Ash Meridian

Elian brought the first tape to the room on a wet Sunday, after closing. It held one harmonium note, the bell of a departing tram and twelve minutes of radiator knock. We played it too loudly. Dust jumped in the projector beam although there was no projector. That small mistake became the record's centre.

The strings were added three months later in a stairwell outside Liège. You can hear shoes on the landing and a door pulled shut below. Nothing was cleaned away. Ash Meridian keeps the hour when daylight has gone but the walls still hold it: not dusk, exactly, but its weight.