DMusic is way down this time. Maybe just for a minute or an hour or maybe for the glaciatic dripping of an age or a colosum. It returns no calls, it picks up no lines.
In that strange world, when it's functioning, there exists a devious enigma that calls itself, variously Mike Hock and the Pigeon Hand Clap Orchestra and Sir Mike Hock. The sounds that come out of those vacuums are tasty and expressive, though (always?) schizotastic and unforgiving. Mike Hock likes to work with luminaries like that guy who plays robocop and the dead dwarf who used to hang around on stage with Kid Rock. It likes to use synthesized voices to read rambling diatribes while the garbled electronic rhythms slam and pulse and break things all over the fucking room. Mike Hock could be a computer, or it could be a disguise for David Hasselhoff, who hates his own famous face.
There's always this hint there though that Mike Hock is an angry ex-person, someone who used to make music with us but then found a religion or a delicious red velvet cake or heeded the words of the Prophet L'oaf. An entity who grew jealous of our power until one day it decided to turn our brains into pickle loaf. We may never know.