Per audience accounts: the room had the appearance of being burnt out, with each wall framed by dark wood paneling that appeared to hold up the room by its corners. The wood floor, gently but consistently scuffed, indicated a previous life as a dance studio, but now the mirrors had been replaced by windows, some facing outward, others showing glimpses into other rooms, deeper in the building.A baby grand piano was in the center, and around it, mats and cushions. Three people each brought a battery powered tape recorder. They argued over the best places in the room to capture the sound, and finally each agreed to share their recordings in order to create a composite of the concert. Slowly, people filed into the room. They took seats without question, and sat in silence while trays of short candles were lit, and the dim, flickery room lights were extinguished. Outside those walls, the air was tense, as it always was. Here was a sanctuary. After some time, Sisi entered the room, causing a flutter of whispers. The candlelight danced across her face, and really holding an image of her in your minds eye was quite difficult. Each flicker of the candlelight presented her image as a person of a different age. Everyone was softly entranced by the illusion - if it could be called that. When she began playing, everyone in attendance reported that they completely forgot the outside world - the wall, the divided city. Some report that the dark paneling began to faintly glow. All accounts of the concert, however abstract, describe Sisi playing only piano for its (unclear) duration. Therefore not all sounds heard on the recording can be fully explained. [S.R.]
I keep telling my assistant that we were guests and that the room couldn't be miced professionally. We wouldn't even know what the room looked like or where we would be until the event. I knew this because the gathering in the living room was similar to other phenomenological events I have documented. This wasn't going to be your normal concert rather an event that we would do our best to archive. Perhaps it is the nature of this type of work that leads to a high turn over among engineers. To travel to some suburban household among celebrity occultists and locally famous esotericists to hear a time concert to only have the tapes distributed among a private mailing list doesn't feel like high profile work. This wasn't going to be some rock concert but since we were making bootlegs most of my engineers come from that world. My assistant continues to be nervous and asks a lot of rude questions while I snack on the sandwiches Mr. Brooks has made us in the kitchen. Most of our equipment is in the back while people gather in the living room to await the beginning of the concert. We were invited by Mrs. Brooks at the behest of S.R. who is one of my recipients when we make copies. The others are various figures among a hidden community of phenomenon enthusiasts most who would be here in this living room or kitchen eating sandwiches with me if travel permitted. I most likely will have a new assistant for the next event especially when this one refuses to be respectful of others houses. There seems to be no shortage of people who are interested in amateur recordings of unorthodox performances and the majority of them come from the world of rock concerts where mind altering drugs seem to be the norm. This I never minded but I just hope the next one is a little bit nicer to the organizers especially the ones who make such delicious sandwiches. [H.S. from "Space Tapes"]
Found this cassette among the contents of a box of buried - yes literally, buried! - stuff near where they’re planning the build. I snuck in. I was walking by the fence earlier, when the machines were actually on. They were using one of the big shovels, carving out space for I guess a foundation of some sort. That probably sounds like how a builder would say it, right? And I don’t know why but my eyes were just drawn there as the shovel sank into the ground - and I noticed some ground collapse near the tread of the machine - and of course everyone was worried about a sinkhole, so they backed the machine up as quickly as possible. But I noticed that it wasn’t a sinkhole but something deliberately dug out and refilled. I knew I had to come back, so last night I went with a torch, cut a tiny slice in the fence, and went through. It was like the spot called to me. I had no trouble finding it, even with no moon to assist my failing torch. There were several boxes - six I could see from the edge. One seemed close enough that I could reach it. My work trousers are covered in clay but hooking my feet through a crevice, I could managed to lower myself face down and extract the box, some kind of small trunk. I contemplated trying to get another, but then a few noises spooked me, and I decided retreat was nobler.The trunk was easy to break. It was only full of hand-printed magazines, all yellowed, about earth goddesses and weird symbols and yoga and such. Some of it haunted looking stuff. Disappointing, but I knew my uncle K___ would probably know somebody who’d get a kick out of it. But there were also some audio cassettes, I’d never seen those before. I had to ask around before finally Julie went rummaging and found a player. Everything sounded muddy, underwater. Most of it sounded like there was speaking, but one was labeled - Sisi - Piano. It didn’t sound much like piano. I listened to them all once and never really thought about it again. But some fella sent me a message and offered to buy the box off of me. Somebody doing research. I'm not sure how he found me, but I wasn’t going to turn down cash. [D. G. In Sheffield]
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