The explosion of technologies over the past century has resulted in the multiplication of artistic environments, each one folding in on the other and engendering manifold propagation. In such a situation, consciousness has difficulty providing for the roots and developments of artistic works, largely because absentmindedness often leads to the disappearance of interesting and relevant product.

Over the past 20 years, it's become fashionable to approach these products with forced veneration, and for one very good reason: the "reissue" provides artistic consciousness with an "anti-environment" that allows for a reinvigorated perception of past works. Put simply, the training of perception and judgment is stimulated by the role of art as anti-environment.

As a recent case-in-point, GearFab's reissue of the Dreamies' lone release, 1973's Auralgraphic Entertainment, begs comparisons to recent four-track excursions by the Olivia Tremor Control and Neutral Milk Hotel. Dreamies mastermind Bill Holt created this interesting artifact with nothing more than voice, guitar, a Moog synthesizer, and found sounds. Armed with a fascination of the Beatles' "Revolution 9," the album is comprised of two tracks: "Program Ten" and "Program Eleven," each about 25 minutes in length. Its contemporary re-introduction to the popular mindset helps place the Elephant 6 productions in perspective, as it's clearly an awkward marriage of found-sound collage with pleasant guitar strum and a pretense to Beatles-esque melody.

Most interesting about this release, however, is the expression it offers of the death of '60s idealism and the American Dream. A John Kennedy speech promising breakthroughs in the space race floats in and out of "Program Ten," succeeded by the plaintively melodic motifs of "Sunday Morning Song" and "The User." The Moog bubbles and gurgles, crickets chirp incessantly in the background, and any number of news announcements fight their way into the mix.

"Program Eleven" is a bit darker and more obtuse, its aura of airports and airspace furthering the alien quality of this music. The latent confusion at the increasing development of mankind prompts our man Holt to ride away to fairyland, as malevolent chuckling disrupts the evocation of an idyllic escape. Soundbytes of Walter Cronkite and Monty Hall's classic cry of "Let's Make a Deal!" remind the listener of the record's early '70s context, with the hope afforded by '60s idealism all but lost.

What remains unfortunate about Auralgraphic Entertainment are the limitations of its painfully humble origins. Holt sustains a mood and experiments very well with his modest production capacity, but the pieces are very long and he doesn't populate them with enough of his understated melodic song fragments to sustain interest. Nevertheless, that his work anticipates a more fertile bridging of pop and avant-garde cannot be denied, and the reissue of this sole exemplar of his work is a welcome aid in the environmental awareness of our time.

-S. Murray