Trains coming and going. All white and sleek. Then I see a younger version of myself, but I’m looking something up on my phone. This person knows to get on the other train, the one called ‘Black Swan,’ despite it being shiny and white and despite the metaphor for surprise or the benefit of hindsight.

Jeff GburekGoing

My composition is a dreamscape related to travel and the modes of getting from one point to another point and at times never getting to the proper point or finding some points missing, like words in a cryptic sentence played out in the grammar of absences. Voices on the cusp of consciousness and sounds drifting through walls and seeping from beneath the Earth to keep travelers in one orbit.

Lou BarnellOlympus

Last month, I found my old Olympus Dictaphone. Inside it I found the contents of my 19- year-old brain and the rucksacks of my twenties that went around the world. Bus journeys in London collided with dawn in Kolkata. I unearthed rejected song hook-lines that had kept me up all night, until I had exorcized them by recording them furtively in a sung whisper walking around supermarket aisles and parks.

Amongst the recordings, I found an old test file describing the origins of the name Olympus. The home of the gods. An opulent place that mortals may only imagine, but never enter. This somehow felt like an apt description of my vivid rush of memories. Remembering and dreaming on the tantalising cusp of waking but never to relive or return.

Timo Kahlen MI N D T HE G AP

… fragments of residue sound arouse distant memories. bits & pieces, laced together, by-gone references to my personal soundtracks of the 1980s and early 1990s. dust and static noise on the Vinyl recording – and my failure to remember, exactly who and when – interfere. …

John Roach
You’re gonna be ready to burn it as soon as you tape it

Recently I unearthed, and have begun to digitize, my collection of minidisc recordings. These sounds, encoded with my acid green Sony, onto small, square, plastic tablets, represent a period between 1999 and 2007. The process of reviewing and memorializing these sounds was like a waking dream as I listened across years and locations and toggled between banal events, important milestones and sounds that I could not place at all.

The minidisc dream presented here is an assemblage from the Sony MZ-R700 recordings. It is punctuated by voice identifications captured by film sound recordists in the field (courtesy of sound designer Alex Joseph). These IDs, a byproduct of the recording process that the audience never gets to hear, are rescued from the cutting room floor and now act as our dream guides as we cut from scene to scene.