It’s reasonable to say that the music on “Touch Parking” picks up where “Fluorescent” left off, edging a bit more into complexity and abstraction while certainly retaining some pop attributes. The overall sensation I derive from it is one of almost giddy adventure, of being in a vessel that scallops down into a specific sound-world, savoring a given slice before flitting to the next area in nervous anticipation. There are four tracks timing in at only about 24 minutes total but still leaving one well sated. As with much Australian eai I’ve heard in the last several years, the sonic separation is extraordinary; there’s a wonderful feeling of air between sounds. The first section, after a brief sample of public conversation, is aflutter with information (this is a release that amply repays repeated listening, always revealing more than you first thought was there), skittering between high flickers and low rumbles. Here, as periodically throughout the disc, there’s recurrent digital beep, a disquieting approximation of an alarm of some sort, an element that provides an underlying sense of unease to counterbalance the attractive surface sheen. On the next cut, a loosely metallic rhythm asserts itself (a pachinko sample?) and several others quickly bubble up to clamor for attention. Children’s voices, a far-off choir, PA announcements and more are churned into a rich stew. Surprisingly, the third piece begins with processed Jew’s harp (or some variation thereof) over jangling metal, soon joined by a cascade of rollicking drums, as though Han Bennink had just stumbled into the room. There’s a song of sorts interspersed, possible a commercial jingle, but one that to American ears surreally recalls the Mickey Mouse Club theme. While it’s the track that most overtly refers to rock and pop forms, there’s nothing of that in its structure which consistently confounds any such association, morphing at the end into percolating blips and static just when one might be settling in for a groove. “Touch Parking” closes in a work of only slightly troubled serenity, sets of pulsations looking for calmness, elbowed a bit by harsh intrusions and treacly pop samples before being erased entirely by a brief wash of sandy scrubbings.
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		It’s a lovely recording and a helluva lot of fun to boot. Limited to 300 pressings, if you’ve kept your turntable, you have to check it out. Brian Olewnick - Bagatellen order this item