#William Fields

[weepingwidar]

William Fields (American, 1940) - Simon Magus 'Friends in the Beginning' (n.d.)

[ghostowlattic]

William Fields Blue Fish, 2018

[kaccvcate]

Tonight I saw an improvisational electronic set at Squeezbox Records in Wilmington, DE. It was experimental, hypnotic, raw - it sounded like a UFO was taking off in the room!

From left to right: Adam Arritola, Chaka Benson, William Fields, Jair-Rohm Parker Wells

You can hear the show I was at, and check where some of them are playing next here:

[stealfocus]

ARTIST: William Fields

[burlveneer-music]

William Fields - Fictions - continuing to push the boundaries of generative music, making it sound both introspective and playful

William Fields, the electronic musician working in areas of algorithmic composition and improvisation, makes his debut on GOTO with “Fictions”. Continuing a slew of releases across labels such as Superpang, Tokinogake and Conditional, “Fictions” is a perfect slice of Fields’ computer music – never robotic, constantly shifting and, at times, straight up jazzy. Fields is keen to state that these pieces are performed, with several of the tracks taken directly from public live appearances. Nevertheless, each composition retains structure and familiarity, both somewhat rarities in the majority of music made via similar processes. The eight tracks here display a wide range of aesthetic approaches, however, ranging from the raucous, freeform “Febih” through the computer jazz of “Obu” to the more luscious atmospheres of “Athal” and “Ifotux”. Fields has been working in electronic music since 1998, performing regularly between the United States and Canada. A frequent collaborator, his work has received high praise from peers internationally. For several years, Fields has developed his own music software, “FieldsOS”, from which the majority of his output is produced. A particular highlight in the construction of “FieldsOS” was a weekly spot on Resonance Extra in 2019, where the system generated an hour of algorithmic music each week, broadcast without any edits. As time progresses, so does Fields’ “music system,” with “Fictions” exhibiting some of his most organic machine-music to date. May William Fields guide you through his world of musical spaces and systems. Performed and mixed by William Fields. Mastered for compact disc by Finlay Shakespeare. Artwork by Meggie Wood.

[vxsellie]

THE UNITY IN PAIN - E.W

synopsis. soldier!ellie williams x field medic!reader. after being horribly wounded in battle, ellie is brought to you on a stretcher. she'd been blown up by a fucking landmine when her guard was down. however, for some reason, the agony in her mutilated leg instantly subsides as her gaze falls onto you. everything dulls in comparison to your vibrance. notes. this is so random & probably won't even get that much attention bc of how sporadic the trope is, but! this thought came to me and i've been unable to rid my mind of it since i first imagined it also! yes, i changed the synopsis a bit from how it was originally posted when i asked about tagging. i just rewatched g.i. jane & was hungry for writing a war scene rather than just pure romance yk warnings. descriptions of gore, war, corpses, death, and blood. unrealistic medical depictions. wc. 3.6k

the sound of gunfire and screams fill ellie's ears as she runs across the battlefield. her thick combat boots kick up sand with each step she takes, gun clutched firmly against her chest just as she'd been taught. her comrades run alongside her, only a few hundred feet away from the helicopter waiting to take them back to safety a few miles out. her mouth nearly waters at the idea of a hot meal and cold shower. the dirt that clings to her skin is—

boom!

ellie's body suddenly goes flying up into the air, thudding against the ground a few feet away. she groans, ears ringing as she struggles to get onto her knees. as she attempts to move, a jolt of pain shoots up her left leg and agony grips her with an iron fist.

she squeezes her jaw shut. screaming past clenched teeth as she continues to move around, albeit fruitlessly. her body is on fire, every single nerve set aflame as her entire being protests the very notion of so much as breathing.

"williams is down!" she can hear someone shout through her earpiece, relaying the news back to those in the helicopter. she'd usually feel embarrassed at the declaration. but at the moment, she can hardly think straight enough to feel anything. "she must've triggered a landmine! her leg is— just— send a medic! over!"

a few more voices shout in her earpiece as thudding boots can be heard jogging toward her. she screams, continuing her futile attempts at reforming dignity. but all she manages to do is writhe around in pain.

hands are suddenly grabbing at her, comrades holding her under the arms and by the thighs as they haul her onto a stretcher. every movement sends her body into another wave of torment, leg numb as every muscle and nerve screams at her. as the soldiers jog with the stretcher in tow, she continues to groan and writhe, mind muddled by whatever injury she endured and blood loss.

a sudden flash of white can be seen moving in the corner of her eye. she lulls her head in the direction of the color, seeing a field medic rushing over to the stretcher. you walk in stride with the soldiers carrying her, speaking frantically as you assess the situation and how best to approach it.

and, instantly, all the pain in ellie's body vanishes. her mind focuses solely on you and the cloud of gentility you've placed over her without so much as a glance in her direction. her lips part as she pants, eye lidded as she stares up at you with blown pupils. whoever you are, she wishes to see more of you from now on.

you continue to bark orders at the soldiers and demand answers to questions. the sheer power you hold over these militia men is daunting and she loves it.

the thudding footstep sound suddenly shifts, boots no longer against hardened sand and now on thick metal. she looks away from you to blink at her surroundings. the interior of the helicopter spins as she glances around, nothing solid except for your face. so she turns back to you.

this time, however, you're looking right back at her. you're a mere inch from her face as you squint at her, taking in every detail of her. the soldiers ease the stretcher onto the floor as you take over the situation and the copter whirs into power and lifts into the air.

"what's your name, soldier?" you ask, crouching to one knee as you reach into your back pocket, still watching her closely.

"my—" she blinks, taken aback.

"you don't know your name?" you ask her before shaking your head and muttering under your breath, "oh, that's a bad bad sign."

"what? no. nonono, i know my name." she rushes out, words slurred as delirium is beginning to effect every action she takes. "it's— i'm ellie williams."

you raise a brow at her switch-up but say nothing. instead, you nod and pull out a rolled cloth. you shift lower on her body, now crouched at her hips rather than her face. she watches you with bright eyes despite the dullness of the rest of her.

"well, ellie williams." you say, unraveling the cloth to reveal a line of tools and blades to have been hidden within. you grab one of the scalpels. at least ellie thinks it's a scalpel. she's not the smartest at medical shit. you clutch the blade and turn to her. "this mangled leg of yours isn't making it back to base."

"it—" she stammers, voice scratchy and rough in her raw throat. "what's that mean?"

you give her a pitying look, "amputation."

"what're—"

her words are cut off by you driving a second blade into her uninjured leg. she screams out in pain, mind instantly made distracted by the knife in her right leg to pay any mind to the way you're severing off her already wounded one. seeing as it's already numb and almost completely removed at the knee, it makes it easy for you to remove. the issue, though, is your lack of access to sedatives at the moment. and if the blood loss didn't kill ellie, the pain surely would. so, the knife you'd just driven into her right thigh was for her sanity.

she throws her head back, screams tearing from her throat and bouncing off the metallic walls of the helicopter. you grit your teeth and continue, knowing you've ought to make this as quick as humanly possible to ensure ellie will be alive by the time you make it to base.

once you get to her bone and swap tools for a stronger ones, her deafening screams only grow in volume. while the rest of the crew covers their ears and winces at the sound of their comrade in such anguish, you know her screams are a good thing. they're a tell tale sign that she's alive and still feeling pain regularly.

her hands are clutching the edge of her stretcher, knuckles white with pressure applied to her grip. you finish the removal and replace the sharp tools with a roll of gauze. "shh. i know, i know. but look, we're almost done, just have to wrap it now." you mutter under your breath as you work. talking while working keeps you in order and ellie seems to appreciate it as well, her voice dying in her throat as she nods in a daze.

she pins her eyes to your face, watching you once again as you work. you can feel her gaze boring into your face as you tie off her leg at the knee, securing blood flow and bandaging the exposed flesh. afterward, you yank the knife from ellie's right thigh, sending her body to jolt as she yelps. you're quick to tend to her, though, wrapping her thigh alongside her left (half) leg.

you finish the job and almost collapse from your adrenaline rush crashing so fast. ellie's chest rises and falls as she huffs out heavy breaths of air, her eyes blinking slowly as her jaw hangs open. her auburn hair clings to her sweaty skin, the perfect depiction of what war and fatigue can do to a person. only a few minutes ago, she was unwounded and the entire crew was on their way back to base unscathed. in mere seconds, that was obliterated alongside ellie's leg. one misstep and she's lost a limb for the rest of her life.

but this is exactly why you're here; this is your purpose here. helping people the way nobody was able to help your father.

you know what it's like to lose a loved one. to wait at the front door as a child only for big militia men to appear in his stead with a triangularly folded flag to offer their condolences and apologies. the piece of fabric felt a pathetic replacement for your father — the one who taught you to talk, walk, eat, everything. but you still cherished it, promising your little adolescent self that you'd make sure no other family would go through this. not if you could help it, at least.

and now, thanks to you, whoever ellie's family is will be seeing her return. albeit a little less of her, but it'll be her nonetheless.

"what's your name?" she slurs from her spot on the stretcher, pulling your attention away from your thoughts and back down to her mangled form. her hands lay palm up as they release from their death grip on the edge of the stretcher.

"i don't think you should be the one asking the questions here, miss williams." you tell her with a glint of playfulness in your eye. ellie huffs out a laugh but ends up coughing, having to turn her head to the side in case of vomit. you look away, instead using this time to place your tools back into their sheath, mentally scolding yourself to remember to wash them off later.

"ask away," ellie roughs out, her voice still chalky and in desperate need of water.

"age? birthplace? mother's maiden name? any siblings? pets?" you list of questions as you slip the blades back into the fabric. these questions are the one regularly used when checking to be sure a patient's memory hasn't been impaired and their brains are screwed on correctly. if ellie can answer every single one without fail, she's perfect.

"woah woah," she says, "slow down."

"okay fine." you give in, rolling your fabric and slipping it into your medic coat pocket. you turn to her, shuffling close to her face as to be respectful. "what'd you eat for breakfast this morning?"

"mm, that's too easy." she smirks, though you can tell the action hurts her. her lips are split, causing the slightest quirk of her mouth to cause pain. despite this, she continues, likely unaware that you'd even noticed. "scrambled eggs, they were stale. master chief said they're all we had though, so i was smart enough t' not complain."

"smart girl." you chuckle. the blush that creeps to ellie's cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. but you say nothing, offhandedly deeming it to be all due to her wound-induced delirium.

"what'd you have?" she asks. "do medics get special treatment or what?"

you scoff, "oh i wish. unfortunately, i had the same shit as you, williams. master chief's stale eggs."

she laughs at this and you find yourself adoring the sound. the rest of the crew is talking and laughing with each other, a low hum of conversation filling the air. louder than that, the noisily whirring helicopter begins to lower to the ground, deafening in its boisterousness. despite all of that, ellie's laughter is what rings loudest in your ears. you ignore the full-body reaction and instead busy yourself with something else.

you stand from the floor, nodding toward the men seated opposite the helicopter from you and ellie. they notice your movement and instantly stand and jog over to you. there's five of them.

"when this thing lands, i want you five to haul her out of here." you demand, chin raised and shoulders set. the men nod, accepting their newly appointed roles. you're not done, though. "afterward, you'll bring her into the medical tent and lay her down on whichever cot i point out to you."

the men listen, not daring to argue with you. as someone who's worked for the military for three years now, you've managed to amass a rather impressive reputation for a medic. the higher ranked officers know you by name from your father and therefore respect your deeply. but it's not only your lineage that's got you to where you are. on top of your father's residual impact on your life, you're also the best medic this army has ever seen. they need you. due to this, the officers have driven it into the soldiers' minds that you're to be respected and listened to for fear that you'll leave if not. that's not true, of course, but you allow them to think it.

and when the time comes, the men hold their end of the deal. as soon as the helicopter lands against the grassy land of your militia base, the haul ellie's stretcher into the air and escort her off the machine and into the medical tent. you follow after them, hurrying in front of them when you get to the tent as to be there in order to point out which cot she's to be placed upon.

the tent is lined with wounded soldiers. most of them aren't freshly injured, instead in here to heal and recover from previously inflicted damage. some of them are mental while others are physical, calling for a colorful array of people packed into the tent.

"there," you say, gesturing toward the first empty cot you see. "lay her down gently, y' hear me?"

"yes ma'am." the reply in unison, placing her down onto the white sheets as softly as possible. then, they stand at ready for dismissal. when you're sure they hadn't somehow managed to injure ellie, you dismiss them and they're quick to rush out the tent and rejoin their crew.

ellie lies atop the cot, her severed leg looking shockingly well, all things considered. her breathing has evened out and her hands no longer yearn to grip the nearest thing to her. progress, you'd say.

"when dinner is served, i'll be sure to bring you a tray." you tell her, pulling your cloth from your coat and unraveling it over a nearby cart of medical supply. ellie's eyes are on you again. in the way that sends sparks through your nerves and hammering through your heart. you hate it. but you also think you'll live the rest of your life chasing this very feeling that ellie gives you. whatever that may be.

"y' don't have to." she mumbles, voice quiet and graveling with exhaustion. her eyelids are weighed with her being tired. you frown, wiping your tools clean as you look at her from over the cart.

"yes i do." you insist. "it's the least you deserve."

her brow knits at this, threaded with confusion. "wha'd'you mean?"

"you're a war soldier, williams." you tell her, finishing your tool tending and crossing your arms over your chest. "you and your crew put your life in danger every fucking day. the least i could do is get you a tray of damn food."

"y' say that like y' don't spend your life tendin' t' us." she slurs. "y' don't owe me anythin'."

"i watch you guys, y'know." you tell her. "when the medical work runs low and i run out of shit to do, i sit outside and watch the soldiers train. and let me tell you, just watching what you're put through is enough to never make me want to go anywhere near your job. you're forced to work through harsh weather and grave situations."

her eyes are pinned to you as you speak. and, for some reason, her gaze has a certain weight to it that makes you want to simultaneously cower from her and run at her. it's driving you mad. but you can't look away, your eyes staying trained on hers as you continue.

"all the while, i sit in some tent and stitch people up all day." you say. "so let me at least bring you some fucking dinner. and don't you dare tell me no, williams, because i won't listen."

she blinks, "now i see why y' scare the shit outta everyone."

"are you saying that you're scared of me?" you narrow your eyes at her, rounding the cart to approach her cot with a raised brow.

"i'd be a damn fool not t' be." she chuckles, shocking you both as she manages to not cough this time. "dunno how y' did it, but everyone know better than t' fuck with you."

"perfect." you grin at this. though, when you see the look on ellie's face, you shoot her a deep scowl. "don't you go ruining my reputation now, williams. when you leave this place, you better tell everyone i was a complete bitch to you."

"yes ma'am." she agrees with a wide smile. your heart nearly melts at the sight of it.

ellie looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, her eyes darting between each of yours as she continues to smile ever so slightly. in her gaze, you're literally perfect. a painting made by someone who'd experienced nothing but beauty and love in their life. and her delirium only adds onto this, making you out to be even more alluring and angelic than before.

i mean, who could blame her? she'd been dying in the sand, writhing and screaming. and suddenly, the most beautiful woman she'd ever laid her eyes on is walking onto the scene and taking the world by storm, voice strong and gaze even stronger. she was incapable of looking away the entire time you tended to her.

"oh!" you suddenly burst out, mind reminding her of something. you turn away from her to grab something and she instantly wants to force you to turn back toward her. you turn back around a moment later, orange bottle of pills in your hand. "want any painkillers?"

her eyes instantly light up, "please."

"don't sound so desperate now, williams." you tease, unscrewing the lid and pouring two of them into the palm of your hand. you pass them to her and she downs them instantly, no water needed. you smile, "not only will they lessen the pain, but they'll help you to fall asleep too. i know personally how hard it is to rest knowing that half your leg is missing, so.."

her gaze trail down your body, taking in your complete limbs. though, she ought to admit she allowed her eyes to wander a bit, taking in the curves and dips of your body as she imagines what it'd be like to memorize each feature with her mouth.

she looks back up at your face as though she weren't just imagining the most filthy things about you. "doesn't seem like you'd know personally. y' have all your legs."

"well, not personally, i suppose." you agree, waving a dismissive hand at her comment. "my father was missing an arm, a few fingers, and most of his ear. so i know more closely than most, but you're right it's not exactly personal."

"your father was in the military, right?" she questions, eyes drooping as the pills begin to kick in. "super high rank. i've heard his name 'round."

"yep," you nod pridefully.

"that's—" she blinks harshly, sleep wrapping its hands around her as it beckons her to give in to its taunting. "that's so awesome."

"do you even remember what we were talking about?" you laugh.

she sighs heavily, thinking hard. "uhh,"

"it's fine," you assure her, watching her with a fond smile. "go to sleep, now. you've deserved it."

"mm," she hums, seeming to be incapable of processing your words. she then reaches a hand toward you, fingertips brushing the coat of your white jacket stained with her blood. "wanna do me a favor?"

you raise a brow, "what type of favor?"

"t' help m' sleep." she murmurs. you take a step closer, barely able to hear her. a small smile tugs her lips at your proximity. "kiss me."

your eyes widen, "i can't—"

"pleaseee." she begs, voice rough with sleep.

"i'd feel guilty the rest of my life, williams." you struggle to explain. "you're in pain and on a heavy drug. plus, we've just met and i've never seen you without some sort of delirium effecting you. i can't kiss you or i'll feel like i took advantage of you."

"but 'm asking." she continues to plead with you, pale green eyes looking up at you through droopy eyes and filthy hair.

she looks so fucking perfect like this, her features rested and vulnerable. something about the sight of her feels intimate. you'd seen her before, of course. she's ellie williams. she's an absolute monster on the field. she's not super high ranking seeing as she's only been in for a year and a half, but she's well respected and liked among the men.

before this, you'd only ever seen her wrestling with big buff men and scaling walls in her uniform. but right now, she's anything but the woman you'd previously deemed her to be. and, oddly, you think you might like this better. like you're seeing as side of her that nobody else is allowed to see. like a secret.

"how about this," you say.

you then lean forward and press your lips to her forehead. she shuts her eyes, relaxing against the feel of the kiss. she hums lowly, shoulders drooping into the pillow. you pull back and her eyes remain closed. as though she's trying desperately to draw the moment out for as long as possible.

"that way," you tell her, "you get your kiss and i don't feel guilty about it."

"smart girl," she hums, mimicking the very words you'd said to her earlier. you smile, though she doesn't see her as her eyes remain closed. when she opens them, they're bloodshot from pure fatigue. "when 'm all better, will y' kiss me? like, a forreal kiss?"

you laugh, shaking your head fondly, "sure, ellie. why not?"

the sound of her name on your tongue and the promise of a possible future kiss is enough for her. she shuts her eyes and burrows deep into the pillow. the pain in her amputated leg remains long forgotten as her mind is far more interested in the memory of your smile and the sound of your voice, dreams full of naught but you all night long.

a kiss from an angel.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist : @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 fic taglist : @dinakisser @uselessnewt @mellifluousgirll @divinely-yourz @ladyofcain

[ladytrist]

I’m also lowkey kinda dreading if school bus graveyard will go on hiatus again 😭 if so, then I feel like it’ll take another year.

I don’t know what to read anymore.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

July 13th, 1917

Be it from a sense of paternal concern or simply patriotic duty, Arthur made sure to leave his soldiers in the charge of an older Corporal and made his way to the quite pathetic excuse of a medical section where his son was left to rot.

Arthur had heard about the attack. He had been informed the day prior.

He had seen war and famine and sickness, but never like this. Arthur wasn't young, in any sense, and what wonders and strong political oppinions young men had, had left him a long time ago like a ship leaving the harbour in a hury to claim new land. This though, had left shock echoing within his tired, millenia old frame. He wasn't used to this.

Arthur made his way through the trenches with soldiers from every corner of the globe instantly stopping whatever they were doing prior and saluting him as if etiquette and rank mattered in hell. As if it was more importaint to greet the Higher ups than to survive long enough to even write a letter back to family. Arthur did understand that though. Routine and rules were the only thing keeping these poor and wretched souls from being consumed by thoughts of an imminent death.

The path to the section where Matthew was held was quite straightforward and quite familiar. He had marched to and from it hundreds of times and had a sort of automatic rithm in his step. Arthur made his way to the small and damp room with a fast pace indicative of familiarity, only to stop in his tracks in the shabbily built doorframe at the sight that awaited him in the corner.

Matthew sat in the corner of the sad makeshift medical section of the trenches, his back firm against the cold, damp wall.

His once-piercing blue-grey eyes were now clouded over with milky white cataracts, rendering him completely blind. The newly used gas had stolen his sight. His skin, once tanned and healthy, now bore the sickly pallor of a much older man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

Matthew's uniform, discarded in favour of his worn down undershirt, was now a tattered and stained relic of his time in the trenches. The not-white-anymore shirt clung to his emaciated frame as if decency still mattered in hell. The physical toll of the war was clear on his body. Not that Matthew would have to worry about seeing that any time soon. His hands, which had once held a rifle with resolve, now trembled even while resting on his thighs.

Despite his physical and emotional anguish, Matthew remained seated upright, his back pressed against the unforgiving, stained wall. A testament to his resilience if there was any left, a silent protest against the horrors that had taken his sight and left him broken in body and spirit.

As he sat there, his spirit reduced to a hollow shell, Matthew's face bore a mixed expression of utter defeat and complete indifference. His lips were drawn into a thin, lifeless line, and his cheeks were gaunt from the weight of his suffering. His blank, unseeing eyes stared into the abyss, as if waiting for answers and also hoping they'd never arrive.

In that moment, Matthew was not a representation of Canada; he was a young man who had been scarred and broken by the senseless brutality of war. The trenches around him buzzed with activity, but he remained isolated in his silent world of darkness and despair. The young medics job was done. He had patched Matthew up and left him to his own misery. Matthew was grateful.

Arthur stood there silently under the doorframe for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. A strange and unfamiliar twinge of emotion plucked and pulled on his conscience. He hadn't felt guilt in quite some time. This feeling was reserved for drunken nights spent in solitude with the doors to the room he resided in firmly locked so that his sliver of self-deprecating emotion wasn't witnessed by any but himself, while he drunk himself to unconsciousness.

He preferred the emotional solitude to this.

Arthur had believed himself to be capable of most things. Especially conversation and confrontation. He was quite good at those as centuries of existence had proved. He believed himself quite skilful with words. Most of the time he knew what to say and when to say it without it resulting in unwanted and unforeseen consequences, while still making sure his opinion was heard.

Arthur had no words forming as he stood in that doorframe. If Arthur was a good man, his reasoning would be that he felt such strong empathy and sadness that words wouldn't be enough to express the sorrow he felt at that moment. If Arthur was a good man he'd run to his son, assure him that this wouldn't happen ever again and that he was safe. If Arthur was a good man he would fall on his knees in front of his oldest son and beg for forgiveness.

Arthur wasn't a good man.

He could admit to his shortcomings, but to act on them was not in his nature.

So he stood there for another 5 or 6 minutes watching his son shallowly breathe in and out, hearing the boys lungs struggle to keep up with his muscles contraction and need for air.

He must have made a noise, as Matthew's head tilted slightly to the left, almost looking at Arthur but definitely not seeing him. Arthur looked back at him.

The room was quiet, save for the desperate plea of Matthews lungs to be put out of their misery.

Sensing nothing after a few moments, Matthew turned his head back towards the blank wall ahead.

Arthur silently turned his frame around and slowly started walking the path he had taken to get here. As he took a few steps, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

How he longed for that whiskey bottle and that dark room where he could lock himself in and slowly drift out of consciousness instead of facing his own mistakes.

Arthur definitely was not a good man.

[huariqueje]

 Autumn Field - William H. Hays , 2022.

American, b. 1956 -

Colour linocut ,  12 x 9 in.  Ed. 100.

[tetheredbysin]

just saw someone defend their favorite f1 driver with "well, the rules are the same for everyone".

my sweet summer child, no. it's the exact opposite. f1 is notorious for the rules not being the same for everyone.

[coldarena]

mota uniform studies + a very good boy

[18catsreading]

Oooh, planning for nuclear meltdown round two!! Good thought Tula - "what kept the humans away for 20 seasons" and Ava whipping out "they were in truck and they suddenly started bleeding all over"

[azertyrobaz]

Saved my life.

[burlveneer-music]

William Fields - quube

The limits of control. Turning the idea of 'limit' on its head - taking it as a generative, rather than a destructive approach. A dream that - if impossible to reach in human societies - has its natural space in algorithmic artistic practices. Here, paths can be created, drawn and followed on the borders of control - lines of code, functions, variables. William Fields' latest EP, quube - to appear in April 2024 on SØVN Records - traces pathways through this dream in four pieces that were recorded with the attitude of a dancer rather than that of a composer: following and constantly reinterpreting the performative flow. The music in quube, drawing from a relatively restricted palette of simple waves and minimal processing, is often exciting - conveying an urgency similar to the one which is felt in a free improv concert. It is not surprising, then, to learn that the four pieces were recorded as a live take, with no editing or overdubs. The flow of sounds becomes almost playful in its enthusiastic impatience, eager to cross the limits of control only to bounce back for another unexpected dance step. William Fields is an electronic musician from Philadelphia, USA, working from 30 years at the intersection between algorithmic composition and improvisation. His music has been described by the legendary Richard Devine as “some of the most mind-blowing algorithmically generated music I'd ever heard” and has been published by - among others - SUPERPANG, tokinogake, EVEL, 3OP.

[citizenscreen]

Sally Field and Robin Williams for MRS. DOUBTFIRE (1993), directed by Chris Columbus

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

2x22 | 3x13