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Sonic Romper Room

(Paragraph at Radio Cherokee)

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At first the tornado of sound threatens to boot you back out the door and across the street. But after a few minutes you get used to it. The noise continues to tangle you into a pretzel — it's like getting mugged by noise, then thrown into a giant washing machine filled with musical instruments, a laptop computer and a flying saucer. But in the best possible way.

There are no chord progressions, just 4/4 time, on and on, one single song for an entire set. Someone's blowing a trumpet; there's a saxophone, too. They switch instruments, falling into one another, knocking over equipment.

We're floating through chaos, reveling in it. An improvisational celebration of anarchy and sound: of noise. Not easy to say if they're playing their horns in the conventional sense, but still, it is music, only stretching the definition of the word a little bit. Stretching the idea of the word, into a kind of hypnosis.

Meanwhile, the guy behind the counter pours coffee, quietly reads his book. Adjusts earplugs, reads book. A curious island of apparent uninterest in this sonic Romper Room.