popcorn_10 - "tree"

M.C. Escher is Holland's greatest cultural export since windmills. Less of a fact, and more of a declarative bit of Noggle Wisdom; subjectivity is key. It is not, however, without standing. Their national footwear has been appropriated by a deceptively inviting, plastic amphibian. Anyone can now harvest and reap the benefits of wind. Fungus - of the third-eye opening variety - can be found in rancid shoe boxes anywhere the doors of perception swing open. Not even the Dutch national greenage remains exclusive to their droopy eyed coffee mermaids. All the while Esccher remains unique - tried and true. When considering the totality of these statements, I remain astonished that this master of lithographs and hand-drawings of hands drawing hands does not get more credit as one of the Netherland's national treasure.

Aside from adorning college dorm rooms from sea to shining sea, Escher does serve a purpose. What the M.C. lacked in traditional mediums he compensated for in imagination, dividing planes as he pleased. Escher was scientist disguised as an artist, and an artist disguised a a scientist. A simple "what if," question could prove as a source of motivation for years to come. This mindspace combined the best qualities of childlike curiosity with the craft mastering abilities that come with adulthood. And while ladder-centric marvels may not protrude from the speakers, and a single aural scene from two-angles is unlike to be composed, popcorn_10 possesses similar qualities to the above illustrator. Songs credited to the Boston based composer seem to also ask "what-if." His tool, though, is the freeware SunVox; his aesthete dreamlike and modern. So long as a tune is enjoyed the goal is accomplished. 

"tree" is no exception. While the song lacks popcorn_10's penchant for a relatable funk melody and the nostalgia of 90s video game compositions, a vague hip-hop beat can still be heard. In the first three seconds a seed is planted: a modulated bass drum comes together with the sound of a stick's shoulder to the drum-rim. The sprouts soon spread. Three synthesizers come together: two formless sounds out of a SETI lab form the harmony while the keys carry the melody. Progress continues to be made. Just past thirty seconds a modal bass is employed and the sensation of suspended animation continues. Save for the vague inclusion of castanets in the rhythmic section, the songs returns to the first section. Suddenly, the surface is cracked. Not unlike a plant, the sounds purposely crafted by the producer come together to form a finished product. A high pitched, non-threatening sound - perhaps a Ondes-Martenot variant or maybe just an attempt at a bird's whistle - hijacks the melody. Ambient noise that sounds like it would be more at home on techno track provide peripheral entertainment. The question seeking an answer is, "What if a song grew like fauna?" and the answer is a wide-angle view, two and a half minutes long. In the end, the track is neither boring nor ugly. Truth be told, it is another worthwhile listen from a musician that sound much more experienced than his track record. The only concern lies within its positive qualities Because the song's purpose is to induce pleasure; its focus on being inoffensive verges on assimilation to community group-think. 

Then again, why not just listen and enjoy?

- John Noggle