Noise therapy, from Pablo Rega (homemade electronic devices) and Alfredo Costa Monteiro (pickups on turntable), and it’s pretty scary. Those lullabies mummy used to sing are by now forgotten, it’s time to learn survival. Machines start buzzing, their menacing yet familiar presence soon overwhelming. Everything is intensity, in tension, in question, a progressively blurring stain. A couple of crunching hand grenades of distortion and, when the smoke clears, distant metallic drones like the cellar door about to close. Light a match and you realize how dirty the place is. Those goddamn workers in the apartment next door, don’t they ever stop? The air conditioning doesn’t work properly, either. There’s a bad smell of fried eggs and the radio won’t tune in, yet messages can still be detected, their meaning barely decipherable amidst sounds of boiling water. Someone’s trying to break in. Water is running down the wall and the paint peeling off. Breath failing, lack of oxygen. A coin spins on a metal sheet. Sounds of footfalls, burning coals, eternal war. You might feel better later.