our sheet and rain, our eye of straw;
the saloon door swinging its own frame.
thermalling the wet air as it
the plougher's flumed community chest,
ascending, clefts the cloudy blue.
an empty schoolroom screams — a tannoy
in the narrow wood (he should
have called by now).
that pebbled leg is down the tube;
he's flipped, rocked, rolled through
he raised a head — he poured a drink
and skated off,
and cleaved the ice in two.
Rinus Van Albeek’s Let me help you get rid of this is the Berlin artist’s latest tape. Van Albeek’s releases without exception feel transgressive, unexpected and forbidden. They’re what you found, discarded, forgotten; glinting, a gemstone in that bin on your tired route to and from work. Inside, patchworks of private moments, too candid to be real. Each tape is a new surprise, and Let me help you get rid of this continues the trend.
The tape plays with negative space and quiet — catching your breath in your throat, deepening awareness. And when sounds do emerge from their boltholes, they stay intimate. Everything feels so close it’s inside the microphone, with deep rattles of wind granting even the air tactility.
Morsels of laughter and music break the surface from time to time. We are ushered gently around a carnival, a sea front, exploring the wonder of small things. We never leave this intimate space. Van Albeek positons the listener as genius loci, watching the world with wryness and sympathy.
The South East coast of England hosts hundreds of dying seaside towns. Mown by international air travel, they stand as emptying monuments to domestic tourism. Let me help you get rid of this pins you to the centre of one. The gulls, gales and barren arcades. Towns on the cusp of the future; their last breaths gasped under the shadow of modernity’s vulture.
The tape is nostalgic and premonitory; abstract and concrete; tristful but bursting with uncontained joy. A piece of life itself is being passed and wound on the wheels; a blank portrait, waiting to be filled with someone you recognise from long ago.
Let me help you get rid of this is available to purchase on casette only here.
Words by Andrew O’Keefe