Jóhann Jóhannson
IBM 1401, A User's Manual
4AD 2006

01. Part 1 - IBM 1401 Processing Unit
02. Part 2 - IBM 1403 Printer
03. Part 3 - IBM 1402 Card Read-Punch
04. Part 4 - IBM 729 II Magnetic Tape Unit
05. Part 5 - The Sun's Gone Dim and the Sky's Turned Black

Don't know about you, but I always had a soft spot for robot stories, oh the sad sad stories of robots. His and his and theirs (damn, why do they have to be so sad all the time?). And here's for another. Some time ago in the 60s, a big computer came to Iceland - one of the first to ever be leased around the world for 'scientific' and 'business' purposes (for $2,500/day too). He was about processing and storing, sometimes printing. He wasn't designed to play music, yet by placing a radio receiver nearby and by programming his memory in a certain way, simple melodies would come out. The IBM 1410 was taught to 'sing' - something he wasn't supposed to do. And he sang for a while, until a new model arrived and made him redundant. But he wasn't simply thrown away like an old fridge - instead was given a proper funeral: a ceremony where his operators could express their gratitude and sorrow, while melodies were performed for one last time. This was documented on tapes by Jóhann Jóhannson's father and based on them, what composer Jóhann Jóhannson goes back to. Tech-nostalgia? Well more like a homage. Surely we've seen similar things before (maybe this one), but they never had this sense of genuine caring. Backed up by a large sixty-piece string orchestra, it all comes across as a private symphony for the 1401 model and for machines in general. A quiet triumph with a quiet ending. Seriously, by the time you're halfway into the last song, keep away from emotional wreck.

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