James likes to reinvent his previous work. There were experiments in medium, and content. Alterations on older pieces on exhibition that night. Clipping, snipping, and painting over them so nothing is wasted but everything is in a constant state of self-perpetuating innovation of his work.
Tits performed a rushed set like grenade going off in a cathedral. Maj, James, and Nick's atmospheric cacophonies and flitting vocals emanated from behind glass masks. Sounds circling a crowd of people thirty deep while James murdered his drums as Marguerite soldered her voice to Nick's keyboard melodies.
After knowing James Cordas for two years; waking up on his floor after nights of composition and decomposition, chatting back and forth about modernist reality, beer, and seeing sound, and experimental drummers, I've learned that he's worth following around.
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