering have changed the order of things, first an obscenity from a mouth, then you experience a monstrously seductive face. Motoring along, between the cleavages of attention, we experience a certain humility, which is appropriate, tempered by the dignity or joy of being part of something bigger. A part—if you will—of God.
at Édouard Montassut, Paris
until December 17, 2022
