The voice of Moroder in the night

After an orgiastic cavalcade of recording sessions for La Bionda, Cerrone, Santa Esmeralda and Boney M. during 35 weeks non-stop using the most modern German technology, Giorgio Moroder got trapped in his own linear Tascam

his retina turned into nummer

his body was converted to light specific data

every cell of Moroder became a precise cipher, minutely sepereted into cubicle

desperate, Moroder communicated from beyond 
his scream for help was conveyed through a series of decomposed refractions of laser

the assistants of his studio could not understand his cybernetic communiqué, so a Japanese engineer -Nomeyamo Hijoputa- had to be called to put the incomprehensible equations thrown by the lens in order, and make the Moroder's message legible

the dramatic lasergram expressed:

"Please I am caught in a dimension that... I never visited, because I am back where I've never been

so please listen to me:

or better yet: listen to me:

I ought to be re-analogized... my cells need to be, in order to be transferred onto a BASF audiocassette C-90 with CrO2 tape, using a Dolby type B noise reduction set of decks, to keep my body in high fidelity and my vital treble response normalized.

Giorgio."



After this agonic outcry from beyond... from the digital realms in which Giorgio Moroder was incarcerated, his laser-ized voice got completely mute, while only a croquis of his facial features appeared on the screen of his Tascam, with robotic gelidity.











Two months later, the 25 of July of 198... , at 7:00 p.m, o'clock, after drinking an extremely hot and sweet tea and eating a whole chocolate cake, the professor Nomeyamo Hijoputa faced this extremely difficult task, this feat of the tecnología de punta, which required an extreme care, especially during the exact second(s) while the cerebral liquid of Giorgio Moroder would be exported, from the digital Tascam mixing console, to the analog tape

everything was perfectly balanced:

the buffer

the dynamic range

would Moroder like his body monaural or stereo?

Stereo, obviously, no need to ask

the channels input, parametrically equalized

the perfect fade

a precise cue

compression and reverb: moderate

feedback? Delay? No.

An enormous set of soundboards, Alesis, Roland, Fairlight and Citizen were plugged to the Tascam in which Moroder resided -against his will-, defragmented in an abysm of discrete numerical forms







6 minutes later the transference started, as a code was decomposed on the inferior miniscreen: it was the body of Moroder, from binary ASCII to alphanumerical Japanese, a necessary previous conversion, before the main conversion








once this previous step was complete, at 7:99 p.m. Giorgio Moroder began his odyssey, as his humanity and therefore his whole nature started migration from the central digital Tascam to analog Tascam portastudio: 
suddenly, the encrypted voice of Moroder emitted a last minute anguished call: he changed his mind in the middle of the process



how?

¿A santo de qué?


Nomeyamo Hijoputa was busy calibrating a condenser on a corner of the studio and, at first, didn't note this new call of Giorgio Moroder


from beyond, Moroder screamed now, begged to stop the transference... because he decided to be transferred onto VHS rather than audiocassette, in order to enhance the continuous physical variable range of his body

but to no avail: 
the infernal process progressed automatically, despite Moroder resisted it

... brusquely, from certain distance, the professor Nomeyamo Hijoputa saw a series of digits appearing hysterically on the upper screen of the Tascam:

alarmed and realizing that Moroder tried to communicate again, the scientist ran to the soundboard to stop the process, which ran at 44.1 khz, manipulating the knobs of the machine nervously, but it was in vain, the process wouldn't stop now

unless... 



Hijoputa hesitated for 49 seconds, and finally decided to abort the whole process: in a rush of insanity pulled the cord and unplugged the Tascam in the middle of the conversion: the screen got black

is here when a sepulchral silence buried the studio into its own mutism, like a tomb where the technology and the horror live hand in hand.
































In the course of the next days, Nomeyamo Hijoputa didn't dare to turn the Tascam on
Giorgio Moroder, his body and his psyche were living into that machine -currently turned off- 

living?

Or maybe he was already transferred to the BASF audiocassette located in the deck of the portastudio?


In the course of the next 8 days the professor Nomeyamo Hijoputa developed a rare mental disorder called technophobia. 
For some reason he also acquired a taste for the manzana acaramelada con pochoclo, and spent the whole afternoon at Salsipuedes Park, tasting this tidbit, with his mind in blank:




his benumbed mind woke up at the 10th day of this sick recess, as Hijoputa realized he had to face the reality, no matter how disquieting it could be, and put an end to the Giorgio Moroder's ontological status... no matter how extramundane it could be



that very evening the scientist ran to the abandoned studio and, swallowing saliva, turned the soundboards, controllers and the portastudio on


on the screen of the main digital console, a modified figure of Moroder appeared, a hollow tomography of what once was his face as a regular polyhedron

and the phrase: 
"Process is completed"



the cellular map of Moroder appeared indexed in vertical order at the left of the screen, along with the dimensional coordinates of the polyhedron or face







during 8 glacial seconds Nomeyamo Hijoputa stayed standing there, with his stare fixed on the screen:

a violent brainstorm shook his mind with a terrible certainty suddenly revealed after a short mental calculus... assaulted by an ocean of panic Hijoputa ran breathless to the portastudio with exorbitant eyes vociferating blasphemies that his mouth spitted with sibilant diction out of control

"Baka ka! Baka ne Hijoputa! Onara atama! Baka ne! Aho..!"




With an aggressive punch on the portastudio, Nomeyamo Hijoputa pushed play, and the cassette tape started rolling on its path












a ganglionar and low pitched voice emerged from the magnetofóno, whose volume and overmodulation got gradually increased, growing saturated and deformed by a deafening hiss: 

it was that the voice of Giorgio Moroder in the night, emitted by the chromium dioxide tape as it rolled slower, at  1⅞ inches, clogged by that abundant load of soft, bubbling and putrid matter that started being exuded from itself?