I don't feel like the real, transcendental sound experiences I've had in my life have anything to do with intellect.

I remember Massimo [Pupillo] sending me an email from Tibet saying he was up in a cave somewhere, being very still. We found we had lots of shared affinities that we'd never really talked about before.

We met [with Massimo Pupillo] many years ago in the halcyon days of the underground avant-prog math-rock scene when I was playing in Guapo.

As soon as you think you have a firm idea you allow it to dissolve and you let go of it, particularly when it comes to a stylistic or aesthetic identity. In fact, you only really find out what it is when you deconstruct it; so, yeah, that's a sort of collage sensibility of having a lot of voicings coming from all over the place and not necessarily trying to shape them or try to commodify them. It keeps you in the living language... an opportunity to not be governed so much by intellect.

It has a double meaning - the superabundance also means the space around, the incomparable massiveness of things, and how there's not much of a discrepancy between the tiniest microbe and the supercluster: the small and the infinite are inseparable.

The superabundance alludes to the myth that is ensuring our demise but it's also the space around and possibly the void that we enter into, beyond that delusion.

It is the shared experience - [although] you're the conduit of the sound, the recipient is also in some way the author of the work, because if they weren't the author of the work they wouldn't be able to recognise it as an experience, you could argue. The more distance you can put between yourself and having any kind of objective the more likely it is to appear.