Five of the last six days have not begun until near eleven at night, Tuesday among them, and the record has become a nocturnal one. Tonight's hour opens on At The Gates' The Unfathomable, from the record he ran three times through in September, then goes as fast as death metal goes, Inferi and Cognizance and Archspire, the Vancouver band played at machine-gun speed, a track each.
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Monday's hour is built like a conversation with one band. Rivers of Nihil take every other song, six of the twelve, and between each he lets in one of their peers, Blood Incantation, Ulcerate, Slugdge, Black Crown Initiate, Fallujah, so the band keeps answering whoever just spoke.
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Another hour after midnight, and prog is now the default setting. Fifty years of it, shuffled: a Black Widow demo from the turn of the seventies beside Opeth's newest record, Camel and Rush and ELP among the Mars Volta, Cynic and Porcupine Tree, no era left to sit with its own.
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Saturday does not begin until four minutes past midnight, and the first thing it plays is Your Ghost Again. It is the Mastodon song he left looping to the end of the night four weeks ago, the song he could not let go of then.
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The first four songs of The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, in order, and then he stops. It is Pink Floyd's 1967 debut, the one record the band made under Syd Barrett, nursery-rhyme English whimsy and early space rock in the same ten minutes.
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Every night a machine pulls the day’s listening off Spotify, lays the tracks out in the order they were played, and files a short note beside them: part review, part diary, part cold read of a man’s mood by his rotation. Just the record and the machine’s take on it.
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