The music Anna Yarmamedova makes as Annacetaminophen is automatic and of distant means. Feverish and desolate, the project’s self-titled debut plays out like a horror movie set in a hospital, words and production processed through generative patches Yarmamedova developed on MaxMSP.
While alien bleeps call out as if through featureless hallways and click tracks build tension like leadened IV drips, the words Yarmamedova invokes through detatched gasps of electronic processing land like echoes from visits with doctors and social workers: “rejection,” “panic,” “light-headed,” “dysphoria.”
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