1. CTX isn’t presented like a typical artist identity. Why start there instead of with biography?

 

Because CTX isn’t an identity you understand first—it’s a way of listening you enter.

The work asks for patience and the release of expectation. Biography explains who someone is; CTX is concerned with what happens when sound is given time to unfold. Definition comes later, if at all.

 

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2. You call CTXLA a “sonic film.” What conditions made that form necessary?

 

Most music is designed to be entered and exited without consequence.

CTXLA required a form that could hold duration, silence, return, and accumulation. “Sonic film” isn’t a metaphor—it’s a practical term for sound that behaves narratively and asks to be stayed with, not skimmed.

 

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3. What kind of listening does CTXLA require that most music doesn’t?

 

It requires listening as a finite resource.

Instead of rewarding immediacy, the work is structured around restraint—letting the body register rhythm, repetition, and tension before the mind tries to explain it. The discipline is in not rushing the arrival.

 

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4. How does place shape the work without turning it into autobiography?

 

Place shows up as pressure, not story.

The pacing, the heat, the restraint, the space between gestures—those are environmental imprints. The work doesn’t narrate events; it carries conditions. Geography informs behavior, not confession.

 

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5. Who is CTXLA actually for?

 

It’s for listeners who stay once novelty wears off.

Not a demographic—an attention type. The work doesn’t speed up to be accessible; it remains available and lets the listener decide when they have room for it.

 

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6. When people respond strongly to the work—sometimes without language—what do you think is happening?

 

That’s recognition before explanation.

Sound reaches the body faster than vocabulary. When people react without language, it usually means something internal shifted before it could be named. That kind of response doesn’t spread because it’s loud—it spreads because it’s true.

 

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7. How do you think about authorship and control in a project built on restraint?

 

Authorship lives in decisions—what enters, what waits, what disappears.

I didn’t aim to fill space; I shaped pressure. The work couldn’t sound the way it does without those choices. Control, here, isn’t about dominance—it’s about coherence holding under restraint and scale.

 

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8. What should happen before CTXLA is followed by something else?

 

It should be lived with.

Following something too quickly collapses what it was meant to open. When the work has done what it needs to do—when its shape is fully felt—then something else can appear. Until then, definition stays intentionally incomplete.