Notes on Jennifer Walshe, Tomomi Adachi and the People's United Telepathic Improvisation Front
Assuming one can ever really know anyone (identity case, included), if I know Jennifer Walshe at all (and alas, I do not know Ms. Walshe, save for the many and varied sounds she's been emitting since I first heard her Y2K wind quintet glass in a mirror on a window pane, then I, myself, have to assume that whatever Jenny's doing right now--14:00 GMT, to be exact--is, itself, unequivocally perfect.
You see, there's no room for error, axiomatically, in this here sounding realm.
To wit, the surface mistake I might think I've heard is actually but a success masquerading as a #FAIL--only in a much more accurate, further still precise dimension. Us both being Irish, after all, we've heard a thing (or three) about innate infallibility; ir-regardless, neither she can't make or I possibly detects any kind of Cartesian goof whence we're ensconced in a non-Euclidean headphone space.
The center of this grammatology holds steadfast, too, for that which Tomomi Adachi hath wrought to the telepathic table.
To be fair, though, I don't "know" Mr. Adachi like I have Jenny. No, I only k-n-o-w Tomo from whatevs Kenny Goldsmith had that semester's T.A. upload to the UbuWeb and PennSound repositories. But if his variations on an urtext like Kurt Schwitters' Ursonate, the follow-up records with Jaap Blonk and, lest I forget, those conductions c/o Butch Morris are true tells, his tale at this time--14:07 GMT, passed the point of no meditation--is also inerrant.
When, in fact, Schwitters, Blonk, Morris, et al., as matters of factual expectations following expectant suits, simply do not matter here. And, honestly, neither does the writ of Jennifer Walshe and/or Tomomi Adachi a priori. Given their kinds of extra-sensory communiqué, she doesn't play favorites, and he ain't got no canon.
This, what I'm hearing as the clock strokes itself close to a quarter past, is pure, unadulterated telepathy--the good stuff the hipsters of yore would have looked at you, internalized you were holding and then killed you for. On sight.
Ultimately, never have I ever known a closeness such as this with two essential strangers passing in my musical night. I hope we all--Jenny, Tomo, me...y'all--meet again real soon. Of course, apropos of her and his' prowess at this whole reading of the minds endeavor, by now, these two knew that already.