May Pills

MAHOGANY FROG – Do 5

Released in 2008 but received only a few weeks ago, this is the fifth album by a collective hailing from Winnipeg, Ontario, specializing in a peculiar brew of slightly experimental space rock and various other things, which sound rather familiar and easily digestible to these ears yet are concocted in somewhat weird fashion, which made me enjoy the trip quite a bit. The instrumentation, besides guitars, bass and drums, comprises lots of analog and, generally speaking, old-fashioned machines – Micromoog, Farfisa and so on - together with two trumpets. Picture a cross of Rush, Egg, Soft Machine circa Bundles and perhaps a morsel of Gong in medium nutty sauce and you’re less than halfway through understanding the type of music proposed by these guys. For sure they play very well: thorough instrumental expertise, the right quantity of fractured tempos, a general scent of ever-welcome progressiveness (I’m referring to the 70s, in case you didn’t get it), interesting ingenuity in the way of mixing the pieces, and a dose of ostentatiously corpulent harmonic progressions in some of the tracks that, preposterously enough, causes a bizarre kind of oily gratification. Excellent as headphone soundtrack while watching the world, or just a limited portion of your county, from a train. (Moonjune)

CRAQUE – Supple

Matt Davis is the man behind Craque, a training in classical composition and operatic performance enabling him to concoct a specimen of sharp-minded, mainly loop-based, soothingly bubbly music originating from diverse types of sonority including acoustic guitars, environmental repercussions, synthesized/sampled dissociations. The sonic designs are often pristinely straightforward, in a positive way: there aren’t excesses and/or surpluses, if not for some preventable over-fragmentation of the rhythmic pulse in a couple of instances. This lucidness is all the more remarkable as it is surrounded by a whimsical yet entrancing ambience of weirdly reverberating, high-quality electroacoustic protuberances, placing these tracks in the lands bordering with clever techno on one side and sampladelia on the other, with occasional hints (involuntary, methinks) to Muslimgauze as a plus. However, it’s the overall sense of order and precision that enriches the experience, which - in case someone’s still doubtful - is rewarding under several aspects. (Audiobulb)

BLUERMUTT - Uncertain Data Packed In Red Boxes

Young chap from Barcelona, utilizing computerized structures to concoct 34 minutes of engagingly charming sounds: a little pseudo-mercury here, a pinch of melodic minimalism there, gentle noises everywhere, and you're done. No pretence of probing who knows what inscrutable universes, just a series of easily assimilated processes that sound as surprising results of a game rather than actual compositions. I mean, typical blips and pulses appear more or less always yet, strangely enough, they don't get me annoyed as usual. In other occasions we would have deemed something like this as totally inadequate but a sort of candid ingenuousness is detectable in a number of parts of this work, which sweetens the soul of a callous reviewer after all. (Audiobulb)

LOUISE DAM ECKARDT JENSEN – You Look Like Your Mother, Would You Like More Sauce?

Danish alto saxophonist with a DIY attitude and a general sense of inventive dewiness that lets us appreciate the creativity and forget about eventual technical deficiencies. Published on Jessica Pavone's imprint ("Peacock" is the English translation of the violist's Italian family name, should anyone be dying to know), this CD comprises solo and multitracked pieces, occasionally with the addition of unevenly coarse vocal ingredients. What's to be best appreciated is Jensen's melodic mindset: lines that can alternatively sound extremely easy or get complicated enough - at times with a Bachian scent - without losing intelligibility. The "experimental" noisier parts are a little warts and all, but still genuinely funny (a case in point being "I Don't Like Rottweilers"). The lone doubts materialize when reflecting on the actual consistency of the alto's basic timbre, a tad too wheezy for my liking. One can't have everything though, therefore what remains is sitting peacefully on your couch and enjoying the wholesomeness of this petite rebel's musicality. (Peacock)

KIRCHENKAMPF – Dark Planet

John Gore’s Kirchenkampf alias delivers swathes of abstract sounds that might remorselessly be used in (admittedly first-class) sci-fi flicks and/or even sophisticated videogames, if always showing a distinctive personality. This time there’s a bit of diminished inscrutability in a fraction of the program, though, and occasionally the beauty of vast reverberation, the infinity of a drone and the intensity of the subsonic throbbing are not enough to counterbalance a sense of dice-throwing casualness, which make a couple of tracks sound a little less focused than usual. We’re left gazing at the unknown while waiting for something deeper, of which one only intuits the existence without an actual fulfillment. It is still an encouraging listen, unfamiliarly far away from ugly cheapness for sure. Yet I’m convinced that Gore can shift gears to a superior level. (Cohort)

TIM OLIVE – The Specialist

Is there anybody in need categorical definitions? If somebody answered “yes”, then they’d better stand well clear off Tim Olive's The Specialist. He doesn't wish to title his pieces to save our mind from preconceptions, uses an invented instrument made with a slab of wood with a couple of pickups on it, one or two bass strings attached (and maybe a dangling guitar string) and creates all kinds of garbled/strangled/rusted noises and sinister drones by the sheer use of a preamplifier and a few inches of metal on the magnets. You’re not going to reunite with the placid aspects of existence – that's for sure – and also won't be able to tap a foot following a conventional rhythm. Olive is interested in generating acrid textural shards that can be welcomed or hated, crunchy reminders of ruptured civilisations, mismanaged disloyalties and eruptions of inharmonious mushrooms in non-existent intimacy. Simplicity at the basis of imperturbability, noise as a means of socialization. Between you and your very selves. Furthermore, that one will get out psychologically improved by the experience is not guaranteed. (EM)

STORMHAT - Addicted To Disaster

Great title in which I recognize myself, especially relatively to recent years. Peter Bach Nicolaisen is a Danish artist who collected lots of easy-to-like yet fairly incisive sounds from what's mainly perceived as working places and metropolitan contexts. However, one seems to distinguish a Tibetan bell flavour somewhere, whereas spectacular thunders and heavy rain characterize "Ramt Af Lynet" amidst a plethora of processed and natural metallic resonances. Nicolaisen assembled the materials in structures constituted by lengthy loops and, in general, cyclical recurrences. He doesn’t leave excessive room for breathing or even thinking, but at the same time helps our imagination in its attempt of getting amalgamated with the circumstantial ambience intuited in the fraction of a moment. There’s a sense of musicality emerging from the clangour, which gives the six pieces a distinct compositional quintessence, thus separating this disc from the mass of low-budget button-pushers polluting the globe with horrendously useless tapes where the potentials of implicit harmony become instead a hymn to humdrum apathy. (Diophantine)

ANNE LAPLANTINE – A Little May Time Be

This French artist has previously released records under the names Angelika Köhlermann and Anne Hamburg. The CD, published in 2008, is a collection of miniatures, mostly instrumental, with particular focus on reasonably misshapen arrangements - halfway through King Crimson-tinged arpeggios and baroque polyphony – constructed upon polyphonic superimpositions of interlocking guitars. Occasionally the structure is more song oriented, cheap drum machines and electronics additional factors together with segments of pseudo-silence. A mix of minimalist naiveté and childish delicacy that sounds very nice for its large part, sporadically a little too simplistic for my taste but palatable overall. The patina of digital dirtiness and the peculiarly skewed quality of the tunes help placing the record miles away from obviousness. The not excessive duration is a plus, the humour is there (dig those hi-speed voices and deformed electronic protuberances). I can’t see traces of self-importance, either. All of the above amounts to a sufficiently congenial listen, if one’s not waiting for marvels. For sure we’re in presence of an original way of expressing uncomplicated concepts, which sometimes is fine enough with me. (Ahornfelder)

The Continuing Saga Of Clean Feed

Selected picks from the ever-growing pile of recent and past releases from Clean Feed’s catalogue, with more to come in the next weeks.

BERNARDO SASSETTI TRIO – Motion

Bernardo Sassetti (piano), Carlos Barretto (bass), Alexander Frazão (drums). Classic Sassetti, you can’t go wrong with that. All but two compositions are by him, the opening and the closing tunes by, respectively, Linkous and Mompou. Some of the music was conceived for cinema and theatre, a specialization of this great artist. Difficult to remain confined in the ambit of critical reasoning when listening to the emotion-eliciting records that the Portuguese pianist delivers with impressive regularity. Emaciated linearity, melodic unambiguousness, memories now fading, now perfectly clear. A world of forgotten glories and smiling sadness, in which one breathes slowly while watching life unfold without a clue on how to change it. An indispensable interior geometry bathed in uniquely sober romanticism, never transcending to mellifluousness. Themes that recall a hundred influences yet always sound like deeply personal suggestions, which a open heart can take in and utilize for putting a finger on what looks unapproachable at first. Fluttering thoughts, sudden realizations, dissimulation of sorrow. A lesson on the essentials of introspective recollection, performed with uttermost class by three superb musicians.

CARLOS BICA + MATÉRIA-PRIMA – Carlos Bica + Matéria-Prima

Carlos Bica (double bass), Matthias Schriefl (trumpet, flugelhorn, melodica), João Paulo (piano, keyboards, accordion), Mário Delgado (electric guitar), João Lobo (drums, percussion). Ever since the very beginning – “D.C.”, namely almost ten minutes of a basic rock-blues vamp with rather ordinary playing from all members – your reviewer was awfully confounded, thinking of a sort of indecipherable homage to certain sonorities of the late 60s. It didn’t get any better: the whole album sounds as a collection of discarded soundtracks from 30-40 years ago, stuffed with easy-to-digest melodies, elementary arrangements, washed-out progressions, generally predictable solos. Everything extremely dated in a passionless exercise-like style: no emotion, no impulsiveness, nothing that managed to protract my curiosity for more than fifteen seconds. If there’s some irony disguised in this release, I really could not understand it. To this raconteur it is just desolately tiresome, veritably lacking a pulse, the lone exceptions being a nice enough track called “Roses For You” and the encore, an excellent cover of Ry Cooder’s “Paris, Texas”. Dulcis in fundo indeed - but the large quantity of preceding monotony is too much to overcome with that only.

AVRAM FEFER – Ritual

Avram Fefer (alto, tenor & soprano sax, bass clarinet), Eric Revis (bass), Chad Taylor (drums). The utter loathsomeness afflicting the stereotyped music played by a large chunk of trios is mostly forgotten in Ritual, not a revolution but a sincere, honest album for sure. An open minded group working halfway through cognizant dynamism and regulated liberation without forgetting the basics of classic jazz. Starting from straightforward elements such as an African rhythm, a rudimentary melodic figuration or a contemplative theme, the three become involved and almost tangled in zealous interpretations of a rather modern literature, upon which Fefer moves with a good degree of fervor, a desire of “letting people in” and the full consciousness of the space around his phrases, which he inhabits placidly enough, minus any kind of coercion towards the audience. Excellent work from Revis and Taylor, who challenge the commonly intended concept of foundation to add their own breakthroughs, thus contributing to elevate the overall intensity – and, ultimately, the interplay’s strength - to higher levels.

DENNIS GONZÁLEZ / JOÃO PAULO – Scapegrace

Duets for piano (Paulo) and Bb cornet plus C trumpet (González). I only see a minor problem in an otherwise perfectly fine CD, namely its unnecessarily stretched duration at over 72 minutes. In consideration of the homogeneity of such a kind of instrumental tête-à-tête, which more or less revolves around the same factors (especially on a timbral level), one could have kept the whole under 50’, thus avoiding the risk of experiencing a smidgen of weariness at the end with what’s instead admirably played music, often poetic, even mathematically challenging at times, always informed by the right balance between discerning insight and top-rank methodological mastery. The couple, as per González’ account in the liners, spent quality time at the pianist’s home on a hill that dominates Lisbon. This confidence is perceivable all the way through, the musicians reciprocally responding to invitations and implications with delicacy and acumen, ultimately letting us forget about mere (and cold) technical issues thanks to a clear ability in catching resonating essences from the very air that surrounds them.

LUIS LOPES / ADAM LANE / IGAL FONI – What Is When

Guitar, double bass and drums, following the artist’s names order. Lopes thinks intensely to Sonny Sharrock (the dedicatee of the initial track “Evolution Motive” together with Charles Darwin) but also winks to early John Scofield, jarring angularity and a substantial dose of edginess still prevailing on the mass-approved tolerability of a fusion-tinged bluesy style. He’s a rather abstemious soloist after all, paying special attention to the correct placement of notes, not exactly longing for the sanitization of his sullied tone, which is a good thing in terms of originality. Lane offers a great performance throughout, the foremost traits being an overdriven bark containing the multi-purpose password for an actual crossing of genres and a grimily involving, arco-generated drone particularly manifest in the nearly elegiac “Cerejeiras” and in the closing solo “Perched Upon An Electric Wire”. Israel’s Foni is a surprise, at least to this writer who met him here for the first time. Freely flowing yet adult, constantly conscious about the place to be at every juncture, present at the right moment to unchain the bolder handiwork. A responsive companion for Lopes and Lane’s swapping of blows, a propulsive activity that never deteriorates.

Multiple Hemingways

Composer, improviser, percussionist, educator, sensitive musician. I couldn’t say what definition of Gerry Hemingway is preferable. Open your ears and listen: the following ones are three great records - Tom And Gerry’s in particular.

GERRY HEMINGWAY QUINTET – Demon Chaser

Second edition of this assortment of recordings from a 1993 set at Ottenbrucher Banhof, Wuppertal-Elberfeld (Germany). The super group – this time it is really necessary to call it so – walks around a series of idioms with unimpeachable command informed by a temperament that stands halfway grotesquely ironic and utterly uncontaminated. The melodic awkwardness of “Slamadam” is followed by a baffling eradication of pedestrian routines from “A Night In Tunisia”, a great Ernst Reijseger soaring through innumerable multiplications of phrase fragments and instant escapades, before the whole flows into what could almost be called “free jazz rock”, trombonist Wolter Wierbos unafraid of revealing a tendency to masochistic impossibilities during his solo spots. “Buoys” is perhaps the most fascinating piece on offer, a brooding cross of chamber strings (Reijseger and Mark Dresser working wonders here) and softly talkative trombone that moves across suspenseful chiaroscuros. Wierbos and clarinettist Michael Moore exchange darts of psychic preposterousness over an incessant cello riff in “Holler Up”, whereas the leader puts the title track in eternal reiteration via circular rolling patterns needed as pretext for the rest of the gang to assemble an omnium-gatherum of glissando absurdity, frolicsome counterpoints, son-of-Lachenmann raindrops and Ayler-meet-Harth sax squeals. The finale is the fabulously swinging “More Struttin’ With Mutton”, its jokey theme sticking in the memory forever; but the bass clarinet and cello solos are also impressive, just like the entirety of Hemingway’s arrangements. (HatOLOGY)

JOHN BUTCHER / GERRY HEMINGWAY – Buffalo Pearl

JB on tenor and soprano sax, GH – besides drums and percussion – also using voice and sampler. The album was released in 2008, and it’s mostly excellent. In “Light Queen”, the dialogue is distinguished by an abundance of breathing room, revealing an enthusiastic aspiration to the reciprocal understanding of what the partner is expressing in order to complement the creative splinters in the best possible way. Butcher remains in the percussive side of the palette for the largest portion of the improvisation which, in general, is soft and sharp, incisively logical throughout. “Head Nickel” is a technically superior binge (pardon the definition), the saxophone as the vehicle for a strapping reverie, while “McGeist” explores the insides of the improvisational nucleus both in terms of timbre and dynamics, aggregating and disassembling parts in the space of thirty seconds. The musicians, here like everywhere else, seem to descend from the main genus of probing discordance (which is what renders the music quite piquant, thanks in part to Hemingway’s use of amusingly goofy electronic sounds). Successive sections are definable as sparingly tranquil, when not plain lyrical (if one can call Butcher’s multi-pitch intrepidness so). “No Illusion” is a mini-symphony of abraded metal and multiphonic torment that doesn’t offer a single point of orientation. The conclusive “The Good Neighbor” lets the drummer shine in no-ordinary-rhythm-if-you-pay-me uncontrollability as his actual neighbor overwhelms us with a special kind of philanthropic aggression characterized by a gazillion of all kinds of notes; it would take a week to brush them off the ground after the sparkles have ended. (Auricle)

TOM & GERRY – Kinetics

Where “Tom” is Thomas Lehn, as a matter of course on analogue synthesizer. We’re advised of listening on “high-quality audio equipment, preferably at a high volume”, but the music is so gorgeous that any decent setting should be sufficient to let us delight in the engrossingly lively shifts and diversified articulations that the duo generates. “Patina” is a cross of spacey pulse and liquefying clairvoyance typified by intelligent restraint, which prepares the listener to the innumerable timbral varieties that will follow, just like a ceremony’s preamble. The short “Verdigris” verges on the somewhat harsher characteristics of the instruments, privileging sharper frequencies in a partial disentanglement from the innermost vibration. “Mould” is maybe the first episode in which the sonic total transcends the basic musical concept, thus connecting to different kinds of reality: discerning touches, dynamic analyses aimed to a rational sharing of the reverberant surroundings, puzzling juxtapositions doing their best to prevent the audience from recognizing who plays what. The piece is splendid indeed, an exercise in self-discipline which leaves mystified – and wanting more. “Bozzetto” is a brief intermission of hissing micro-discharges and sputtering rudiments, directly throwing in the 32 minutes of “Maquette”, the record’s closure. It starts with a sensible emancipation from the commonly deduced notion of rhythm (please be aware that everything in the universe possesses its own beat - however, it’s too difficult to decode and set in sheer mathematical rationalization for a man’s delusional inanity to grasp it). Soon thereafter, the artists protract the journey through countless constellations of isolation, the only goal being “annihilation of sameness”. The exchange is wholeheartedly impressive, two instrumental sources enough to exhale fumes of interior knowledge while keeping an eye on what happens in the concreteness department, outstandingly perceptive drumming and insightful exploration of the synthetic realms totally corresponding in enlivening impetus. After long moments of (don’t laugh) cosmic expectation, the finale sees Lehn and Hemingway finally liberated, exchanging harder and harder blows to the head and body until exhaustion, probably the lone moment of actual lack of restrictions in the whole disc. Which - in case you didn’t get it yet - is a work of art that, to my understanding, has gone fairly unnoticed to date. Let’s go and change the trend. (Auricle)

Szilárd Mezei (And A Personal Digression On Magyarország)

An increasingly reinforced secret bond exists since childhood between your purple prose etcher and Hungary. As a matter of fact, to this day my darling cartoon is the fabulous Gusztáv, aka Gustavus, produced in the 60s by Hungarofilm and aired by RAI - our national television network - in the early 70s. Never heard of him? You have not lived yet: check some of the episodes on YouTube (admittedly, the animations could be a little too satirically sophisticated for those who grew up impersonating Marvel superheroes and the likes). The main theme and all the soundtracks – which used to include absurdist blasts of reeds and brass, warped utterances, manipulated tapes and even hints to free jazz - are part of my DNA. Honest. Imagine a Hungarian Spike Jones and you’ll get the picture. Then again, I’ve always been deeply intrigued by the written appearance of that language, which pronounced in Italian gives birth to very funny situations. Repeating the name of a border city called Tatabánya as a mantra when I was an insignificant slant-toothed kid constituted a favourite activity of mine for a while (OK, Steve Reich’s It’s Gonna Rain and Come Out were already there). Ah, the mysteries of bizarre cerebral behaviour.
Anyway, let’s not drift off the point. A Serbian composer with rock-solid Magyar roots who has steadily amassed a sizeable quantity of noteworthy releases but is still relatively unsung, Mr. Mezei sent these four beauties (köszönöm szépen, Szilárd). Follow the links to find them, listen for yourselves, then send me a thankful note via email; there’s gorgeous music to be found herein. Uncompromising musicians who can actually play an instrument. Once upon a time they really existed - just like intelligent TV or, if so preferred, an alternative to a miserable humanity nourished by fake tits and equally counterfeit news.

SZILÁRD MEZEI – Mint Amikor Tavasz

Mint Amikor Tavasz, which means something like “As When The Spring”, is an outstanding collection of solos for viola and double bass, exploring a wide scope of techniques and moods. Perhaps the uppermost quality in Mezei's improvising style is his facility in transforming a purely imaginative gesture into statements gifted with an inherent rational scheme, rendered even more intriguing by an innate ability of picking up quarter tones, small noises and ultra-piercing harmonics and synthesizing them in omni-comprehensive assertions. Erudition and freedom proceed in parallel outbursts, the sheer pleasure of listening to an awesomely good technique rewarding the concentration that must necessarily be employed for an extensive stretch of time (the CD lasts in fact over 76 minutes). Thematic designs whose constitution ranges from gently melancholic to totally excoriating, each piece living a life of its own without a bastardization of meanings, yet all part of a gratifying entirety. Hints to a forthright impulsiveness balanced by the attention to minuscule details, the whole giving the idea of a problematic transition to superior states of being that for sure will be reached, at last. The lingering suggestion is one of brightness, fleet-footed intensity and dramatic awareness at the basis of a splendid album which deserves repeated spins. (Not Two)

MEZEI SZILÁRD TRIO – A Kölyökkutya Reszketése

The title - extremely tricky to pronounce (for me, at least) - translates as “Trembling Of The Puppy”. A very poetic definition for a kind of music that, again, meshes dissimilar atmospheres and references, ranging from Hungarian folksong (the initial, splendid “Tánc – Rossz Asszony” and “Patak”, the latter’s mournful melody masterfully delivered in sensitive counterpoint by Mezei and Slovakian double bassist Ervin Malina) to swinging peculiarity bathed in a jazzy vibe (“Sün”). The appearance of some of these tracks is deceivingly sweet-toned, alluring to the point of letting us abandon our defensive stance. It’s there that the trio’s mental and propulsive dynamism – facilitated by Csík Istvan’s sensible drumming – stings when less expected, allowing Mezei’s preciseness and biting earnestness to exalt the undressed beauty of his phrasing in literal transliterations of different conditions of the mind, most of them apparently bordering on bitter sadness. The absolute lack of impertinence characterizing the CD is particularly evident in the tight-fisted soberness of the title track and in the subsequent “Bukluk”, whose recalcitrance to obey the common rules of jazz idiom results in a rather strident mix of implacable swing and slippery lanky dissonance. A difficult record that starts to remunerate only after a good number of attentive stabs. (Győrfree – Harmonia)

SZILÁRD MEZEI TRIO – Bármikor, Most / Anytime, Now

This is the most richly variegated CD in the pair of trio recordings examined here (the musicians are identical as in A Kölyökkutya Reszketése ), as demonstrated by the very first track “Induló”, based on an ear-catching riff that carries the weight of the whole tune for over six minutes. “Lynx” is designed as an atonal rhythmic exercise upon which Mezei plays a somewhat robotic pizzicato and Malina abates the percentage of uniformity through a cross of robust pluck and arco growl that sound mysterious and thought-provoking at one and the same time. “Most Nem” is pretty minimally structured as far as the basic pulse is concerned, and a vehicle for the protagonist to depict intoxicating Eastern figurations permeated by a regretful aura, which is usually what elevates his solos to states of grace infused with the sense of oppression seemingly deriving from daily struggles (and who knows what else). The lengthy “Hep 3” is a challenging combination of laborious metrical peregrinations (sure enough, István Csík is more than capable of managing a drum set when the going gets tough), angular phrases and antagonistic improvisation. Yet there’s still room for reflection, as shown by the skeletally charming theme and philosophically detached viola solo of “Te Beszélsz, Én Elalszok” (“You Speak, I Fall Asleep” – lovely title) The entire album is a fine exemplification of the proportionality between lack of bell-and-whistle trickery and abundance of meaningful insight that Mezei’s music constantly proposes. Consistently great stuff. (Not Two)

MEZEI SZILÁRD / ERVIN MALINA – Füzet / Zošit

Extraordinary album of duets for viola and double bass that every serious appraiser of contemporary opuses for strings should try and secure a copy of. There’s just everything that needs to exist in such a kind of artistic report. The poignancy of the initial “Szépen Veri Az Eső A Virágot” is a well-visible building block amidst the rule-infringing incorruptibility demonstrated by these superb players throughout the program, with particular reference to the six episodes of the title track which alternates gypsy meditation and furious thunder-and-lightning improvisation of the finest cloth, the acme reached in the sixth chapter which is, plain and simple, a work of genius. The flummoxing amalgamations of instant outbreaks, hardly classifiable oscillating pitches and stern elucidations of pre-conceived themes (one on top of all, the heartrending elegy of “Huzatos Huzat”, which could represent an East-European paraphrasing of “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat”) finally fuses in the sort of profoundness that goes beyond the mere analysis of a piece or of the constitution of a timbre. Two great instrumentalists, unafraid of attempting the implausible and (merely hypothetically) tumbling, these men successfully point toward unsteady paths that not many people can expect to tread without hurting themselves or, at the very least, losing focus. However, don’t be intimidated by the difficulty of this unadulterated, irreproachable acoustic vision. Get influenced by the most striking specimen of dissonant poetry, magnificently tempered by the stirring finale “Szivaroztam, Elégettem A Számat” – another marvelous Hungarian folk tune replete with fractional-pitch painfulness. I find myself chuckling cynically, yet again, when pondering on the ignorance (and absolute lack of ear) of those impeded entities - self-proclaiming “musicians” - who still think that it only takes “seven notes” to create music. Will they ever shut up and learn, for once in a lifetime? (Győrfree)

Another Timbre’s Weekend Quartet

That’s right, I spent both Saturday and Sunday submerged by the sounds emitted by these four CDs. Thanks as always to Simon Reynell for promoting, releasing and sending out some of the best improvised music on the market. While I’m writing this article, more recordings have already been published from this great imprint. Needless to say, they will be featured in future reviews

WADE MATTHEWS / STÉPHANE RIVES – Arethusa

A fine amalgamation of software-generated synthetic sounds, treated field recordings and soprano saxophone that spells out its legitimacy over four tracks, each different in terms of sonority and, at the very least, engaging when not veritably transfixing. Such is the case of the opening segment, a painstaking vacillation of elevated pitches - some of them pretty smooth, other uneven – that initiates a series of natural glissandos and shrilling adjacencies whose near-incandescent vibrancy is essential for a thorough purging of the auricular conduits. The second track is adequate if a little more normal, rolling percussiveness of the wooden kind and stinging whistle mixing in various degrees of cohesiveness. Not groundbreaking, but nice. The third subdivision increases the distance between the events, also extending the brain’s faculty of anticipating a sonic occurrence while still remaining astounded by the glory of selected sudden appearances. It happens with imposingly resounding bumps and pulses, in turn eliciting subsonic ramifications amidst solid materials caressed by Rives’ extemporaneous sibilance, mystifying harmonics, bumblebee buzzes and aborted honks. A ceremonial aura permeates this section, intermittently turning it into a quasi-paranormal experience. The record is ended by a piece juxtaposing severe upper partials and whispered talking, the whole surrounded by less decipherable manifestations, grainy hissing and sub-quaking drones. I could have done without the vocal constituent; however, this remains a completely fitting conclusion for a frequently magnetizing release.

LUCIO CAPECE / LEE PATTERSON – Empty Matter

Capece plays soprano sax, bass clarinet, preparations and sruti box (featured in a delightful drone piece called “Sostener”, one of my favourites), while Patterson is active on CD players, pickups, eBowed springrods, springplate and hazelnuts. The duo is endowed with a considerable percentage of mutual receptiveness, a factor that often transforms even the most ordinary occurrences into dazzling sounds. The harmonic substance of a single pitch can become, pertinently magnified, an ascetic choral hymn. The coincidence of frying pan activity, reiterated notes and unpromisingly vague rattling heard in “Fervesce” is outright splendid, among the disc’s top episodes, immediately followed by the affecting thickness of “Ventilar”, an improvisation that exploits the junction of echoing metals and squealing insinuations (the latter made me look out of the window twice to see if cats were doing damage somewhere in the garden). Underscoring the activities, the steady throbbing of a low-frequency underworld keeps us prepared for a display of power that instead remains merely hinted, unexpressed. Persistently acute intrusive emissions by Capece attempt to limit a latent tendency to needless lavishness (with all that menacing jangling, you never know), confining the interaction in face-to-face dialogues between regal roar and gritty roughness. In “Coriolis”, old-fashioned, but still efficient percussive patterns are supplemented by the intrinsic features of their original source, giving life to dissentient trance tarnished by rust, symbolizing a routine that is both physical and rational yet, somehow, lets the victims get a glimpse of non-illusory methods for escaping.

THE SEALED KNOT – And We Disappear

Music performed by Burkhard Beins (percussion, objects), Rhodri Davies (pedal harp, eBow) and Mark Wastell (double bass, bow and beaters). The immediate feeling, as we’re listening to the splendidly rich pounding with which this single 38-minute improvisation begins, is that Wastell has replaced the sepulchral nature of the beloved tam-tam by taking advantage of the analogous qualities of the bass which - aptly stimulated via arco (... and beaters?) - enhances our will of comparing those stifled hits to sounds that might directly be connected to the vibrational/irrational essence of perception. The most in-your-face aspects of this set are probably represented by the myriads of overlapping cells engendered by Beins through his click-and-scrape abrasive artillery, with which he produces sheer ruggedness, static groundings or lopsided patterns. Davies stands behind glowingly terse materializations of an otherwise uncatchable evanescence, putting the unlimited duration of the bowed pitches at the service of the inherent concept while keeping an eye on an unfathomable harmony, only expressible by musicians in perpetual state of alertness. The paths followed by The Sealed Knot are completely visible, not hiding secrets or dangers, yet one constantly experiences a sense of ignorant frustration, a “there’s much more than this” belief emphasizing their rigorous instrumental interrelation. Obvious disparities turn into a marvellously harmonious corporeality, outward-looking intuitions leading us to a zone where details, names and sources don’t matter anymore. All we need is closing the eyes and welcoming the sublimation, ultimately lulled by a massive synthesis of auspiciously beneficial symptoms. The conclusive rarefaction – three men pushing gestural nakedness at the forefront in a parallel exhibition of dynamic control, before raising the intensity level for the very last time – is a virtual fusion of the inexistent extremities of an endless cycle.

LORIS – The Cat From Cat Hill

Patrick Farmer, Sarah Hughes and Daniel Jones share an interesting timbral palette that, in addition to recognized colours and devices (the omnipresent eBow, tapes, piano, turntable and electronics) reveals items that I couldn’t accurately envisage – what is a “chorded zither”? – and a couple of semi-biological sources (“wood”, “natural objects”). Even more attractive to these ears is the aural outcome, to the point that there’s a good possibility, as of now, that The Cat From Cat Hill might represent my pick if someone forced me to choose a single title in this batch of gorgeously nonconforming albums. This music gathers all incidents under an umbrella of worried reflection, mixing rustling/liquid noises, humming power, vinyl-related imperfections, remote human activity and a discrete scent of solitude. Picture an August afternoon spent standing in front of a solitary industrial plant and trying to identify its mechanically generated voices rather than getting compulsorily tanned on a beach together with thousands of other unlucky individuals. Barely noticeable details become, as the time slips away, cardinal elements of important transitions between dull materiality and painful transcendence; the sense of estrangement from the surrounding reality is enhanced by our concentration on the repetitive quality of a passage, before being instantly awakened by analytical juxtapositions achieving the maximum extent of psychosomatic impact thanks to their uncongested heteromorphy. As the trio manages to combine motorized and organic, stasis and progression, composure and anguish – suddenly opening things up with magnificent rays of hope, as it happens around the tenth minute in “Sophie” – we’re appreciative of being a part of the course of action, mere observers of this strange world of domesticated interference and influential signals.

Want Some Spekk?

Namely, Nao Sugimoto’s excellent label, which deals with minimal electronica, nonfigurative improvisation and various kinds of drone-related materials with class and intelligence. Besides these two CDs, grab a copy of the gorgeous An Angel Fell Where The Kestrels Hover by Peter Wright, reviewed here.

DIRAC – Emphasis

Although Austrian trio Dirac (Peter Kutin, Daniel Lercher and Florian Kindlinger) describe their sound as “chamber music of the 21st century”, laptops represent the fundament of the electroacoustic concoction presented in Emphasis. On a superficial approach there is nothing extraordinary in this record, principally constructed upon the rarefaction of the constituents (typical ones: melancholic piano chords, subtle electronics, well-chosen samples and field recordings, uncomplicated melodic fragments). However, give it a more conscientious listen and a few precious drops of beauty will start to appear. Pale luminescence, elusive instrumental touches whose echo lingers on softly, a mood permeated by an introspective kind of looking back that develops into faintly substantial aural matter as soon as certain thoughts are evoked. It becomes, occasionally, a dolefully harmonious type of experience, in the middle of a road linking a far-flung past and the insecurity arising from the intuition of bleak periods to come. Don’t be surprised if mental haze starts materializing during the most soothing segments (the conclusive “A Rest In Tension” my favourite chapter in that sense). Definitely not a groundbreaking release, yet also not completely derivative, a weak body revealing traits that may seduce, and not only for a short adventure. It works very efficiently even at “whispered installation” volume, but you have to be aware of its buried details first.

TETUZI AKIYAMA + TOSHIMARU NAKAMURA – Semi-Impressionism

Acoustic guitar and no-input mixing board, as expected. What I didn’t anticipate was the extreme degree of contemplative plainness which the record would introduce without necessarily hinting to classic EAI (that’s right, we’ve already arrived at the “classic” status for a pretty recent genre). Listening to Semi-Impressionism for the first time in a quietly sunny festive morning, the only sound coming from the outside (as it recurrently happens around here) was that of singing birds, which complemented this delicate conversation quite wonderfully. “Delicate”, yes. Because Nakamura might still be able of surprising with the most unrepentant stabs of feedback, hurtful hiss and warping distortion – it does occur many times indeed – yet all he brings out of that machine makes absolute sense, intersecting with Akiyama’s sparse statements as a perfectly matching component. And, of course, it’s not solely noise. When the ears manage to adjust to the same carrier wave of certain frequencies, sounds that do exist while not being readily available for verbal illustration, one realizes about the veritable miracles that the brain performs when subjected to codes that are theoretically reserved to the (much more evolved) hearing of animals who, I’m sure, can individuate hundreds of additional meanings in what we identify as merely “acute”. It remains to be said of Akiyama’s style in this circumstance, kind of an unclothed blues – a detachedly slow jargon made of single sparkling pitches, two strings plucked together at worst – whose immediate unambiguousness and serene lucidity, in turn revealing instantly measurable profundity, should give a few instructions to the hordes of adorers of, say, Loren Connors, the latter’s supposedly touching – but frequently plain boring – overly bent notes failing to achieve the state of brooding level-headedness reached by the Japanese guitarist in this almost perfect album.