The Disintegration Loop
ISSUE #228
Forgive this playlist, as it’s only one song, too long to put on any playlist without dwarfing everything else. The Disintegration Loops is an hour-long ambient analgesic, and about the only thing I can listen to in desolate times.
In the 1980s, William Basinski captured some pockets of music from an easy listening radio station on his tape loops, playing the same phrase over and over to soporific effect. In 2001, he tried to digitize the tapes, but when left in the machine, they disintegrated. The magnetic coating crumbled and peeled, creating haunting skips and jumps in the loop—an aural record of falling apart.
The Disintegration Loops has only increased its power for me now, a tranquilizer capable of quelling any storm, so I’m highlighting it to get back into the swing of an Earwyrms season. Longtime listeners might remember when I’ve had trouble listening to music. In times like these, my little newsletter starts to feel very dinky to me—until the Loops remind me that there’s so much beauty, even in decline.
Feeling stressed? Overwhelmed? Press play and step into my garden. Breathe deep and put your hands in the dirt. These songs will hydrate you, warm you up, root you into place.
Now, lamb songs don’t have to be low energy to be soothing. They simply need a sunny disposition, a 74-degree mid-cycle feel. They shrink you down and plop you into a flute of champagne—plus you can breathe water now, easily as air. The bubbles give you quick little kisses as they pass. You only get drunk if you wish.
A walk in the woods should be done with as little aural distraction as possible—nature’s symphony and all. But for the moments you can’t run to the nearest woods, this playlist is filled with songs of the towering oaks.
You come across a buried sea shell humming in the beach. Pick it up, it has a message for you: Wordless, waveform lullabies drape you in velvet and tiptoe up your spine.
Forgive this playlist, as it’s only one song, too long to put on any playlist without dwarfing everything else. The Disintegration Loops is an hour-long ambient analgesic, and about the only thing I can listen to in desolate times.
All seasons are reading seasons, but this one most of all—what better for the day after Thanksgiving than to wrap yourself in leftovers and sink into a story? This playlist, a sister to last week’s Cozycore, is full of songs I find nice to play while I’m reading.
Grab your weighted blanket and pull out your earmuff headphones because here comes a treat, fresh out the oven: the world’s comfiest playlist, just in time for the holidays. You’re loved, you’re home, you’re baking in your favorite sweater.
Every spring, I like to stop time at the end of March to make a playlist of Soft Songs—gentle lullabies borne by warmer winds, paeans to nature and steaming baths.
As the warm weather comes, I lay my Soft Songs out in the sun. May this music brush you with the breeze of hope. There’s a reason Blake paired “The Tyger” with “The Lamb”—balance, balance. Everything is moderation. The hardest part is getting through the night.
Today, I am pleased to deliver our second annual dispatch of the softest music I know. Here you'll find a soundtrack for warm baths, for jigsaw puzzles, for balconies, for open windows, for big headphones to drown out your roommates.
A big part of being alive is having to get out of bed when you don't want to. One of the worst parts, actually. So I wanted to make another playlist to help anyone who might be needing to calm down on the way home from a bad day at work, or, god forbid, stave off a panic attack (a bit of a riff off my first playlist).
*sunrise over sodden beams across the bar floor, splinters stir with foraging rodents*. *kicks aside twisted mic stand, wipes broken reading glasses on blood-stained khakis*.
The piano is our hand-drawn map to the musical scale, at least here in the West. It's our graphic representation of the aural world, and it's the size of a small sedan. All the notes that float around our ears, the different frequencies of our thrumming atmosphere, it lassos them each and lays them flat.
In honor of my body and my choices, here are eleven songs I put on to calm me down. Because maybe you want to partake today, even if you're prone to freak-outs. Let's help each other!
Irv Teibel, who released the influential Environments records over ten years from 1969–79, was a pioneer in putting field recordings (i.e., nature sounds) into the hands of stressed-out college students and, eventually, anyone who needed to drown out all the noise. Turns out that was a lot of people.