This labor of love is dedicated to the artist’s 9-year old daughter Sevigny, who is successfully battling leukemia. Everyone who receives the release is automatically part of the story, as the album arrives in an x-ray envelope (sealed with surgical tape) and includes a child’s tongue depressor, a chemotherapy bag and the Pärk family tale. All profits from the release go to the Creston J. Walker Foundation, the cancer support group that helped the family in their time of need. This is one of the most personal releases one will ever purchase.
We’ll skip to the end for a moment, simply to let our readers know that Sevigny is doing well and is beating the disease. This being said, Master Generator was recorded during the most tumultuous time in her treatment, and sounds like fear, anger and frustration. Few thoughts are as bleak as the that of losing a child. While Patrick R. Pärk was helpless to affect what was taking place, he used drone as an emotional outlet. His dark, cloudlike structures, industrial beats and occasional light wails reflect the turmoil of a soul in pain. The industrial influence is of particular note, as the genre lends itself well to thoughts of hospitals, machines, and a general sense of detachment: the monitors reporting heart rates and blood cell counts, cold and unfeeling, yet provoking such strong reactions. “Waiting Room” is particularly stark, but the ritualistic nature of “Leukocyte” makes it sound like a prayer.
A hopeful undercurrent can be found on the label of the accompanying CD3″, stamped with the words “Songs for Healing”; and in the titles of the main disc’s closing tracks, “Healing Song I” and “Healing Song II”. The album’s shift occurs at approximately the three-minute mark of the fifth track, as light piano enters the picture, temporarily dispelling the clouds. This could have been a very different release. The family went through hell and came out scathed. Others are now going through the same hell. While Master Generator is dedicated to Sevigny, it might just as easily be dedicated to her sisters and brothers in struggle, or to parents doing all they can and praying that it will be enough. Kösmonaut‘s sonic diary is a window into the suffering caused by childhood disease: not just that of the afflicted, but of every parent who has wished they could trade places with their child. Hats off to Time Released Sound for designing a labor of love to match the one they received. (Richard Allen)