If DOOMBIRD is the last word you hear before you go under . . . under the spell of electronica-induced hyper-stimulation that will scatter your heartbeats across a spectrum of clicks and pops and palpitations scheduled for some time a decade from now . . . then consider yourself guided by the luck of a moment that informs spirit and mind. This is music that will take over your biorhythms and direct your attention hither and yon. Some wave of exuberance will overcome you and force you to float over the 18th, 19th, 20th centuries to come to rest somewhere you have only begun to meekly investigate. A feeling you never knew you had will hijack you there.
In CYGNUS, DOOMBIRD plies their syncs and runs in service to the lives of a myriad of classical composers:their exile, their political engagement in foreign lands, their misbegotten passions that drive them to the brink and drive them to complete themselves, their curious habits of mind that structure their creative impulses. In these songs I have heard Beethoven on his spazierung composing his only song cycle. I have heard the juxtaposition of Mozart's up-tempo confession to Costanza and his God with the love call of Pac-Man for his beloved. I have heard Messiaen calculating the best angle by which to triangulate posterity. I have heard Cage's emptiness cut by surging machine language. When you listen, you will understand what is only beginning to percolate among your cells and their unseen mechanisms. Your intuition will urge you to believe that DOOMBIRD is that rare band, a band that dares to look to the past in order to cast the future.