Contagious Orgasm - The Cause of The Flow
The problem with using the phrase "soundtrack to an imaginary movie" is that would be simpler if I just left the description of Hiroshi Hashimoto's newest record at that, but you have every right to ask: what kind of movie?
The kind that make you think the darkness is warm; the sort of film that you can recreate immediately upon closing your eyes; the cinematic adventure that speaks of a future lit by artificial light and the reflection of neon in puddles of rain water. It isn't a nightmare or even a feverish dreamscape as much as it is a montage of images aligned in such a fashion that your brain can (and does) assimilate them. The Cause Of The Flow is synesthetic content that flows in through your ears and lights up the imaging centers of your brain.
Broken into ten tracks, The Cause Of The Flow really needs to be experienced in a single sitting. The track indexes are fairly meaningless as the movement of motifs, melodies, and auditory scenes drift across these markers, fading and emerging, rising and falling, without much concern for the illusionary borders created by technology. During its five minute life, "Method of Disappearance" contains several distinct stories: the driving of a well-tuned car through the night streets of Hong Kong, the rush of traffic blurred beyond the tinted windows; a late-night conversation in a darkened elevator rising up the outer shell of a high-rise hotel, the flush of light from the city glittering off the disturbed waters of the bay; a pair of lovers arguing in a pool, their conversation turning heated and physical, the splash of water punctuating their cries. And yet, as these stories end (or, rather, are recycled back into the broader canvas), we are already nearly a minute into the next track. A good bit of "In-to" is a re-examination of the motifs of "In-tro."
I'm reminded a good deal of the work of Australian sound sculptor Darrin Verhagen and his work under the Shinjuku Filth moniker. Material is sourced and sliced against a background of atmospheres and beats to create a pastiche of story, a tale told by sound. You are given aural clues, slices of radio life that your brain unfolds and throws across your mental screen, and the progression of these clues leads you to a cohesive impression. The movie, if you will.
It's probably time to stop using the term "soundtracks to unmade movies" for works like this because the movie has been made. It is in your head the moment you hear this record. Hashimoto knows what he wants you to see; he has just elected to deliver all the visual impressions through your ear canals. And these sorts of movies are better left on CD because they demand your participation to become "movies," they demand your ego-less immersion and active imagination. Hiroshi Hashimoto isn't out to make film; his goal as Contagious Orgasm is to flood your head. If John Lilly were still doing experiments with LSD and sensory deprivation tanks, he'd have Hiroshi Hashimoto pumping Contagious Orgasm into the tank every night.
Contagious Orgasm
Ant-Zen [2002]
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