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    <loc>https://www.flamingpines.com/news</loc>
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    <lastmod>2026-06-22</lastmod>
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      <image:title>News - Coming Soon</image:title>
      <image:caption>60bpm 33rpm by Phil Coy Out June 26 2026 Stream After six minutes, time flips into reverse. The sounds of Ramsgate start running backwards. Cackles of seagulls are sucked back into tiny throats, while the distant yelps of school playtime turn giddy and abrupt, doubtless punctuating games of backward hopscotch. Central to the piece is the steady tick of the steam-age turret clock at St George’s Church, which was installed almost two centuries ago. When ticking runs forward, it seems to gift a divine guarantee to the formidable flow of time; an assurance that, amidst the throes of an increasingly erratic and precarious world, our reality is bedrocked by a fundamental metronomic consistency. The beat of the clock sounds like a metallic dripping in its forward iteration, yet transforms into the sweep of an ultra-sharp knife when flipped into reverse. When the clock switches direction, the last six minutes are methodically undone. Invisible hands scramble to unravel the links of causation, excising the recent ripples of change, putting everything back as it was just six minutes prior. That moment of transition is pure whiplash, like being dragged backward through water – limbs and organs jolted, inner ears swept momentarily out of calibration. The first side of 60BPM 33RPM is a stereo version of Phil Coy’s surround sound-installation titled sixty beats per minute, which took place at St George’s Church back in May/June 2025. An LED screen displayed a timecode synchronised to the speed of the church’s clock, while speakers amplified the sounds of the clock’s ticking and the ambient surroundings of Ramsgate. After six minutes, the timecode switched direction and the audio flipped into reverse, with so-called “real time” giving way to a backward playback of the six minutes just elapsed. In its stereo version, the installation’s visual element is transposed to the “sculptural object” of the vinyl record – the first time Coy's sound work has been issued in the recorded format – with the spinning grooves acting as a poetic allusion to the circular mechanisms of the clock. Given the installation's thematic reflection on rigorous imposition of clock time in the modern world, it’s perfect that the flipside of the record should be a live dub expansion of the piece led by chrono-manipulator Adrian Sherwood. Together they unravel the clock's steadfast metronomy, subdividing time through all manner of delay FX, swooping horn riffs and shuffling dub beats, before passing out into the infinite loop of the locked groove. We imagine a clockface complicated to the point of redundancy, sprouting several hands that whirl in disparate directions, cogs buckling under the multidirectional flow, inciting a blissful abandonment of mechanised timekeeping altogether. -- Jack Chuter</image:caption>
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      <image:title>News - Out now</image:title>
      <image:caption>Building Instruments - Jack Vickridge Out February 27, 2026 Stream The primary instrument here is an empty industrial workspace, which funnels the sounds of the outside through a process of grand refraction. The offhand trills of tiny birds are gathered and stretched into the stirrings of an imaginary orchestra, while the murmurs of distant crowds are recast as choral hums that seep out of the building’s surfaces. Contact mics are attached to the walls, floors and windows – a process through which Vickridge inverts the typical depiction of industrial spaces as sterile and insensitive, revealing them to be generously responsive to even the smallest players in their natural vicinity. The building’s handling of sound is also a perfect analogue to its primary function as a place of industry, pulling in materials from the world outside, breaking and reforming their contours, welding the disparate into strange hybrids. Sound isn’t the only entity reformed by the space’s interior. The passing of time also undergoes its own manipulations, and we experience Building Instruments as if through the ears of a lone nocturnal inhabitant. Some events appear to be lost to phases of sleep; others are dreamt out of the dark. There are strange extrapolations of the real – soft tones dance like torchlights across the walls, while rainfall stops and starts as if controlled by a divine tap. Vickridge teases colours out of lightless corners, the imagination merging with the building’s own propensity for acoustic conjuration, with listener and space bound evermore intimately into a duet of playful and hallucinatory manufacture. -- Jack Chuter</image:caption>
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      <image:title>News - Coming soon!</image:title>
      <image:caption>Magneto Mori: Brussels - Mark Vernon Out Sept 12 Stream One way to interpret Vernon’s evocation of Brussels is as a patchwork of interdependent absences. We hear numerous spoken stories, yet none of them in full; details are lost to magnetic erasure, to the truncations of compositional editing, to the recollective limits of fallible minds. A voice hesitates as it recounts an early memory of falling. Another falters into damaged tape as it describes a trip into the forest, words sunken irretrievably under disruptive plosives. Into these gaps, Vernon pours atmospheres that perfectly render sensations of potential and inarticulability: the gurgling of water, the overlapping chatter of public spaces, amorphous suspensions of drone, all of which act like guardians to these tender zones of absent specifics. One speaker describes their return to a familiar space as like “rewriting on the same page, and sort of erasing what I had lived there, in order to make space for new memories”. It’s therefore perfect that Vernon’s process should centre the manipulation of analogue tape: a medium synonymous with the imperfect overlay of the past upon itself, with the previous contents of overwritten cassettes forever threatening to burst through. After recording residents of Brussels describing their earliest childhood memories, Vernon intentionally distressed the tape and buried it underground for 10 days, placing it alongside magnets that damaged and part-erased the contents. These recordings were then excavated and recombined in a random sequence, with Vernon occasionally “reconstructing” damaged memories by inserting extracts from the higher-fidelity originals. Despite the hands-on nature of this process, the end result feels like a more authentic depiction of the interaction between time and human memory than if Vernon had simply allowed the untampered tape to run. The present is never an immaculate and unbroken “now”, but a nonlinear jostle of immediate sensory experience, overlain recollections and lost histories pressing in at the edges, the words scrawled over themselves until the page starts to give way. -- Jack Chuter  About Mark Vernon: Mark Vernon is a Glasgow based artist who explores concepts of audio archaeology, magnetic memory and nostalgia through his sound works. At the core of his practice lies a fascination with the intimacy of the radio voice, environmental sound, obsolete media and the reappropriation of found recordings. A rich collection of domestic tape recordings; audio letters, dictated notes, answer-phone messages and other lost voices often find their way into his unorthodox soundworlds. These diverse elements are distilled into radiophonic compositions for broadcast, multi-channel diffusion, fixed media and live performances. A keen advocate of radio as an art form, he co-runs and curates Glasgow’s art radio station, Radiophrenia. He was a founding member of Glasgow’s Radio Tuesday collective and went on to set up several other RSL art radio projects in the UK including Hair Waves, Efford FM and Nowhere Island Radio. He is an award winning radio producer who has created programmes for stations including Resonance FM, VPRO, Sound Art Radio, Radio Revolten, Deutschland Radio Kultur, Radio Cona, Radio Picnic, Ears Have Ears, Kunstradio, Wavefarm, RADIA, EBU and the BBC. More: http://meagreresource.com/</image:caption>
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    <lastmod>2021-10-08</lastmod>
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    <loc>https://www.flamingpines.com/shop</loc>
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