I once got lost in The Museum of Jurassic Technology and found myself in a dimly lit tomb-like room filled with nothing but disused or broken computer hard drives. I wondered if it was a shrine for damned data. Or perhaps it was meant as a reminder that the digital realm is actual material, an ever accumulating pile of e-waste. And then I saw the note. “Take one and bring it back to life.” And so I did. For better or worse remains to be seen.

Once I was back at The Lab, I hooked my newly found hard drive friend up to an oscilloscope. After a bit of tuning, I was able to see three phase-locked waveforms appear when I spun the metal plate on the drive, using the motor and bearing that would have previously driven the plate when searching for digital files, but in reverse to generate a small amount of current. It suddenly occurred to me that I may be able to harvest these low voltage waveforms to create a magical machine.

Several weeks later my zombie hard drive was integrated into my volatile assemblage of music making materials. This is when things got weird.

The hard drive began to take on a life of its own, becoming increasingly unpredictable in its behaviour. Creating sounds that at times were reminiscent of the wind in the trees, but often with an underlying note of anguish. I iterated on the design of the machine, making the hard drive an attractive red case, with the hope that this would make it (or them?) feel more at peace. This initially seemed successful, but as time passed the wind in the trees started to resemble the sound of a whisper in a language I could not quite place. Was it Whulshootseed? Or maybe Klallam? Hard to say, but almost certainly something from the Sailshan language family.

stab əw̓ə tiʔiɫ ʔal tə stulək

Did I hear that right? Indeed, what is in that river? And what is on the other side?

The answer: “What is Mexico?” Alex Trebek: “Correct for 2500 points!”

And so I found myself, traveling through space and time, with my hard drive friend in its fetching red case, performing together in and across unfamiliar landscapes, accompanied by fellow travellers not unlike ourselves. We were often happy in these times and places, but never fully at ease.

This video link will take you to an account of my first conversation with the hard drive, which formed part of a larger musical exorcism. Listen at your own risk.

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