Nighttime Noise

1. Everything is shutting down. Walking home when the sky is a sickly pale blue colour, you imagine you're an astronaut. You jump but stay tethered to the concrete, swaying gently back and forth, as woozy as a balloon. You settle for somnolence so the stars twist into animals and you drift into late night euphoria under the time-lapse clouds. Arthur Russell conjures the lunar landscape of night with his looping, gravityless cello and drowsy voice. A man lost totally in the infinite swirls of cassette he used, he spoke of his work as a 'world of echo' which describes the land of near-sleep perfectly.

2. Most of the sounds you hear are drifting in a lukewarm jelly: softened waves of synthesiser, shushed tickles of drums and disembodied cooing. Technicoloured computer light blips over the concrete, warm and cold at the same time.

3. The Fader is all about David Byrne.

Television ghosts talk slowly and coldly in the dark. A luminous body sneaks into you and makes you ache. A scarf-covered blue light pulses under your eyelids. On the television there are passages of sound and moments of silence. There doesn't have to be dialogue. You forget.

4. When you do sleep you swoon. A huge mountain of loops and explosions of light and space, masses of sirens and narcotic drifts, wailing strobes and smudged, broken sections of swollen black cloud. It's not endless or outside of time but just stops. It ends. You have to wake up to dismal morning and the sound of rain hitting pavement where it sounds like people clapping.

1. Arthur Russell- This Is How We Walk On The Moon

2. Plaid- Buddy

3. David Byrne and Brian Eno- Solo Guitar With Tin Foil

4. My Bloody Valentine- 2