CLONE.NL

Albert van Abbe

Champagne Palestine

After 15 years of recording music Albert van Abbe releases his debut album on self-titled label VANABBE. 9 signature ''deep & dry'' minimalist Techno trips using small prepared piano fragments.

You wake up on a gold-embroidered divan in the middle of a desert with nothing but a worn canvas stretched between two lonely palm trees to shield you from the blazing sun. You have no idea where you are or how you got there. Your mind seems to flutter along with the air above the scorching sand, but it is as blank as the sky. Then something breaks the paralysis: A bright red scarab. It hovers with a loud humming sound before your eyes and then takes off. You don't know why but you have to follow it. You start running after the scarab but it's too fast so with an instinctive leap you throw yourself up on the back of a white Arabian horse that clearly wasn't there until your desperation overpowered reality. But there's no time for reason. Not now. The scarab is gleaming in the sun as it flies faster and faster through the desert dunes. Your stallion can barely keep up, but you have to catch it. It's the key to... something. Everything perhaps. You ride for hours and hours and after a while the heat and the sound of galloping hooves detaches your mind from your body. Fragments of memories start to trickle through... whitewashed houses, a vibrant bazaar, bright colours, heaps of fragrant spices... but then a black shadow swallows the whole scenery. You come to and release that it's night - the giant moon is red and your horse is dead but keeps running all the same. Your left hand is clenched around the scarab. You halt the faithful stallion with a kind word and it disintegrates into dust. Down on your knees in the sand, you cautiously open your hand. The crimson scarab sits still in your palm, glistering in the moonlight, vibrating slightly. With a cold shiver, you realise that its wings are shaped like two red lips, opening and closing gently. And you KNOW these lips! You know them better than your own. Slowly, you raise your hand to your ear and the scarab's wings start to whisper in it. Before dawn, the tears from your eyes have made the desert no more.