It may come as a shock to some of you, but Patient Sounds announced that it was shuttering its operations earlier this year (NOW IS WHEN WE NEED YOU MOST), so that means no more awesome tapes from the Chicago institution. But that announcement also came with the news that there would be a handful of tapes before the WORLD CAVED IN ON ITSELF, with the final three announced just last week, so everybody was advised to step back from the edge of madness for just a little bit longer. I think everybody caught themselves in time — if they didn’t, they missed a real treat before plunging headlong into the internal void from which, I’m told by various scientific experts, there is no return.
That treat is Julia Bloop’s Out of the Bloop, a play on words much more enticing than something like Blizzard of Ozz or 2Pacalypse Now. Not only is the pun palatable, it’s downright inviting: how can you not love the word “Bloop”? It’s so innocent, so innocuous. And Out of the Bloop plays like those adjectives, a carefree jaunt among Pacific esoterica. It’s a sampledelic southward trip down the archipelago, all the way down to the secret lagoon beyond the volcanic peaks, the lagoon you can only access by sea. There the water laps against the shore, and it’s impossible not to get lost in the remote world there, till you can’t fathom the amount of time you spend transfixed.
It’s a long damn time.
It’s so long that, if you’re like me, your beard grows and your skin tans and your clothes become tattered strips by the weather, and still there you are, day after day, mesmerized in a haze of half understanding. Moments and memories blur, the sun sparkles on the water, the rain falls in sheets. The Earth turns, day to night, a crackling fire keeps you warm. And still this place, this Bloop, has a hold on you. The cerulean surface is a mirror to the sky, and you fall into it and transform, gliding like an albatross forever crossing the great expanses.
It’s kind of the opposite of the internal void. Regardless, a return trip is not guaranteed.
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