Feeling invincible even as I was surrounded by several men hacking constantly on a four-hour flight, I didn’t put on a mask. What an idiotic display of confidence! I woke up delirious three days after stepping off the plane. Unable to do much aside from shiver in bed, I put the new live version of In the Cell of Dreams on repeat. Shackleton’s 136-minute blend of progressive ragas, classical minimalism and left-of-center electronica corresponded with the queasy suspension of time I was experiencing. Given the pathetic shape I was in, I doubt I’ll be willing to succumb to its charms after I fully recover from the illness. For anyone willing to surrender to the dizzying mix, however, the revamped In the Cell of Dreams is a fever dream come true.
