What remarks can recall the pampered page when the subject shines through so many shaken seams? The remarks are for the producer of QUASIMODO THE STREETSWEEPER, the mysterious, though constantly revealing, CF, presenting himself here as UNIVERSAL CELL UNLOCK. Christopher Forgues of Brown Recluse Alpha, Mark Lord, Kites, shrap burst band Dynasty, collaborator of Rodger Stella, Justin Lakes, maybe even a Dom Fernow (that was twenty years ago, why bring it up?), author of blazetastic comic books –ever checkout Powr Mastrs?-- label crafter for beer, kimchi, and perhaps some fermented fairytale merriments that I’m unaware of. There’s a delightful gentleman of the pen, synthesizer, clothes closet, haiku, and smile behind this music. What remarks could remain after all that? After a river of output, souls touched, make-up adorned by followers in misguided worship, and lost legends floated from message board to media made social, there’s still this fresh pile of inviting, mature and dense music, coated in the haunting haze of early commercial digital reverb, reiterating refreshing sonic remarks. All of this before the bell is rang –part of the piece on the A side of the record– and reverberated through the air signaling the prize fighter to reenter the destined melee, or, maybe, the meditation practitioner to return to their breath. What premeditated remark could recharge reminisces of New York more than the city’s newly appointed director of rodent mitigation? The lost legend of Tony Conrad running up the steps of a Manhattan church to meet the mysterious mad one playing the bells in the spire, Charlemagne Palestine. What premeditated remark could recharge reminisces of New York more than boxing? Rats, alternate side parking, street cleaning, a new sanitation commissioner whose name adorns the biggest private art school in downtown Manhattan –it's Tisch. The bristles from the machines of swirling repetition that push parking brush to the side –it’s street sweepers– are repurposed here as pluckphonic metal keys, rich in floating harmonic content after they are surfed over to send thick snaking notes into one another’s resonant realms. There are strategies taken from the decidedly unfocused on New York musical tradition of American and global capital-N Noise music. Quick slips into loud swells of thorny texture swipe out to reveal the power and intensity of the hum below. An invitation to a closed eye head bob is quickly revoked with a shock call to attentiveness. There’s an attentiveness here. Across forty minutes of percussion music, with some stark electronic accouterments along the way, the focus on the form and compositional aspects is forgotten only to let the sounds build and interact without pesky human interruption. There is no long stretching out, big asks, or smirk laden pranks. The currents and flows are accentuated, cut back, changed subtly over time, and variously sculpted in ways that make repeating music recoiling, exciting, and remarkable. That’s the remark to recall: remarkable music with new surprises pushed through. All in this record. - Ben Kudler