words by Jarrod DeArmitt
One man, John Chriest, sits slouched on chair. There’s a guitar and microphone. There’s a pedal board
and a small amplifier. And then suddenly there’s more. The world in which the music of Ivory Weeds
lives is one where sound and silence twist, tumble, and splay out like a tangled glacier. It’s the music of
late nights, soft light, and intimate memories. The waltz becomes fevered. There is no room left on the
walls or the ceiling. The dance floor is full. Chriest, unmoving, pulls you into that chair just as everything
begins to crash, and the song folds in on itself. It’s quiet. Breathe in. Release.
Witness TM EYE laying down their special sauce – old school techno that gets stuck in your head for days.
Close to a year ago, deep in the throes of another failed experiment, we received a mysterious transmission.
After an all-nighter in the editing lab, the noise of this transmission became lucid. It was a proposition from beyond, a challenge from what has come to be known as FIELD REPLACEMENT UNIT.