“It's a sound that seems so familiar to me as I walk through Alphabet City: discarded Duane Reade bags and fountain drink caps with straws still jabbed in them all rattling together in New York's rancid winds, fragments of trash and continuous street din, all mashed together as odors and noises both noxious and intoxicating. It's the sound of years' worth of journal-like tapes made by Japanese impr”
