Is there anyone seriously interested in contemporary EAI who’s not acquainted with Simon Reynell’s ever-consistent Another Timbre imprint yet? Those who replied “yes” are not serious enough, they’re just posing. This is THE label to follow - together with Emanem & Psi, which stand at the opposite of the sound/silence scale - if you want to swim in the cold, but revitalizing waters of high-standard instant creativity informed by the most intense contrasts between frailty and heartiness. Here’s some scribbling about six recent AT releases.
SEBASTIAN LEXER / SEYMOUR WRIGHT – Blasen
Piano and alto saxophone, in turn processed by a computer over the course of two lengthy improvisations. As stated in the liners, “sometimes the origins of the sounds are transparent, but often they are ambiguous”: this pretty much sums up the specific aesthetic of this album, a straight-faced investigation of the scarcely visible connections linking the insides of instruments belonging to completely diverse families. The players expertly move across a shady setting, in which candle-lit images of reciprocal correlation get misshapen by distorting mirrors; the preparations utilized by Lexer transform the strings of the piano in rudimentary generators that magnify an unstructured awareness, the notes now murkily resounding in inexpressibly indefinite agglomerates, now appearing as percussive calls to attention, the artist always in search of the perfect spot to minimize the recognisability factor. Wright is a percussively detached analyzer of the saxophone’s viscera and (generally) unused parts; this does not detract from the absolute musicality of his irregular differentiations, where “musicality” is a definition that should delineate an organism fusing the human initiator with a sound-producing apparatus. The importance of silence in this context is fundamental: the couple appears in fact especially interested in the maintenance of a quiet environment despite the abruptness of certain solutions, apparently born and instantly dead. The music transcends typical definitions to represent the consecutive modifications in the different states of matter: an enthralling combination of gaseous and grainy, scraping and popping emissions enriched by a reverberating uncertainty, the whole signifying an anomalous kind of seclusion. But it’s the Spartan intransience of this probing record that matters most, constituting its major point of attraction.
TOOT – Two
Axel Dörner (trumpet), Thomas Lehn (analogue synthesizer) and Phil Minton (voice) are Toot, a trio of musicians whose attitude towards the reduction of expressive means does not prevent the music from sounding dangerously invasive. This notwithstanding, their improvisational methods elicit considerations about an asceticism of sorts, such is the extreme degree of excruciating concentration needed to perform at these levels of creative continuity and, especially, virtuosity. The two comprised sets, recorded in 2005 and 2008 in Austria and Germany respectively, are informed by a poetry of immaculate outrageousness which finds its best expression in Minton’s celebrated tendency to disintegrate whatever concept of vocalism one can have in mind with the same ease of a kid who builds a crystal sculpture with the shards of a precious object that he’s just shattered. Dörner and Lehn are spectacularly on the ball, providing counterattacks, resolute answers and intuitions of their own, the whole represented by segments of absolute mayhem where the sonic contamination is nothing short of sublime. The juxtaposition of flexibility and rigidity characterizing certain parts is among the most substantial traits of the concoction; the same goes for the physically strenuous extension of quieter episodes where whispers, wet hissing and subdued hums gradually grow into an incandescent promiscuity sparkled by an inexhaustible vivacity, brash emissions and fluid unobtrusiveness pawns in a game of draining contrasts and immediate regenerations. In a way, these complementary forces constitute the overall elemental temperament of the CD which - in case this was not clear enough - is essential.
EKG – Electricals
Performed by Kyle Bruckmann (oboe, English horn) and Ernst Karel (trumpet), both artists also making use of analogue electronics. Initial adherence to a logic of quasi-static restriction, prevalently symbolized by the gradual morphing of an unstable immobility which, little by little, gives room to a series of slightly conflicting occurrences, never trespassing its peripheral limits. Not exactly good-natured, the music fertilizes the field of concentration by tempting the listener with spacious transmutations and instantaneous openings, revealing in turn threatening obscurities and enticing discrepancies. The program changes a bit with the introduction of additional contrasts in timbres and dynamics, thus enhancing the proportion between economy of means and stimulation of the perceptive systems. Should you have any doubt, the original character of the instruments is more or less decomposed, a thorough mutation which lets us forget about the concept of “pitch”, replacing it with something nearer to “nuclear degradation”. The concluding piece “Interval” offers tasty food to drone lovers too, surrounding them with potent lows blemished by scathing dispersals of power and paralyzing glissandos dipped in feedback and electricity. Splendid finale for a inexplicably excellent work, one that needs to be listened attentively rather than described by (as always) futile words. Its mystifying impenetrability, highlighted by a coherent sturdiness, speaks for itself.
MAX EASTLEY / RHODRI DAVIES – Dark Architecture
Eastley’s sound sculptures & arc (practically an electro-acoustic monochord) and Davis’ electric harp mesh like the rain and the night in November, depicting chiaroscuro atmospheres with preference for the “scuro” half. Strings put in continuous vibration by a knowledgeable use of the eBow produce echoes of painful reminiscence at the beginning, redirecting the listener’s attention towards that area of the psyche where misanthropist illuminations push the most sensitive ones away from Facebook-fuelled desperation. Apparently comatose dynamics turn into wobbly apparitions of mind-generated birds of uncertainty that we believed extinguished forever amidst firecrackers (real firecrackers, involuntarily trapped in the recording during a nearby celebration) whose distant lights help revealing corroded signs pointing to inevitability. The mixture of metals and flute-ish frequencies halfway through the piece provides a digression of sorts by establishing a mood of concreteness, pragmatism replacing preoccupation, but the humming order is soon restored, our membranes decoding customary hints of infinite purr underscored by glittering tinkling and cracking wood. Basically the essence of the whole is ritualistic, an improvisation attempting to evoke spirits of who-knows-what; the musicians do listen to each other carefully, avoiding gratuitous convolutions yet never really clear-minded, the result an intoxicating scenario with different metamorphoses and alterations with us acting as clandestine observers, a one-off expression rather than an instant composition for the ages.
ANNETTE KREBS / RHODRI DAVIES – Kravis Rhonn Project
Guitar, objects, mixing board, tape (Krebs), electric harp and electronics (Davies). Certain records have the word “masterpiece” embossed on their icon as soon as one starts the first listening session, and this CD belongs to that category. Everything is impressive: the composition’s freshness, the surprising qualities of every incident, the fantastic control applied by the artists on the dynamics of the interaction, the way in which the music mixes with the surrounding environment. Each gesture appears, for lack of a better adjective, definitive. Krebs and Davies threw all their experiences in a pot whose boiling liquid emits exhalations of architectural sharpness under the guise of perfectly deployed events. The occasional quiet intervals separating the sonic outbursts-cum-bizarre vocal intrusions are in turn occupied by our imagination devising strategies for a further comprehension of the relations between expectancy and shock, or by the interference of extraneous elements from the outside: in this very moment, echoes of a festive ceremony from the nearby town are blending fabulously with the combination of radio and coarse droning generated by the duo. The final two minutes juxtapose frequencies so low that my thorax quivered and so high that the ears rang for a while after the end, until two ever-present and rather indispensable components of my domestic acoustic background - the far-off sounds of engines and the even more remote tolling of the bell tower from the neighbouring hill - brought your reviewer back to reality. This is an extremely demanding, conspicuously rewarding piece of work; one of those flawless examples of music that excites and elicits reflection at once. It threw yours truly in a state of extreme concentration and somewhat dolorous awareness of the essence of being in a Sunday morning that had started normally, planting seeds of inward-looking regularity which, in the right circumstance, indicate the direction to follow in order to accomplish the difficult aspiration admirably synthesized by Richard Pinnell’s erstwhile blog title: “learning to listen”. The most essential lesson this side of silence.
OCTANTE – Lúnula
Octante is the quartet of Ruth Barberán (trumpet, speaker, microphones), Alfredo Costa Monteiro (accordion and objects), Ferran Fages (oscillators and pick ups) and Margarida Garcia (electric double bass). Sophistication is not an option with these people, who have grown us used to a dispassionate deflowering of timbral certainties over the (y)ears, either in group or individually. At once cluttered with calmly delivered invectives and allowing lots of elbow-room for individual affirmation, this music copulates with the demons of an unlikely efficiency which transits across the most disgustingly exciting, remarkably abominable clash of instrumental deformations, projecting the collective result against a white wall that emphasizes the raw allure of the machination. Splintered capsules of drooling whispers get rebuilt and reutilized with a little help from undulating electronic discharges; percussive realism and painstaking dismemberment of drowsiness fit together perfectly, contributing to a cynic rationalism whose pale skin is entirely compatible with the concept of impartiality. Still, there are moments in which this soulless combination of parallel nihilisms reaches an ideal balance between mild perturbation and bad intention, and it’s exactly in those occasions that the whole sounds terrific in its total absence of useless frills. Divergence becomes harmonic comprehension, peril turns into temptation, inner animalism brings a weird clarification. The discerning aural sensibility of the musicians determines the exact moment where the experiment might become a hymn to vulgarity, always curbing the desire of going beyond that limit at a precisely right time. And when droning terror kicks in, a peculiar sense of ever-suspicious satisfaction puts a grip on the mind and does not let it go. If you need caresses and kisses this is anathema, but the cognoscenti who haven’t added this CD to their collection yet should act fast. Unquestionably great stuff.
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Saturday, 23 May 2009
Three To Remember On Leerraum
(…and more to come in the future of course, as this Swiss label has been producing considerable amounts of materials for the expansion of your perceptive areas for a long time now).
RICHARD GARET – Winter
A compelling release by Richard Garet, who utilizes an even-handed assortment of concrete and environmental sources and studio-generated emissions to fabricate a 51-minute piece that doesn’t actually expose unusual accidents or sudden disclosures but is constructed – as usual with this artist – with great care, intelligence and what we always look for in these kinds of soundscape - compositional shrewdness. The contingent aspects of a lengthy track constitute the grounds of its influence in a listener’s mind, Garet deservedly standing among the finest sound assemblers in that sense: extreme minutiae and unrevealed details appear almost unnoticed at first, then start playing a lead role in pointing the music to a direction where the improvement of alertness seems to be the focal point of research. It is indeed possible to depict sensations linked to an advanced spiritual level while avoiding a pathetic self-projection towards the thereafter (the typical error of pretenders). Sounds of rain and beeping frequencies carry exactly the same significance if one manages to dispose of a distrustful view of daily life’s occurrences, and the droning caresses exploited by the composer to set the general mood in “conscious tranquillity” mode are not smelling of marketing analysis. The ultimate outcome is a most welcome evenness, eloquence finally affirmed without the need of shocking or brainwashing.
ASHER / ZIMOUN – Untitled Movement
Characteristically unobtrusive, this outing features Asher working with Leerraum’s honcho Zimoun. A repetitive figuration whose crucial constituents are the echoes of a piano “from the room at the end of the house” (you know what I mean) repeating suspended chords that never resolve, reverberating both in the environment and in our long-term memory. The cyclic development of this essential sonic physiognomy is perturbed by the ever-present, and increasingly emergent in the mix, “urban soul” consisting of a mixture of dampened traffic sounds and suggestively whispering frequencies, apparently deriving from the use of shortwave radio and (insert your computer-based treatment here). The really impressive aspect is the hard-to-believe contradiction between the idea of metropolitan pollution and incessant din opposed to the relieving character of the soundscape on the psyche, which simply benefits of these presences, totally incapable of a reaction or a movement whatsoever. One just gets caught in this spiral of forgetfulness, even bad memories contaminated and - ultimately - made evaporate. A magic formula that stimulates the dormant facets of illogicality, turning them into a swelling impression of near-conclusion.
ASHER – Instability
The inexhaustibly productive man from Massachusetts is here pictured, sonically speaking, in a rather dissimilar context that nonetheless confirms all the exemplary characteristics of his music without renouncing to quality, not even an ounce of it. The essential constituents of Instability – a very extensive cycle at circa 146 minutes on audio DVD, divided into different tracks of variable length - are two. The first is a gradual succession of digitized abrasiveness, a virtual blinding light amidst a scorching tempest of vapours, almost inconspicuous at times then coming dangerously close with the elapsing of time, hissing and sibilating as a boa ready to suffocate the victim. The second, kind of a mirage in between the ebbing-and-flowing waves of static noise, is a barely shifting whisper of synthetic tones, a handful of frail chords attempting to break a cocoon, then inevitably erased by the brutality of the rough wind. The image that comes to mind is a pair of eyes desperately trying to keep watching an unfolding scene while someone tries to impede the act by throwing copious handfuls of burning sand in the unfortunate’s face. The large part of the record is based upon this tangential consecutiveness, as inevitable as the incessant visual rhythm of the signs on the asphalt of a highway at 80 mph, only allowing the contemplation of the remnants of an oppressive past as the future is already ruthlessly looking at people’s illusions. This goes on - with some variation, including bursts of differently tinged frequencies like the wonderful hum starting in the fourth movement - in every subsequent chapter and, at last, the piece reaches its definitive conclusion as the sounds fade away regretfully, suggesting an infinite rainbow arc deprived of the most vivid nuances (despite the appearance of somewhat ghostly birds somewhere in the background after the halfway point). Perfect for use as installation in your home: play loud enough and the title will turn to be revelatory about its meaning, especially with windows open. As always, the mental composure deriving from near-stillness and the feel of apprehensive waiting appear like – no self-quoting pun intended - touching extremes.
RICHARD GARET – Winter
A compelling release by Richard Garet, who utilizes an even-handed assortment of concrete and environmental sources and studio-generated emissions to fabricate a 51-minute piece that doesn’t actually expose unusual accidents or sudden disclosures but is constructed – as usual with this artist – with great care, intelligence and what we always look for in these kinds of soundscape - compositional shrewdness. The contingent aspects of a lengthy track constitute the grounds of its influence in a listener’s mind, Garet deservedly standing among the finest sound assemblers in that sense: extreme minutiae and unrevealed details appear almost unnoticed at first, then start playing a lead role in pointing the music to a direction where the improvement of alertness seems to be the focal point of research. It is indeed possible to depict sensations linked to an advanced spiritual level while avoiding a pathetic self-projection towards the thereafter (the typical error of pretenders). Sounds of rain and beeping frequencies carry exactly the same significance if one manages to dispose of a distrustful view of daily life’s occurrences, and the droning caresses exploited by the composer to set the general mood in “conscious tranquillity” mode are not smelling of marketing analysis. The ultimate outcome is a most welcome evenness, eloquence finally affirmed without the need of shocking or brainwashing.
ASHER / ZIMOUN – Untitled Movement
Characteristically unobtrusive, this outing features Asher working with Leerraum’s honcho Zimoun. A repetitive figuration whose crucial constituents are the echoes of a piano “from the room at the end of the house” (you know what I mean) repeating suspended chords that never resolve, reverberating both in the environment and in our long-term memory. The cyclic development of this essential sonic physiognomy is perturbed by the ever-present, and increasingly emergent in the mix, “urban soul” consisting of a mixture of dampened traffic sounds and suggestively whispering frequencies, apparently deriving from the use of shortwave radio and (insert your computer-based treatment here). The really impressive aspect is the hard-to-believe contradiction between the idea of metropolitan pollution and incessant din opposed to the relieving character of the soundscape on the psyche, which simply benefits of these presences, totally incapable of a reaction or a movement whatsoever. One just gets caught in this spiral of forgetfulness, even bad memories contaminated and - ultimately - made evaporate. A magic formula that stimulates the dormant facets of illogicality, turning them into a swelling impression of near-conclusion.
ASHER – Instability
The inexhaustibly productive man from Massachusetts is here pictured, sonically speaking, in a rather dissimilar context that nonetheless confirms all the exemplary characteristics of his music without renouncing to quality, not even an ounce of it. The essential constituents of Instability – a very extensive cycle at circa 146 minutes on audio DVD, divided into different tracks of variable length - are two. The first is a gradual succession of digitized abrasiveness, a virtual blinding light amidst a scorching tempest of vapours, almost inconspicuous at times then coming dangerously close with the elapsing of time, hissing and sibilating as a boa ready to suffocate the victim. The second, kind of a mirage in between the ebbing-and-flowing waves of static noise, is a barely shifting whisper of synthetic tones, a handful of frail chords attempting to break a cocoon, then inevitably erased by the brutality of the rough wind. The image that comes to mind is a pair of eyes desperately trying to keep watching an unfolding scene while someone tries to impede the act by throwing copious handfuls of burning sand in the unfortunate’s face. The large part of the record is based upon this tangential consecutiveness, as inevitable as the incessant visual rhythm of the signs on the asphalt of a highway at 80 mph, only allowing the contemplation of the remnants of an oppressive past as the future is already ruthlessly looking at people’s illusions. This goes on - with some variation, including bursts of differently tinged frequencies like the wonderful hum starting in the fourth movement - in every subsequent chapter and, at last, the piece reaches its definitive conclusion as the sounds fade away regretfully, suggesting an infinite rainbow arc deprived of the most vivid nuances (despite the appearance of somewhat ghostly birds somewhere in the background after the halfway point). Perfect for use as installation in your home: play loud enough and the title will turn to be revelatory about its meaning, especially with windows open. As always, the mental composure deriving from near-stillness and the feel of apprehensive waiting appear like – no self-quoting pun intended - touching extremes.
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Forget-Me-Not (Better-Late-Than-Never Reviews)
Either stretched or undersized, all the write-ups of this series share a common objective: catch up, catch up, catch up. These records are but two of the hundreds that were forwarded to me last year. A long way to go, and my intention is still to keep walking. Remember: I do listen to EVERYTHING sent to my attention – eternal thanks, to ALL of you – but miracles are impossible. Therefore I’m currently trying to improve the purple prose/concision proportionality, not always effectively in all honesty (check the second review, a veritable flamboyant hymn to sociopathic behaviour; the first is not bad in that sense, too). It usually depends on the moment in which one listens. In music, curiosity does NOT kill the cat: therefore, sniff around or click those links if interested.
DALGLISH – Ideom
Record Label
Dalglish is a pseudonym for Chris Douglas, who started his activities in the 90s creating “dance-oriented experimental electronic music”. There’s nothing to boogie with in Ideom, but something can be made of the plethora of unusual sounds that the record presents. Clusters of synthetic pimples totally ineligible for humdrum new age or space backwardness of the fourth kind get scattered around amidst promiscuous rhythmic figurations and hostile brain-teasing nightmares where spastic robots decide what’s tolerable and what’s not. Besmirched washes of evocative electronica help orientating a perplexed listener between oppressive inaptness and intermittent nirvanas. Thought-provoking, often painstakingly specific, never repellent stuff.
CRAIG HILTON – The Smoking Mirror
Young Girls
A typical example of unexpected “wow” after slicing open an innocuous packet of CDRs. Three tracks from a composer who was totally and shamefully unknown to me before today, working in the frightening fringes of electroacoustic authenticity. The 35-minute “He Who Walks Among Us” is a puzzlingly haunting amassment of ringing shades - from string-like to metallic, a sort of “Glenn Branca meets Mirror at David Jackman’s house” - and organic percussiveness following Martian harmonic laws, moving in succession along paths leading to an undesired wisdom permeated of unworldly non-comprehension, overawing gloom and disheartening remorselessness, highlighted by droning undulations that literally grip the stomach pit during selected – and magnificent - sections of the piece. “Possessor Of The Earth And Sky” introduces further explorations in the macrocosm of unforgiving scouring, echoing squeals and clashing upper partials intersected in archaic blessedness, roaring inscrutabilities determining the abatement of the lucidity rate until a chaotic underworld full of chipmunk-voiced fiends and giant buzzing flies annihilates our defences. “Is An Enemy Of Both Sides” seals and stamps the program with a subterranean chorale of out-of-tune corpses trying to understand the right direction to end, at the very least, in a purgatory where grimacing faces of drunk necromancers testify to the impossibility of arriving at the required levels of psychological balance. Should you feel gone astray in these opulently gothic soundscapes, no worry: the worst is yet to come. Don’t try this at home if you’re depressed, it is pretty heavy – and, to a degree, absolutely brilliant.
DALGLISH – Ideom
Record Label
Dalglish is a pseudonym for Chris Douglas, who started his activities in the 90s creating “dance-oriented experimental electronic music”. There’s nothing to boogie with in Ideom, but something can be made of the plethora of unusual sounds that the record presents. Clusters of synthetic pimples totally ineligible for humdrum new age or space backwardness of the fourth kind get scattered around amidst promiscuous rhythmic figurations and hostile brain-teasing nightmares where spastic robots decide what’s tolerable and what’s not. Besmirched washes of evocative electronica help orientating a perplexed listener between oppressive inaptness and intermittent nirvanas. Thought-provoking, often painstakingly specific, never repellent stuff.
CRAIG HILTON – The Smoking Mirror
Young Girls
A typical example of unexpected “wow” after slicing open an innocuous packet of CDRs. Three tracks from a composer who was totally and shamefully unknown to me before today, working in the frightening fringes of electroacoustic authenticity. The 35-minute “He Who Walks Among Us” is a puzzlingly haunting amassment of ringing shades - from string-like to metallic, a sort of “Glenn Branca meets Mirror at David Jackman’s house” - and organic percussiveness following Martian harmonic laws, moving in succession along paths leading to an undesired wisdom permeated of unworldly non-comprehension, overawing gloom and disheartening remorselessness, highlighted by droning undulations that literally grip the stomach pit during selected – and magnificent - sections of the piece. “Possessor Of The Earth And Sky” introduces further explorations in the macrocosm of unforgiving scouring, echoing squeals and clashing upper partials intersected in archaic blessedness, roaring inscrutabilities determining the abatement of the lucidity rate until a chaotic underworld full of chipmunk-voiced fiends and giant buzzing flies annihilates our defences. “Is An Enemy Of Both Sides” seals and stamps the program with a subterranean chorale of out-of-tune corpses trying to understand the right direction to end, at the very least, in a purgatory where grimacing faces of drunk necromancers testify to the impossibility of arriving at the required levels of psychological balance. Should you feel gone astray in these opulently gothic soundscapes, no worry: the worst is yet to come. Don’t try this at home if you’re depressed, it is pretty heavy – and, to a degree, absolutely brilliant.
Saturday, 16 May 2009
The Secret Life (Of Gart & Seekatze)
Among Ron Van Hee’s assorted pseudonyms, Gart & Seekatze is – since the beginning of this acquaintance – my preferred alter ego of this unassumingly insightful performer. He has released at least two records in the past that are worth of a scrupulous internet search (perhaps hopeless, given the non-existent quantities of copies in which these works are issued). I’m referring to The Secret Life (Of Alvin Tsunoda) and H/mm/ng S/ngs, diminutive masterpieces of tremendously minimal low-budget reductionism which surpass the pretentiousness of certain illustrious “names”, and not by a little. Van Hee – lovely as always – sent me a batch of discs recorded in the last three years or so, both live and (presumably) at home. Let’s try and sketch a path among the silences, the incidents and the background hiss ’n’ rumble of which this music is pregnant despite an apparent meagreness.
Gart & Seekatze uses few colours, mainly developing moods and tones from the scant quivering of an isolated element and the contribution of the natural hum of the ambience where the sounds occur, but also by rubbing and scraping percussive sources such as small bells and drum skins (well, maybe – our friend doesn’t like to specify details on the covers). The process is always informed by an essential purity: no hidden intentions, just the determination of measuring a brief segment of life’s momentary breath through the juxtaposition of poverty of means and wealth of inner intuitions. There’s no fancy editing, no post-production or peculiar processing: everything is heard as played in total lo-fi gloriousness. The best use is as a soundtrack for a short-lived solitude: by paying too much attention to it, one might start to count the imperfections, which is not the name of the game. This stuff should help enhancing the grey and the black, not depicting illusory butterflies of idiotically vacuous “knowledge”. It just exists – therefore, accept it as it is.
The Secret Life (Of Shops) contains seven tracks which show the Belgian artist’s vision pretty clearly: no actual “aesthetic”, only the sheer reality of a man and his craft in a definite place. Here like elsewhere, a fundamental tool is the eBow, placed on a string and let alone in complete immobility, a single tone accompanying a series of circumstantial activities that include surrounding echoes from the outside, tampering with various kinds of objects and the presence of an audience, more or less abundant, that at times is brought at the forefront in the mix in all its chit-chat invasiveness. In Tardigrada Van Hee, as per his own admission, pays a homage to “the usual suspects” (Sugimoto and Malfatti) alternating the apathy of gestural stillness to extremely sporadic touches on piano and guitar, thus sending any expectation from the listeners into hibernation as this matter-of-fact approach to expression is contained by a veritably transitory frame (the CD lasts circa 24 minutes). 2006’s Loothok – taped at Brussels’ Le Bunker - belongs to this reviewer’s very favourites: contemplative guitar plucks and repeated metallic tolling dapple an otherwise entrancingly industrialized backdrop of semi-drones and cyclic abrasive emissions, with the addition of acute frequencies akin to shortwave (or are they?); once in a while, the customary eBowed note emerges unaccompanied, symbol of a finally achieved awareness of the futility of further explanations, then the primary vibration affirms its convincing power, delivering us at last from any residual propensity to breakdown. The traffic noise appearing in the final track is somewhat inspirational, and we don’t really know why. A propos of this, the oddity of the lot - namely the double CDR The Secret Life (Of Cars) - is better left explained by the composer himself: “Imagine a car ride then imagine a car ride superimposed on the first then imagine another car ride superimposed on that, then imagine that tenfold. We are modern nomads caught in a hamster wheel”. Indeed – and the swish-and-whoosh sort of reverberation of this collection of layered engines (as perceived from within a truck’s cabin) makes us feel intoxicated by those vehicles’ exhaust, immobilized by a kilometric queue – or, alternatively, experiencing aural hallucinations similar to hearing an FM radio station while trying to find shelter amid a snowstorm. Ply virtually encompasses all the principal traits of this musician’s attitude, captured as it was in a seemingly domestic environment (at one point a rooster, quite amusingly, joins the proceedings from a very close distance). Nude pitches amidst a desolated quietness, minor dynamic changes underlying equal sounds, a general sense of self-discipline that highlights the intimacy of these takes - underscored by a permanent earth loop purr – that sometimes last less than a glimpse.
The ragged flimsiness and the pragmatic concentration of these creations are rare commodities in a world of intellectual posing and ignorant arrogance. Many people preaching about the most concealed aspects of being – which will never, ever be clarified by inconsequential formulas, not even to ourselves – can’t get near the intensity of Gart & Seekatze’s remoteness, as sharp as the sudden realization of the uselessness of comfort. Unintentional teachings that will probably end blown in the hot air generated by the worthless chatter of desperate entities reaching for eternally closed doors, the nowhere-to-be-found way out from a matchless presumptuousness.
(Availability of the above releases to be checked here.)
Gart & Seekatze uses few colours, mainly developing moods and tones from the scant quivering of an isolated element and the contribution of the natural hum of the ambience where the sounds occur, but also by rubbing and scraping percussive sources such as small bells and drum skins (well, maybe – our friend doesn’t like to specify details on the covers). The process is always informed by an essential purity: no hidden intentions, just the determination of measuring a brief segment of life’s momentary breath through the juxtaposition of poverty of means and wealth of inner intuitions. There’s no fancy editing, no post-production or peculiar processing: everything is heard as played in total lo-fi gloriousness. The best use is as a soundtrack for a short-lived solitude: by paying too much attention to it, one might start to count the imperfections, which is not the name of the game. This stuff should help enhancing the grey and the black, not depicting illusory butterflies of idiotically vacuous “knowledge”. It just exists – therefore, accept it as it is.
The Secret Life (Of Shops) contains seven tracks which show the Belgian artist’s vision pretty clearly: no actual “aesthetic”, only the sheer reality of a man and his craft in a definite place. Here like elsewhere, a fundamental tool is the eBow, placed on a string and let alone in complete immobility, a single tone accompanying a series of circumstantial activities that include surrounding echoes from the outside, tampering with various kinds of objects and the presence of an audience, more or less abundant, that at times is brought at the forefront in the mix in all its chit-chat invasiveness. In Tardigrada Van Hee, as per his own admission, pays a homage to “the usual suspects” (Sugimoto and Malfatti) alternating the apathy of gestural stillness to extremely sporadic touches on piano and guitar, thus sending any expectation from the listeners into hibernation as this matter-of-fact approach to expression is contained by a veritably transitory frame (the CD lasts circa 24 minutes). 2006’s Loothok – taped at Brussels’ Le Bunker - belongs to this reviewer’s very favourites: contemplative guitar plucks and repeated metallic tolling dapple an otherwise entrancingly industrialized backdrop of semi-drones and cyclic abrasive emissions, with the addition of acute frequencies akin to shortwave (or are they?); once in a while, the customary eBowed note emerges unaccompanied, symbol of a finally achieved awareness of the futility of further explanations, then the primary vibration affirms its convincing power, delivering us at last from any residual propensity to breakdown. The traffic noise appearing in the final track is somewhat inspirational, and we don’t really know why. A propos of this, the oddity of the lot - namely the double CDR The Secret Life (Of Cars) - is better left explained by the composer himself: “Imagine a car ride then imagine a car ride superimposed on the first then imagine another car ride superimposed on that, then imagine that tenfold. We are modern nomads caught in a hamster wheel”. Indeed – and the swish-and-whoosh sort of reverberation of this collection of layered engines (as perceived from within a truck’s cabin) makes us feel intoxicated by those vehicles’ exhaust, immobilized by a kilometric queue – or, alternatively, experiencing aural hallucinations similar to hearing an FM radio station while trying to find shelter amid a snowstorm. Ply virtually encompasses all the principal traits of this musician’s attitude, captured as it was in a seemingly domestic environment (at one point a rooster, quite amusingly, joins the proceedings from a very close distance). Nude pitches amidst a desolated quietness, minor dynamic changes underlying equal sounds, a general sense of self-discipline that highlights the intimacy of these takes - underscored by a permanent earth loop purr – that sometimes last less than a glimpse.
The ragged flimsiness and the pragmatic concentration of these creations are rare commodities in a world of intellectual posing and ignorant arrogance. Many people preaching about the most concealed aspects of being – which will never, ever be clarified by inconsequential formulas, not even to ourselves – can’t get near the intensity of Gart & Seekatze’s remoteness, as sharp as the sudden realization of the uselessness of comfort. Unintentional teachings that will probably end blown in the hot air generated by the worthless chatter of desperate entities reaching for eternally closed doors, the nowhere-to-be-found way out from a matchless presumptuousness.
(Availability of the above releases to be checked here.)
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Amirani Records
A label from Pavia (Italy) principally, but not exclusively devoted to improvisation in various contexts, Amirani is run by saxophonist Gianni Mimmo. They have released 15 items or so to date: here’s a poker of interesting ones for your ever-hungry auricular membranes.
GIANNI LENOCI / CARLOS ZINGARO / MARCELLO MAGLIOCCHI – Serendipity
Recorded at Chiesa Vallisa during 2007’s Bari Jazz Festival, this trio for piano (regular and prepared), violin and percussion is unquestionably one of the best releases of the label. The natural reverberation of the site influences the overall sound of the album (which is indeed among Amirani’s distinguishing features, not always in a positive sense), in this case not detrimentally for the music which remains exquisite all the way through. Lenoci’s able to maintain a flawless logic of equilibrium between the experimental side and a sort of idealist romanticism, his textural work the link connecting pianistic sturdiness and sheer narrative, Tippett meets Debussy in a sacred environment. Magliocchi maneuvers the percussive arsenal with expertise and restraint without particular inventions, discreetly supportive, ever careful not to enter illegal territories by force. Zingaro’s inventive generousness is a given in itself, yet he constantly adds new surprises with cute twists and asymmetric melodies, interacting with his partners in a state of persistent joie de vivre which counterbalances the general atmosphere of cultivated exploration of an ambience. A pleasurable listen for sure.
REFLEXIBLE – Realgar
ReFLEXible (thus it should be spelled) are Joachim Devillé (trumpet and flugelhorn), Thomas Olbrechts (alto sax) and Stefan Prins (live electronics), Belgium-based artists whose work I meet for the first time. The field of action is freely improvised or instantly composed music, often in collaboration with entities active in other media (dance, performance, video and film). The record is extremely variable in terms of dynamics, ranging from almost soundless segments in which tiny crumbles of hardly audible activity are perceived to abrupt explosions where timbres become literally massacred by the processing operations, stabbing frequencies and coarse noises alternated in a hard-hearted consecutiveness with more biotic-sounding hysterics and mechanical cycles. In truth, this is not an album from which an explosive originality transpires, several of these solutions having already been heard in dozens of releases from labels such as Creative Sources (for a change). The convoluted meanders of some of these elucubrations are nonetheless fascinating, the fastidious attention to the infinitesimal detail palpable, the control on the final result seemingly complete. The actual instrumental voices of Devillé and Olbrechts denote a thorough knowledge of their machines. Basically, a good excursion which only lacks a pinch of impenitence, a dose of humour that would have translated into a much welcome higher degree of unpredictability.
GIANNI MIMMO / ANDREA SERRAPIGLIO / FRANCESCO CUSA – A Watched Pot (Never Boils)
An improbable title for a trio of soprano sax, cello/lo-fi electronics and percussion, especially useful to have a better grasp of the over-average technical ability characteristic of the majority of the artists featured in Amirani’s productions. This record touches on many aspects of non-exactly-radical improvisation, from melodically well-mannered to somberly philosophical, also passing through moments of witty vivaciousness (“Put To Sleep”, with its amusing voices of toy animals); but there’s a noticeable line of inventive consideration linking every gesture of the players, which typifies the album with a coherence not always found in other releases of this imprint’s discography. Mimmo doesn’t like trespassing confines too much, preferring to investigate jargons that sound developed enough yet somewhat proverbial, his timbre a perennial thing of even-too-polished beauty. Serrapiglio’s cello poetry is often the most striking feature of the disc, poignant arco lines perfectly integrated in the general sonority when not plainly indicating the way to pursue. Cusa is a sensitive percussionist who seems unappreciative of jamborees and elephant-amidst-crystal attitudes, appearing instead as a driver of otherwise scattered energies and, on the whole, a dutiful connector.
ESTHER LAMNECK / EUGENIO SANNA – Intentions
Subtitled “An Improvised Cycle”, this CD pairs distinct personalities trying to nurture a common ground for intercommunication, with partially satisfying results. Lamneck (clarinet, tárogató) is the artistic director of the NYU New Music And Dance Ensemble, Sanna (amplified guitar, objects) was among the founders of CRIM (Centro per la Ricerca sull’Improvvisazione Musicale) in Pisa, Italy. The instrumental dialogue is intentionally saw-toothed, often frenetic, with rare moments of reflection soon discarded in favour of a stripped kind of anxiety. Lamneck irradiates feelings of incorrigible discrepancy, frequently inundating the environment via itching outbursts showing a piercing sense of reed-fuelled punctiliousness. Sanna operates the guitar following the path of extended techniques that are by now pretty well known and recognizable, choosing selected spots of the instrument to granulate and deteriorate the conventional aspects of playing. On a side, the conversational character of the music is nearly hilarious, two separated neuroses in confrontational mode; on the other, there’s not a really high degree of advance or novelty in what Intentions presents, the title involuntarily symbolizing what indeed remains more or less unexpressed at the end, despite the presence of attention-grabbing episodes. Still, no tediousness whatsoever, which is a major plus.
GIANNI LENOCI / CARLOS ZINGARO / MARCELLO MAGLIOCCHI – Serendipity
Recorded at Chiesa Vallisa during 2007’s Bari Jazz Festival, this trio for piano (regular and prepared), violin and percussion is unquestionably one of the best releases of the label. The natural reverberation of the site influences the overall sound of the album (which is indeed among Amirani’s distinguishing features, not always in a positive sense), in this case not detrimentally for the music which remains exquisite all the way through. Lenoci’s able to maintain a flawless logic of equilibrium between the experimental side and a sort of idealist romanticism, his textural work the link connecting pianistic sturdiness and sheer narrative, Tippett meets Debussy in a sacred environment. Magliocchi maneuvers the percussive arsenal with expertise and restraint without particular inventions, discreetly supportive, ever careful not to enter illegal territories by force. Zingaro’s inventive generousness is a given in itself, yet he constantly adds new surprises with cute twists and asymmetric melodies, interacting with his partners in a state of persistent joie de vivre which counterbalances the general atmosphere of cultivated exploration of an ambience. A pleasurable listen for sure.
REFLEXIBLE – Realgar
ReFLEXible (thus it should be spelled) are Joachim Devillé (trumpet and flugelhorn), Thomas Olbrechts (alto sax) and Stefan Prins (live electronics), Belgium-based artists whose work I meet for the first time. The field of action is freely improvised or instantly composed music, often in collaboration with entities active in other media (dance, performance, video and film). The record is extremely variable in terms of dynamics, ranging from almost soundless segments in which tiny crumbles of hardly audible activity are perceived to abrupt explosions where timbres become literally massacred by the processing operations, stabbing frequencies and coarse noises alternated in a hard-hearted consecutiveness with more biotic-sounding hysterics and mechanical cycles. In truth, this is not an album from which an explosive originality transpires, several of these solutions having already been heard in dozens of releases from labels such as Creative Sources (for a change). The convoluted meanders of some of these elucubrations are nonetheless fascinating, the fastidious attention to the infinitesimal detail palpable, the control on the final result seemingly complete. The actual instrumental voices of Devillé and Olbrechts denote a thorough knowledge of their machines. Basically, a good excursion which only lacks a pinch of impenitence, a dose of humour that would have translated into a much welcome higher degree of unpredictability.
GIANNI MIMMO / ANDREA SERRAPIGLIO / FRANCESCO CUSA – A Watched Pot (Never Boils)
An improbable title for a trio of soprano sax, cello/lo-fi electronics and percussion, especially useful to have a better grasp of the over-average technical ability characteristic of the majority of the artists featured in Amirani’s productions. This record touches on many aspects of non-exactly-radical improvisation, from melodically well-mannered to somberly philosophical, also passing through moments of witty vivaciousness (“Put To Sleep”, with its amusing voices of toy animals); but there’s a noticeable line of inventive consideration linking every gesture of the players, which typifies the album with a coherence not always found in other releases of this imprint’s discography. Mimmo doesn’t like trespassing confines too much, preferring to investigate jargons that sound developed enough yet somewhat proverbial, his timbre a perennial thing of even-too-polished beauty. Serrapiglio’s cello poetry is often the most striking feature of the disc, poignant arco lines perfectly integrated in the general sonority when not plainly indicating the way to pursue. Cusa is a sensitive percussionist who seems unappreciative of jamborees and elephant-amidst-crystal attitudes, appearing instead as a driver of otherwise scattered energies and, on the whole, a dutiful connector.
ESTHER LAMNECK / EUGENIO SANNA – Intentions
Subtitled “An Improvised Cycle”, this CD pairs distinct personalities trying to nurture a common ground for intercommunication, with partially satisfying results. Lamneck (clarinet, tárogató) is the artistic director of the NYU New Music And Dance Ensemble, Sanna (amplified guitar, objects) was among the founders of CRIM (Centro per la Ricerca sull’Improvvisazione Musicale) in Pisa, Italy. The instrumental dialogue is intentionally saw-toothed, often frenetic, with rare moments of reflection soon discarded in favour of a stripped kind of anxiety. Lamneck irradiates feelings of incorrigible discrepancy, frequently inundating the environment via itching outbursts showing a piercing sense of reed-fuelled punctiliousness. Sanna operates the guitar following the path of extended techniques that are by now pretty well known and recognizable, choosing selected spots of the instrument to granulate and deteriorate the conventional aspects of playing. On a side, the conversational character of the music is nearly hilarious, two separated neuroses in confrontational mode; on the other, there’s not a really high degree of advance or novelty in what Intentions presents, the title involuntarily symbolizing what indeed remains more or less unexpressed at the end, despite the presence of attention-grabbing episodes. Still, no tediousness whatsoever, which is a major plus.
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Naked Guitars
Three recent six string-based releases that sound meaningful in their paucity of means and might well constitute a manifesto against sterile virtuosity. All require silence, concentration and the will of not caring about small errors and imperfections. Better still, they need them to reveal different forms of raw beauty.
FERRAN FAGES – Al Voltant D’Un Paral.lel
On the Canadian label Etude, the third collection of odes to solipsism by the ever-profound man from Barcelona is at the same time intelligible and ominous in an almost scary way. Fages, for starters, is not afraid of being observed: he plays with so-called interior fortitude, not anxious to cover mistakes or technical limitations and – exactly for that – capable of locating sweet spots on the fretboard where adjacent overtones and jangling buzzes generate uneasy resonances that don’t need authorizations to affirm a convention-damaging importance. These figurations aren’t to be found in any book, if you see what I mean, and their significance becomes deeper for that. Furthermore, Fages all but avoids pedestrian progressions and formulas (yes, even improvisers have secret tricks) and lets his fingers dictate the instantaneous path to follow, sometimes failing to discover “beauty” – something that should never be a necessity, especially in music – while finding a better compatibility with the essence of solo guitar playing, which ideally should resemble an intimate prayer. A record that doesn’t cease to transmit a sense of “calm distress”, confirming the artist’s will of non-adapting his personal research to the sugary indulgences of styles or genres.
LOREN CONNORS & JIM O’ROURKE – Two Nice Catholic Boys
This outing contains extract from 1997 live dates, and is published by Family Vineyard. Your reviewer was already a certified O’Rourke fan way before the music world at large even knew of him; much less of Connors (whose art is highly regarded anyway - and there’s an album that I really do love, the fascinating As Roses Bow on this same label). That said, after reading raving write-ups more or less everywhere I set myself to listen to this CD with great anticipations and, let me tell you, a degree of caution (never trust reviews, etc. – except mine of course, heh heh).The work does possess an enthralling crust of grumpiness when the protagonists go full-distortion, caring zilch about intonation, finesse and other amenities. A growling accumulation, quite exciting at consistent volume, that might cause some trouble even with tolerant relatives. Still, when the men switch off those pedals, starting to clean the air a bit with juxtapositions of elegiac arpeggios and delightful single notes that cut like a sharp blade in the few remaining butter portions of our soul, that’s all for the better. The two fundamental facets of these performances are essentially here, without further variations. Noise and poetry indeed - glowing in parts, not that astounding in others. But the release is certainly a legitimate one: an important relic from these musicians’ past, therefore a keeper.
RED FAVORITE – Red Favorite
Originally released in a very limited edition CD on the Spirit Of Orr label, this cycle by Jeremi Pisani aka Red Favorite is now reissued in vinyl by Christoph Heemann’s Streamline. In a couple of minutes you’ll discover that this is one of those items that might leave completely unconcerned, or alternatively stimulate every little bone of an old skeleton to regeneration. Essentially, a John Fahey-influenced kind of dragged-around fingerpicking is the basis of Pisani’s tracks, which often get subsequently manipulated with some sort of studio treatment that ends in making the whole sound cheaper, in all probability a desired effect. The core of these performances is imbued with drugged trance, the blurred, whispered, muttered vocals an accompaniment to the instrumental excursions and not vice versa (hey, shouldn’t acoustic guitar underline “politically weighty” lyrics after all? Well, here you can forget about it). The positive aspect is that this material is not designed to aggravate our mood: it just stays there, like a good dog always follows a drunkard. And, in moments of particular perceptiveness, certain pieces could even reveal a world of visions that may result a little uncooked, yet truer to the ears than a lot of refined imitations. Strange and nice in its own special way.
FERRAN FAGES – Al Voltant D’Un Paral.lel
On the Canadian label Etude, the third collection of odes to solipsism by the ever-profound man from Barcelona is at the same time intelligible and ominous in an almost scary way. Fages, for starters, is not afraid of being observed: he plays with so-called interior fortitude, not anxious to cover mistakes or technical limitations and – exactly for that – capable of locating sweet spots on the fretboard where adjacent overtones and jangling buzzes generate uneasy resonances that don’t need authorizations to affirm a convention-damaging importance. These figurations aren’t to be found in any book, if you see what I mean, and their significance becomes deeper for that. Furthermore, Fages all but avoids pedestrian progressions and formulas (yes, even improvisers have secret tricks) and lets his fingers dictate the instantaneous path to follow, sometimes failing to discover “beauty” – something that should never be a necessity, especially in music – while finding a better compatibility with the essence of solo guitar playing, which ideally should resemble an intimate prayer. A record that doesn’t cease to transmit a sense of “calm distress”, confirming the artist’s will of non-adapting his personal research to the sugary indulgences of styles or genres.
LOREN CONNORS & JIM O’ROURKE – Two Nice Catholic Boys
This outing contains extract from 1997 live dates, and is published by Family Vineyard. Your reviewer was already a certified O’Rourke fan way before the music world at large even knew of him; much less of Connors (whose art is highly regarded anyway - and there’s an album that I really do love, the fascinating As Roses Bow on this same label). That said, after reading raving write-ups more or less everywhere I set myself to listen to this CD with great anticipations and, let me tell you, a degree of caution (never trust reviews, etc. – except mine of course, heh heh).The work does possess an enthralling crust of grumpiness when the protagonists go full-distortion, caring zilch about intonation, finesse and other amenities. A growling accumulation, quite exciting at consistent volume, that might cause some trouble even with tolerant relatives. Still, when the men switch off those pedals, starting to clean the air a bit with juxtapositions of elegiac arpeggios and delightful single notes that cut like a sharp blade in the few remaining butter portions of our soul, that’s all for the better. The two fundamental facets of these performances are essentially here, without further variations. Noise and poetry indeed - glowing in parts, not that astounding in others. But the release is certainly a legitimate one: an important relic from these musicians’ past, therefore a keeper.
RED FAVORITE – Red Favorite
Originally released in a very limited edition CD on the Spirit Of Orr label, this cycle by Jeremi Pisani aka Red Favorite is now reissued in vinyl by Christoph Heemann’s Streamline. In a couple of minutes you’ll discover that this is one of those items that might leave completely unconcerned, or alternatively stimulate every little bone of an old skeleton to regeneration. Essentially, a John Fahey-influenced kind of dragged-around fingerpicking is the basis of Pisani’s tracks, which often get subsequently manipulated with some sort of studio treatment that ends in making the whole sound cheaper, in all probability a desired effect. The core of these performances is imbued with drugged trance, the blurred, whispered, muttered vocals an accompaniment to the instrumental excursions and not vice versa (hey, shouldn’t acoustic guitar underline “politically weighty” lyrics after all? Well, here you can forget about it). The positive aspect is that this material is not designed to aggravate our mood: it just stays there, like a good dog always follows a drunkard. And, in moments of particular perceptiveness, certain pieces could even reveal a world of visions that may result a little uncooked, yet truer to the ears than a lot of refined imitations. Strange and nice in its own special way.
More Pocket-Sized Reviews
./MORFROM/. – Around The Corner
121234
Julien Baillod and Jeroen Visser hail from Switzerland, utilizing guitars, harmonium, organ, electronics and samples to devise a multi-colour poly-shape hotchpotch where every incident, either derived from concrete sources (including ping-pong games, cicadas and barking dogs) or manipulated instruments, is amusingly realized in unpredictable absence of excessively ambassadorial features. The couple’s connivance in trying to surprise the listener is nicely endearing, the precision of their pre-planning manifest. Nothing avoidable was heard, the consecutiveness of ironic outbursts, momentous droning and intelligent noise working remarkably well throughout. A contradictory specimen of music that manages to sound welcome to anyone interested in cheap novelty implying brilliant results. Without appearing overexcited or nerdy, ./Morfrom/. have generated a work of unapologetic smartness which should not remain disregarded.
KTL – IV
Editions Mego
Stephen O’Malley and Peter Rehberg show no mercy. The first release not to represent a commission for theatre or film, IV finds the couple in devastating shape under the sapient production of Jim O’Rourke. Percussionist Atsuo appears on drums and gong in two tracks (the final “Natural Trouble” a wonderfully threatening masterpiece of sinister reverberations), thus enhancing the massive wall of roaring resonance produced through guitar, computer and synthesizer. There has been an abundant flourishing of projects based on oh-so-tremendously-hot-blooded saturation in recent years (typically hiding beasts who can’t even tune their axe) but KTL seem to belong among the rare ones who really know what they’re doing. The logic of pulsating thumping - a constant presence in their work - symbolizes a vital essence amidst the catharses of feedback and distortion, the sturdy rhythmic structures may even appear grotesque at first yet become indispensable after just a few minutes. Stridency and valour, exacerbation and indestructibility. Fighting stances revealing a generous heart, music which charges positively while altering the landscape of previously uninhabitable lands for good. Should you have any residual doubt, play loud.
121234
Julien Baillod and Jeroen Visser hail from Switzerland, utilizing guitars, harmonium, organ, electronics and samples to devise a multi-colour poly-shape hotchpotch where every incident, either derived from concrete sources (including ping-pong games, cicadas and barking dogs) or manipulated instruments, is amusingly realized in unpredictable absence of excessively ambassadorial features. The couple’s connivance in trying to surprise the listener is nicely endearing, the precision of their pre-planning manifest. Nothing avoidable was heard, the consecutiveness of ironic outbursts, momentous droning and intelligent noise working remarkably well throughout. A contradictory specimen of music that manages to sound welcome to anyone interested in cheap novelty implying brilliant results. Without appearing overexcited or nerdy, ./Morfrom/. have generated a work of unapologetic smartness which should not remain disregarded.
KTL – IV
Editions Mego
Stephen O’Malley and Peter Rehberg show no mercy. The first release not to represent a commission for theatre or film, IV finds the couple in devastating shape under the sapient production of Jim O’Rourke. Percussionist Atsuo appears on drums and gong in two tracks (the final “Natural Trouble” a wonderfully threatening masterpiece of sinister reverberations), thus enhancing the massive wall of roaring resonance produced through guitar, computer and synthesizer. There has been an abundant flourishing of projects based on oh-so-tremendously-hot-blooded saturation in recent years (typically hiding beasts who can’t even tune their axe) but KTL seem to belong among the rare ones who really know what they’re doing. The logic of pulsating thumping - a constant presence in their work - symbolizes a vital essence amidst the catharses of feedback and distortion, the sturdy rhythmic structures may even appear grotesque at first yet become indispensable after just a few minutes. Stridency and valour, exacerbation and indestructibility. Fighting stances revealing a generous heart, music which charges positively while altering the landscape of previously uninhabitable lands for good. Should you have any residual doubt, play loud.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Memories Of Mr.23 (The Alfred Harth Chronicles)
E.M.T.
This instalment of the “Memories” is particularly important, despite the fact that E.M.T. belong to a very early period of Alfred Harth’s artistic life and, as such, reveal a lot of the initial “work-in-progress” phase of a career which touched on a multitude of different aspects. This notion is strictly linked to the other fundamental root of another cooperative improvising medium founded by the same person - Just Music, to which we will return in an upcoming chapter.
The origin of the E.M.T. collective dates from 1972, year in which AH decided to use three letters to designate a project destined, in his vision, to remain unlinked from any idea relative to a repertoire or a style, and whose meaning was left open to interpretation. The saxophonist recalls that, asked about the name, the favourite translations were “Energy/Movement/Totale”, “Extreme Music Troop” and “European Music Tradition”, the latter a bizarre choice since this stuff has very little “traditional” accents, unless you want to consider free jazz as folklore. It is interesting to note that the Frankfurter was completely unaware of AMM and SME in that period, therefore copycat-ism is out of the question: what was coming from these people was entirely original, like it or not.
The basic nucleus of E.M.T. consisted of Harth on reeds and assorted sonic tools, his then spouse Nicole Van Den Plas on piano and electric organ, brother Jean Van Den Plas on cello and bass and the percussionist who, in AH’s words, plays like “rolling ocean waves”, Sven-Åke Johansson (who, in turn, called it “dynamic vibrations”). Additional contributors (on the recorded material checked for this article) included Helmuth Neumann and Michael Sell, both on trumpet and Liliane Vertessen on trombone.
Harth had begun a steady live activity with Van Den Plas in Belgium a couple of years prior, playing with Peter Kowald and Paul Lovens among others. Johansson, who had performed first with him in 1968, joined them for a trio immortalized in the only official release, 1974’s Canadian Cup Of Coffee on SAJ. The three were intrigued by visual arts, and the drummer also recognized the influence of Arnold Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire (although his version of Sprechstimme is more similar to a drunk man mumbling amid trash cans in an alley…). The tracks’ names were so-called “fanciful inventions” by our main character, who wanted to mix exotic hints, European classicism and German Dada in the same cauldron.
The above mentioned record is probably the most restrained (!) example of what E.M.T. were able to do, as the sense of humour characterizing several of its sections is pronounced and typically vivid. Still, when one lends ears to the recordings dating from 1973 - gathered in two CDRs respectively named Haus Dornbusch / Heidnische Klänge / Heilbronn and Hamburg Fabrik - acknowledging the expressive urgency and lawless vehemence of the ensemble comes rather natural. E.M.T. treated the need of telling the truth against refined insignificance like an affair of honour, pushing their instruments to the limit almost everywhere yet managing to find some available space for duets or, if so preferred, parallel solos that demonstrate pragmatism and perseverance even in absence of aesthetical beauty. Face it: these incensed collections run well over 70 minutes, and attempting a moment-by-moment description would be pathetic. This is about the portrayal of a spirit, not visualizing instrumental colours. Of course, Van Den Plas is as far from grandiloquent as possible, her role apparently tailored to connect the extrovert passions of Harth and Johansson, the whole often turning into veritable frenzies informed by forward-looking wholeheartedness. But all the participants, in every circumstance, seem to listen to no reason, merely worried with keeping the embitterment against the potential enemy active. Let’s not forget the politically charged era in which this was happening: accepting those seemingly incessant blowouts will then be painless - maybe. Let me stress it: a relaxing experience this ain’t, finding correlations also easier said than done. E.M.T. obeyed to a hard-nosed conviction of creative paganism, and there was no time for rethinking. If you still want to do business with this concept three decades and a half later prepare to shed your ear fluff, as this music refuses the definition of “embellishment”.
Considering that the travelling for that era’s tours was made, according to the reports, utilizing vehicles in the category of Renault 4, Citroen 2CV and Volkswagen Beetle, one justifies the musicians’ urge of stretching someone else’s nerves once they went on stage after those uneasy trips.
This instalment of the “Memories” is particularly important, despite the fact that E.M.T. belong to a very early period of Alfred Harth’s artistic life and, as such, reveal a lot of the initial “work-in-progress” phase of a career which touched on a multitude of different aspects. This notion is strictly linked to the other fundamental root of another cooperative improvising medium founded by the same person - Just Music, to which we will return in an upcoming chapter.
The origin of the E.M.T. collective dates from 1972, year in which AH decided to use three letters to designate a project destined, in his vision, to remain unlinked from any idea relative to a repertoire or a style, and whose meaning was left open to interpretation. The saxophonist recalls that, asked about the name, the favourite translations were “Energy/Movement/Totale”, “Extreme Music Troop” and “European Music Tradition”, the latter a bizarre choice since this stuff has very little “traditional” accents, unless you want to consider free jazz as folklore. It is interesting to note that the Frankfurter was completely unaware of AMM and SME in that period, therefore copycat-ism is out of the question: what was coming from these people was entirely original, like it or not.
The basic nucleus of E.M.T. consisted of Harth on reeds and assorted sonic tools, his then spouse Nicole Van Den Plas on piano and electric organ, brother Jean Van Den Plas on cello and bass and the percussionist who, in AH’s words, plays like “rolling ocean waves”, Sven-Åke Johansson (who, in turn, called it “dynamic vibrations”). Additional contributors (on the recorded material checked for this article) included Helmuth Neumann and Michael Sell, both on trumpet and Liliane Vertessen on trombone.
Harth had begun a steady live activity with Van Den Plas in Belgium a couple of years prior, playing with Peter Kowald and Paul Lovens among others. Johansson, who had performed first with him in 1968, joined them for a trio immortalized in the only official release, 1974’s Canadian Cup Of Coffee on SAJ. The three were intrigued by visual arts, and the drummer also recognized the influence of Arnold Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire (although his version of Sprechstimme is more similar to a drunk man mumbling amid trash cans in an alley…). The tracks’ names were so-called “fanciful inventions” by our main character, who wanted to mix exotic hints, European classicism and German Dada in the same cauldron.
The above mentioned record is probably the most restrained (!) example of what E.M.T. were able to do, as the sense of humour characterizing several of its sections is pronounced and typically vivid. Still, when one lends ears to the recordings dating from 1973 - gathered in two CDRs respectively named Haus Dornbusch / Heidnische Klänge / Heilbronn and Hamburg Fabrik - acknowledging the expressive urgency and lawless vehemence of the ensemble comes rather natural. E.M.T. treated the need of telling the truth against refined insignificance like an affair of honour, pushing their instruments to the limit almost everywhere yet managing to find some available space for duets or, if so preferred, parallel solos that demonstrate pragmatism and perseverance even in absence of aesthetical beauty. Face it: these incensed collections run well over 70 minutes, and attempting a moment-by-moment description would be pathetic. This is about the portrayal of a spirit, not visualizing instrumental colours. Of course, Van Den Plas is as far from grandiloquent as possible, her role apparently tailored to connect the extrovert passions of Harth and Johansson, the whole often turning into veritable frenzies informed by forward-looking wholeheartedness. But all the participants, in every circumstance, seem to listen to no reason, merely worried with keeping the embitterment against the potential enemy active. Let’s not forget the politically charged era in which this was happening: accepting those seemingly incessant blowouts will then be painless - maybe. Let me stress it: a relaxing experience this ain’t, finding correlations also easier said than done. E.M.T. obeyed to a hard-nosed conviction of creative paganism, and there was no time for rethinking. If you still want to do business with this concept three decades and a half later prepare to shed your ear fluff, as this music refuses the definition of “embellishment”.
Considering that the travelling for that era’s tours was made, according to the reports, utilizing vehicles in the category of Renault 4, Citroen 2CV and Volkswagen Beetle, one justifies the musicians’ urge of stretching someone else’s nerves once they went on stage after those uneasy trips.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Zeitkratzer’s High-Five
Typically, we refer to a “national treasure” when talking about someone or something particularly important in a country’s specific field of art, literature or science. In that sense, Zeitkratzer are an “international treasure”. Reinhold Friedl’s small squadron has no fear of tackling challenges: superb technique, fresher-than-average approaches to the materials, hard-to-believe open-mindedness; this is exactly what the world needs to keep the flame of modern music’s lamp flickering. This quintet of CDs, released over the course of the last months and analyzed in strict order of personal enjoyment, lower to higher, is as a good starting point as any to dip your toe in the polyhedral abilities of the group.
REINHOLD FRIEDL – Schönberg Pierrot Lunaire Cheap Imitation
The title says it all: this is a sort of parody of Arnold Schönberg renowned piece recorded in 2005 at Wien’s Konzerthaus, with a male soprano (Markus Weiser) and Franz Hautzinger’s conduction. A limit in this case is the listener’s non-knowledge of the German idiom, which forced yours truly to consider the voice as another instrument, without an actual comprehension of what’s being told. To these ears it comes off as a theatrical materialization of the composer’s wet dreams, full of sardonic accents and swift dynamic changes, masterfully rendered if too short (15 minutes) to be considered a veritable must. But the instrumental voluptuousness – splendidly captured by the high recording quality - is something to seriously contemplate. Schönberg himself would have been proud.
ZEITKRATZER / KEIJI HAINO – Electronics
Live recordings from 2005 and 2006 in Berlin and Krems respectively. Let me immediately clarify that I do NOT belong in the numerous groups of Haino adorers scattered everywhere, having always been in opposition to anything or anyone getting hyped for consecutive months, if not years, on erstwhile adventurous new music magazines. That said, the Japanese’s howling voice works very well with Zeitkratzer, who tend to seam a persuasive electroacoustic tissue around the man in black while still allowing him to dictate the overall mood, thus creating a series of haunting impressions that got me a little edgy in the initial “Aria I” only to elevate the whole towards the realms of devastating devotion in “Aria II” and, especially, “Sinfonia”: 24-plus minutes in which even the most pokerfaced listener can’t help being ruthlessly caught up by the turmoil. The music is at times extraordinary: no frippery, no lustrous ornaments, just semi-paralyzing, war-worn scenarios where ghosts and cadavers launch sour invectives against the gods who abandoned them. My “no” to Haino-related zealotry is confirmed but respect, yes – he deserves it.
ZEITKRATZER – Volksmusik
Genuinely dramatic and thoroughly involving, this CD was recorded in Krems in 2007. A lot of the merit for the music’s folk-tinged impulsiveness – mostly deriving from East European meters and melodic materials retransformed by the ensemble’s virtuosity – goes to percussionist Maurice De Martin, who lived for many years in Romania and Bulgaria to study those countries’ music and is also the vocal protagonist of several of the tracks. Slanted waltzes, drunk contrapuntal conundrums interspersed with illogical polyphonic yodeling, enthusiastically over-the-top sections in which the group seems to ignore the meaning of the verb “to stop”, until the overstated rapidity brings everything to a level of vibrancy rarely heard in performances dealing with popular traditional matters. Here more than everywhere else Zeitkratzer exhibit an abnormal combination of esoteric recklessness and conscious dilapidation which supplements their playing with a degree of shamanistic exhilaration. The audience’s reaction is equally enthusiastic, deservedly so.
ZEITKRATZER / TERRE THAEMLITZ – Electronics
This writer is an out-and-out brute as far as Terre Thaemlitz is concerned, not owning a single disc by him/her (time to update the archive). But the few things heard occasionally met my total approval while making waves in the psychophysical coordination, enough to let me fearlessly declare that the transgendered artist is a heck of an intelligent composer. One of these episodes is here delivered with trained accuracy and imperial pace by Friedl’s men: I’m hinting to “Superbonus”, an almost intimidating enforcement of basic rhythm and ever-morphing acoustic shapes, whose cyclical incidence becomes second nature as the piece flows. Thaemlitz’s political stance is also well represented by “Down Home Kami-Sakunobe” and “Hobo Train”, both the lyrics and the sounds a stunning slap in the face of time-honoured etiquette. In essence, this is a great record: as stated by the press blurb, “the most pop-oriented music Zeitkratzer has ever released”. Only, I didn’t find a trace of pop in there. Just purely excellent, unlabelled music played with zeal and – especially - esteem for its creator.
ZEITKRATZER / CARSTEN NICOLAI – Electronics
The most minimal side of Zeitkratzer, explicated through three restrained yet momentous tracks exploring the proportions between scarcity of instruments and authoritative outcome – or, if you will, static impact as opposed to the vacuum of unnecessary movement. Nicolai appears in the initial “Synchron Bitwave”, adding a touch of electronic grime that causes the soundscape to become somewhat unclean. “C1” is an unintentional (?) homage to Phill Niblock, 27 minutes of almost total stillness on a single tonal centre, the only difference a degree of bottomless pulse heard at the beginning of the final section, until Friedl’s elusive piano chords conclude the whole unaccompanied. “5 min” is a concurrence of clarinet and sinewaves that puts the cranium in a beehive of low-frequency hums. Painstaking execution of a brand of music that might estrange at first, but results instead as humanly hurting as a recollection of childhood entrancement. Splendid stuff: start from this if just one has to be selected – yet I’m afraid that you’ll need at least three.
Finally, a mention must be made of all the wonderful instrumentalists who turn concepts into notes, often spectacularly. They are Burkhard Schlothauer, Anton Lukoszevieze, Ulrich Philipp, Marcus Weiser, Maurice De Martin, Hayden Chisholm, Franz Hautzinger, Ralf Meinz, Frank Gratkowski, Melvyn Poore, and of course Herr Friedl.
REINHOLD FRIEDL – Schönberg Pierrot Lunaire Cheap Imitation
The title says it all: this is a sort of parody of Arnold Schönberg renowned piece recorded in 2005 at Wien’s Konzerthaus, with a male soprano (Markus Weiser) and Franz Hautzinger’s conduction. A limit in this case is the listener’s non-knowledge of the German idiom, which forced yours truly to consider the voice as another instrument, without an actual comprehension of what’s being told. To these ears it comes off as a theatrical materialization of the composer’s wet dreams, full of sardonic accents and swift dynamic changes, masterfully rendered if too short (15 minutes) to be considered a veritable must. But the instrumental voluptuousness – splendidly captured by the high recording quality - is something to seriously contemplate. Schönberg himself would have been proud.
ZEITKRATZER / KEIJI HAINO – Electronics
Live recordings from 2005 and 2006 in Berlin and Krems respectively. Let me immediately clarify that I do NOT belong in the numerous groups of Haino adorers scattered everywhere, having always been in opposition to anything or anyone getting hyped for consecutive months, if not years, on erstwhile adventurous new music magazines. That said, the Japanese’s howling voice works very well with Zeitkratzer, who tend to seam a persuasive electroacoustic tissue around the man in black while still allowing him to dictate the overall mood, thus creating a series of haunting impressions that got me a little edgy in the initial “Aria I” only to elevate the whole towards the realms of devastating devotion in “Aria II” and, especially, “Sinfonia”: 24-plus minutes in which even the most pokerfaced listener can’t help being ruthlessly caught up by the turmoil. The music is at times extraordinary: no frippery, no lustrous ornaments, just semi-paralyzing, war-worn scenarios where ghosts and cadavers launch sour invectives against the gods who abandoned them. My “no” to Haino-related zealotry is confirmed but respect, yes – he deserves it.
ZEITKRATZER – Volksmusik
Genuinely dramatic and thoroughly involving, this CD was recorded in Krems in 2007. A lot of the merit for the music’s folk-tinged impulsiveness – mostly deriving from East European meters and melodic materials retransformed by the ensemble’s virtuosity – goes to percussionist Maurice De Martin, who lived for many years in Romania and Bulgaria to study those countries’ music and is also the vocal protagonist of several of the tracks. Slanted waltzes, drunk contrapuntal conundrums interspersed with illogical polyphonic yodeling, enthusiastically over-the-top sections in which the group seems to ignore the meaning of the verb “to stop”, until the overstated rapidity brings everything to a level of vibrancy rarely heard in performances dealing with popular traditional matters. Here more than everywhere else Zeitkratzer exhibit an abnormal combination of esoteric recklessness and conscious dilapidation which supplements their playing with a degree of shamanistic exhilaration. The audience’s reaction is equally enthusiastic, deservedly so.
ZEITKRATZER / TERRE THAEMLITZ – Electronics
This writer is an out-and-out brute as far as Terre Thaemlitz is concerned, not owning a single disc by him/her (time to update the archive). But the few things heard occasionally met my total approval while making waves in the psychophysical coordination, enough to let me fearlessly declare that the transgendered artist is a heck of an intelligent composer. One of these episodes is here delivered with trained accuracy and imperial pace by Friedl’s men: I’m hinting to “Superbonus”, an almost intimidating enforcement of basic rhythm and ever-morphing acoustic shapes, whose cyclical incidence becomes second nature as the piece flows. Thaemlitz’s political stance is also well represented by “Down Home Kami-Sakunobe” and “Hobo Train”, both the lyrics and the sounds a stunning slap in the face of time-honoured etiquette. In essence, this is a great record: as stated by the press blurb, “the most pop-oriented music Zeitkratzer has ever released”. Only, I didn’t find a trace of pop in there. Just purely excellent, unlabelled music played with zeal and – especially - esteem for its creator.
ZEITKRATZER / CARSTEN NICOLAI – Electronics
The most minimal side of Zeitkratzer, explicated through three restrained yet momentous tracks exploring the proportions between scarcity of instruments and authoritative outcome – or, if you will, static impact as opposed to the vacuum of unnecessary movement. Nicolai appears in the initial “Synchron Bitwave”, adding a touch of electronic grime that causes the soundscape to become somewhat unclean. “C1” is an unintentional (?) homage to Phill Niblock, 27 minutes of almost total stillness on a single tonal centre, the only difference a degree of bottomless pulse heard at the beginning of the final section, until Friedl’s elusive piano chords conclude the whole unaccompanied. “5 min” is a concurrence of clarinet and sinewaves that puts the cranium in a beehive of low-frequency hums. Painstaking execution of a brand of music that might estrange at first, but results instead as humanly hurting as a recollection of childhood entrancement. Splendid stuff: start from this if just one has to be selected – yet I’m afraid that you’ll need at least three.
Finally, a mention must be made of all the wonderful instrumentalists who turn concepts into notes, often spectacularly. They are Burkhard Schlothauer, Anton Lukoszevieze, Ulrich Philipp, Marcus Weiser, Maurice De Martin, Hayden Chisholm, Franz Hautzinger, Ralf Meinz, Frank Gratkowski, Melvyn Poore, and of course Herr Friedl.
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