The Crime Of The Century Podcast

The Crime Of The Century Podcast

By Matt LoveTechnology
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The Crime Of The Century Podcast episodes

  • Excerpt from Explorer, Producer, Stoic After Your Fashion by Bil Smith
    CONDUCTOR'S LINER NOTE: Reconstructing the Residue
    "You keep this receipt folded in your wallet though wallets are obsolete." —Bil Smith, Prologue as Receipt
    The performance captured on this recording is a deliberate excavation of what Bil Smith calls "the Burden of Choice." In approaching Smith’s graphic monuments, the performer is not tasked with creation, but with curation. We are not "interpreting" a score; we are inhabiting its architecture.
    Our methodology for "Ernest Youngman and his Earnest Young Men" was defined by a specific, subtractive interaction between intent and algorithmic "accident." We utilized a legacy OMR engine (circa 2019) as our primary translator. This engine, optimized for strict 4/4 notation, was deliberately tasked with scanning Smith's non-linear "WET" (Words, Events, Texts) diagrams.
    We defined this process as "Perforated Monumentalism"—forcing the OMR to create holes (errors) in the source text. For example, Smith's diagram of the phonetic "Maul/Mail" clusters (the "spill spells") overwhelmed the engine’s mathematical grid. ScanScore, unable to find an anchor, "whittled down" the dense black lines into the jagged, irregular 16th-note "combs" heard in Track 2 (Violoncello).
    This recording is the resulting residue. We "pivoted" from these digital mistakes, assigning the erroneous notation to a "Pierrot Ensemble" logic: the Clarinet became the voice of the "Zeppelin Swells"; the Kazoo, the "Kinetic Jab" of the high-register staccatos.
    We present this not as a finished object, but as a "habitat" of failure. It is, in Smith’s terminology, a complete ecology of the accidental.
    Ernest Youngman,
    Director, Earnest Young Men Ensemble
    March 2026
    6 min
  • The Paintings Need To Breathe by Lori Yamamoto
    [Verse 1 - The Gallery]
    The walls are breathing.
    Very slow. Very quiet.
    Like a sleeping thing.
    Most people do not notice.
    They are too busy looking.
    [Verse 2 - The Wanting]
    They want to buy. They
    want to take the paintings home.
    They hang them above
    their sofas, very high up.
    But paintings need to breathe, I think.
    [Verse 3 - The Watcher]
    You are standing still.
    Like a tree that is keeping
    a secret from the wind.
    You do not want to interrupt.
    You just watch the light change.
    [Verse 4 - The Practicing]
    I am practicing
    for noticing. It is hard.
    Harder than it looks.
    I was born paying attention
    to the small things. The tiny things.
    [Verse 5 - The Bowl]
    A bowl is not just
    a bowl. It is the crack in
    the side. The way the light
    tries to hide inside the curve.
    It can keep you company for hours.
    [Verse 6 - The Truth]
    The people who own
    many things... they are not rich.
    They are just heavy.
    The people who notice things...
    they are the ones who can fly.
    [Outro]
    The painting is still here.
    It is breathing.
    I think it likes you.
    You did not try to take it home.
    You just... looked.
    That is enough.
    That is everything.
    Okay.
    5 min
  • Interlude by Lori Yamamoto
    Interlude
    (A song for the night)
    When the sun goes down,
    And the world becomes so quiet,
    Do not be afraid.
    I am watching the shadows,
    Seeing the darkness fade out.
    Are you feeling this?
    I think you must feel the same,
    Like a small, warm fire.
    Let it burn inside your heart,
    I will always be right there.
    In the middle of your night,
    When the condition is right,
    I am standing near.
    I do not need to call you,
    Or say I am changed.
    Please, do not go away now,
    You should stay with me.
    Stay tonight, just for a while,
    It's gonna be alright.
    Okay.
    5 min
  • Platinum Rivals by Lori Yamamoto
    [Verse 1 - The Arrival]
    The elevator doors
    opened and I was inside
    a postcard of the city.
    Everyone was wearing
    very expensive silence.
    [Verse 2 - The Queen]
    She entered like someone
    who has practiced entering.
    Her dress was the color
    of money after dark.
    The ice in my glass made a small sound.
    [Verse 3 - The Observation]
    I wanted to share
    a glass of ice with her.
    Not to fight. Just to see
    what lives behind the practiced smile.
    The cracks that the light finds anyway.
    [Verse 4 - The Man in White]
    He was there too. The man
    in the white suit from before.
    He leaned close to her ear.
    He was selling her something.
    Safety, maybe. Or a story about safety.
    [Verse 5 - The Performance]
    She is playing a role
    called "The Innocent Princess."
    He is playing "The Friend."
    They think I am furniture.
    A small piano in the corner.
    [Verse 6 - The Smell]
    She smells of Joy perfume
    and something else. Something
    that does not wash off.
    A Hermès bag on her arm
    is holding all the things she does not say.
    [Verse 7 - The Calculation]
    They are very good at
    this dance. They have rehearsed.
    But real chemistry
    does not need rehearsals.
    It just… happens. Or it does not.
    [Verse 8 - The Truth]
    The truth is not in
    the gold frame on the wall.
    It is in the way her
    fingers tighten on the glass
    when someone says a certain name.
    [Verse 9 - The Stalemate]
    They are two statues
    in a gallery of one room.
    Waiting to see who
    will move first. Who will blink.
    The city hums below, not caring.
    ---
    [Verse 10]
    I finished my drink.
    I closed the piano lid very quietly.
    They did not notice.
    "Keep the tip," I said.
    No one heard.
    Or maybe they did not want to hear.
    [Outro]
    It is funny.
    You can buy the painting.
    You can buy the name.
    You can buy the perfume and the bag and the suit.
    But you cannot buy the way the light hits
    a person who has nothing to hide.
    I think I will go back home now.
    The train is probably running late.
    That is okay.
    I like waiting on the platform.
    You see real people there.
    Okay.
    8 min
  • Golden Leaves by Lori Yamamoto
    Golden leaves whisper
    Falling slow in the soft rain
    Dusty road holds us
    Walking slow in the late sun
    Same old tune looping
    Round and round like an echo
    Lost in summer sound
    Rain runs down the glass
    Like the tears upon my face
    I am watching them grow cold
    Lonely seagull cries
    High and thin in the grey sky
    He is lonely too
    But then I think of your hand
    Mist rises from the grass
    Shadows long and sudden gold
    Light breaks through the grey
    The world is shining for us
    Softly drifts the twilight breeze
    Carrying whispers through the trees
    Footsteps echo on this path we've made
    Memories linger, never to fade
    [Chorus]
    In a world where shadows play
    And the sun finds its way, again
    We'll weave through the heart of today
    Tracing signs of what has been
    [Verse 2]
    Gentle strings in the evening air
    Flute notes dance, a haunting prayer
    Lost in thoughts of laughter, where did it go?
    Underneath the boughs, let the feelings flow
    Faded dreams in twilight hues
    Shadows dance in soft silhouettes
    Carrying whispers of what we knew
    Moments hidden, wrapped in regrets
    [Chorus]
    Let the echoes of our laughter stay
    In a world where memories sway, again
    We’ll find solace in the heart of today
    Chasing traces of what once had been
    [Verse 3]
    As the night falls, the stars appear
    Soft notes drift, like the passing years
    Underneath the moon, we’ll share our tales
    In the silence, where our laughter prevails
    I will wait for you always
    5 min
  • Pages Turning Every Day by Lori Yamamoto
    [Chorus]
    Sunlight is lying down
    on the hot street. It is too tired
    to stand up. The green leaves
    are holding their breath
    in the thick, slow air.
    I find a melody
    that is sticky with sweetness.
    My heart is a ripe fruit.
    I wish the summer would
    stop melting off its bones.
    [Post-Chorus]
    La la la…
    Soft like a lazy bee.
    La la la…
    Where do the lost dreams sleep?
    Do they take a long nap
    in the shade’s blue pocket?
    [Verse 2]
    I keep a shell from
    the beach where I did not stay.
    Your name is written in
    the sand of yesterday.
    The tide is a big eraser
    with a slow, foamy mouth.
    I think I hear you laugh
    where the dragonflies stitch
    the hot air together.
    The shadow is small and tired,
    but the memory… it sweats.
    It will not evaporate.
    [Pre-Chorus]
    Colors are all too bright.
    I do not know why you
    had to become a season.
    I am reading the same page
    by the light of a dying firefly.
    [Chorus]
    Sunlight is lying down
    on the hot street. It is too tired
    to stand up. The green leaves
    are holding their breath
    in the thick, slow air.
    I find a melody
    that is sticky with sweetness.
    My heart is a ripe fruit.
    I wish the summer would
    stop melting off its bones.
    [Post-Chorus]
    La la la…
    Just a little out of reach.
    La la la…
    Every memory is a
    firefly in a jar—
    a small, fading, warm fact.
    [Outro: Spoken]
    Lost dreams sleep…
    and sweat through the sheets.
    Okay.
    6 min

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Better than a chicken jumping rope backwards!