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Many people have never come across a numbers station, but those who are familiar with them often fall in love. Numbers stations are shortwave radio stations that broadcast sets of numbers including encrypted information which can only be translated when one has possession of the key, or “one-time pad.” The practice was extremely popular during the Cold War, and has inspired a few books, a TV movie (“The Game”), and now an impressionistic album from Plenty Wenlock founder E.L. Heath.
Heath grew up near these numbers stations, whose sources have remained secret. The impression was that espionage, or at least something really cool, was taking place right there in his neighborhood. This collection of 19 way stations is the culmination of a lifelong interest, and arrives from a different angle: an interest in the sounds, even if the content and origin are obscured.
At first, these sets of seemingly random words and numbers sound like broadcasts from an A.I.-controlled train station, “The Minsterly Tumbler” is accompanied by little beeps and bleeps, like those of an ice cream truck, while the second includes loops of drone. Is information encoded in these as well? This is one of the most unique things one might hear between radio stations on a late night dial. Should the imagination runs wild, one might even dream of extraterrestrial intelligence; “Low Drone” sounds like the hum of a flying saucer, met by the chatter of birds. (As an aside, one popular faux conspiracy theory site proposes that birds themselves are not real, but have all been replaced by drones.) “All Is Well” contains a repeating melody, but one wonders, is all really well? If it were so, would we need numbers stations?
“Morse Station 1” contains the first recognizable patterns; even as kids, one could parse such a broadcast with clue book in hand. As for the rest: the patterns embedded in static, the numbers, delivered in “1 8 0 Hold Child” in children’s voices, one can only speculate. This is an endearing track, suggesting that children make their own numbers stations, completely confusing counter-intelligence. The treatment repeats on “Bayston Bearstone B” with a single voice. “1-11” is the most straightforward track, a repeated count from 1 to 11 with electronic tones. What could it mean? Spinal Tap seems the only reference (“This one goes up to 11!”).
“Capel” sounds more like a chapel, with the abraded sound of a distant choir. Any sound can be a cipher. The thought that all of these numbers stations are located in a finite area only adds to the sense of mystery. How much is going on that we don’t know about? Quite a lot, apparently. The appeal of this project is the idea that such activities are more interesting than we can imagine. In contrast to Mulder, we don’t want to know the truth; if the translations turned out to be mundane, we’d be greatly disappointed. Better to listen, to decipher, and to dream. (Richard Allen)
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