Summer 2053, Oregon. Mark Wilfred, young US researcher, is conducting some territory studies after numerous citizens’ alerts about strange noises and sounds not reproducible in nature, audible, usually, since sunset until the middle of the night. Air is hot and rarefied, disturbing silence of the space around is broken by the disquieting of a dirty and oppressive wind. 7pm, the sun at the horizon begins to fade. Suddendly, boom! Dry. Powerful. Mark heard it very well, it comes from there, he thinks. He starts to run very fast, in the frenzy he loses his hat, but it doesn’t matter. As he approaches the sound, he can listen something like a ticking, precise, regular, a cadenced metronome, damnedly scary. The sound, however, it’s not in the air, it comes from the underground. Mark looks around, strange and confused. Now the noise becomes stranger, dominant, powerful. He doesn’t have a showel. He starts digging with his hands. The noise grows in a hawful way. Here it is! A cassette tape. The noise immediately stops. How to get it played? There are no long supports to play certain formats. Suddendly, Mark remembers to have an old record player, by his great-grandfather in his child house, preserved in a dusty drawer as a relic. So tape starts. Few words, the sound is disturbed, he can hear voices, smoky and dense, like pronounced in the fog. “Frosinone”. Silence. “Italy”. Another 30 seconds of silence, but it seems like an eternity. “Another era, you don’t even know what you’re talking about”, two distinct voices pronounces. Situation is not clear for Mark, this makes no sense. “80s, 80s, 80s, 90s, 90s…” Silence. Then, again “2000s, 2000s”. Tape seems jammed. Then, far away, muffled beats start, and, irregularly, cluttered female voices. Content is certainly damaged. Irredeemably. Ten seconds of silence. Then, like a machine gun, incomprehensible words: “Ibisssza”, “Naipleis”, “Ruoum tweniscs”, “Mykonois Cav Pardais”, “Sooutpor wiukenda”, “Mieimi”… Grave silence, again. Then, like a rock thrown into the water with violence: “Equatoriale”, “Boiler Room”. Tape stops again, probably forever. Not before to give its last breath: a quick phrase that seems coming from The Beatles’ “Revolution 9”. And just thinking about The Beatles, Mark has an illumination. He decides to play the tape in backwards for those few seconds. Tape restarts. Now, the situation is clear. Very clear… “Souldynamic. Behind The Future” www.souldynamic.it booking@souldynamic.it luca@neuhm.com