In the bay area the fixture of Gustavo Pastre moves like a biosphere cog-ghost, his hands—protected by cracked electronic gloves—carefully harvesting the strange harmonics that emanate from the mechanical horrors he’s built. He mines resonant tones from the Zulu Box, 4 Neck Guitar/Circesaw, Vinyl LP Sewing Machine Switchboard Leviathan’s twitching telephone guts, and more unreasonable assemblages. Capturing frequencies that hum with the grief of disconnected calls he draws brittle, glass-like sounds from its Soviet amps, each note shimmering with the static of lost transmissions. The Satellite Shogun (new) offers deeper, rhythmic pulses pulled from the tube filled transmission fluid that drips like a corrupted heartbeat. Using hand-crafted odd synthesizers built from repurposed phone motherboards and ceramic resonators, he filters these tones into eerie, structured compositions. His workspace is a small island of order amid the chaos—a soldering station and frequency analyzer surrounded by petri-pools of coolant and usually a couple of glitching screens.