3:33

White Room

3:33White Room
7
3:33's White Room begins with a reverberating, low-pitched whine that's surely meant to be menacing; after all, the noise act's Bandcamp page says the new release "explores the duality" of a white room that "pulls the consciousness infinitely into all directions" until it "implodes and splits the mind." Ambitiously released on limited edition cassette tapes — and in a digital iteration with a pair of 20-minute tracks aptly titled "Side A" and "Side B" — everything about White Room seems designed to push its listeners' limits. 
 
But the album's tone plays less like an introspective, psychedelic mind bender and more like a broad take on man vs. machine. The rusty bursts of static at "Side A's" 30-second mark seem to evoke lumbering, steel giants, and features tinny echoes and hisses further in akin to popped pistons, leaving the listener feeling like they've boarded a sinking submarine whose mechanisms are failing one by one. "Side B" has similarly ominous noises, like sizzling feedback and whooshing fadeouts, along with rumbling distortion that sounds like grinding metal.
 
However, the track soon takes on an even more unsettling tone. High-pitched tremors, which initially sound like a turning station dial on an AM radio, begin to grow shriller and linger for a few seconds too long, until they buzz like an insect's wings. Before long, those reverberations morph into a fluttering akin to a flying bird (especially around the 7:30 mark). These instances, where 3:33 use synthesisers and noise to make organic, earthy sounds, are far more terrifying than metallic clangs or Bandcamp summaries about pseudo-psychology. (Parallel Thought)
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