I'm afraid that Barbara Sibley is going to play another record. I've been sitting for six hours now, listening to recordings of prank calls made to religious radio stations, samples from Chinese shadow-theater music, Balinese Ramayana monkey chants. It's two o'clock in the morning. We've already gone through stacks of Sibley's favorite records, and my eyes are stinging from exhaustion. My brain is filtering out the music, substituting its own internal soundtrack, which mostly... More >>>