Did I promise “no more roundups” a few weeks ago? Never mind. As boxing promoter Bob Arum once said, “yesterday I was lying, today I’m telling the truth”. Here’s a partial catchup with this label’s output (I’d like to do the same with several others that keep sending packets with ten CDs inside every two months or so... I’ll be back soon, Pedro Costa, Ernesto Rodrigues and Leo Feigin…).
TALIBAM! – Boogie In The Breeze Blocks
Matthew Mottel, Kevin Shea and their unwise friends (which include, among a horde of others, Moppa Elliott, Peter Evans, Chris Forsyth and Jon Irabagon) provide us with a new dispatch, jam-packed with enlivening playing, passionately deviant singing and lots (too many, I believe) of spoken interludes, the sum total making this album comparable to a unhinged TV movie characterized with incessant (and often superfluous) changes of scene. The problem is that, after only a couple of listens, everything sounds pervaded by a sense of “predictable craziness”. Right - the music is indeed humorously sarcastic, performed with the same convulsive impulses of someone who’s being subjected to electroshock. Yet there’s almost nothing that people like Captain Beefheart, The Mothers Of Invention or even The Tubes (outrageously underappreciated, if you ask me) didn’t explore - decades ago. Heavy riffs, peculiar phone calls, socio/sexual hints, fake Latin rhythms, ways of using the voice. It is still entertaining stuff, but sometimes it takes more than just fun and instrumental paroxysm to satisfy a demanding listener and this time – rave reviews notwithstanding, with several Italian “critics” literally smearing honey on the guys – your croaking toad in the hole is not so flabbergasted. Two things remain in mind: a track title – “Jim O’ Rourke” – and the lovely female vocal harmonization (amidst twittering birds) one minute into “Nike Rim Johb”. The rest has already been filed in the “Yeah, OK – what’s next?” archive.
GATO BARBIERI – In Search Of The Mystery
Am I being irreligious if this tremendous album gets somehow compared to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme by my perfidious mind? Wait before sending me packing off: I’m talking about commitment here. Of course there’s not an actual sonic correspondence between the records, yet the prayers and subsequent swearing flames that Gato Barbieri throws in the direction of who-knows-what gods are gifted with righteousness and mysterious transcendental force matching that milestone’s might. In Search Of The Mystery – recorded in 1967 and featuring the leader on tenor saxophone aided by Calo Scott (cello), Sirone (bass) and Bobby Kapp (drums) – deserves to be considered a classic, no ifs and buts. The music is permeated with explicitness and determination, though chock full of virtuosity, and the contribution that each musician brings is invaluable. Barbieri oscillates from strenuous questioning to unadulterated ferocity, often blowing his lungs out to fight homogeny. A tone that expresses both the maladjustment to the idea of an appalling reality and the inner confidence in better times to come. Sirone and Scott share an interest for unadorned purposefulness, pushing themselves into regions that, most probably, their instruments’ inventors had by no means envisioned. The fomentation of an incandescent autonomy is equivalent to the desire of endangering musical staleness, and indeed not a moment is found in which the couple plays less than heartily, but never losing focus on the reciprocal connection. Kapp is as confident and responsive as a rhythmic propeller can be, highlighting the comrades’ pursuit of superior principles and, at the same time, symbolizing – even in a solo spot on “Obsession No.2” - a self-government that appears irremediably lost in today’s corporate jazz. Sum all these factors and what you have is a landmark recording, a genuine must.
SUN RA – Featuring Pharoah Sanders & Black Harold
More appealing for its documentary value than for the actual level of the performance, this record comprises a set recorded at 1964’s Four Days In December festival at New York’s Judson Hall, and includes previously unreleased material that, at 45 minutes total, constitutes the bulk of the program. The oddity, if we can say so, lies in the presence of Sanders in lieu of John Gilmore; the eruptive traits of the saxophonist’s edgy technical dexterity are evident throughout and better audible in the mix, as opposed to certain instrumental components whose details are often lost in untidy heaps. Black Harold (Murray), Al Evans, Marshall Allen, Teddy Nance, Pat Patrick, Alan Silva, Ronnie Boykins, Cliff Jarvis, Jimmhi Johnson and Art Jenkins constitute the rest of the band. The spurts of activity characterizing the performance’s most interesting sections give an idea of creative discontinuity, our attention captured by a few extemporaneous curiosities (such as Murray’s rampant flute soloing in “The Voice Of Pan”) or completely deflated by an unbearable 15-minute drum solo (“The Other World”). When Ra enters the scene with typically raw-boned clusters and skewed repetitions (“The World Shadow”), the aerials instantly go up as genius is genius, no matter the context. The set’s highest moment in that sense is represented by “The Now Tomorrow”, which begins with a superb pianistic progression then leaves room to implausible colloquies between arco bass and reeds, the interconnection of the single parts generating a complex dissonant tapestry - a veritable joy for the ears - until the leader goes for the jugular in a fittingly convulsive monologue. This track alone makes owning the entire disc worthwhile, although there are surely finer recordings to start from if one wants to dip a toe in Ra’s characteristically perplexing music.
REVOLUTIONARY ENSEMBLE – Vietnam
I would have loved to write sensible words to depict the strength of this material, performed by Jerome Cooper (percussion), Sirone (bass) and Leroy Jenkins (violin). But I can’t overcome the disappointment deriving from the fact that the CD has been made by copying a vinyl album plagued by a serious case of off-centre spinning, which ultimately renders the experience – in particular during the program’s second half – nearly ridiculous, a study in the slow oscillation of pitches and Doppler-affected drums rather than an earnest assertion of free expression. Weren’t there other available copies of the LP, or alternative methods to perform a more accurate job? Is it possible that nobody at ESP realized about the absurdity of this situation before releasing the item? Are people (listeners and, especially, reviewers) really paying attention to the stuff they receive? Musically speaking, the enlightened eloquence that one intuits beyond the annoyance is actually present, the interplay’s concentration of energy, virtuosity and acoustic mordancy almost corporeal. This is surely great - but only if listened in the original conception, not warped by deformed plastic substances. I’m hoping for an immediate re-reissue, possibly from a consistent source. If that’s not obtainable, the music is better left in the memory instead of diminishing its momentum because of technical failures.
ERICA POMERANCE – You Used To Think
Picture a stoned Joanna Newsom and you’ll get a vague idea of Erica Pomerance’s curious vocal timbre. This collection of songs – make that “cost-effective fluxes of consciousness” – was recorded in 1968 and, despite my craving of stupid things like, say, the accurate tuning of an instrument (something that’s desperately missing in the large part of these tracks), there are episodes in You Used To Think that I managed to actually appreciate in their legitimate will to communicate feelings that, one supposes, were coming from the inside of a woman who looked attentively to certain social and political instances of the era she was living in. Having this writer been completely unaware, until now, of Pomerance’s art (in pills: a Canadian film maker, poet and songwriter), mine was a weird meeting with a group of acoustic guitar strummers (aided, in different combinations, by piano, bass, percussion, sax, sitar and flutes) accompanying someone whose main method of expression stands halfway through a series of ranting visions and the urge of telling people about personal ideals, mainly articulated via drug-enhanced daydreaming. The general sense of scarce intonation seriously hinders the enjoyment of an otherwise strangely captivating record. Forgive me, I’m just a judiciously compulsive perfectionist who doesn’t indulge in smoking pot.
CHARLES TYLER ENSEMBLE – Charles Tyler Ensemble
Now that’s what I call a crucial jazz album. Succinctly jagged, violent to a precise extent, dissonantly tender sometimes, intricate but exceptionally logical in all of its components. In a word, energizing. I was even more attracted by Tyler’s shadowy portrait on the cover photo, which instantly gives the sense of finding ourselves in front of true earnestness. The leader – typically a baritone user during his time with Albert Ayler – is here featured exclusively on alto; there is no prolixity in the incessant chase of metaphysical designs, just the measureless strength that characterizes every man who owns the rare gift of having something concrete to say, and the technical and spiritual qualities to do this without sounding ridiculous. The only comparison that this ignorant chronicler managed to locate in the memory is Peter Brötzmann, and we’re again referring to guts rather than tone. Joel Friedman’s cello is a magnificent answer to the many questions that the music poses, immune as it is to sickly syrupiness and ready to flummox the listener through a matchless wildcat clairvoyance at the due moment. Henry Grimes’ bass rumbles massively in the lower regions, Ronald Jackson seems to refer to fractals to unbutton unmannerly patterns and whipping rolls, furnishing the interplay with exciting fervour. Charles Moffett’s vibes (in truth, emerging like a toy xylophone in the mix) are maybe the weakest component in the overall palette, yet their twinkling presence in this heavyweight line-up appears coherent once you get used to that brittle nuance. After four listens in 12 hours, and a practical impossibility of memorizing anything bar the soul, one seriously thinks “clandestine masterwork”.
JOE MORRIS – Colorfield
A three-way superimposition of sturdy personalities, giving life to fifty minutes of sharply developed composite interplay which Morris accurately calls Free Music (not jazz), describing the procedure as “playing melodies along with the other players pure and simple”. The eminence of Colorfield – the title inspired by the namesake school of painting – lies in the absolute clearness of the single parts; we can enjoy the record as a whole canvas of vibrant concurrences, or just follow the distinct instrumental voices as they make consistently stimulating statements public. The lone “harmonic medium” in this bassless trio is pianist Steve Lantner, whose superlative combination of nervy articulation and unperturbed discretion lets the music shape itself around lots of diverse meanings, inexorably anchored to significant rationality. Luther Gray is an extremely sagacious percussionist, one of those characters for which the drum set is not a mere pretext for banging and splashing but a proper collection of nuances in which pizzazz, caressing accompaniment and virtuoso projections of the inner ear are analogously essential in defining a shared vision. Morris’ clean-toned complex knots and (sporadically) simpler phrases glisten throughout, symbols of a lucidity that allows the man to avoid scalar blatancy and pedestrian licks, looking for the dissonant-yet-transparent enunciation of a new terminology for an instrument that, in different hands, all too often becomes a vehicle for miserable triviality. There are no “right” or “wrong” notes in his style, only the continuous seeking of methods for becoming impervious to routine.
TIMOTHY LEARY – Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out
Here’s your correspondent, geared up to launch another invective on the utter disliking of drugs and lack of any trust whatsoever in users. Yeah, right: Timothy Leary and the “beneficial” achievements deriving from the consumption of psychotropic substances: burnt brain cells, shattered memory, musicians losing the sense of rhythm. And this is only the “nice” side of a shady issue. You should know how it goes, despite what official history says about certain “heroes” of the 60s. A walk through selected urban surroundings is all it takes to understand the level people crumble down to following that kind of “seeking”. So I put the CD in my Discman and started taking note. That calm, quiet, monotone pitch dragging around rationalizations of many fascinating phenomena besides the effects of acid, which initially captured my attention (seriously). After a while, the effect was exactly the same of a tranquilizing pill. I was gradually brought to a sort of conscious sleep, and felt comfortable. The words didn’t matter anymore: alone with Leary’s sluggish delivery, one feels like enjoying a sample of early minimalism. Alvin Lucier’s I’m Sitting In A Room is not that distant from the acoustic exterior of this somewhat hypnotic dissertation. That’s a secret for not getting bored with spoken word: forget what’s said – listen to the sound. In this particular case it works excellently, probably because the consequences of 311 trips (a figure given by the doctor himself during the “lecture”) had already done a tabula rasa of any residue of dynamic energy in his accent. As far as alteration and/or expansion of consciousness are concerned, much better results are achieved by subjecting oneself to Phill Niblock or Roland Kayn’s music rather than snorting or swallowing shit. Then again, everybody can get their mind wasted as they wish, as long as a safe distance is kept from this non-expanded writer, thoroughly allergic to drug-fuelled deviousness.
Wednesday, 28 April 2010
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Late April Medley
ISOTOPE – Golden Section
Posthumous release of live and studio tapes from 1974-75, recorded by a line-up thus composed: Gary Boyle (guitar), Hugh Hopper (bass), Nigel Morris (drums) and Laurence Scott (keyboards) with percussionist Aureo de Souza joining the party in two tracks. Golden Section is a good, unyielding album of British fusion, largely influenced by entities such as Mahavishnu Orchestra and Weather Report. Also, rather intriguingly, this embodiment of the band seems to foresee realities which will be explored shortly thereafter by Tony Williams’ New Lifetime. Boyle’s digital pyrotechnics still sound attractive after all these years, Hopper is solid and funky, Morris works fine as an impulsive rhythmic propeller and Scott coordinates the whole with harmonic taste to spare. The bulk of the pieces appears structurally related, but the eminence and the technical level of the players - and the feeling born from those traits - stick the music with a brand that’s typically Cuneiform. Picture a mental place where, as soon as a track begins and themes and improvisations flow, one smells the dust on a gatefold cover, mourning the loss of that adolescent curiosity whose fruits were tasted during locked-room meetings with a different kind of awareness. Holding back emotions becomes an arduous task, then. This was a heavily touring unit (as shown by the extreme facility with which the players engage in the tunes) whose short extent was enormously disproportioned in regard to a prospective success. Looks like even a young Michael Jackson was once spotted with an Isotope LP in his hands: believe it or not, there was a time in which Motown used to distribute their albums. (Cuneiform)
SCOTT FIELDS ENSEMBLE – Fugu
These pieces were initially created with the intention of providing substance for a choreography by Li Chiao-Ping, whose dancers apparently couldn’t manage to follow the material’s erratic metres well enough to actually bring the proposed collaboration to a completion. Providentially the sounds remain, and they’re refined as much as necessary to stand alone for regular CD-fuelled consumption. The leader shows a superb command of nylon strings alternating disobedient clusters, asymmetrical rasgueados, swinging impertinence and poetic linearity depending on the circumstance. The lyrical counter altar is represented by cellist Matt Turner, who often steals the spotlight with the daydreaming rigour of his beautiful tone, finely complemented by vibraphonist Robert Stright’s shimmering unselfishness. An outstanding rhythm section – Geoff Brady on percussion, John Padden on double bass – provides a pulse that is full of zip but never petulant, contributing to the dismemberment of potential lassitude - a constant peril both in jazz and any kind of music conceived for dance. Fields confirms himself to be a name to keep an eye on all the time, especially when analyzing the way in which he frequently relinquishes a role of guitar-wielding protagonist while privileging a considerable transparency in the overall design, in turn cleverly enriched by a magnificent stability in the composed/improvised ratio. (Clean Feed)
GLASGOW IMPROVISERS ORCHESTRA – GIO Poetics
Difficult CD to appraise, this one. I’ve been listening to it on and off for months, without deciding about what the real feedback was. The conclusion is “positive”, overall - but in spurts, not in its entirety. GIO was in this occasion joined by Ernesto and Guilherme Rodrigues, who were travelling in Scotland for a live performance with vocalist Aileen Campbell and guitarist Neil Davidson. The recording was arranged 24 hours after that set, the outcome showing all the positives and the negatives of such a swift decision. Indeed what is virtually absent is the sense of on-the-spot composition that is typical of multi-instrumental settings where a minimum of prior concentration, when not an actual rehearsal, has taken place before the red light appears. There are in fact moments in which a general impression of scarce lucidity transpires amidst the numerous cooperative transactions. Yet there’s also an unquestionable “rough freshness” that permeates the four selections, with particular regard to “Dog’s Got My Money”, a gorgeous mixture of timbres - with an observable predominance of tensely droning strings - that alone is worth more than a few listens. The attractiveness of non-training consists in a series of unexpected snapshots of perturbed restlessness, which renders this introvert music quite interesting despite my difficulty in penetrating its spirit in depth. As told above, this disc requires time and persistence – and even following that, rewards are NOT a given. (Creative Sources)
JOHN WOLF BRENNAN – The Speed Of Dark
Brennan, a bright pianist and a musician gifted with finely tuned ears, is capable of digging out inspiration from a multitude of different elements – instrumental, natural, motorized or all of the above – and translate it into music which, as far as the experimental nuance might go, often sails seas of tranquil melancholy and brooding moods, a particularly conspicuous case in point being the returning theme of “Vals”. In this record he calls his means of expression “nonsolopiano”, given the employment of enhancing items such as mechanical pumps and aged clocks to dictate the tempo of a piece, or simply to duet with, besides the sporadic use of other instruments including Irish whistle, melodica and accordion. The Speed Of Dark revolves around scarcely acknowledged connections linking Ireland and Switzerland (respectively, Brennan’s family’s native country and the artist’s current location – the man is fortunate, one would say) and utilizes materials - concrete and invented - from both areas, combined in diverse types of creative practice. The way in which he articulates the sonic imagery is transparent and, at the same time, immeasurable like the unpremeditated propagation of affecting vibrations that frequently arises from the scents of these graceful solutions, even the most ingenious ones. Listening to those sympathetic chordal designs while reflecting about certain angles that life unexpectedly shows comes pretty easy, correspondingly to the will of regularly spinning the CD. A technically sophisticated, reflective classiness that pays dividends. (Leo)
Posthumous release of live and studio tapes from 1974-75, recorded by a line-up thus composed: Gary Boyle (guitar), Hugh Hopper (bass), Nigel Morris (drums) and Laurence Scott (keyboards) with percussionist Aureo de Souza joining the party in two tracks. Golden Section is a good, unyielding album of British fusion, largely influenced by entities such as Mahavishnu Orchestra and Weather Report. Also, rather intriguingly, this embodiment of the band seems to foresee realities which will be explored shortly thereafter by Tony Williams’ New Lifetime. Boyle’s digital pyrotechnics still sound attractive after all these years, Hopper is solid and funky, Morris works fine as an impulsive rhythmic propeller and Scott coordinates the whole with harmonic taste to spare. The bulk of the pieces appears structurally related, but the eminence and the technical level of the players - and the feeling born from those traits - stick the music with a brand that’s typically Cuneiform. Picture a mental place where, as soon as a track begins and themes and improvisations flow, one smells the dust on a gatefold cover, mourning the loss of that adolescent curiosity whose fruits were tasted during locked-room meetings with a different kind of awareness. Holding back emotions becomes an arduous task, then. This was a heavily touring unit (as shown by the extreme facility with which the players engage in the tunes) whose short extent was enormously disproportioned in regard to a prospective success. Looks like even a young Michael Jackson was once spotted with an Isotope LP in his hands: believe it or not, there was a time in which Motown used to distribute their albums. (Cuneiform)
SCOTT FIELDS ENSEMBLE – Fugu
These pieces were initially created with the intention of providing substance for a choreography by Li Chiao-Ping, whose dancers apparently couldn’t manage to follow the material’s erratic metres well enough to actually bring the proposed collaboration to a completion. Providentially the sounds remain, and they’re refined as much as necessary to stand alone for regular CD-fuelled consumption. The leader shows a superb command of nylon strings alternating disobedient clusters, asymmetrical rasgueados, swinging impertinence and poetic linearity depending on the circumstance. The lyrical counter altar is represented by cellist Matt Turner, who often steals the spotlight with the daydreaming rigour of his beautiful tone, finely complemented by vibraphonist Robert Stright’s shimmering unselfishness. An outstanding rhythm section – Geoff Brady on percussion, John Padden on double bass – provides a pulse that is full of zip but never petulant, contributing to the dismemberment of potential lassitude - a constant peril both in jazz and any kind of music conceived for dance. Fields confirms himself to be a name to keep an eye on all the time, especially when analyzing the way in which he frequently relinquishes a role of guitar-wielding protagonist while privileging a considerable transparency in the overall design, in turn cleverly enriched by a magnificent stability in the composed/improvised ratio. (Clean Feed)
GLASGOW IMPROVISERS ORCHESTRA – GIO Poetics
Difficult CD to appraise, this one. I’ve been listening to it on and off for months, without deciding about what the real feedback was. The conclusion is “positive”, overall - but in spurts, not in its entirety. GIO was in this occasion joined by Ernesto and Guilherme Rodrigues, who were travelling in Scotland for a live performance with vocalist Aileen Campbell and guitarist Neil Davidson. The recording was arranged 24 hours after that set, the outcome showing all the positives and the negatives of such a swift decision. Indeed what is virtually absent is the sense of on-the-spot composition that is typical of multi-instrumental settings where a minimum of prior concentration, when not an actual rehearsal, has taken place before the red light appears. There are in fact moments in which a general impression of scarce lucidity transpires amidst the numerous cooperative transactions. Yet there’s also an unquestionable “rough freshness” that permeates the four selections, with particular regard to “Dog’s Got My Money”, a gorgeous mixture of timbres - with an observable predominance of tensely droning strings - that alone is worth more than a few listens. The attractiveness of non-training consists in a series of unexpected snapshots of perturbed restlessness, which renders this introvert music quite interesting despite my difficulty in penetrating its spirit in depth. As told above, this disc requires time and persistence – and even following that, rewards are NOT a given. (Creative Sources)
JOHN WOLF BRENNAN – The Speed Of Dark
Brennan, a bright pianist and a musician gifted with finely tuned ears, is capable of digging out inspiration from a multitude of different elements – instrumental, natural, motorized or all of the above – and translate it into music which, as far as the experimental nuance might go, often sails seas of tranquil melancholy and brooding moods, a particularly conspicuous case in point being the returning theme of “Vals”. In this record he calls his means of expression “nonsolopiano”, given the employment of enhancing items such as mechanical pumps and aged clocks to dictate the tempo of a piece, or simply to duet with, besides the sporadic use of other instruments including Irish whistle, melodica and accordion. The Speed Of Dark revolves around scarcely acknowledged connections linking Ireland and Switzerland (respectively, Brennan’s family’s native country and the artist’s current location – the man is fortunate, one would say) and utilizes materials - concrete and invented - from both areas, combined in diverse types of creative practice. The way in which he articulates the sonic imagery is transparent and, at the same time, immeasurable like the unpremeditated propagation of affecting vibrations that frequently arises from the scents of these graceful solutions, even the most ingenious ones. Listening to those sympathetic chordal designs while reflecting about certain angles that life unexpectedly shows comes pretty easy, correspondingly to the will of regularly spinning the CD. A technically sophisticated, reflective classiness that pays dividends. (Leo)
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Psychoacoustics Galore
JACOB KIRKEGAARD – Labyrinthitis
Had wanted to listen to this for months, finally did it today. To cut a very long story short (since, in order to understand these absolutely fascinating practices, a set of explicative liners is waiting for you) Labyrinthitis originates from DPOAE (Distortion Process OtoAcoustic Emissions), namely sounds emitted by the cochlea upon incentive by external tones (as opposed to SOAE – Spontaneous OtoAcoustic Emissions, autonomously generated by the inner ear in absence of stimulus). The emanations were recorded by Kirkegaard by placing minuscule microphones and speakers inside his ears, so that he could amplify and translate the results of the stimulation/response method into appreciable matters for the poor humans not undergoing the actual treatment. A remarkable experiment, lasting circa 38 minutes on disc, that actually generates a well-perceptible reaction from a sympathetic brain (provided that one plays the CD at considerable volume); but, in all honesty, not really an earthshaking assertion. In terms of pure sonority, the overtones perceived – not subliminally, rather “vociferously” – render this mass of superimposed frequencies often comparable to overhanging chords held in the higher registers of an organ, with a degree of pitch fluctuation and “beating within”. The latter components constitute the specific reason for which our interest is maintained alive for the entire course. The outcome gets concretely evident as soon as the whole’s over, as we seem to feel a little dazed (the final section is indeed the place where the stunning effects become substantial). Quite rapidly, though, the perceptive systems adjust to the newborn silence. Fine enough stuff, yet I expected a tad more of emotion-eliciting substance. On the contrary, there were exclusively cerebral answers, in turn generating transfixing sensations. The aid of the listening environment in diffusing the waves is a must. (Touch)
CORY ALLEN – Hearing Is Forgetting The Name Of The Things One Hears
“Best suited to be heard by the peripherals of the attentive mind”, as written on the press blurb. That pretty effectively defines this polite record, consisting of five electronically generated segments revolving around consonant, if somewhat autonomous structures where a clutch of linear designs, either partially superimposing or more unconnected, gently unfolds in almost total intelligibility. Underneath, we can take advantage of Allen’s subtle work with nerve-titillating frequencies accompanying the otherwise straightforward arrangement with its own effectiveness, to the point that one tends to instinctively favour that sort of indistinct pervasiveness to the essential melodic materials. An odd variety of “humanly mechanical” minimalism that should appeal to a good number of listeners, as it’s both intriguing and easy to understand (which is a plus in my book). A sort of association – as inevitably found by this never-really-contented commentator – could be individuated with David Behrman’s records on Lovely (think, for example, Leapday Night), though Allen doesn’t dig that deep. Still - to quote again from the composer’s notes - “the key to experiencing the full depth of the album, however, is to listen attentively as much as passively”. That’s fine enough, except that I can’t manage to analyze music listened unreceptively. By putting the attention in, several points of interest were spotted: try and find them yourselves, too. (Quiet Design)
ROLF JULIUS – Music For The Ears
The first CD in a series of eight that will be covering Rolf Julius’ work over the last thirty years, Music For The Ears manifests like a sudden, unexpected reward after a whole day unsuccessfully spent in search of rational stillness. Recorded in 1979, these splendidly uncomplicated, unadulterated agglomerates of surprising pitches explores the relations between softly diffusing tones, elongated stretches of silence and apparently impregnable drones, as to determine a space for the mind to establish a code of respectful behaviour towards our body, inevitably taking advantage from the alternative way in which those constituents are recognized. “Song From The Past” revolves around effortless combinations of repetitive-yet-dissimilar patterns, the timbre directly connected to the fundamental nature of bamboo. The piece emerges as a sort of Pygmy mantra, a fragile prayer evocating divine beings able to unlock the spiritual attributes of the human race’s weakest segments from the earthly sufferance that seems to constantly plague them. “Music On Two High Poles”, on the contrary, recalls the beneficially monotonous qualities of Scottish bagpipes, frequencies decidedly incisive but not for a moment aggravating. Here the composer looks more interested in the beating of the adjacent partials, investigating aspects of static juxtaposition that summons up the spirits of celebrated minimalist composers, in spite of the fact that the tantalizing sympathy characterizing Julius’ motionless waves is truly one of a kind, definitely incomparable in its misleading poverty. If this is just the beginning, we’ll be waiting restlessly for the next chapters. (Western Vinyl)
Had wanted to listen to this for months, finally did it today. To cut a very long story short (since, in order to understand these absolutely fascinating practices, a set of explicative liners is waiting for you) Labyrinthitis originates from DPOAE (Distortion Process OtoAcoustic Emissions), namely sounds emitted by the cochlea upon incentive by external tones (as opposed to SOAE – Spontaneous OtoAcoustic Emissions, autonomously generated by the inner ear in absence of stimulus). The emanations were recorded by Kirkegaard by placing minuscule microphones and speakers inside his ears, so that he could amplify and translate the results of the stimulation/response method into appreciable matters for the poor humans not undergoing the actual treatment. A remarkable experiment, lasting circa 38 minutes on disc, that actually generates a well-perceptible reaction from a sympathetic brain (provided that one plays the CD at considerable volume); but, in all honesty, not really an earthshaking assertion. In terms of pure sonority, the overtones perceived – not subliminally, rather “vociferously” – render this mass of superimposed frequencies often comparable to overhanging chords held in the higher registers of an organ, with a degree of pitch fluctuation and “beating within”. The latter components constitute the specific reason for which our interest is maintained alive for the entire course. The outcome gets concretely evident as soon as the whole’s over, as we seem to feel a little dazed (the final section is indeed the place where the stunning effects become substantial). Quite rapidly, though, the perceptive systems adjust to the newborn silence. Fine enough stuff, yet I expected a tad more of emotion-eliciting substance. On the contrary, there were exclusively cerebral answers, in turn generating transfixing sensations. The aid of the listening environment in diffusing the waves is a must. (Touch)
CORY ALLEN – Hearing Is Forgetting The Name Of The Things One Hears
“Best suited to be heard by the peripherals of the attentive mind”, as written on the press blurb. That pretty effectively defines this polite record, consisting of five electronically generated segments revolving around consonant, if somewhat autonomous structures where a clutch of linear designs, either partially superimposing or more unconnected, gently unfolds in almost total intelligibility. Underneath, we can take advantage of Allen’s subtle work with nerve-titillating frequencies accompanying the otherwise straightforward arrangement with its own effectiveness, to the point that one tends to instinctively favour that sort of indistinct pervasiveness to the essential melodic materials. An odd variety of “humanly mechanical” minimalism that should appeal to a good number of listeners, as it’s both intriguing and easy to understand (which is a plus in my book). A sort of association – as inevitably found by this never-really-contented commentator – could be individuated with David Behrman’s records on Lovely (think, for example, Leapday Night), though Allen doesn’t dig that deep. Still - to quote again from the composer’s notes - “the key to experiencing the full depth of the album, however, is to listen attentively as much as passively”. That’s fine enough, except that I can’t manage to analyze music listened unreceptively. By putting the attention in, several points of interest were spotted: try and find them yourselves, too. (Quiet Design)
ROLF JULIUS – Music For The Ears
The first CD in a series of eight that will be covering Rolf Julius’ work over the last thirty years, Music For The Ears manifests like a sudden, unexpected reward after a whole day unsuccessfully spent in search of rational stillness. Recorded in 1979, these splendidly uncomplicated, unadulterated agglomerates of surprising pitches explores the relations between softly diffusing tones, elongated stretches of silence and apparently impregnable drones, as to determine a space for the mind to establish a code of respectful behaviour towards our body, inevitably taking advantage from the alternative way in which those constituents are recognized. “Song From The Past” revolves around effortless combinations of repetitive-yet-dissimilar patterns, the timbre directly connected to the fundamental nature of bamboo. The piece emerges as a sort of Pygmy mantra, a fragile prayer evocating divine beings able to unlock the spiritual attributes of the human race’s weakest segments from the earthly sufferance that seems to constantly plague them. “Music On Two High Poles”, on the contrary, recalls the beneficially monotonous qualities of Scottish bagpipes, frequencies decidedly incisive but not for a moment aggravating. Here the composer looks more interested in the beating of the adjacent partials, investigating aspects of static juxtaposition that summons up the spirits of celebrated minimalist composers, in spite of the fact that the tantalizing sympathy characterizing Julius’ motionless waves is truly one of a kind, definitely incomparable in its misleading poverty. If this is just the beginning, we’ll be waiting restlessly for the next chapters. (Western Vinyl)
Sunday, 11 April 2010
Low Points, High Points
English label Low Point kindly sent these three CDs for review over the last few months. Two of them are really, really fine, the third (and most recent one) is not on the same level, unfortunately. Thanks to Gareth Hardwick and Simmo for their trust.
TIM CATLIN & MACHINEFABRIEK – Glisten
An outstandingly concise, musically significant release born from shrewdly applied strategies. Machinefabriek (née Rutger Zuydervelt) came across Catlin’s work while doing some research on prepared guitar, so decided to contact him and the joint venture kicked off. The nine tracks of Glisten will definitely appeal to anyone paying attention to the murk-and-glitter zones of the guitar spectrum, with particular reference to long-lasting resonances of floating harmonics and layering of untidy tones generated either by plucking or bowing the strings. Unquestionably the partners share an interest for the manumission of evenness, yet the music never falls in the holes of simplistic improvisation or chaotic imprecision, resulting well-regulated and clearly designed in each aspect. The transformation of the instrumental gradations into something entirely different is achieved rather smoothly (“Flutter”); pieces whose spellbinding qualities transpire beyond any scientific approach are also present (“Haul”, “Arpeggio”). Generally speaking, the timbres produced by the duo linger within the semi-clean region – more solid overdriven concoctions are sporadically met, nonetheless - but always with an unambiguous configuration that gives them significance and a reason to exist. In a couple of circumstances, Aidan Baker’s first album Element flashed its (just apparent) influence. Make no mistake, though: this is one of the most excellent examples of active modification heard lately, with a totally distinctive character. After four-five consecutive listens, my mechanisms of consideration awarded it a “near-must” kind of prominence.
KYLE BOBBY DUNN – A Young Person’s Guide To Kyle Bobby Dunn
To provide an (admittedly simplistic) orientation to those who never heard the work of Kyle Bobby Dunn, think of a summit between William Basinski and Stars Of The Lid. Of the former we can see certain looping structures constructed upon everlasting repetitions bathed in desolate musing. Of the latter, the scarce intelligibility of colours and timbres, the voluntary non-definition of an essential vagueness and the achingly slow development of the thematic materials. But Dunn – a “minimalist composer and sound artist” (the press blurb’s classification is OK with me) – starts from a different place: in fact, his pieces are born from technically advanced musicians, whom he calls to bring into existence the preselected instrumental palette (in this case, guitar, strings, brass and piano). The recordings are subsequently put in a computer and remodelled according to the artist’s vision. These two discs comprise twelve fascinating tracks, in which the sheer beauty and the deep melancholy of Dunn’s work are finely highlighted. Pseudo-classic designs are dyed with a sense of inevitable sadness, consonant chords meshing their upper partials typically and rigorously at once. Echoes of compassion characterized by sympathetic vibrations that resonate unusually immediately find the right spot to hammer nails of quiet dejection in heavy hearts. The influence of this music on the mood is conspicuous, and there’s no way to get unwrapped from this cocoon of cheerlessness if we just give this splendid release the attention it deserves. If you thought of using it as ambient wallpaper, expect a letdown: these shades were designed to keep us thinking, and I, for one, have been doing that very intensely since the first disc started spinning.
SPARTAK – Verona
An Australian duo – Shoeb Ahmad and Evan Dorrian – who attempted to generate something theoretically interesting during a 2-day "anything goes" session (that’s what the information says) by manipulating regular instruments - guitar and percussion - together with electronics, no-input mixer, computerized processing and vocal contributions. They start adequately enough, though certainly not in groundbreaking fashion, with a couple of nice tracks (prepared guitars, field recordings, radio - typical ingredients used with noticeable commitment). But after a short while the initial sheen is completely lost and the record literally disintegrates under the weight of ordinariness. What’s especially to stigmatize is the disproportionate incidence of drums, which veritably destroy any potential interest in a number of pieces and – well, yes - the above mentioned external factors: Joseph McKee’s “tape ghost voices” in “Sleepstalker” would like to appear psychologically perturbing yet end up being merely irksome, and Lucrecia Peres’ “angel voices” in “Second-Half Clouded” amount to a third-hand replica of Lisa Gerrard. The large part of the music seems improvised without a clear idea of where the players really wanted to go, and the expected machine-based tricks (infinite-repeat delay on top of everything) can’t attribute any deepness to a gathering of ideas that never take a definite shape, remaining just an assortment of mainly tedious sketches.
TIM CATLIN & MACHINEFABRIEK – Glisten
An outstandingly concise, musically significant release born from shrewdly applied strategies. Machinefabriek (née Rutger Zuydervelt) came across Catlin’s work while doing some research on prepared guitar, so decided to contact him and the joint venture kicked off. The nine tracks of Glisten will definitely appeal to anyone paying attention to the murk-and-glitter zones of the guitar spectrum, with particular reference to long-lasting resonances of floating harmonics and layering of untidy tones generated either by plucking or bowing the strings. Unquestionably the partners share an interest for the manumission of evenness, yet the music never falls in the holes of simplistic improvisation or chaotic imprecision, resulting well-regulated and clearly designed in each aspect. The transformation of the instrumental gradations into something entirely different is achieved rather smoothly (“Flutter”); pieces whose spellbinding qualities transpire beyond any scientific approach are also present (“Haul”, “Arpeggio”). Generally speaking, the timbres produced by the duo linger within the semi-clean region – more solid overdriven concoctions are sporadically met, nonetheless - but always with an unambiguous configuration that gives them significance and a reason to exist. In a couple of circumstances, Aidan Baker’s first album Element flashed its (just apparent) influence. Make no mistake, though: this is one of the most excellent examples of active modification heard lately, with a totally distinctive character. After four-five consecutive listens, my mechanisms of consideration awarded it a “near-must” kind of prominence.
KYLE BOBBY DUNN – A Young Person’s Guide To Kyle Bobby Dunn
To provide an (admittedly simplistic) orientation to those who never heard the work of Kyle Bobby Dunn, think of a summit between William Basinski and Stars Of The Lid. Of the former we can see certain looping structures constructed upon everlasting repetitions bathed in desolate musing. Of the latter, the scarce intelligibility of colours and timbres, the voluntary non-definition of an essential vagueness and the achingly slow development of the thematic materials. But Dunn – a “minimalist composer and sound artist” (the press blurb’s classification is OK with me) – starts from a different place: in fact, his pieces are born from technically advanced musicians, whom he calls to bring into existence the preselected instrumental palette (in this case, guitar, strings, brass and piano). The recordings are subsequently put in a computer and remodelled according to the artist’s vision. These two discs comprise twelve fascinating tracks, in which the sheer beauty and the deep melancholy of Dunn’s work are finely highlighted. Pseudo-classic designs are dyed with a sense of inevitable sadness, consonant chords meshing their upper partials typically and rigorously at once. Echoes of compassion characterized by sympathetic vibrations that resonate unusually immediately find the right spot to hammer nails of quiet dejection in heavy hearts. The influence of this music on the mood is conspicuous, and there’s no way to get unwrapped from this cocoon of cheerlessness if we just give this splendid release the attention it deserves. If you thought of using it as ambient wallpaper, expect a letdown: these shades were designed to keep us thinking, and I, for one, have been doing that very intensely since the first disc started spinning.
SPARTAK – Verona
An Australian duo – Shoeb Ahmad and Evan Dorrian – who attempted to generate something theoretically interesting during a 2-day "anything goes" session (that’s what the information says) by manipulating regular instruments - guitar and percussion - together with electronics, no-input mixer, computerized processing and vocal contributions. They start adequately enough, though certainly not in groundbreaking fashion, with a couple of nice tracks (prepared guitars, field recordings, radio - typical ingredients used with noticeable commitment). But after a short while the initial sheen is completely lost and the record literally disintegrates under the weight of ordinariness. What’s especially to stigmatize is the disproportionate incidence of drums, which veritably destroy any potential interest in a number of pieces and – well, yes - the above mentioned external factors: Joseph McKee’s “tape ghost voices” in “Sleepstalker” would like to appear psychologically perturbing yet end up being merely irksome, and Lucrecia Peres’ “angel voices” in “Second-Half Clouded” amount to a third-hand replica of Lisa Gerrard. The large part of the music seems improvised without a clear idea of where the players really wanted to go, and the expected machine-based tricks (infinite-repeat delay on top of everything) can’t attribute any deepness to a gathering of ideas that never take a definite shape, remaining just an assortment of mainly tedious sketches.
Tuesday, 6 April 2010
Darren Tate, His Loyal Friends, The Elves And The Gnomes Always Bring Good News And Should Rule The World
How’s that for a title? Maybe it could be used for a next release… Folks, these are two GREAT records. Don’t even think of missing them.
DARREN TATE – Nature In The City
An abnormally lengthy outing for Tate – it clocks at circa 75 minutes – which is also a homage to Die Stadt’s superlative boss and drone peddler, Herr Jochen Schwarz. I could not think of a better person for a hats-off except perhaps that guy, whose name can’t be remembered now, to which the neo-dada artist dedicated his earlier Trees Kissing Trees (heh). Kidding aside, this is an unconditionally absorbing album by the reticent man from Acomb, an individual style expressed in a different way with each release, so that we can always shout “It’s Tate” right away in the face of the innovations. It all begins with a track based on deeply rhythmic throbbing with an assortment of blips and waves, absolutely ear-wrapping and soothing. The second movement is founded on an immobile chord upon which chaotic guitar improvisations and sounds halfway through metropolitan alarms and videogames succeed in mind-numbing fashion until a hammering synthetic pulse becomes the leading force in the end. The piece is evidently nonstandard and utterly dislodging but still wonderful, echoes of Faust showing up in my memory, heaven knows why. The third chapter is started by a fantastic rising-and-falling low frequency (a loop of an ephemeral car?) fused with a nocturnal type of electronic hypnosis in what's probably the most emotionally startling moment of the whole disc. This magical atmosphere is soon broken by the protagonist, who extracts residues in the neighbourhood of the axe’s pickups, consisting in extremely acute, almost prickly droplets and plucked notes warped with the vibrato bar. The final stage features another slow oscillation (this time appearing like a hollow lament filtered by flanging and distorting pedals), a few indefinably sick, noisy-string intromissions, a lot of heavily processed chirping and whistling birds, forever a pleasure to come across (it is indeed one of this musician’s favourite sources) and, bizarrely, meagre keyboard dashes for a handful of seconds. It gradually acquires “ugly strength”, yet only when the record’s over we realize that what seemed brutal was actually healthy. We’re lucky to be able to enjoy the fruits of this free-thinker’s work, and Nature In The City is particularly succulent. (Fungal - distributed by Die Stadt and ICR – otherwise see you on eBay in two months)
MONOS – Above The Sky + Below The Earth
The latest incarnation of Monos – Darren Tate, Colin Potter and Paul Bradley – performed live only once, in 2006. The tape of that concert didn’t satisfy the trio’s lust for release, but apparently that was the root from which a masterful album - that has seen the light just recently – was born. As it usually happens, those who count on good mafia connections (the aforesaid Jochen Schwarz, for example) get alerted in due time about the existence of a limited edition copy that must be grabbed at pre-stroke price prior to its vanishing, which is precisely what we’re reviewing here.
DARREN TATE – Nature In The City
An abnormally lengthy outing for Tate – it clocks at circa 75 minutes – which is also a homage to Die Stadt’s superlative boss and drone peddler, Herr Jochen Schwarz. I could not think of a better person for a hats-off except perhaps that guy, whose name can’t be remembered now, to which the neo-dada artist dedicated his earlier Trees Kissing Trees (heh). Kidding aside, this is an unconditionally absorbing album by the reticent man from Acomb, an individual style expressed in a different way with each release, so that we can always shout “It’s Tate” right away in the face of the innovations. It all begins with a track based on deeply rhythmic throbbing with an assortment of blips and waves, absolutely ear-wrapping and soothing. The second movement is founded on an immobile chord upon which chaotic guitar improvisations and sounds halfway through metropolitan alarms and videogames succeed in mind-numbing fashion until a hammering synthetic pulse becomes the leading force in the end. The piece is evidently nonstandard and utterly dislodging but still wonderful, echoes of Faust showing up in my memory, heaven knows why. The third chapter is started by a fantastic rising-and-falling low frequency (a loop of an ephemeral car?) fused with a nocturnal type of electronic hypnosis in what's probably the most emotionally startling moment of the whole disc. This magical atmosphere is soon broken by the protagonist, who extracts residues in the neighbourhood of the axe’s pickups, consisting in extremely acute, almost prickly droplets and plucked notes warped with the vibrato bar. The final stage features another slow oscillation (this time appearing like a hollow lament filtered by flanging and distorting pedals), a few indefinably sick, noisy-string intromissions, a lot of heavily processed chirping and whistling birds, forever a pleasure to come across (it is indeed one of this musician’s favourite sources) and, bizarrely, meagre keyboard dashes for a handful of seconds. It gradually acquires “ugly strength”, yet only when the record’s over we realize that what seemed brutal was actually healthy. We’re lucky to be able to enjoy the fruits of this free-thinker’s work, and Nature In The City is particularly succulent. (Fungal - distributed by Die Stadt and ICR – otherwise see you on eBay in two months)
MONOS – Above The Sky + Below The Earth
The latest incarnation of Monos – Darren Tate, Colin Potter and Paul Bradley – performed live only once, in 2006. The tape of that concert didn’t satisfy the trio’s lust for release, but apparently that was the root from which a masterful album - that has seen the light just recently – was born. As it usually happens, those who count on good mafia connections (the aforesaid Jochen Schwarz, for example) get alerted in due time about the existence of a limited edition copy that must be grabbed at pre-stroke price prior to its vanishing, which is precisely what we’re reviewing here.
Above The Sky is kind of psychedelic, although it maintains the droning character typical of several Monos efforts. Sounds range from unbounded electronic activity, murky guitars arpeggios and infinite organ chords to misshapen field recordings, wraithlike shortwave presences and marvellously singing flying creatures, a blackbird acting as soloist in a particularly intense section. The music is clearly designed as a patchwork, in that one distinctly detects the collage of different soundscapes added and manipulated over the years. Nevertheless, everything unfolds naturally in this now-heavenly, now-nightmarish expedition in which special kinds of mental imagery – wryly smiling dolls, distorted demon faces, pastoral openings, the more the merrier – could be met. This is going to be appreciated by Nurse With Wound occasional fans, too (the zealots already bought it, of course).
Below The Earth is the bonus disc, and – despite the attendance of not-exactly-consonant factors disturbing an overall calmness – is the half that’s similar enough to the mysterious motionlessness emblematic of Monos’ prior releases (which will NEVER be comparable to any variety of “dark ambient” horseshit – this is seriously composed stuff, my friends). This means that we can make the music work at various levels of realization: you might use the unquiet stasis as a starting point for extreme self-analysis, keep it as a valuable company for rare peaceful moments, or probe it through headphones and find the extraneous elements that are still there, if better camouflaged. And don’t miss the fantastic finale, tropical birds preceding an extremely melodic, if well-concealed guitar performing a starry-eyed melody. It may have been done ironically yet comes out as absolutely tender, and it’s a fitting conclusion. Both CDs are fine examples of these men’s abstract artistry. If you’re smart enough, find a reason to look for this item before the value skyrockets. (ICR)
Below The Earth is the bonus disc, and – despite the attendance of not-exactly-consonant factors disturbing an overall calmness – is the half that’s similar enough to the mysterious motionlessness emblematic of Monos’ prior releases (which will NEVER be comparable to any variety of “dark ambient” horseshit – this is seriously composed stuff, my friends). This means that we can make the music work at various levels of realization: you might use the unquiet stasis as a starting point for extreme self-analysis, keep it as a valuable company for rare peaceful moments, or probe it through headphones and find the extraneous elements that are still there, if better camouflaged. And don’t miss the fantastic finale, tropical birds preceding an extremely melodic, if well-concealed guitar performing a starry-eyed melody. It may have been done ironically yet comes out as absolutely tender, and it’s a fitting conclusion. Both CDs are fine examples of these men’s abstract artistry. If you’re smart enough, find a reason to look for this item before the value skyrockets. (ICR)
Friday, 2 April 2010
Three Crónica(s)
MARC BEHRENS – Sleppet
Predictability is a very high risk in compositions exclusively based on field recordings, but with Marc Behrens we can always rest assured that the development of any dissertation will introduce numerous factors of interest. Sleppet was recorded between 2007 and 2008 in Norway and Germany to fulfil a commission by Deutschlandradio Kultur. Either via the concreteness of industrial sounds or through the definite anguish generated by crying animals – be it a flock of seagulls or baah-ing sheep – Behrens is able to confirm is long-established sensitiveness for what concerns the capturing of the fundamental nature of a sound. Close proximity to the melting water of a glacier ensures that a series of impressive rumbles and crackles let us feel like a part of the direct experience. The wind is perceived as a protective mantle, and magnificent singing birds make us remember the few reasons for which life is worth of being lived. Forlorn ambiences become a road to redemption, substantial matters are a link to human quintessence. Everything appears logical, even the unanticipated abruptness of certain turns of events. The vividness of the details and the intelligence of the inherent consecutiveness characterizing the whole piece completes the achievement of a tangible gratification. Solid, sober work by one of the masters of the game.
PURE – Ification
One for the dissolution and/or enhancement of the intellect, featuring a couple of somewhat involving episodes and a number of scarcely significant ingredients as far as artistic validity is concerned. Pure works with samples, which he transforms and extends endlessly, at times even beyond the limit of what’s aurally tolerable. When the guidelines of telluric vibration are dutifully followed, the nerves benefit from the nullification of reason: the infinite bass tones of “End” represent a veritable brainwashing apparatus. Occasionally, the plot thickens in terms of sonic mass (lots of percussion, Martin Brandlmayr contributing drums in two tracks) yet the compositional logic appears a little light, when not entirely missing. In those moments, all we seem to hear is a series of partially successful experiments where a certain kind of electronic nuance is reiterated for a long time, which might be OK for, say, a modern dance soundtrack; but in regard to the indispensable gratification obtainable by listening to a CD, that is not enough. In short, the muscle of this album is superior to its wisdom, the emotional content of pieces such as “After The Bomb” and the above mentioned “End” notwithstanding. The less satisfactory disc of this trio.
GILLES AUBRY – Berlin Backyards
This is a fine work, despite its obviously unpretentious nature. It might belong in the category of favourite listens for undisturbed moments in the early morning (now) or late evening, being mostly made with remote urban echoes – the title and the cover photographs say it all – which were recorded in 2006 by Aubry who glued, looped and stretched the results in the studio. Thus a 48-minute piece was generated, in which the predominant sound is that sort of constant drone typical of the big cities especially at night, a murmuring whirr that – enjoyed in the right circumstance – functions as a wrapping tissue, a protection against negative influence and, occasionally, a stimulator of profound reflections. Therefore, this is not a record that can be subjected to any kind of critical analysis: either you like it or you don’t, and this writer happens to love it. There’s a narrative quality emerging from these obscure soundscapes: one figures human activities going on incessantly while we, as external observers, ponder about the roles carried on day by day, often unconsciously. The whole is tinged with a sense of ineluctability and steadiness at the same time, hundreds of intersections among different life conditions creating a widespread texture of whooshing low frequencies that seem to increase our inner safeguard.
Crónica
Predictability is a very high risk in compositions exclusively based on field recordings, but with Marc Behrens we can always rest assured that the development of any dissertation will introduce numerous factors of interest. Sleppet was recorded between 2007 and 2008 in Norway and Germany to fulfil a commission by Deutschlandradio Kultur. Either via the concreteness of industrial sounds or through the definite anguish generated by crying animals – be it a flock of seagulls or baah-ing sheep – Behrens is able to confirm is long-established sensitiveness for what concerns the capturing of the fundamental nature of a sound. Close proximity to the melting water of a glacier ensures that a series of impressive rumbles and crackles let us feel like a part of the direct experience. The wind is perceived as a protective mantle, and magnificent singing birds make us remember the few reasons for which life is worth of being lived. Forlorn ambiences become a road to redemption, substantial matters are a link to human quintessence. Everything appears logical, even the unanticipated abruptness of certain turns of events. The vividness of the details and the intelligence of the inherent consecutiveness characterizing the whole piece completes the achievement of a tangible gratification. Solid, sober work by one of the masters of the game.
PURE – Ification
One for the dissolution and/or enhancement of the intellect, featuring a couple of somewhat involving episodes and a number of scarcely significant ingredients as far as artistic validity is concerned. Pure works with samples, which he transforms and extends endlessly, at times even beyond the limit of what’s aurally tolerable. When the guidelines of telluric vibration are dutifully followed, the nerves benefit from the nullification of reason: the infinite bass tones of “End” represent a veritable brainwashing apparatus. Occasionally, the plot thickens in terms of sonic mass (lots of percussion, Martin Brandlmayr contributing drums in two tracks) yet the compositional logic appears a little light, when not entirely missing. In those moments, all we seem to hear is a series of partially successful experiments where a certain kind of electronic nuance is reiterated for a long time, which might be OK for, say, a modern dance soundtrack; but in regard to the indispensable gratification obtainable by listening to a CD, that is not enough. In short, the muscle of this album is superior to its wisdom, the emotional content of pieces such as “After The Bomb” and the above mentioned “End” notwithstanding. The less satisfactory disc of this trio.
GILLES AUBRY – Berlin Backyards
This is a fine work, despite its obviously unpretentious nature. It might belong in the category of favourite listens for undisturbed moments in the early morning (now) or late evening, being mostly made with remote urban echoes – the title and the cover photographs say it all – which were recorded in 2006 by Aubry who glued, looped and stretched the results in the studio. Thus a 48-minute piece was generated, in which the predominant sound is that sort of constant drone typical of the big cities especially at night, a murmuring whirr that – enjoyed in the right circumstance – functions as a wrapping tissue, a protection against negative influence and, occasionally, a stimulator of profound reflections. Therefore, this is not a record that can be subjected to any kind of critical analysis: either you like it or you don’t, and this writer happens to love it. There’s a narrative quality emerging from these obscure soundscapes: one figures human activities going on incessantly while we, as external observers, ponder about the roles carried on day by day, often unconsciously. The whole is tinged with a sense of ineluctability and steadiness at the same time, hundreds of intersections among different life conditions creating a widespread texture of whooshing low frequencies that seem to increase our inner safeguard.
Crónica
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