orson wells: pneumatics

Alvin Toffler was overwhelmed. When in the morning of October 4th, 1988 -- it was his 60th birthday -- he was staring into a bowl of cornflakes, he thought that in the surface structure of the yellowish shimmering milk which was making an emulsion with the maple syrup and slowly, but irreversibly, corroding the crunchy crystals on the flakes, he could see through a window into a timeless dimension. Toffler, who at that time had reached the peak of his fames as a future scientist, was sustainably disturbed from his peek into this extra temporary peephole. In none of his books -- Future Shock (1970) had just been released in another edition -- did he ever mention this occurrence. The "flake dimension" as Toffler called it in notes, were later shredded remains a secret of opaque, hard-to-grasp, radiant power. Maybe it's too simple to describe Pneumatics as a creation coming from this cornflake world? Are there any more precise terms or instruments to determine the multi-facetedness and beyond-timeliness of the Pneumatics soundscape? There are still unknown. Pneumatics is, after releases at Innervisions, Die Orakel, and his own label Sound Mirror, the debut album of Orson Wells (as long as you don't count in Jupiter, released on cassette in 2014). Perhaps Wells, known in Frankfurt under his real name Lennard Poschmann and as an employee at the record store Tactile, is only a messenger. Or a psychic. The sound manifesto that he apparently transmits from Toffler's secret dimension tells of a city of upside-down pyramids ("Tianon"), of passes into the land of the five elements ("Multipass"), and dead straight four-to-the-floor lines which appear bended within the spherical dimension ("Geodesic"). These beats are right on the heels of the ones of Interstellar Fugitives (1998); the strings sound like that at any moment a vocal sample edited by Moodyman could warp over through the cornflake wormhole. Pneumatics is the science of all technological applications powered by condensed and often by quite heated air. It is a matter of mechanics, compression, jackhammer, ramblings, high-pressure levels, valves for blowing of steam. Orson Wells's album gets to the point of the post-retro futuristic state and of the dancefloors of the house and techno clubs of this planet. It is like a peek into another dimension, right on the golden cut of space-time geometry.