Seizure by Aaron Dilloway: A Noisy Love Letter to Chaos (2000)
Let’s cut to the chase—Aaron Dilloway’s Seizure isn’t your grandma’s record collection unless, you know, she’s into experimental noise that sounds like a malfunctioning VHS tape had a baby with an angry washing machine. Released in 2000 on Hanson Records (USA), this album is two tracks of pure electronic mayhem, clocking in at just the right length for when you want to feel unsettled but not completely lose your sanity.
First up, we’ve got Seizure 1. This track kicks off with what I can only describe as "industrial hiccups." It's chaotic, it’s messy, and honestly? That’s why it sticks with me. The layers of distorted loops hit you like someone threw a bucket of cold water mixed with static electricity. You’re not sure if you should dance or call tech support. But hey, that unpredictability keeps things interesting. By the time you think you’ve figured out its rhythm, it flips the script again. Classic noise move—never let the listener get too comfy.
Then there’s Seizure 2, which feels like the older sibling who stayed out way past curfew and came back smelling like burnt wires. This one leans harder into texture, almost hypnotic in how it builds tension without ever giving you a satisfying release (insert your own Freudian joke here). There are moments where it feels like the sound equivalent of staring at a flickering fluorescent light—annoying yet strangely captivating. If you’re into music that makes you question whether your speakers are broken or if that’s just… art, this one’s for you.
What’s wild about Seizure is how it somehow manages to be both abrasive and oddly meditative. Listening to it feels like being stuck in a dream where everything’s slightly off-kilter—you don’t know whether to laugh, scream, or shrug. And maybe that’s the point. Dilloway doesn’t care about holding your hand through this auditory rollercoaster; he just wants you to feel something. Anything.
So yeah, Seizure probably won’t top anyone’s list of “cozy Sunday afternoon albums,” but that’s kinda the charm. It’s raw, unfiltered, and refuses to play nice—and honestly, isn’t that refreshing? Just don’t blame me if your cat hides under the couch after hearing it.
Final thought: If Aaron Dilloway ever decided to make a follow-up called Convulsion, I’d listen to it while wearing headphones… and possibly a helmet.
