— these songs put you at the outer rim of thought.

— where your name loses its balance, goes over the edge; then – strangely – echoes back to you as it falls.

— they are like finding yourself broken up, and put together again in a new odd order. under a new gravity.

— these songs are puzzles, where passion meets an ‘oddwall’, where guitar and voice take you through circuitry so unorthodox you find yourself in places unseen before - that you'll find hard to think about when the song is over - but imprinted behind the eye.

— a shipwreck. a cakewalk through new possibilities.

— these are songs of longing, of agony and experiment, all wrapped in the simplest of forms, fashioned from the starkest necessity of the singer's predicament.

— for it must be said that s.t. has neither cause nor campaign. he is only drawn toward the ‘staggering absurdity’ of things – the absurdity of one voice (the smallest thing!) amid modern extremities, the maelstrom, the data-stream, the hollywood onslaught, the abu graib ‘disappearing’ of all Reason and sense.

— don't get me wrong. every song, every utterance from s.t. is unnecessary. that is what gives it its urgency and necessity. carrying no weight isn't easy. it's quite a burden, signifying nothing and everything in the same moment. all for the sake of the ‘momentary sensation,’ where the song distills it's whoops, woes and protests in that singular globule – the song – alone, fleetingly, a mere glance at entire worlds possessing ‘no duration, no breath, no light and no control.’

— s.t. doesn't exist. and yet he is so alive!

— all his efforts come to nothing, and by that his words can neither be unsaid nor his songs unsung.

s.t. is legion. s.t. is none. s.t. is everywhere. s.t. is gone.

Quotes from Seven Dada Manifestos and Lampisteries by Tristan Tzara.