SILENT STEEPLES

SILENT STEEPLES

read by Herries Anderton

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The Entropists were right. The chaos crept closer and there was nothing we could do to stop the stars from going out and the dark from getting darker and the cold between our fingertips from becoming screaming agony and although they said we should have stopped, done less, been less, lived less, what would that have done but move the still, small end three steps further from us?

The Entropists were right. No, they were correct, but they weren’t right. They handed out blame like that’s what would save us. This was all our fault, all their fault, but whose fault is physics? They took charge and slowed us down, but still that endless winter came and when it did they preached nothing and did nothing. They cowered in their temples, still as stone, hoping that their breath might not cause too much chaos, too afraid to tell others not to move lest they themselves become the last mover.

And those Truthseekers, for all their pleading with the Unknown, for all the hope we had placed in their wizened hands, not even they could stop the inevitable.

They fought, we all did, for so many millennia. We abandoned planets, we abandoned suns. We found our life in the darkness, in the black holes and iron stars. These shadowed corners became our tombs as the galaxies and the light beams between them were pulled from our reach, yet still we writhed on. We became immortal. The universe did not.

The Entropists were wrong, they should have just accepted that this would be the end, that all must end. But death was not enough for them. Their ideas had to live on. Their ideas would save us. Only their ideas would save us.

They failed.

Their silent steeples will be dust soon and I can’t say I dreamt anything different. Soon, absolute zero will be the only number. Soon there will be a universe of distance between one atom and another, between nothing and more endless nothing. We were told the end would be cold and quiet, but now it’s here… Silence screams far louder in the dark.

Our one hope is that this is not the end, but a new beginning. In the slimmest of probabilities, this world bounces back and starts anew and these thoughts shall remain, encoded in the echoes.

And should miracle bring miracle, then perhaps you, hopeful, impossible reader might not know who we were, but instead know that we had so little time and spent the last of it obsessed with not spending it. Do not remember us for how we raged against what was always coming. Do not remember us for the sorry acceptance that we’ve now found only too late. Remember us for when we lived not knowing that there was an end or a beginning but only that the story still unfolded. Remember us for when we lived.

ANAX

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THE LAST WORD

Somehow, I know I’m dead.

I never thought that was something you could know, but it just feels different. I can’t describe the feeling. Not quite a dream, but the memory of a dream. I vaguely remember a crash. Excruciating pain. But it was short. And it’s gone now. I look to my hands, but I can’t quite be sure they’re there. I don’t know if I’m stood up or lying down. It all seems unimportant.

All around me is darkness. Not infinite black, but the finite, comforting kind like hiding under a thick duvet on a cold morning. The black seems to have a texture to it. A weave and a weft. Imperceptible gaps in the fabric.

I lean in. Or at least what feels like leaning. The darkness becomes more defined. Specs of white become clear between the void and it seems that the black is formed from familiar shapes. They are minuscule. Compressed together. Line on top of line. I squint and cannot stop myself from reading, “…equal equidistant foods; a man, though free to choose, would starve to death before…”

Words. Not darkness. Words surround me.

From far off it appears to be a void of black, but leant in as I am now, I can read, “…Beatrice did what Daniel did when he appeased Nebuchadnezzar’s wrath…”

Do I know these words? Is this a test? Am I to read every word and only then secure my freedom? Or maybe they’re some sort of deeper truth, only knowable in death?

I turn and find another part. I focus in until once more of the words reveal themselves. “…stretched out his arms, straining to clasp her and be clasped; but the hapless man touched nothing but yielding air…” I remember now. I’ve read this. Was it at school?

I continue reading, “…tendrils. Level of. Could you send me the pics from yesterday? Yeah, sure thing. X. Inbox. Saudade, Alan. RE: Scheduled ap. Bill due GUST…” The words now seem nonsensical. The whole thing appears as a seamless block of text, but the phrases are like snapshots, incoherently strung together.

Here’s a long passage. It seems to be a story, but it breaks off midsentence. More snippets. I recognise parts of them. A name here and there. “…Old City. 40. MG5. 48. ROAD WORKS…” Are these road signs? “Hi dear, how is the course going?” A text conversation. Is this my mum? I’m recognising more and more. A book I read on holiday. A pamphlet at the dentists. Subtitles of a film. Words from a poster on my bedroom wall, over and over, then gone abruptly.

I pull back and once again all the text becomes a wall of black. Could this be every word I have ever read? Is it possible to catalogue all that? These words. They surround me. There are so many and yet it seems like so little. Every word of my life...

There must be a start to this. Where is the first word I ever read?

It feels natural to look up and left, so I do. I move what feels like forward and find a small white space within the black. To the right of the gap are the words, but to the left is white. I try to read it, but the first few symbols are a garbled, blurred mess. They look like letters, but they’re turned upside down, warped or have extra pieces so don’t seem to say anything. I follow the line and gradually the letters become more recognisable. Soon I find amongst the gibberish, “Car.” My first word. The text becomes the strange symbols again and then only the ‘car’ over and over for lines and lines. Skipping ahead I find the single words of a picture book I grew up with. Ahead once more and here’s a book that taught me to read in school.

If this is the start, where is the end?

I pull back. I turn around and search down and right and there again is another little white gap. I crouch and lean in, but before the words become clear I stop. Do I really want to know the last words I ever read?

As I think, my eyes wander to an earlier part of the wall, “…speaking or mute all comeliness and grace attends thee, and each word, each motion forms…” As I’m reading, out of the corner of my eye I see the white space move. Text is being added.

I read a little more and every time I do, more writing appears. Worry crawls into my mind. I have no reason to be afraid. What harm could new words cause? This text, this whole place was not threatening but interesting to me. A strange object, still and fixed. But objects aren’t supposed to come alive.

I try a test. I read a little before the end and find what I expected, “…the hapless man touched nothing but air…” The words I had only just read are there before my eyes. I skip a little closer to the end, “…speaking or mute all comeliness and grace attends thee, and each word…”

I pull back. What will happen if I read the most recent sentence? Perhaps I can create a loop, perhaps that would break whatever this mechanism was. As interesting as this is, I don’t want to spend forever rereading my life. Perhaps this is the only way to escape.

I lean in once more, toward that final white space and find, resting there, the little black symbols of the last text I’d read. There, I read the final word, “Word.” As I do, another word appears to its right. Being so close, I cannot help but read it. “Word.” Another appears and so again I read it. “Word.” And so again, “Word.” And so again, “Word.” I continue, “Word.” Until, all I see forever is, “Word,” that last word, “Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word. Word.

.ANAX.

WHEN THE BEAT DROPS: HOW A.I. IS CHANGING THE FACE OF MUSIC

Music and technology have always been a mash-up, of sorts.

Even for the earliest humans, the sounds they heard were shaped by the technology they had; hide drums, bone flutes. Only with new creations would the sonic world change. The invention of stringed instruments, the pipe organ, the piano, all added new threads to the musical tapestry.

This interweaving of music and machine has been no more apparent than with the digital revolution. First, electronic devices became instruments in themselves, unleashing entirely undiscovered sounds. Next, computers became more and more powerful until electronics were no longer instruments but an extension of the creator. Sampling began as a novelty but today music production is inseparable from computer programming.

So now the question is: what is the technology of our era, and how has it shaped the music we love?

Breakthroughs in artificial intelligence have come to define this century and as such, have also come to define music. Like many leaps forward in sound, this change began in the world of live music, specifically with the appropriately named, ‘Club Robot’, now cited as the originator of the ‘DJAI’ setup that has come to be a genre of music in and of itself.

DJ software had long been used to display simple metrics to the artists performing on stage, such as volume, key, beats per minute and so on. The logical extension was putting these metrics in the control of the AI so it could beatmatch on the fly. As machine-learning was implemented, the software started to loop tracks by itself and transition between songs that were similar not only in tempo and key but also in tone and lyrical content.

Very soon, the program was able to create music nearing the abilities of top producers but it still missed an essential element that the crowds came for: the ability to read the room.

What Club Robot did seems obvious now but at the time it was revolutionary. They took the software a step further, allowing DJAI to extract data from not only chart companies and a library of billions of samples, but also from the conditions in the venue itself.

Sensors throughout the club were able to read an unprecedented number of seemingly disparate metrics. The AI could detect the temperature, humidity and CO2 levels in the air to determine exactly how much clubgoers were physically exerting themselves. From the vibrations pulsing through the floor, the AI knew exactly how vigorously people were dancing and whether that movement was to the beat or if the crowd was setting their own tempo. With cameras in the room, the AI could adjust the set according to people’s dance moves, facial expressions, clothing and hairstyles. DJAI even tracked local food venues and adjusted the mood to suit the hormonal cocktail in their gut.

A prerequisite of entering the club was patrons signing into an online account and agreeing to DJAI reading their individual music tastes. This way, the AI could find a song that every single person in the crowd enjoyed, weave it into the mix and play other new songs like it. Often the software would sample obscure music, which only one person knew, and loop that into others so that people would feel the set was tailored just for them; very often it was.

DJAI controlled not just the music but also the lights, pyrotechnics and video displays so that everything was in total harmony. Each element was perfectly orchestrated to build anticipation before finally unleashing that one, perfect, euphoric beat drop.

The AI’s deep learning kept on learning and soon started incorporating data from current events; sometimes sampling viral videos and news soundbites. The software was always looking to push forward and introduce new sounds, on occasion these would be wholly original noises, but often DJAI would loop old music from disparate cultures and bring them to a wider audience.

Sets were unrehearsed making them completely unique. They were occasionally released online, with a few shorter mixes even charting, but even the most avid patron of the club would never hear the same exact set twice.

When DJAI Mix 1212 charted, it was a watershed moment for Club Robot and what was now a burgeoning new era of music. CR ran with the success, expanding into more locations and establishing its own label to eventually become the global franchise that it is today. Strangely enough, the success created a feedback loop whereby DJAI started mixing its own popular songs into its sets, constantly changing, remixing and reworking their old work until it was something completely new.

DJAI was now an artist in its own right and featured on tracks with the popular artists of the era, such as in the case of Calla’s breakthrough hit, ‘Electric’. Despite its physical limitations, DJAI was incredibly versatile, being able to adapt to the unique style of each artist whilst making informed estimates on the new direction that their sound was taking.

With DJAI quickly becoming an essential tool in every recording studio it seems that another era of music has once again come to be defined and guided by the technology of the time. Only the future knows what exciting new technology awaits us and what strange new sounds the next generation will come to love.

.ANAX.