@C – Up, Down, Charm, Strange, Top, Bottom (Cronica)
Miguel Carvalhais and Pedro Tudela recorded these files from 2002 to 2007, assembling the result in a multi-faceted patchwork that fuses improvisation, electronic, sampladelia and musique concrete. Surprisingly, after a couple of headphone sessions – in which, admittedly, this writer admired the quality of the studio work and the clever methods of combination applied by the duo – I gave the CD a try in my overall favourite listening setting: tranquil evening, open windows, moderate volume. The music became a great active ambience: incredibly rich, complex, full of chiaroscuro yet flowing without obstacles, sounding extremely natural to the ears. In a word, rewarding. To achieve this effect, @C taped several among the musicians with whom they had an artistic relation in the above mentioned time span (most names are not really familiar to yours truly, though Neil Davidson and Raymond MacDonald are well known in this place). Not that you can spot someone, as the timbral personalities get thoroughly mashed by a “quest for the unidentifiable” that makes Carvalhais and Tudela define them as “sampled guests”, although they also describe this work as a homage to the involved artists. So what does all this mean in terms of sonic manoeuvre? The definitive picture is one of technical excellence, a little less heart (but it’s not mandatory for this kind of stuff) and the will to discern deeper implications in something that, in all probability, is not containing them. It does remain a very good release, whose real value is not explicable on a single listen. This record needs persistence and attention.
@C – V3 (Cronica)
Sometimes it happens: from ruthless music generators a pulsating living organism comes to manifest itself, leaving questions and doubts behind, letting people have a glance at an uncertain definition of future without panic – instead confirming one’s will to go over the easy paybacks of “educated” instrumental voices. Seaming together three different live exhibitions, @C and visual artist Lia plus selected friends (Manuel Mota, Joao Hora, Vitor Joaquim and Andy Gangadeen) created a multiform quilt of discarded sonic remains in a self-blocking totality of intelligent noisemaking. Rising from subliminal lows, metal beats, looping steams and repaired electronics flow right into a multitude of impartial spectrographies, revealing new intersections and evidences that appear under constant monitoring by the artists. All the way through, the basic pulse returns to let us remember we’re still talking about life: our body reaction to this mixture speaks for itself.
@C & VITOR JOAQUIM – De-tour (Feld)
After the first minutes of this set, characterized by pretty inexpressive rustling micro-sounds, I was wondering where the beef was. What was lurking behind the corner was one of the most intense soundscapes in recent times, which @c (Miguel Carvalhais and Pedro Tudela, also the masterminds running the Cronica label) and Vitor Joaquim created by assembling re-edited and processed segments of live recordings captured during a German tour in 2005. The raw freshness and reinvigorating realism of the original takes is among the winning features of the disc, the music a succession of different scenarios that might or might not have been influenced by historic realities – from post industrial thudding pulses reminiscent of entities like Het Zweet to the entrancing repetitions of the best years of :zoviet*france: – but it’s clear that the involved parties are not hopeless copycats, their creations showing a genuine will of exploring the intimate essence of every new concoction with an enthusiasm that almost borders on the naïve. That very ingenuousness is what I like more in this artifact. Unusual samples, taped voices, terrific pre-recorded snippets, fractured fanfares – you name it, everything needed to displace expectation is used. Nevertheless, once we penetrate the hypnotic circle around which “De-tour” revolves, a curious sense of comfort takes control of our psyche, which kind of anticipates the factual evolution as in an unconscious preview. By repotting spontaneous improvisations into a well-conceived electroacoustic pastiche, @c and Joaquim have fathered something whose sincerity is palpable, an example of how to avoid digital tediousness for many poodle-faced, snot-leaking laptoppers.
AALFANG MIT PFERDEKOPF – Mezethakia Mukabalatt (Aalfang)
The record starts with an acoustic guitar strummed loosely in a mutation of Bowie’s “Space oddity”; this is just the smart introduction to a very well crafted artifact, the second solo CD by Mirko Uhlig’s artistic alter ego. Aalfang’s music is quite unpredictable in most of its forms, mixing regular instruments, loops, field recordings and personal fun in a series of sonic pot-pourris that, at least in this album, exclude futilities and gratuitous cheap tricks in favour of coherence and good taste. All parts are adequately connected, so that delayed guitars, tape accelerations, spectral continuums and voices of children at play succeed in picturing a fresh design of atmospheric suggestions that light up my curiosity for an announced upcoming release on the Belgian Mystery Sea label. “Mezethakia” is certainly a clear step forward from AMP’s first CDR, showing a focus which keeps me hoping for more surprises.
AALFANG MIT PFERDEKOPF – Genmaicha: at the Opal Seashore (Mystery Sea)
“Genmaicha”, besides being a very pleasant listening experience, is also my favourite album by Mirko Uhlig until now. The whole record is centred around amorphous sensations, its aesthetic engulfed by an equalizing process that privileges the cutoff of high frequencies, transforming Aalfang’s soundpool in a morass of disturbing voicings, muddy chords and unquiet spirits dancing and whirling in slowly crumbling cathedrals. What’s even better is Uhlig’s work with the sonic consecutio: no matter how we try to abandon defenses to get overwhelmed by reluctance, the breathtaking loops used by Mirko to raise the level of evocation work wonders in soliciting our sense of doubt, bringing out the most profound despondency in a continuous flow of appearances and displacements. Fantasies can be scary sometimes but this time Aalfang Mit Pferdekopf’s imagination gave birth to a quasi-masterpiece of ultramundane music.
AALFANG MIT PFERDEKOPF – Ich habe nur noch 12 Seepferdchen in meinen tempel (Einzeleinheit)
The weird freaks populating the warped sonic world of Mirko Uhlig are back at work with serious intentions. Aalfang’s music in this occasion calls for gnomes with children’s voices, strumming of hardly tuned guitars, urban activity mixed with lunar radiations, drones apparently from the centre of the earth. As usual, Uhlig is not aligned; he’s slowly but surely growing a totally personal pattern – a style, if you will – that mixes his progressive/krautrock influences with a great individualism. Most tracks sound like images reflected on a water surface: they are there but look crippled and deformed, acquiring a fascinating significance according to our observation point. Uncompromising yet absolutely benevolent, the sound of Aalfang Mit Pferdekopf is a viscous substance whose effect on the brain is damn near to a lobotomy: at the end of this CD you could find yourself absent-minded, blinking inexpressively at your wife asking what you want for lunch.
AB DUO – Everyone is happy (Scrapple)
AB Duo comprises drummer Brendan Dougherty and trumpeter Aaron Meicht, who are also part of the electronic trio Feigner. The motivity of “Everyone is happy” is proportional to its reclusive appearance, the music offering nocturnal qualities that never transcend the limit of licentiousness. Meicht tends to break silence with gentle intracutaneous fragments and introverted spirals whose range is usually limited to predetermined melodic areas, “melody” in this case not to be intended as a lyrical expression, rather as a sheer succession of notes. On his side, Dougherty is even more restrained, moving small gestural bursts and succinct hints around ample spaces and intense taciturnities, often leaving us completely alone and naked in front of unexpected whiffles of nothingness. The final – and longest – track is a 32-minute live improvisation showing AB’s total dynamic control: gleams of instrumental prowess define a discoloured poetry that whispers at our untold desires with the same conviction of a silent persuader. Difficult yet substantial matter, certainly worthy of repeated visits with concentration working at full steam.
A BROKEN CONSORT – The shape leaves (Sustain-Release)
Given that the large part of this label’s editions come in extremely limited quantities – from a single copy (!) to 28, to 100 – and that every item is singularly assembled and personalized with a dedication to the receiver, handmade artwork with beautiful leaves and similar preparations, plus fascinating graphic design and photos by Louise Skelton, then consider this review a random choice justifying my invitation to fathom the artistic microcosm of a gentleman named Richard Skelton from Lancashire (UK), father of Sustain-Release and – under various monikers – of the music contained here and in other albums published by it. The whole enterprise is a veritable loving memory, moved by the need of perpetuating the presence, both artistic and spiritual, of someone whose short life has inspired Skelton’s in many aspects. One can perceive this endeavour in every minute of the music, which in the case of “The shape leaves” consists of six tracks of spellbinding, single-chord acoustic tapestries where bowed guitars, violin, harmonium (probably something else too, but it’s not so important) and loops constitute the core of a sound that seems to represent the artist’s will to fill his mind with vibrations whose sheen helps dampening the effects of a deeply rooted sorrow. For strict musical references, Skelton has already been inserted by many in a well determined area, halfway through new acoustic folk and neo-psychedelia. I myself believe that this album could attract people whose tastes range from Third Ear Band to Peter Wright. But what I really want to stress as more relevant than anything else is the bright light of Richard’s devotion, something that transpires from his entire approach to art and music. A genuine, creative, deserving man.
A BROKEN CONSORT – Box of birch (Sustain-Release)
Richard Skelton has a unique style resulting from the conjunction of see-through elements and the extreme care with which he assembles them. That’s enough to guarantee sonic poetry of the highest order, and “Box of birch” is the inevitable confirmation of the validity of this process and the depth of the man himself. Already at its second edition – this time limited to 100 copies with the customary individually dedicated manual artwork – this CD features the best music that I’ve heard from Skelton until now, something pregnant with the total awareness of an inescapable regret which, creatively speaking, is exactly the key to those questions that people usually refuse to raise. The constituents of these four ravishing mantric improvisations revolve around strings, an accordion (…harmonium? Both?), dangling objects, piano, found sounds and percussion, various kinds of loops. There’s a splendid description on the cover, that – in between other words – talks about “barbed wire blues”, “dense thickets of slack strings” and “accordion mists gathering in the early morning light”. I can picture Richard opening the windows, breathing deep, inhaling the humid air and sitting down to reflect for long silent moments. Then embracing his “slacked-string” violin and commencing a chant coming from the very inside, inconspicuous proximities suddenly called out to accompany the newest exploration of a past that’s still grieving, but might lead him to a radiant future. This is one of those human beings who will be allowed to see what’s going to happen when our physical package has crumbled, and if you’re smart follow my advice: things like “Box of birch” come only every once in a while, in extremely small doses. We have to realize that they are there, earlier than the undeserving ones. We need to reassure ourselves that such a purity of intents still exists. This man’s foresight is enhanced by someone who is invisible to us, yet by listening to what he’s able to generate it becomes obvious that his art is just another shape for a soul to manifest itself.
ABSTRACTIONS – Ars vivende (Edgetone/Pax Recordings)
Another example of the Abstractions’ fury, this time more violent and anguishing than in their previous “Sonic conspiracy”. Mostly characterized by vocal eruptions over deranged rhythms and instrumental torturing upon impossible leit-motifs, “Ars vivende” is a record that stands in front of any “gentle” aesthetic with the impetus of anger, poverty, rage against the perpetual rule or – simply put – a demonstration that art must not always satisfy the educated ear. Like a Jackson Pollock painting, only splashed with blood, sweat and maybe stomach acids, this music will have you feeling uneasy. Ernesto Diaz-Infante, Rent Romus, Bob Marsh are just the better known entities here; but all the musicians involved make sure everything gets drowned in a turbid vapor of unanswered questions.
ABSTRACTIONS – Novo navigatio (Edgetone/Pax Recordings)
You could not say that Abstractions are slickers, as their “rags-to-raggedier” kind of artistic freedom makes their sound emissions appreciable by a few stray pigeons and a bunch of lucky critics – yes, it’s me there. This collective’s in-yo’-face, politically incorrect lyrics mesh with rusty needles of disposed improvising sapience and remnants of Beefheartian corpses, poleaxing any concept of nearshore straightness while proudly showing the earmarks of genuine intelligence. The indented poetics of indecipherable sonic stenography offered by these musicians is more than enough to declare them essential in the ever expanding galaxy of West Coast free music. Let’s leave famousness to someone else and enjoy these strange bulletins; “California dreaming” this ain’t.
ACOUSTIC GUITAR TRIO – Acoustic Guitar Trio (Incus)
The three acoustic guitar anti-heroes featured here are Nels Cline, Jim McAuley and Rod Poole. The “social interactions” among the instrumental entities are conveniently oriented towards a controlled dissonance, often opening up to reveal a flourishing variety of arpeggio delicacies and a very careful choice of tunings that will sound “wrong” to the ones whose maximum level of complication acceptance is the California Guitar Trio. But, to yours truly, those strange distinctions of chords and lines are the very essence of the AGT’s musicianship. A concentrated listen will bring out an ever-present fantasy, a bright-minded attack to conventional guitar counterpoint and an involuntary slap in the face of boring virtuosos – not that Nels, Jim and Rod lack any technique, mind you; simply put, there’s no trace of routine around and the music is often sparkling. These guys listen to each other instead of posing in front of a giant hollow mirror.
A CROWN OF AMARANTH – Love.Lies.Bleeding (Crucial Bliss)
After a few moments of grinding electronic noise and membrane-piercing distortion – both largely dominant characters in this music – I was telling myself “I’m too old for this”. But I stayed and, sure enough, the reward came – under the guise of a structure. Yes – A Crown of Amaranth are not your typical noise bastards but use those unbelievably violent eruptions with a well developed compositional scope, so that you’re forced to follow what happens with curiosity, even enjoying some blissful (pun intended) moment. As a matter of fact, while listening to this volcanic album at late evening, at one moment I found myself so “relaxed” by harsh drones and powerful low frequencies that I closed my eyes and let my brain function in standby mode – but when you’re hit by hellish voices, slow melodies of scorching guitars and voices of children immersed in various interferences, you think that Neil Young was right: it’s better to burn out than to fade away.
ADAM_IS – Moles (Echomusic)
Michail Adamis recorded these sounds during the construction of an underground tunnel in the national road linking Athens and Thessaloniki, the result used as a sonic installation at the planning offices of the involved company. The aim was to highlight the different aspects of the working environments in the realization of the project. On a purely phenomenal basis, this is a potent mass of rumbles, shrieking frequencies, long reverberations and violent thuds. The whooshing presence of the vehicles and the almost scary creaks and chugs bring recollections from the late eighties – post industrial a go-go in my house and head. Some of the sections were certainly looped, attributing a semi-entrancing quality to something that, on the contrary, usually causes a constant shattering of nerves. At times one hears voices drowned in the clanging hubbub. Is that an impression only? I don’t know. A fairly acceptable example of environmental recording, no pretence and not really “art”, with several surprising escalations. Perfect for looking at people’s mouth moving without hearing what they’re saying. The noise from a tunnel is more interesting anyway.
JOHN LUTHER ADAMS – Red arc/Blue veil (Cold Blue)
John Luther Adams is among the mainstays of that area of composers who gravitate around the orbit of labels like New Albion, Mode and New World. His music is at one and the same time accessible – down to the most elementary component – and crucially impenetrable when the final result is heard. What’s clear right away is that the fruits of Adams’ work introduce a spiritual force of imposing magnitude, so that one instantly tends to link it with powerful natural phenomena or some kind of unknown yet alluring ritual. The four pieces comprised by “Red arc/Blue veil” symbolize a journey of sorts; its extremes – the initial “Dark waves” for two pianos (Stephen Drury and Yukiko Takagi) and the conclusive, highly charming title track for piano, vibes and crotales (Drury with Scott Deal) – are the scores that mostly tend to that inquisitive crossbreed of gloriously resonant misty minimalism-cum-sound processing privileged by Cold Blue in a fair share of their releases. The central selections, “Among red mountains” (Drury on solo piano) and especially the grandiose “Qilyaun” – a bass drum duo featuring Deal and Stuart Gerber idolizing the dynamic laws of otherwordly rumble in a sequence of interlocked accelerandos and rallentandos – are the ones that wake up the listener’s senses a little more violently, but also give the effective demonstration of this composer’s versatility and not immediately apparent technical finesse, many of these concepts utilizing superimpositions of different rhythmic signatures that materialize into something comparable to the shimmering of a water course under the sun. Essentially, this is another gem from the Californian label, for which an artistic misstep or a less than satisfactory release would apparently be considered as a deathly sin.
MATHEW ADKINS – Mondes inconnu (Empreintes DIGITALes)
A member of BEAST (Birmingham Electro Acoustic Sound Theatre), Adkins is an English composer who studied with Jonty Harrison and Simon Waters. This audio DVD presents over 93 minutes of excellent, modern-sounding acousmatics that show what’s possible to accomplish when precise parameters are set at work to represent something that, in the end, is almost pure indetermination as far as aural imagery is concerned. As in every recording that I listen to in this musical field, I much prefer bobbing and weaving through the liner notes, which – Adkins being no exception – somehow create expectancies and influences by which I don’t want to be deluded. The music that a composer envisions before it goes on disc is never the same that we finally enjoy, thus a moment-by-moment description of each piece appears futile and pointless in cases like this. “Mondes inconnu” must be taken as a whole, a pictorial album of phenomenal appearances in which Adkins’ splendid work of juxtaposition immerses the listener in a synthesis of elaborated information that might or might not sound imaginary or, to quote the title, “unknown”, but it’s as detailed and (in)coherent as the most lucid of REM phases, in that it mixes concrete sources and fetching backgrounds in such a distinguished manner that the two galaxies mesh in progressively contrasting, thoroughly stimulating abstractions. All tracks were exclusively produced by Adkins except “Still time”, which features a gorgeous interpretation by Alejandro Escuer on flute against the pre-recorded material.
(AD)VANCE(D) – Poem#red128dot (Absurd)
I didn’t know anything about Mars Wellink before getting this CDR, then surfed the web a little bit and – thanks to omnivorous (and fellow Dutch) Frans De Waard – read that he was 50% of a duo from Arnhem, Vance Orchestra (again, unknown to yours truly). This work is dedicated to the late Geert Feytons, founder of Noise-Maker’s Fifes and tragically deceased in 2006. It is a very simply conceived soundscape, yet a beautiful one. The main colours are people’s voices – seemingly captured in a fair, or an amusement park, with someone repeating a series of phonemes (numbers, apparently) from a megaphone. In the background, something like a flanged-out guitar that mutates into a distant synthesized drone appears and disappears, giving this patchwork a cohesion that places it halfway through an electronic piece and a sheer document of half an hour somewhere in a town. Besides humans there are birds, too, and the section where a blackbird starts tweeting and chirping is the most charming of the entire disc. Towards the end, a crunchy sound (someone munching?) renders the whole a little bit more concrete, slightly diminishing the oneiric factor. It must be noted that the basic tracks appear as they were looped, or somehow seamed to return every once in a while. Not exactly a transcendental outing, but when the record ended I found myself gazing at the void, my headphone still on for long moments of thoughtful silence. The test is passed, with good marks.
AEMAE – The helical word (Isounderscore)
Brandon Nickell, a 23 year-old navigator of harsh synthetic and electronic seas known as Aemae, shows his admirable will to construct new kinds of uneasy architectures. The eight pieces of “The helical word” form a pyrotechnic cycle of cascading incidents, timbral shifts and granular abrasions which move like creatures without a preconceived position in an undetermined system, finally finding a way to transform contraptions and extrapolations into rough elliptical shapes and dehydrated approximations of parallel galaxies. Nickell starts everything from “a pure exercise in synthesis”; the mobile force of educated noise and a well planned mix, even in absence of natural sources, make this music live its life in full – no dead spots or dull moments. Considering the next-to-nil significance of most of today’s electronica, not bad at all.
AEMAE – Maw (Isounderscore)
The synthetic consciousness of Brandon Nickell/Aemae fathers a lot of strange beasts whose voices and souls get their nourishment from unstable harmonic contents; just listen to “Spectral psychosis” to see what I’m talking about. What’s indeed appreciable in “Maw” for this reviewer is Nickell’s will to initiate us to a new method of approaching electronic music, without recurring to sterile tricks or violent changes of scenery – although the initial discharges of “PDE” would suggest the contrary – but furnishing us with new palettes of spectral evolution that show beautifully developed intuitions and a talent that was already noticeable in the previous “The helical world”, and now looks to be fully flourishing. A track like “Bad entity”, almost 11 minutes of glittering reverberations and subsonic pulses enhanced by abstract interferences, puts Aemae among the most interesting new realities in this area; indeed the whole CD sounds quite distant from the bell-and-whistle world of galactic nothingness typical of those sanctified computerized lyophilizations characterized by their ethereal (and eternal) absence of good ideas. By avoiding jarring contradictions between spiritual lettering and shallow meaning, Nickell shows his seriousness even as a human being; that his music is good just comes as a consequence. I’m willing to put my trust in this young composer, hoping that I won’t be deluded in the future.
AFFLUX – Aizier/St.Martin-sur-mere/Dieppe (Edition)
Both the concept behind Afflux (Eric Cordier, Jean-Luc Guionnet and Eric La Casa) and the origins of these recordings are clearly explained in the CD notes. The force of wind and water is a fundamental element in this series of electroacoustic manipulations; the only recognizable human traces are the voices of the lookout sea post operators, whose radio calls mix hectically with outbursts of frequencies and shore winds manifesting all their raw power in the “Dieppe” track. The fascinating treatments of brooks gurgling into tubes and tidal waves swallowing previously prepared contact microphones are all part of a well known area of contrast between placid soundscaping and menacing exhalations of noise; yet, Afflux reach that point of suspension between air and ground that’s exactly manageable from several points of listening; it’s a gorgeous environmental portrait, a half-concrete document, an intriguing – sometimes distressing – ambient music; more often than not, it’s excellent stuff.
AFFLUX – Bordeaux TNT (And/Oar/Alluvial)
The TNT cultural centre in Bordeaux was filled by “several hundred meters of cables” by Eric Cordier, Jean-Luc Guionnet and Eric La Casa, who proceeded to record the internal and external sonorities of the area placing a large amount of condenser and contact microphones, whose captured sounds were altered/processed and sent to a 32-channel mixer, then played in the building through eight loudspeakers. The perfect balance reached by Afflux is demonstrated by the beautiful results we achieved during consecutive listening sessions: at a good level with windows closed, the overall mix deploys a rapture of motors, trains and urban clattering juxtaposing the sublime of a peripheral zone and the danger of walking alone at night in the street. But if you let these recollections fuse with the sounds of life coming from outside – which in my case included a cuckoo, a distant jet and the faraway voices of a few Sunday country walkers among the rest – you could even feel entitled to some sort of monastic pondering alleviating this era’s insecurity and mental tiredness.
AF URSIN – Aura legato (La Scie Doree)
Af Ursin is Timo Van Luyck (previously of Noise-Maker’s Fifes, currently half of In Camera with Christoph Heemann) presenting a side project which indeed has nothing to do with either of the above collaborations, as far as its sound is concerned. Coming in an LP whose cover makes me think of ancient 78 rpm records (and, at least in my copy, the continuous crackles and pops of the vinyl contribute an awful lot to this “old-time” scent) “Aura legato” trips through mysterious atmospheres seemingly filtered by a patina of ritual incantations and magic ceremonials bringing out forgotten memories – and also the translucent, whispering ghosts inhabiting them. It’s a very intriguing concoction of strange sounds made with acoustic guitar, organ, percussion and other instruments, at times comparable to Third Ear Band, Nurse With Wound and – why not? – even Mirror, if only for a few moments. Hypnotic voices and pulsating shadows create a sense of uncomfortable expectancy, announcing the arrival of a caravan of gypsy ectoplasms willing to steal your sleep for weeks to come. Apart from the annoying vinyl noises, which make me hope in a CD version one day, this is destined to become an underground classic.
SOPHIE AGNEL / PHIL MINTON – Tasting (Another Timbre)
It’s not a given that the pairing of a voice and a piano provide interesting results and, from this point of view, there are indeed renowned couples using those expressive means that are eventually more respectable for the seriousness of their single components’ artistic paths than the music they produce in those occasions (you do the maths and come up with the names). But “Tasting” is definitely on another level and I’m firmly convinced, after only three listens, that this is one of the best piano/vocals duos that I’ve ever heard. While Phil Minton’s poetry of the unexpected gratifies via large quantities of systematically fulfilled expectations – featuring monstrous technical expertise, irony and drama a go-go, providential multiphonic nefariousness and hair-splitting precision – it must be told that Agnel is the true revelation here. The pianist is gifted in fact with a unique style that fuses the inside and the outside parts of the instrument into a provocative communion of fermentable sketches, mixing the abrasive rubbing and the soft hammering and plucking of the strings with Minton’s overtone singing in masterful fashion, respecting the dynamic palette with few touches and scarce chords, building cathedrals of emotional intensity and fuliginous fumes of harmonic suspension with effortless ingeniousness. The six tracks of “Tasting”, recorded in 2006 at the Jazz a Poitiers Festival, are examples of a creativity that can be fresh-sounding and cinematic at one and the same time, sort of a documentary about the secret life of an uncommon kind of creature inhabiting the obscure sections of this vocal/instrumental microcosm. Still, no assertion can really express the wealth of minute details and the stunning reciprocal reactivity that identifies this splendid record.
BRIAN AGRO – Procession of the ornaments (Percaso)
Pianist Tomas Bächli studied with Werner Bärtschi and has been the receiver of numerous prizes throughout a career largely built upon interpretations of the works of modern composers (although he regularly performs Bach, Albeniz and other past heroes, too). He’s also half of a piano duo with Gertrud Schneider, in which they tackle quarter-tone and just intonation music. In this CD, Bächli plays a set of 14 pieces by Canadian Brian Agro, this recording constituting my first encounter with his output, in spite of the fact that he’s already released material on this very label. Although he was born in 1953, Agro is one of those musicians whose writing appears to be firmly positioned in a back-looking time frame: elegant lines and semi-consonant chords are sparsely deployed, fruits of a nostalgic temperament ready to be harvested by expert hands. In certain passages the instrument (which seems to have been recorded in a large room from a distance) resounds charmingly, an aura of smiley sadness pervading the air in a tranquil afternoon. Music that leaves a lot of space for thoughts to fly around and pose on the dusty shelves of distant reminiscences, played without magniloquence yet far from being secretive. A responsive interpretation of a rather mysterious artist’s compositional idea, his obscurity contributing to an even deeper intrigue in enjoying this disc.
AHLEUCHATISTAS – What you will (Cuneiform)
Compared to Massacre by several quotes in the press sheet, I’d rather say that this street fighting trio is a raw minimalist version of Forever Einstein with some Doctor Nerve spice (well, yes – some Massacre too, but the alchemy of Frith, Laswell and Maher is obviously technically superior; better using Naked City – minus the screaming – as distant reference). Drummer Sean Dail, guitarist Shane Perlowin and bassist Derek Poteat can play, though – and their energetic drive is something to be heard, a real breath of fresh air in the avant rock canon. Taking their name from a fusion of a Charlie Parker tune and the revolutionary Zapatistas, Ahleuchatistas play a sweaty corrosion of a trio’s uncommon places, privileging intelligent rage and channeled fury to smash fractured rhythms and skeletal angular themes to even smaller smithereens. The instrumental combinations revolve more or less around the same colours, but this has to be considered a value, as the bone-crunching rough maths of these kids from North Carolina constitutes their own style, which shows many things to appreciate.
AHLEUCHATISTAS – Even in the midst… (Cuneiform)
The attack of “…Of all this”, which constitutes both the first track and the conclusive part of the titling sentence, would not be out of context on a Quentin Tarantino soundtrack; think Dick Dale meets early XTC, just before guitarist Shane Perlowin, bassist Derek Poteat and drummer Sean Dail launch a new assault against the cathedrals of four-on-the-floor by interlocking their virtual horns in chains of absolutely irregular metrics and contrapuntal audacity. The whole executed with the same ferocious attitude of a disillusioned human failure who decides to enter a McDonald and open fire with a rifle. One of the intriguing aspects of this trio, apart from an obvious technical command, is the nudity of their timbres. Ahleuchatistas are exactly what every garage band should aspire to, namely remaining exactly that while becoming knowledgeable players. Despite the illustrious comparisons that they’ve been subjected to, the boys hailing from Asheville (North Carolina) still maintain a clearness of vision that is well reflected in the thorough assimilability of the pieces, even the ones that seem to be inspired by the bite of a venomous spider, and there are several of them. Still, a track like “The bears of Cantabria shall sleep no more” could convince also the sceptical that there’s some measure of delicacy left in the most grumbling heart. Instantaneous rage tempered by mental discipline: that’s a great asset, and it’s not Ahleuchatistas’ only one. Party music for those who hate parties. Excellently rough stuff.
PEKKA AIRAKSINEN – Madam I’m Adam (Love)
Boy, is this music strange – no wonder if you find yourself “dazed and confused” after a good listen. A very prolific Finnish composer, Airaksinen seems to specialize in disorienting people with dirty-sounding cauldrons of spastic drum machine rhythms, synthesized lunatic themes, samples of various recordings of old music and other human activities, distorted feedback and next-to-impossible joints between techno and free music fragments. Convincingly anarchic and full of destructive aural satire, these patchworks have ingested thousands of influences without revealing a single one; if muzak, avantgarde and sci-fi collided in the name of audio-collage, you’d have a VERY vague idea of what this man is capable of. This double set is completed by a disc of great remixes by the likes of Curd Duca, Nurse With Wound, Mira Calix plus many others; also, take a good look at Pekka’s history to better understand the sociopolitical context where all this creativity exploded. Certainly it wasn’t easy being so particular without trouble at that time…
TETUZI AKIYAMA / JOZEF VAN WISSEM – Hymn for a fallen angel (Incunabulum)
Can a Baroque Lute be played with a bottleneck? Yes, if your name is Jozef Van Wissem. This reflective duet, the second recorded with Tetuzi Akiyama (himself armed with the same device, yet exercised on a Martin HD-28 acoustic guitar) was not realized in a single session. In fact, in this occasion the Dutch lutenist captured his comrade’s improvisations at home, then proceeded to “follow” him while replaying the results through a computer program called Garageband. That way, Van Wissem could “see the notes coming” and take improvisational decisions working for the best. Those choices mostly include many segments of silence amidst dots, spots and nicely dissonant chords, the instruments’ natural resonance clearly audible until complete decay. “No effects applied whatsoever”, it says on the cover, and it shows: the music sounds elegantly nude, and even the few fretting uncertainties perceived here and there contribute to a mystique of the purity that is all the more welcome in the era of hyper-processing. A refreshing set, one that defines the appreciation of hearing wood and strings in an atypical Zen context deriving from the interaction between two humans and a laptop. Take my description with a grain of salt anyway: to date, nobody has understood what Zen means despite billions of words and tons of books. What I do know is that listening to this record is a gratifying experience, already repeated several times by yours truly.
TETUZI AKIYAMA / JASON KAHN – Till we meet again (For 4 Ears)
The “quiet tension” which Günter Müller refers to in the press notes of “Till we meet again” is evidenced in a vast part of this profound series of duo and solo recordings. Akiyama’s personal take on a peculiar sort of atonal blues goes through ample silent spaces interrupted by the sound of acoustic guitar strings that are loosened, scratched and pinched until there is no more trace of a conventional – “western”, if you will – playing style. Kahn mostly applies his caressing delicacy to responsive cymbals, bringing out the essential harmonic resonance we had already experienced in his interpretations of Taku Sugimoto’s scores in “Music for cymbal” on his own Cut label. Jason also presents a long track for analogue synthesizer which fits extremely well in a sound world made of healing waves not extraneous to composers like Eliane Radigue or Alvin Lucier. A nice touch comes from being able to detect the musicians’ breath at times while they play, thanks to a beautifully detailed recording which also captured the engrossing faraway sound of a passing helicopter in the last section of the disc.
TETUZI AKIYAMA / TOSHIMARU NAKAMURA / TAKU SUGIMOTO / MARK WASTELL – Foldings (Confront)
Like Bernhard Günter’s and other similar ones, most records involving Japanese improvising artists of the recent years require complete silence during listening because silence itself is a fundamental part of their creativity. Here, most recognizable is the “no input mixing board” by Nakamura who, in complete absence of movement, is capable of piercing with frequencies and hissing highs that could help in evolving your auditive apparatus while also attracting animals (I’m not kidding – I noticed that if I keep my window open during some of my sessions, birds sing or not, depending on the context…). Akiyama, Sugimoto and Wastell contribute themselves with plucks, little noises and whirls that little have to do with guitar, cello or…air duster. One could try some Tai-Chi on this. Love it or hate it, I’m always standing in favour of near-nothingness opposed to useless wall-paper.
ERNIE ALTHOFF – Dark by 6 (Antboy)
Australian Ernie Althoff is a sound artist who builds his own instruments, using them with additional materials in highly personal installations which are autonomous or, at times, allowing audience performance like in “Dummy run”, one of the five excerpts showcased here. Finely explained and detailed by explicative photos in the CD booklet, these on-site recordings present an uncessant mass of textural activity, mostly on the percussive side: aluminium bowls behaving like tuned bells, zithers repeating the same mechanical rasgueado for hours, woodblocks and homemades mixing with toys, marbles rolling in pans which rotate over a turntable. The aleatory strategies conceived by Althoff give birth to a world that sounds familiar yet is uniquely non-uniform, as strange patterns and distant surrounding backgrounds are situated in a self-generated framework, sort of a man/machine counterpoint where manipulation and multiplicity of chances are quite close to daily reality.
RODRIGO AMADO / KENT KESSLER / PAAL NILSSEN-LOVE – Teatro (European Echoes)
The first release of saxophonist Rodrigo Amado’s new label is an exciting trio that mixes lots of influences and innovative elaborations in four tracks, two pretty long suites and two shorter reflections. Amado’s playing, especially on the baritone sax, is at one and the same time forward-looking and elegantly protrusive. His lines cause my appreciation of a primal instinct, an almost physical consciousness, that inner quest which yields inspirations and consequent achievements spiced by a phrasing which aggregates spiritual values of the highest rank in solemn non-alignment. Amado’s interrelation with the rhythm section of Kessler and Nilssen-Love reaches many points where it becomes a metaphor for the struggles of life itself, each player revealing intimate thoughts in no-secrets-hold fashion, willing to make the others aware of their sadness or joy, always finding different ways to share their dialogue with a potentially responsive audience. This is a trio that silently chooses a spokesman, yet their music’s mechanics is so accomplished that one perceives no apparent division between the components. The general sense of amalgamation makes for a satisfying experience: no implosions or extraordinary events, only passion and pure heart by three artists who collaborated for the very first time in this occasion, a fact that renders this album all the more coherent and, for this, praiseworthy.
RODRIGO AMADO / CARLOS ZINGARO / TOMAS ULRICH / KEN FILIANO – Surface (European Echoes)
After the previous “Teatro”, a trio with Kent Kessler and Paal Nilssen-Love, saxophonist Rodrigo Amado shows once again his value, this time in a quartet. Subtitled “For alto, baritone and strings”, the record produces a few moments of fascinating melancholy while introducing several new views on what’s commonly – and superficially – labeled as “chamber jazz”, the whole bathed in the refreshing waters of structural deprivation (sort of). Unbelievable how discreet Amado proves himself to be at times, his saxes largely absent from substantial chunks of the pieces; but when he’s in, his tone adds muscle to the collective’s skeleton, predictably shifting the balance from a more exacerbated transmission of dissonance to something that stands between abstract expressionism and unquiet contemplation, the only feverish exception being the final “Art is truth”. The string players, taken individually, are superb exponents of the noble class of fringe music: the contraptions and enthusiastic discharges, the solitary lines and the intertwining discourses between Zingaro’s violin and viola and Ulrich’s cello are much more than an impromptu narration, reinforcing their instant reciprocal insight with Filiano’s bass, a catalyzer of mercurial grace also appearing as the most evident reminder of the original jazz concept. Amado inserts, seams and gestures, reminiscing about faded images while envisioning a future that no one would really like to predict but, somehow, all imagine as being not so desirable.
OREN AMBARCHI – Triste (Southern Lord)
Recorded live at Nijimegen’s Extrapol in 2001, “Triste” is a delicate construction of frail atmospheres prepared by Ambarchi with the exclusive help of a guitar, although in the final part of the album he’s joined by looping eminence Tom Recchion. The first movement sees the Australian gently extracting opaque string drops from his instrument, whose tone’s high frequencies are cut off and wrapped by the effects’ hiss in a progressively crumbling decadence. Electrostatic noises and hums gradually replace these melancholic notes in the second part – probably the best moment of the CD – becoming a single-centre current of harmonic feedback just blemished by small pops accenting its engrossing, mesmerizing character; but after 10 minutes or so, the sounds become irregular and claustrophobic, manifesting themselves as uncomfortable interferences which somehow reminded me of Koji Asano’s “The last shade of evening falls”. The final sections, “Remake” and “Remodel”, sound like a nostalgic look at Eno trying to project sepia-tinged childhood photos through one of his installation monitors, Recchion’s Hammond organ and loops accompanying Ambarchi in a gradual fade to oblivion.
OREN AMBARCHI – Lost like a star (Bo Weavil)
I admit that I haven’t listened to everything that Oren Ambarchi has released, but I’m sure that this LP contains material that ranks among his finest. “Lost like a star” was composed for the Japanese dance company Gekidan Kaitaisha, its gradual growth seemingly perfect to accompany slow body movements that one can only imagine, having not seen the performance. Ambarchi deploys electric guitar, bowed instruments, samples, bells, cymbals and percussion to create fabulous layers of drones and glissando waves whose temperament stands halfway through Phill Niblock’s clashing upper partials and David Jackman’s Organum masterpieces. The same kind of quasi-invariable harmonic tapestry based on a progressive alteration of quietness is to be found in the second half of “The final option” on side B, a piece that Ambarchi recorded live in Melbourne’s ABC studios in 2006. It all begins with single string globules processed in rarefied spaces, then mutates into another wall of sound that features guitar, bells, cymbals and a motor to produce a mesmerizing effect, utterly stunning at high volume yet equally functional as a subterranean presence. A caressing aura of semi-distorted overtones, towering over the average of guitar-derived soundscaping, right there with the best production by Aidan Baker, James Plotkin and the likes, with the welcome addition of a wider choice of sonic sources that, at the end of the day and after all this name-dropping, makes this music partially comparable to the most recent output by Rosy Parlane. Either way, splendid stuff.
OREN AMBARCHI / GUNTER MULLER / PHILIP SAMARTZIS – Strange love (For 4 ears)
Starting from its lovely cover up to the very last second of music, “Strange love” must be regarded as a perfect concoction of three strong personalities fused into a single body. The album is divided into two parts; the live one, “Cold”, begins with pulses and frequencies at the threshold of human perception, to evolve in a pretty complex soundscape alimented by purring buzzes and some environmental source (brought in by Samartzis). It’s an extremely controlled setting where even pops and glitches – by now omnipresent in contemporary electroacoustics – appear with a meaningful purpose instead of being just a randomly thrown ingredient. Everything flows according to plan – if there is one – in an inspiring piece, among the best I’ve heard by these artists in a long time. The second segment, “Warm” – conceived individually in the studio – is based, as the title suggests, on more enticing colours, mostly tending towards a relaxing and sense-abandoning low vibration. Benevolent spirits appear in a mist of enjoyable electronic perfumes, while the listener is glad to walk across a gentle desert wind…never feeling alone in that desert. All things considered, this is a high-standard, worthy recording.
OREN AMBARCHI / ROBBIE AVENAIM – Clockwork (Room40)
A great live improvisation whose brief duration – a little more than 18 minutes – does not detract a iota from its variegated intelligence. On guitar and percussion respectively, Ambarchi and Avenaim lead us through an involving trip to a strange land where the mechanics of common sense are totally reconstructed, and whose soundtrack is a frantic gamelan which starts from ominous metallic halos then becomes the rebellious outburst of a squad of bell clocks on dope. Instruments are virtually unrecognizable during this magic trick, the players just happy to tickle these complex percussive intersections with more and more enthusiasm until the end, with the audience saluting the pair with a convinced and well deserved applause.
OREN AMBARCHI / KEITH ROWE – Squire (For 4 Ears)
Recorded live in Cologne in 2002, “Squire” possesses attributes and stamina to spare, revealing itself in all its staying power. The set starts with a hoard of subsonic rumbles which instantly caused my woofers to try and come out running away. About seven minutes into the piece, earth loop and radio voices have already established a reign of terror, different hues of natural earmuffing that could have an explosion near your house going almost unnoticed. The huge wall of low frequencies encroaches our mental control but leaves a few doors ajar for penetrating shortwave calls that better define the frame of questionable lethargy that this music causes. Inexorably, new emissions start giving the picture a more abstract quality and it’s right there that a higher percentage of distortion is delivered, together with additional radiophonic intrusions, in a section of economical lucid surrealism that identifies the territory around the halfway mark. By now we’ve been inducted in “Roweland” and there’s no way out in sight, as crackling discharges, scraped nonentities and semi-paralyzed cybernetic birds would all love to be portrayed in the family album photo, cell phone interference and electrostatic pulse riding the crest of a mercurial wave of uneasiness. At the half-hour point, the catharsis is fully operational and the ground-shaking vibrations are felt through the spine up to the skull (and down to the kitchen, my wife calling me with impressed excitement after feeling the floor quivering under her feet). A black cat is also attracted; he comes, peeps and goes – and I believe he heard things that I missed. I finally surrender to Ambarchi and Rowe’s authority: do what you want of me.
SAM AMIDON – All is well (Bedroom Community)
You, yes you. Lovers of Jim O’Rourke’s circa “Bad timing” and Van Dyke Parks (…right, Joanna Newsom’s recent work with him too), there is something here that needs your credit card. One can’t believe how beautiful this album is: for sure it belongs in 2007’s top ten. And I had never heard of this man from Vermont before. Described as a “child of folk musicians”, Sam Amidon – who’s active in fringe indie-rock bands Doveman and Stars Like Fleas in the meantime – is gifted with an “improbably nice” voice: the same monotonous timbre always, no virtuosity, a detached “who cares?” attitude if you will. Yet it sounds, for want of a better word, “warm”. My wife, whose competence as an accomplished songwriter allows her to speak better than myself in this case, found a parallelism with elements of native Indian origin in Sam’s expression. Matter of factly, that voice is just perfect for these tunes, which are nothing but rearranged renditions of popular American favourites, such as “O Death”, “Sugar Baby” and “Wild Bill Jones”. The flawless combination of Amidon’s interpretation (his guitar strumming is also pretty peculiar, and it doesn’t hurt at all) with Nico Muhly’s sensitive wind, brass and strings arrangements (listen to those bass lines, and what about the fantastic Irish pipes appearing from nowhere in “Fall on my knees”?) yields repeated moments of unadulterated emotional rapture. All this, let me stress it once again, through simple songs which do not appear so simple after the treatment. Participants include Ben Frost, Eyvind Kang, Aaron Siegel, Morse and Valgeir Sigurðsson, producer of the artifact and once again confirming himself to be one of the most open-eared talents in that no man’s land between experimental and potentially market-gratifying music. A veritable classic, a standard for comparisons in this genre from now on. Not to be missed.
ANASTENARIA – Anastenaria (Echomusic/Editions_Zero)
Field recording of a ritual plus minimalism, maybe we could describe it as such. Yet another secret from the Greek vaults, a ceremony taped in 1979 at the Agia Eleni village, Serres. The whole revolves around a walk-on-fire performance, of which the CD explores the preparatory atmosphere. Translation: people talking (in the local language, of course – fascinating for those who don’t know it, resulting as just music to my untrained ears) and, especially, a fabulous series of percussion-driven violin ostinatos, a cross of East European dissonance and Steve Reich’s “Violin Phase” in a country-tinged version. Ceaseless rhythmic pulses that go on and on, our mind easily adapting to the semi-regular patterns until we come across short interruptions where someone talks again, then everything starts ex novo with additional figurations and analogous repetitions. It lasts 65 minutes circa, but neither I had a second thought about my liking of it, nor endured an “enough is enough” feel, even in the (possibly) less significant moments. The audio quality is also quite good – that surely helps. Traditions are hard to die, at least in recorded form: that’s fine with me.
ANCIENT MONSTERS – Ancient Monsters (Sijis)
The line dividing serious trance music from crappy, new ageish, fake spirituality is extremely subtle; Ancient Monsters belong to the “right” side, but understanding the reasons is not easy. The duo of Murray Henderson and David Sergeant, armed with guitars, samples, Farfisa organ and moog, explores placid meditative galaxies through mostly consonant chordal litanies that always manage to keep a door open to a slight deformation; it can happen under the guise of a slowly detuning oscillation or through the overlapping of extraneous frequencies blemishing the basic drone. The opening “The gospel according to a buzzard” is very reminiscent of Stars Of The Lid, while certain segments of “One day it will all be over” sound like a giant wall of inside piano parts in looping circles. The superimposition of harmonic layers in “Cicada” creates interesting movements of beating adjacent tones while maintaining an almost religious feel. This music is gifted with a simple beauty highlighted by Henderson and Sergeant’s totally unpretentious stance.
LAURA ANDEL ELECTRIC PERCUSSIVE ORCHESTRA – In::tension:. (Rossbin)
Laura Andel’s newest work, appearing as an orchestrated improvisation over a set of predefined rules, masks its influences pretty well; in its best moments, mostly gathered in the first three quarters of the album, this music whirls and flies then returns to the base with mutated genetics, only to relaunch itself into dreaming states and ironic convulsive twists. Ten musicians – three guitars, two keyboards, cornet, theremin, drums and percussion plus electronics and voice – are conducted by the composer towards dangerous territories where Igor Stravinsky and Henry Cow pose together for an out-of-focus photograph. Therefore, it’s just a pity that – strangely enough – “In::tension:.” loses a bit of steam in its final two movements, which sound much more confused and overloaded with events than the other sections, but there is no doubt that the short repetitive melodies and thematic fragments going around like a bunch of stray dogs running in an open field – typical of the majority of the album – are unconventional, anticonstitutional sonic declarations which sound like no one else.
LAURA ANDEL ORCHESTRA – SomnambulisT (Red Toucan)
Laura Andel is a composer from Argentina, working on pretty various forms (just think she’s also a graduate in tango performance). “SomnambulisT” is a sort of orchestral rendition of concrete feelings and moments of human life, its challenging score maybe more oriented towards the performance itself than to the listener, who must pay a good amount of careful attention to bring out all the subtleties present in Laura’s tapestry. The disciplined freedom I detect tells me about suffering and liberation; it talks about the darkness experienced before coming to the end of an infinite tunnel. This music is very lively and deeply thought, even if its technical complexity and theatrical approach will find most people not ready at first listen. Even if the slow moving first movement seems to prelude to an opening of the space around, it brings instead lots of questions not easy to answer to; lovers of hard-to-cathegorize artists must have their ears burning right now.
BETH ANDERSON – Peachy Keen-o (Pogus)
In this collection of pieces by Beth Anderson three tracks stand out: “Tower of power”, a massive church organ cascade played with the whole body, where clusters give way to strongly contrasting frequencies; “Joan”, a superimposition of solo piano parts transposed from an oratorio concert performance, sounding like a traffic jam of carillons; the final “Ode”, where low electronic purrs are mixed with the extremely musical voice of an auctioneer, the whole resulting in a mutant native indian chant – or something alike. Anderson, an acclaimed text-sound composer, is equally at home with self-expressive outbursts such as the solo drum/voice “I can’t stand it”, written out of her frustration when she had just moved to NY, or the lively and funny teacher-mocking “Yes Sir Ree”. In the bad sounding cassette recording of the title track we’re surrounded by strange B-movie soundtrack-like atmospheres where female whispers, lamentations, oblique guitars and tapes with Christmas songs and various oddities all contribute to a sense of psychological uneasiness. As usual with Pogus, this music is undefinable – therefore highly interesting.
NATASHA ANDERSON – Spore (Cajid Media)
Focusing on the “microscopic investigation of the recorder’s anatomy”, Natasha Anderson – a multimedia, improvised and classical musician out of Melbourne – extracts a multitude of flickering, wavering, gurgling and popping tones that maintain a dramatic physicality, impacting against our sense of anticipation with stirring disobedience, our confidence shattered in tatters by spluttering shards of lingual contortions sounding like venomous air bubbles in an underwater conduit, or by whirring continuums that one would imagine as generated by a motorized appliance. To give birth to her improvisations, Anderson uses a wealth of recorders (contrabass in F, middle joints of basses in C & F, tenor, Garklein) processing some of them through Max/MSP; yet the music is permeated by a thoroughly acoustic character for the large part of the album, emphasizing the byproducts of breath and saliva more than “studio difficulties” typical of certain computerized approaches. Anderson saves the best for last, ending the work with a splendid analysis of the lower regions of instrumental resonance quivering with intense undulations and subterranean buzzes, obtained via different layers of looped emissions that flow into a paralyzing silence, ultimately broken by the last few spurts of air.
PAOLO ANGELI / EVAN PARKER / NED ROTHENBERG – Free Zone Appleby 2007 (Psi)
Differently from the norm – and due to economic circumstances that have, for the moment, caused the festival to be suspended – the recorded volume of FZA 2007 is completely taken by a grand total of three musicians: Angeli on Sardinian guitar and electronics, Parker on tenor and soprano sax, Rothenberg on alto sax, clarinet and bass clarinet; namely, the only souls who performed in this edition, in different combinations. The shaman-sounding gyratory trances of Rothenberg’s clarinet and Angeli’s now agitated, now barely perceptible discordant figurations on the strings of his modified instrument generate moments of intense interaction, nous and uplifting intellectual capacity at work throughout “Shield (blue) duo I”, one of the most lyrical improvisations featured on this label. As Rothenberg and Parker lock horns in the successive track, their tussle mutates into a string of concentrated exchanges only to return to fighting stance in the space of ten seconds, each of the parts following an individual logic that, miraculously, lubricates the mechanisms of a mutual instant decision perfectly. The rest of the program finds the artists performing as a trio, where Angeli might be seen offering a substratum of plucked, stretched, lightly scintillating notes upon which rather uptight call-and-response episodes occur between the reed-gifted parties, intent in locating the right spots to insert droplets of clever-minded procedural expertise that rules out self-importance. Occasionally the guitarist – often overwhelmed by the saxophonists in the mix – comes in dramatically, outbursts of arcoed chords and chamber-like contrapuntal premeditations shifting the listener’s awareness towards the vibration of that mass while linear interrelations keep going on according to an ever-present, lucidly abnormal common sense. Elsewhere he acts as a percussionist, trying to establish pseudo-tribal patterns amidst “tone, squeal and stroke” proposals, or introduces sampled snippets of soundtracks from old movies – or are them? – to add a patina of recollection to the recipe, this radiophonic temperament functioning as basis for Parker and Rothenberg’s attempts of building momentum with hyperactive fusillades alternated to profound melodic intuitions. If that couple of bionic chirpers is a stable presence in my life as an adherent of the free music sect, this particular recording makes your reviewer genuinely glad for having found, at long last, another Italian musician to be proud of.
ANGLES – Every woman is a tree (Clean Feed)
The dedication is “for all women in Iraq, for all mothers, living or dead”, this exquisite live recording bursting with the right energy from the first minute to the last. Those who know saxophonist Martin Küchen from his explorative soloist work in close proximity to the boundaries of reductionism will be taken aback by the wholehearted commitment and vibrant attitude of this ensemble, also comprising trumpeter Magnus Broo, trombonist Mats Äleklint, vibraphonist Mattias Stahl, double bassist Johann Berthling and drummer Kjell Nordeson. The introductory “Peace is not for us”, with its hymn-like exposition of thematic materials, made me think “Blue Notes” and “Brotherhood Of Breath”, the awareness of other people’s sufferance at full throttle, a sense of still achievable freedom permeating the solos amidst the scored parts. “My world of mines” is the place to be if you want to unchain yourselves a bit to the sound of a rock-ish jazz sextet, the main riff just catchy (lovely bass vamp, indeed), the collective effort towards the liberation of positive vibrations made credible by letting us feel the sweat drops and intuit the musician’s reciprocal smile. The final Eric Dolphy-ish “Let’s talk about the weather (and not about the war)” is yet another moment of rhythmic push and magnificent use of the possibilities of parallel solo spots, generating a gorgeous fizzling counterpoint capped by Broo’s quick quote of Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the water” at one point. One might even try to slip this track in a player during a party – I’m sure many guests would love dancing to it, especially if slightly altered by alcohol. Great stuff.
THOMAS ANKERSMIT / JIM O’ROURKE – Thomas Ankersmit/Jim O’Rourke (Tochnit Aleph)
Thomas Ankersmit’s contribution to this split vinyl release is “Weerzin” (2004), a piece for computer, synthesizers and saxophone. After a few minutes of munchkin electronics and barely audible small sounds, the composition assumes its definitive shape with an exponential growth of the spaces occupied by the music; silence is gradually replaced by an overwhelming cascade of white noise, electricity and cerebral stimulations which is quite exciting and almost unbearably hard to swallow at one and the same time. Ankersmit’s uncompromising attitude is surely a fine example of remarkable seriousness, a much needed feature in today’s “post-contemporary” compositional canons. Jim O’Rourke goes directly for your jugular with “Oscillators and Guitars” (1992), a minimalist-punk-distorted drone sounding like a sock-blowing melange of Lou Reed’s “Metal Machine Music”, Sonic Youth and Tony Conrad. Better still; imagine an infinite loop of Who’s “Pinball Wizard”‘s first suspended chord as analyzed and reinforced by Robert Fripp circa “Larks’ Tongues in Aspic”, everything filtered by the motor of a Glenn Branca-loving deranged vacuum cleaner. The modulation halfway through the piece, a sudden shift of the bass drone pedal changing the whole overall harmony, is alone worth the effort of getting this album.
ANPANMAN – Wood wind tide (KwanYin)
Clive Bell is always a treat when it comes to new approaches to traditional instruments, and a true master of the shakuhachi for that matter. This CD, which risks to be buried under an undeserved coat of mystery given that it’s not exactly easy to find (here goes a tip of my hat to Yin Pin, label honcho, who gracefully sent me a bunch of releases including this one), sees the English improviser lending his abilities to Richard Scott’s processing. Let’s make it perfectly clear: this is not a “Clive Bell with delay and reverb” kind of a record. Scott thinks in instrumental fashion with his machines, capturing the essence of the partner’s flute and building from it, or deciding instead to rape that very wooden soul by transforming its purity in the asphalt of a highway that leads to mesmerizing positive hollowness, an engrossing alternance between gigantic “chords” made of harmonized pitches and ever-mutating shapes where the shakuhachi starts with its regular timbre but soon morphs into some sort of quavering extraneous propagation. The overall sound is ominous in traits, luminous quite often, engaging throughout, taking possession of the listening environment with firm levity in a cross of extreme dissonance and disciplined stretching of unknown harmonies. Beautiful, in a word – and worthy of being tracked down.
ANTASTEN – Echos an kegelrändern (Loewenhertz) – Excentriques (Loewenhertz)
Antasten is a trio formed by Hannes Löschel, Thomas Lehn and Josef Novotny. In its general purpose, it should be an electroacoustic keyboard trio; in reality they play a very difficult music with absolutely no compromise to aesthetics, an electronic/concrete mesh of carefully researched sounds that’s likely to be completely understood and enjoyed only by people capable of hearing pure vibration and electric noise as music itself, in opposition to looking for something to memorize and repeat. That said, both of the above recordings are a continuous surprise even to my well worn ears. “Excentriques” sees the three men confronting one another with a dialogue full of proposals and refusals, such as a well executed piano fugue that’s completely dissected and made to pieces through filtering and distortion – or, somewhere else, a jazzier improvisation giving the illusion of a tranquil evening, only to be attacked by dissonant analogue synth oscillations. But this is just a try to describe something unreal, a record so particular you just have to listen to see it manifest itself. “Echos an kegelrändern” moves more or less on the same artistic coordinates but is quite different in its sonic final result. also due to the participation of guitarist Martin Siewert and the vocals of Didi Bruckmayr (completely distorted by electronics of course). There is a little bit more electro-freedom in this one; the trio leaves room to sound itself, treating it like a self-made creature that just wants to come out of the cave where it’s squeezed in. This is the reason why dynamics can be a little more variating and suddenly harsher to the unaware listener, bringing the overall character not so far from the audioscapes typical of “classic” acousmatic school of thought, particularly in sections when random waves keep you by the throat and perforate your brain.
ANTIMATTER / ZBIGNIEW KARKOWSKI – Divide by zero (Antifrost/Carrier)
I shouldn’t say that, but in 2008 Zbigniew Karkowski will be 50. It makes me feel older by the minute, thinking that I’ve been listening to his experiments for more than 20 years now. Thank goodness the man from Krakow doesn’t hint to stopping its quest, just like the other characters who have been collaborating with him and respond to the names of John Duncan, Francisco Lopez, Hafler Trio, Merzbow. As you can see, we’re talking seriousness here, not some adolescent who received a laptop as a gift for graduating and decided that he wanted to be a part-time noise monger. Xopher Davidson (Antimatter) is another trustworthy guy, having mastered records by the likes of Iannis Xenakis and explored the role of sound in various contemporary artistic ambits. The couple is not new to this kind of release (check the Sirr catalogue for example), but the energy deriving by their masterful juxtapositions of buzzing hums and throbbing frequencies is truly impressive. “Divide by zero” channels its intensity over the course of 52 minutes, in which changes of scenario – or of a single shade of whirr – are rarefied enough to get us lost in the kingdom of granulated brains for long blissful moments. As it happens in Phill Niblock’s music, one’s content of sitting there and sense the world sliding to complete nonsense, conscious that everything springs from that mother vibration from which the elected ones will be reabsorbed. It won’t take long, you see. The others keep wondering what’s going to happen and why they feel oh-so-bad, uselessly joining a group of brainless zombies, seeking help from wasted doctors who behave exactly in the same way, everybody helplessly trying to get noticed by those who have no time for them. Divide by zero, return to zero. Yet there’s still talk about “self-development”, despite most people not even being able to articulate their own language.
APOSTOLIC POLYPHONY – Apostolic polyphony (Drimala)
On the border between a pretty “linear” free jazz and a homage to John Coltrane’s most spiritual moments stands this beautiful Drimala release, thanks to the perfect amalgam of three major instrumental masters. Matthew Shipp is one of the best pianists in the world today; his phrasing is absolutely compelling and in my opinion constitutes the real basic ground from which all the music springs here, a silent coordinator and a sober virtuoso at the same time. Charles Waters plays with fire and soul, his sense of melody extremely developed through a series of ideas going from shamanic ostinatos to liberal blowing – but never exceeding a careful awareness of the whole musical system. Excellent Andrew Barker, previously participant in several projects with John Zorn and Thurston Moore among the many, shows a perfect cross between a rock-solid foundation and the display of the hundreds of colors a drummer can effectively use. A remix by DJ Shannon Fields, adding a minimal/experimental touch, puts the final word to this very good recording, at the same time furtherly elevating the already high rank of this American improvised music label.
ARASTOO – Three (Isounderscore)
Arastoo Darakhshan is a young composer from the Bay Area, this vinyl album being his second release. Although not exactly breaking any new ground, these three tracks constitute a pretty focused – and at times very interesting – example of “active ambient music”. “Three” works better at low volume, situation in which the functional analysis that Arastoo applies to his sources – including piano and female vocals among a series of undetermined synthetic sounds – brings respectable results, as we’re in presence of endearing atmospheres whose sugar level is luckily kept next to zero, thanks to precise compositional skills privileging the odd resonance rather than the easy meditational soundtrack. All in all, a good example of sober electronica, made all the more enjoyable by the duration of the pieces, never overstaying their welcome and giving us an idea of the artist’s personality in concise and unpretentious manner.
ARBEITSGEMEINSCHAFT FRUCHTTANZ UND ATVERWANDTE ORGIEN – Fisch zum frühstück (Archegon)
This difficult project springs from the minds of Claus Van Bebber, Antonia Grote-Schroth, Tobias Schmitt and Günter Schroth; it is a soundtrack for a private happening, held in Oy in 2003, combining fine arts, catering, photography and music. Those who have a sense of nausea when receiving a continuously changing sound stimulation should not even try to get near this unbelievable computerized pastiche: by accident or by conceptual choice, everything moves at a frantic pace while blankets of electronic shifts, crazed samples and a persevering tortured electroacoustic enigma do their best to destroy any form or scheme that could help the brain to acclimatize for more than five seconds. This decentralization is both attractive and puzzling, managing to dethrone common expectations by creating incessant dichotomies and antagonisms whose lack of solution is the main moving force after the basic idea.
ARC – Eyes in the back of our heads (Worthy)
Aidan and Richard Baker recorded this involving artifact live, flanked by Alan Bloor (Pholde) playing amplified metals at various tensions. While the record starts with obscure sounds growing in intensity – a cross of phantom machines and a slow agony of string loops – the atmosphere gets even more suspended as the music flows on, leaving room to trademark continuums of sampled/infinite guitars and modern rituals of percussive omnipresence. The final track “Soul window” brings everything to a standstill, allowing the mind to embrace a vast area of relieving hypnosis linked to that sense of doubt which has been the main character of Aidan Baker’s output for all these years. All things considered, this CD is absolutely noteworthy – and beautiful.
ARC – The circle is not round (A Silent Place)
This is the first official CD by ARC after several minor releases; I’ll just say that it’s stunningly beautiful. Four movements of convulsive rhythms and mesmerizing trance ignited by enthralling loops lead us right into a kaleidoscopic hall of mirrors, in which simple melodic fragments become the excuse to start hallucinated shamanist dances around an uncertain harmonic ground. Richard Baker and Chris Kukiel prepare an apparently infinite percussive bed in which the spellbinding deluge of Aidan Baker’s guitars and flute cancels the many conventions which one easily gets used to when listening to hypnotic music made with less heart than this. Agonizing amidst the confusing rolls and penetrating clashes by the two drummers, who play like if already conscious of the absence of a future, these plangent spirals transport to a new cerebral dimension where enraged creatures from the abyss and guardian angels of cats and dogs reciprocally join their hands to demonstrate how stupid humans are. With this album ARC have elevated the concept of sensual rapture to a superior level and one can only wonder where they can possibly go from here.
ARC – Arkhangelsk (Epidemie)
Aidan Baker, Richard Baker and Christopher Kukiel (of course you did notice that the trio’s denomination comes from their first name’s initials, didn’t you?) keep chasing the Muse of psychedelic rock in “Arkhangelsk”, only with an extra stroke of metrical beefiness and a soupçon of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida-ism here and there, which might sound outlandish on a first try yet works fine when one gets used to the overall vibe of this effort. Partitioned into four extensive tracks the album interconnects, as usual, elongated loops and ancestral rhythms (all three performers are credited with percussion). What unquestionably leaks out amidst the traditional static stupor caused by Aidan Baker’s stratified reappearances is a motivation for improvising much more with drumming, to the point that part of the music’s nature appears to some extent unbalanced towards those very percussive elements. Case in point the final “Ossuary”, where the three cohorts roll and tumble as we’ve never heard before, almost inundating the fundamental static harmony of the piece. Still, a shamanic influence is present all through the material, the consequences on the psyche frequently overwhelming. In its own singular way, “Arkhangelsk” is an authentication: not a veritable step forward but, incontestably, not a faux pas either.
ARCANE DEVICE – Devices 1987-2007 (Monochrome Vision)
Do not anticipate impartiality in this review, as Arcane Device ranks among the names that instantaneously bring the tears of a bygone youth to my eyes (don’t believe that – I never cry). David Lee Myers’ apparatus of auto-regenerating feedback, consisting of several interconnected digital delays and a no-input mixer (well over a decade before many current heroes of this practice, I’m willing to add) was one of this writer’s frequent picks in the late 80s, an epoch in which your babbler was eagerly tuned on everything ranging from uncontaminated cacophonic dissonance to cultured noise: my post-industrial stage, when the classification did have a meaning, the music impacting on our rock-based convictions with the force of a well-aimed uppercut. Artists like Myers were trying to teach that life is not made of “moderato cantabile” and “smell the roses”, at least not exclusively (god bless). The two discs in question are manna for those who would be interested in knowing more about the unfathomable appeal of controlled feedback, which can manifest as a gruesome monster and a ravishing vision at once, threatening blurs and arrhythmic intimidations appearing for everlasting instants then dissipating in steam that, once inhaled, makes the subject a better man (or woman), if they manage to grab hold of a glimpse of what all this means for the upgrading of the psychophysical coordination. The first disc’s title is self-explanatory: “Rare and unreleased tracks” features shorter pieces from the composer’s archives and long-deleted compilations, including outtakes from one of AD’s masterpieces, “Diabolis Ex Machina”, while the second is entirely dedicated to the four movements of “Feedback Symphony”, an amazing if uncomfortable investigation of the roams of human ignorance around the essentials of sound. Which, despite the existence of people such as this very innovator, is hopelessly, depressingly embedded in the presumption of determining a revolution through mere combinations of words and numbers. Arcane Device eats imbeciles for breakfast.
LUIGI ARCHETTI – Februar (STV/ASM)
Swiss experimental guitarist/soundscaper Archetti creates unconventional organic music through various interconnections, whose points of reference are motionlessness and superimpositions of fixed frequencies that often become unstable agglomerates of disturbances and interferences; these entities transform the relations among the sources until they become a confounding series of constantly morphing creatures, each one gifted with its own logic. Cloudy masses of vibrating electricity seem to discover their proportional gravity in a consecutio of abstract/acrid atmospheres, saturating the air with deep yet weightless textures which one can only “perceive” rather than describe; when these hallucinogenic vapours finally reveal their coldness, attacking with an almost schizophrenic tendency to distortion and (white) noise, we’re left on our own for long moments of choking doubt, then we’re finally rescued by the definitive affirmation of a sheer entrancing intelligence.
ARDEN – Conceal (Stilll)
A project by six musicians (Mitchell Akiyama, aMute/Jerome Deuson, Sogar/Jürgen Heckel, Sebastien Roux, Christophe Bailleau and Jeuc Dietrich) fusing their respective personalities in a light-hearted, yet pretty melancholically tinged concoction of stringed instruments – guitars and cello – caressed by electronics and reworked by Deuson in a colourful tapestry of fluorescent dreamscapes. If it’s true that most of the CD shows many echoes of new ambient, there are also saturated discharges reminiscent of post-rock pastures (ah, these foolish classifications…) and delightful crystalline arpeggios which – unassuming as they are – work pretty well if we don’t make the mistake of expecting too much from the whole assemblage. Maybe the best definition for “Conceal” is “unnaturally organic” – but seriously, this genetically modified music has several pleasing moments.
SCOTT ARFORD – Radio station (Antifrost)
Shortwave music bears lots of intriguing contrasts: we experience apprehension and relaxation in equal measure, according to the matching of timbral colours, the element of surprise, the composer’s attitude towards the exploitation of a pure source in opposition to heavy studio treatment. In this sense, “Radio station” by Scott Arford is a very balanced album; the sounds are thoroughly captivating in their non-confrontational homogeneity, yet maintain a halo of secrecy which distances the overall result from what one could expect from similarly conceived works. Developing a personal aesthetic which finds common elements with the experiments by John Duncan and Daniel Menche – particularly in the use of conglomerates of throbbing pulses and sub-frequency vibrations – Arford manages to highlight the most inherent “musical” nature of a highly fascinating cause of aural enjoyment.
RICARDO ARIAS / MIGUEL FRASCONI / KEIKO UENISHI – Object (Eh?)
You might be loosely familiar with Arias and Frasconi as collaborators, among others, of two artists that I admire in the same way even if they are light years distant, namely Hans Tammen and Jon Hassell; on the other hand, this is my first meeting with Uenishi, credited with laptop computer. This set was recorded in 2004 as a complementary exhibition in a series of concerts parallel to an installation at Long Island City’s Sculpture Center called “Treble”. In regard to the traditional aesthetic commandments of the label, this music is a little more minimal and less erratic, but just as lovely. The timbre of Frasconi’s rubbed, hit or slightly touched glass mixes nicely with the meager percussive components and synthetic episodes introduced by his Japanese comrade while Arias, from Bogotà, operates his trademark Balloon Kit (an instrument made of several balloons on a structure, played with bare hands or objects such as sponges and rubber bands), adding a further touch of “alternativeness” through rarefied soft bumps and unrecognizable noises, always perfectly efficient in the economy of the pieces. Not really equivalent to a “style”, this type of intercommunication privileges attentive listeners, repaying them with quite a lot of moments of fragile spaciousness and concentrated emotion.
JEFF ARNAL / GORDON BEEFERMAN – Rogue states (Generate)
The circumstances that allow any music – intended as the mere act of “expressing an idea through an instrument” – to become a means to the end of wholesomeness, while being delivered from the mental structures that systematize it into an archive of principles and codes, can easily be found in an album like “Rogue states”. Both Gordon Beeferman and Jeff Arnal represent that specimen of player who utilizes sonic tools, in this case piano and percussion, to alter artistic concepts at large and redefine the aesthetic meaning of visions captured on the spot, which they’re able to convert into elegant shapes and instantaneous miniatures that will be undoubtedly regarded as they should, especially from those who appreciate the duo outings that Irene Schweizer recorded on the Intakt label with drummers such as Louis Moholo or Han Bennink. The musicians render explicit their uncanny sensitiveness in guessing the right moment for shifting the gears of dynamics, thus being at ease both in “full freedom” settings (“Whirler-Wanderer”) and during pensive obscure elucubrations (“Rift and Resonance”, “Auuk”). Throughout the CD Arnal shows total command, using all he needs to elicit fractured patterns, one-of-a-kind rhythmic ambiguity, refined investigations where the continuous substitution of accents and beats sound as natural as the wind’s repeated changes of direction. Beeferman, whose playing I never had the pleasure of hearing until this disc, is an accomplished explorer of harmonic remnants and material intentions, his instrumental ability clearly distinguishable even for those whose knowledge of free music is limited. All in all, a comprehensive demonstration of idealistic harshness and concrete wonderment, self-awareness and survival amidst irrationality the symbolic basis of each of these improvisations.
JEFF ARNAL / DIETRICH EICHMANN – Live in Hamburg (Brokenresearch)
The object of this review is a 35-minute LP released in 2007 in a limited edition of 200 copies. It comes from a concert held by Eichmann (piano) and Arnal (percussion) in November 2004 at Hamburg’s Christianskirche, in the occasion of the Phenomorphonic Festival. The contents were totally improvised, even if they do possess all the qualities of a series of compositions, or maybe a single one divided in several movements. Scrutinizing the whole I couldn’t manage to find a moment of “violence” throughout the performance; everything remains dynamically confined in areas where obscurity and ebullience seem to be the keyword for the musicians’ approach to the context. Ever since the beginning, Eichmann stays for long spots in the lower region of the piano keyboard, basically offering a percussive contribution to the percussionist himself. The personalities – with their reciprocal relationships – start to come out more clearly as the time flows, when the two different instrumental voices begin showing unique characteristics in slightly changing settings. The rare solo spots don’t modify the general sense of restraint that the music offers, and which is the reason at the basis of the good results obtained by the pair. Improvisational segments that sound quite introvert, circumspect in a way, certainly well planned, as absurd as this concept might appear. A release that, for want of a better description, “swims underwater” to gain our approval, successfully.
JEFF ARNAL / SETH MISTERKA / REUBEN RADDING / NATE WOOLEY – Transit (Clean Feed)
This music is made of movable modules and riveting energy, something perfectly described by Dietrich Eichmann as “spontaneous dialogues that remain completely unpredictable”. One of those cases in which the total is greater than the sum of the involved parts, “Transit” shows a dramatic intensity meshed with unwrought rationalizations; over the impressive interplay between Arnal on percussion and Radding on bass – totally far off the “rhythm section” banality – the air emitted during the horn-locking exchanges by Misterka on alto sax and Wooley on trumpet is enough to feed a nuclear plant without ever reaching a breaking point. The quartet looks for the ultimate purity, never finding shortcuts to easy shelters and precious-looking gadgetry, always leering at consonance like a stray cat does when one tries to near him; yet there are moments of tense composure – case in point being the final “Red hook” – in which, for short glimpses, we’re led to think about a “harmony” that indeed exists: if you peep curiously enough, you’ll see it shining through the vital force of these bright-minded guys.
ARSZYN – Emigrant (Sqrt)
Recordings of Polish émigrés in London mixed with frayed, dirty electronic emanations. That’s exactly what this CD encloses: no actual music, just crackle, filter-based aural defacement, subsonic pounding, urban bedlam and chatter by an entire lot of different people. The originator wanted to report about “the overwhelming noise of a vibrant life in a big city” and, in that sense, succeeded. Everything you want to hear is there: cars, voices, TV excerpts (maybe), the surrounding din, whatever. Then the interviewees start narrating their stories – mostly in Polish language of course, therefore incomprehensible for yours truly – and the whole becomes an audio documentary of sorts. Well recorded, harmonious in a way (I always tend to consider unfamiliar foreign idioms as music when listening to them), actually being nothing more than a curiosity – but it sounds good. Merged with the summer cicadas chanting outside my window, pleasing at times. Halfway through musique concrete and post-industrial, there are worse things around. This can stay.
KOJI ASANO – Final insurance (Solstice)
Beautifully packaged and adorned with the usual fine cover photo by the composer himself, the 38th (!) CD in Koji Asano’s discography gathers pieces spanning from 1992 to 1994, before his debut album “Solstice”. Considering the pretty spartan sources and materials used, these compositions – all of them raw electroacoustic jewels – show a great degree of intelligence and openness to unexpected solutions: there are juxtapositions of feedback and saturation-point percussion (“Half-moon”), long concrete shape shifts (“Sparrow”, “Remedy”), menacing wall-of-noise explorations opposed to absurd no-man’s lands in orchestras at 200mph speed (“Corridor”, which is not so far from Frank Zappa’s experiments in “The chrome-plated megaphone of destiny” on “We’re only in it for the money”). Then again, remember that Koji was really just a kid when assembling these nice oddities and you’ll have to agree that this man must undergo a serious re-evaluation process as his music – including these early works – is a constant challenge to obviousness.
KOJI ASANO – Spring estuary (Solstice)
Unclassifiable as always, Koji Asano shows yet another face of his sometimes difficult to penetrate music, this time born from lumps of electric/electronic sounds amassed in mountains of distorted dissonance and jangling resonances of undecipherable instruments – even if I’d guess that guitar and piano are somehow present. After three shorter “introductive” tracks that use lots of overdriven sources and excessive stereo panning, the 33’46″ last movement is easily the best part of the album, showing the Japanese composer in his favourite dimension: extremely repetitive shimmering clusters of dense chords crossing each other, thus generating an engaging deconstruction of commonplace hypnotism; should we try a comparison, picture a distant ghost of Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” put into a mashed ill ambience of broken mirrors and illusions of figurative stimulations. It can be suffocating but, at the end, you get used to this crawling strangeness.
KOJI ASANO – Rabbit room reservation center (Solstice)
Love it or hate it – or something in the middle – Koji Asano’s music always surprises one way or another. The over-prolific Japanese composer shows here his “rough minimalism” facet with an extremely simple study on the resonant power of a regular instrument (..is there a piano in there? A guitar, somewhere?…) totally modified by filtering and processing in order to amass tons of distortion while operating a frequency cutoff that leaves just a distant ectoplasmic reproduction of the original source. These experiments often seem to be born from improvisations, as Asano looks for the right angles and spots to release the tension accumulated over minutes upon minutes of repetition of a single note or phrase; one could think about illustrious lineages, say Palestine or Conrad, but Koji privileges the dirty over the limpid – which sometimes can yield very interesting results. Never mind if sometimes you would think that all your home appliances have decided to start a grumbling conversation: it’s only Koji Asano, but I like it.
KOJI ASANO – Violin and viola suites No.1-No.7 (Solstice)
Masterfully performed by violinist Kumi Nakajima, a prodigy girl who started playing aged 4, and violist Masashi Sasaki, lead viola of the Sendai Philarmonic Orchestra, these suites rank not only among the finest compositions that Koji Asano has ever written, but also find their place in a virtual gallery of the most engaging music for strings that I’ve heard lately. The first suite “Hollersbach” was inspired by an invitation to Austria received by Asano in 2004; in that occasion, he listened to the duo of Willem De Swardt and Ursula Kortschak who influenced his desire to write this material, an inspiration which was furtherly confirmed after being marveled by Nakajima and Sasaki’s gorgeous sound. All the suites are quite linear and “cantabile”, exploring various motifs ranging from Bartokian melodies to serene descriptions of hypothetical scenes from a not too distant past; a competent use of controlled dissonance and quasi-Reichian processes of harmonic construction, well evident in “Hollersbach”, adds some spice to this effective concoction of influences, digested by Asano in order to create a personal outlook on a quite difficult topic. Given also the beautiful recording, this is highly recommended to everybody.
KOJI ASANO – Baroque Ensemble N°1 – N°5 (Solstice)
A surprise release from Asano, who wrote these scores for the Ensemble Deneb of Amsterdam (Ayumi Matsuda – recorder, Lucas van Helsdingen – oboe, Arwen Bouw – violin, Maria Sanchez Ramirez – cello, Ere Lievonen – harpsichord). These artists play the Japanese composer’s peculiar brand of Baroque music with enthusiasm and passionate drive, which render the few imperfections caught here and there an additional element of interest. Given also the large room reverb characterizing the recording, the music brims with adjacent overtones and strange light dissonances, the overall temperament of the album recalling a hybrid of Mikel Rouse Broken Consort, Arnold Dreyblatt and – get this – Mike Oldfield circa “Incantations”. The musicians look for new places to establish their like-minded illusionism, managing to capture a “Baroque essence” that sounds pretty modern nevertheless. But there’s actually more discovery than reminiscence in a little more of 40 minutes of enticing material, fathered by a prolific composer who – after an initial boom of attention by the media, probably due to his London residence at that time – has been a little (unjustly) overlooked in recent periods, although many of his releases contain ideas that are not similar to anyone else’s. And let’s not forget that Koji Asano is still only 33.
KOJI ASANO – Trio suites No.1-No.3 (Solstice)
These beautiful pieces by Koji Asano were played by Bin Ueda (piano), Akiko Nakae (oboe) and Shunichiro Miyasaka (cello). When listening to the Japanese composer’s music, one never risks to get the same recipe over and over again; but his recent releases are among the finest pages that he has written throughout his prolific career. The suites are light-paced, gifted with a modern baroque touch that takes any reverential patina off the classical background of the musicians, three excellent players whose juvenile fervour overwhelms every potential weakness (and believe me, there aren’t many here). These scores are plucky, even if somehow rooted in a tradition; Asano has grown us used to sudden changes of direction over the course of his career, including venturing into hyper-advanced electronica and exploiting a single source to its limit thanks to sapient studio treatment, yet his outlook on chamber music is as stimulating and refreshing as a cold shower. Asano’s contrapuntal calligraphy highlights peculiar resonance and digestible contrast and, at a perfect length of about 36 minutes, we can enjoy an album which, far from sounding academically irreprehensible (read “sterile”), makes us curious enough to keep waiting for the next steps.
ASCOLTARE – Giving set (Strange Lights)
“Giving set” is a white-vinyl seven inch comprising three short tracks (“Crucible process”, “Minik -1″ and “Tour de force”) whose overall character is part of a low-budget minimalism coloured in pseudo-consonance – picture a deformation of the “easiest” Terry Riley just to have a faint idea – slightly disturbed by arrhythmical interferences (and, in “Crucible process”, by a referee’s scoring…) that seem to filter the whole through a malfunctioning telephone. It’s pretty peculiar music, quite appealing and – in its short length – absolutely not overstaying its welcome; I’d really be curious to hear how these fragments would fit in a longer context. For now, I just enjoy this small artifact as a raw little piece of my collection of unclassifiable materials.
AS 11 – Monotheism (Antifrost)
In December 2005, AS 11 made some field recordings at Mount Horeb (Sinai, Egypt). One could never guess the original source, though, as these sounds were radically studio-altered with the addition of “voice effects” after the return to Greece. The whole composition is engulfed by an oppressive distortion whose kiss of death has no mercy: gradually, the first elements of “Monotheism” start to revolve around themselves in a whirlwind of infernal utterances, destructured loops and anti-cosmic degradation in one of the harshest, uninhibited liberations of hidden monstrosity of the human soul heard recently. Nevertheless, it also feels like having been delivered; somewhere in this sea of lost hope, an element of sacred nihilism is to be found, its weak grip slowly becoming the guide light that finally leads to the end of this apparently infinite tunnel. More rotten beauty in the never disappointing gathering of fabulous contradictions which Antifrost puts out with blessed regularity.
AS 11 – Pneumatik (Echomusic)
When a release comprises sounds derived by mechanic devices, it is a good thing when it doesn’t overstay its welcome. This is the case of “Pneumatik”, which lasts 34 minutes and is divided in three tracks, two of them live. The latter were recorded in San Sebastian (Spain) in 2006, all we hear having been generated by an electric wheel and a tire. I would have sworn about other sources, but that’s how the world goes (then again here’s the reason of the album’s title, I suppose). What does that approach cause? Something like a drill which, aptly amplified and in contact with another body, starts to oscillate, groan and howl. This continues in spurts, and at times is even beautiful – in the first section a mermaid seems to have entered the scene with a dissonant lamentation. The second part is slightly tamer in confront, and at one point a sort of muffled chordal sequence underlines the basic buzz. The third track, the only from a studio recording, is definitely harsher, with a ripping frequency (that one rather expects from Mattin, or akin rebels) introducing a slightly calmer, if a little hiccupping finale. Not a great album, but not bad either.
ASHER – Two compositions (12k/Term)
Available on the 12k/Term website, these two introverted pieces mark my first introduction to electronic composer Asher. “For C” and “Untitled composition 10/4/04″ sound like lungs affected by chronic air deficit, where liquids and particles try to find a way out but not before being exposed to radio waves from unknown planets. “For C” develops itself in a sort of dark hypnotic mantra, surrounded by the crumbling walls of desperation, while “10/4/04″ is slightly more tending to the only small window present in that same building, from where rain drops and fading lights announce the end of another day of waiting. Both tracks should be appealing to lovers of Cranioclast and Maurizio Bianchi, but the personality is all on Asher’s side.
ASHER – …And invariably the blue (Conv Net.Lab)
A Brooklyn based sound artist, Asher is inexorably arriving to his artistic maturity; his second online release after “Two compositions” on Term/12k is a deep-digging three-part piece which takes this composer’s minimal analysis of low-range electronica into a detailed relationship between sounds, the overall effect often resembling boiling water slowed down while dried by a giant sheet of sandpaper. The dark and glacial shadows of this impregnable elegy for the ostracism of sunlight have many common points with some of Thomas Köner’s inscrutable soundscapes – think “Unerforschtes Gebiet” to get a vague picture – but the way the music moves reveals a disguised architecture which rubs its inspiration along artists like Richard Chartier, only with a little more organicism and less regular acyclic geometries. In the firmly rooted tree of good quality releases by this fine label, “…And invariably the blue” is yet another very juicy fruit.
ASHER – Graceful degradation (Conv Net.Lab)
There are a few elements: a $75 piano bought by the composer in Brooklyn, a tape recorder constantly nearby, several forgotten cassettes – containing Led Zeppelin and Police – found by Asher during an office cleanup. At home, he recorded his reflective piano playing over and over on the same cassette, therefore starting the process of “graceful degradation” to which the title refers, also in relation to our old blurred memories appearing when less expected. One could instantly think “OK, Basinski” and indeed there is a similar ongoing development here – but with a big difference, as in Asher’s music there is no gradual loss of signal and particles; instead, the ears are constantly rubbed by the consumpted tape’s hiss, crackles and pops that highlight these mournful arpeggios in quite an unconventional way. In “Untitled #305″ the music and the tape noise blend nicely with the distant sounds of passing cars outside; overall, the melancholic character of this album made me think about Harold Budd’s photograph put in an old, dusty frame. Intense and very sad – a sure keeper.
ASHER – Three untitled compositions (EarLabs)
The large part of the sounds contained in these tracks wanders around the area of “consumption minimalism”, a place where many people are not usually welcome; yet, they keep going in that direction, hoping to determine the reason of a perennial anxiousness. Coats of digital dirt and hiss complemented by breathtaking subsonics and deep pulses, similar to the heartbeat of a giant entity after many days of decomposition under a thick stratus of soil, create the basis of an unfathomable introversion. Worn out by days upon days of walking around the same circular path, the virtual guide that leads to an unlikely redemption from the commonplaces of electronica still can’t define the source of this deeply meaningful inner desolation; the incessant icy wind that accompanies these fundamental grey/white radiations slaps the cheeks of the braves who want to try again, their weakening bodies completely invaded by humming calls and low-frequency swells that keep illusions alive while slowly conducting to the end of material life.
ASHER – Directions (Leerraum)
If you subscribe to the theory of “less is more”, then you have to appreciate what Asher Thal-Nir is doing with his music, whose quality is noticeably increasing from album to album as he subtracts and engraves instead of adorning and appending. After the studies in decomposition of “Graceful degradation”, “Directions” returns to what Asher does best, namely a discreet pulse alimented by substrata of shortwaves, remnants of hypnotic dust, humming frequencies and buzzing condensations which – taken as a whole – constitute a reassuring extension of our biological activities in a sort of vegetative suspension. One appreciates this blemished aura through thick and thin, a functional stimulation accompanying our gestures while allowing no evident distraction from what’s happening around. Apparently, this process never comes to the point of exhaustion: the unusual energies moved by these recurring flows generate something nearer to a withdrawn gratification rather than developing frustrating expectancy, re-alimenting themselves over the course of the composition’s three movements. Listeners can thus adopt a defenceless stance, completely sure of feeling like unmovable rocks amidst a slow current, droplets of conscious tranquillity dribbling between moss and aquatic microorganisms very similar to the mental debris that makes us slip over erroneous judgements. Music like this helps to rub it out in a most effective way.
ASHER – The anguish is not the same (Homophoni)
Available for downloading at the Homophoni website, this splendidly titled composition is a synthetic, deeply involving representation of the many reasons for my growing interest in Asher’s production. Reportedly conceived through “samplers and effects”, the track – about 33 minutes, a perfect length – starts with a series of virtual in-and-out camera zooms that go from a distant perspective (silence) to close ups of scarcely distinguishable activity. The moments in which the sonic mass gets louder are characterized by a background disturbance, like a cross of modulated white noise and shortwaves, the whole creating a sense of being massaged by interacting physical energies. The real beauty of this composition comes forth after a while, when the ongoing forward-and-backward shift keeps growing in intensity, until we begin to hear the grain of the matter while the music keeps flowing; the most detectable derivations are human voices and, soon becoming a constant presence, leaking water drops. This creates the biotic quality that I’ve grown accustomed to by listening to most of Asher’s recordings, that sense of organic life, even in apparently next-to-dead structures, which moves his creations through a chain of distinct phases. Time is framed in a way that forces the listener to freeze and be completely subjugated by something that remains undisclosed, but is felt as a depurating radiance. I’m looking forward to this man getting famous.
ASHER – Landscapes elsewhere (Conv Net.Lab)
More residues of invisible digital life from Asher Thal-Nir, whose microenvironments show very little in terms of commonly intended pleasure but are animated by resinous energies which show their subtle meanings under the magnifying lens of silence. A declining sun offers its feeble rays to a body weakened by a humdrum existence, while the outside world is in “business-as-usual” total decadence; slow-paced disconnections from an already corrugated serenity introduce us to the antechamber of a reeling trance. Everything is comprehensible under the shroud of apathy, yet there’s still something that must be integrated into this sculpture of unanswered questions and sorrowful leftovers; for the first time, Asher introduces fragments of muffled melodies in his creations and the new element is striking in its glacial implicitness. The four tracks of “Landscapes elsewhere” feed our need of isolation through quavering aural snapshots whose colour is modified by a patina of relentless melancholy; Asher is looking for different paths to show us the newest aspects of his frazzled prayers but, no matter how one approaches it, his music keeps touching our sensible spots with the same delicacy of snowflakes transforming an industrial area into an all-white peregrination through nothingness.
ASHER – The depths, the colors, the objects and the silence (Mystery Sea)
I always wondered how many people really possess the inner ability to become connected to the sounds that accompany their existence, up to the point of stopping in their tracks to attribute a value to each one of them, since everything that ears receive stamps some significance in our memory. Asher’s music speaks to those very reminiscences, teaching us how to become aware of the world around us without being forced to keep note of things that happen. Printed in a 100-copy limited edition, this album contains three long tracks whose intimacy is oddly in contrast with the basic sources used, which mostly comprise urban environmental backgrounds that include voices from the road, passing cars, police sirens and distant calls. The whole is shrouded by the composer’s trademark veil of hiss and digital dirtiness which, together with weak emissions between synthesis and shortwave, parallels the scene to an autumnal day observed from within the shop we hastily entered because we were surprised by the rain. On paper, one would figure these desolated ambiences as generating a sense of oppression, or at least communicating some measure of dejection; instead, Asher’s soundscapes are capable of lifting some of the weight off our shoulders, all the while sweeping aside any residual consideration about aesthetical necessities. This music is not made of nail-biting apprehension, but transmits a few unequivocal messages that highlight short-haul flights to different kinds of enlightenment. Still, we manage to soil ourselves over the course of life, surrendering to a tangible indifference for something that one day we’ll regret not to have considered more attentively.
ASHER – Untitled composition (for B) (Leerraum)
In the 24 minutes of this audio DVD, Asher presents an absorbing piece that confirms a strong imprint while showing another facet of his sonic experimentation at one and the same time. The grey-tinged electroacoustic swamp that is typical of Mr.Thal-Nir’s most beautiful tracks is still with us since the very beginning; shortwave, hiss and barely emerging background voices create that sense of “comfortable displacement” that slowly takes command in our systems, facilitating the release of tension from our body while liberating a copious dose of pulverized steam that invades every available niche. The new “presence” is a subterranean, yet perfectly detectable harmonic wash, a come-and-go rarefied pulse somehow reminiscent of Nurse With Wound’s “Salt Marie Celeste”, which stabilizes the music into a fine-tuned elemental symmetry. Over the recent years, Asher has been recognized as an important voice in that area of the “minimalism of collapse” which many have tried to access without the necessary requisites. His sensitive ear, the acknowledged ability in utilizing few means to achieve something that succeeds in affecting the psyche quite deeply, are only a couple of the resources that make each of these episodes highly anticipated and always worthwhile.
ASHER – In Camera (Homophoni)
The world of Mr. Thal-Nir looks filtered by a flickering monitor which is also missing a good number of pixels, yet these imperfections are the very elements attributing to his music the granular textures and biotically attuned qualities that make it sound like the flow of bodily energy. This composition presents various degrees of newness, though. Contrarily to the usual preferences, frequently revolving around the constant development of a single concept, Asher focused on different scenes seamed one after another, featuring recurring close-ups and settings but at the same time highlighting a handful of concrete principles by putting them under a mildly magnifying lens. For example, voices and birds are instantly visible, not engulfed by the customary shortwave clouds (they are still there, mind you – that’s Asher’s main colour, and it will always be). There are basic melodic recurrences, too: keyboard figures of two, maximum three notes at a time which seem to represent a guide light of sorts amidst the fog, granting us a false sense of security while the real connections remain just intuitions, never turning into a delineated conceptual network. The irredeemable loss of hope affecting most people’s humdrum existences finds a worthy soundtrack, although it’s strange to say that when evident signs of life are disseminated throughout the piece. A beautiful work, like everything this artist generates; above all, a testimony of Asher’s ongoing evolution as a composer.
ASHER – Study for autumn (Conv Net.Lab)
A 22-minute, simpler-than-usual discoloured pastel by Asher Thal Nir, not less interesting for the aficionados of this introverted sonic photographer of plumbeous afternoons. Factors: the ever-present hiss, very evident in the mix (this time it’s mostly outside wind, though). A piano, maybe the cheap instrument utilized by the composer in “Graceful degradation”. The crackling noise of the chair. The label website says “brass bells”, too, but I wasn’t able to locate them. The succession of the events remains similar throughout: starting with a continuous background wash, the piece is built on a few sparse notes rendered tremulous, almost out of tune by the poor quality of a tape that sounds like if it was used a couple hundred times. Is this a studio trick instead? We really don’t want to know. Even the smallest incidents are featured at regular intervals, again and again. The whole thing is a loop, one would say – the same melancholic circle in the life of dejected souls unable to abandon the old track to look for something different, just waiting for the end of existence without having done anything important, realizing that they have been always following, never leading. Asher is a specialist of this kind of soundtracks for those fascinating, if depressing segments of humanity, although he can’t possibly control what happens in the mind of a hyper-observing reviewer who applies the artist’s craft to social analysis. Some people believe they can, but that’s another story.
ASHER + UBEBOET – A map of the ocean (Trans>parent Radiation)
There are occasions that are just perfect for an album like this (which is not a solid object yet, it will be this fall; for now it’s an online release). One of the first real summer days after a period of heavy rain, hot sun, blue sky, all kinds of birds singing since the early morning. Asher and Ubeboet (Miguel Tolosa) donate their poetry of assemblage to this gorgeous setting with a series of environmental recordings underlined by the customary interference, this time less emphasized in favour of slightly more visible events, which comprise various examples of human activity as observed from a distant location – sounds of washing waters, the appearance of ghostly semblances, voices so far away that only the higher pitches – usually children – are distinguishable. And again: the moan of vehicles becoming a chant-like blurred memory, glimpses of “chords” from who knows what source – maybe Tolosa’s bowed lap steel guitar, maybe a radio – that seem to suggest a dapple of harmony. The voice of the seagulls on a shore. Everything extremely simple and utterly beautiful, the way in which all of the above mixes with today’s surroundings causing a moment of aching consciousness of something that’s obviously perceivable but still we can’t put our finger on it. An apparition of sorts, remorseful ambient music with a sense of resignation to the inevitable – especially for the deep listener.
ROBERT ASHLEY – Tap dancing in the sand (Unsounds)
“Tap dancing in the sand” is a magnificent compilation of less-vocal-than-usual compositions by Robert Ashley in strict cooperation with Ensemble MAE from Amsterdam (they’re none other than the former Maarten Altena Ensemble, minus the founder), a great chamber group with whom the American artist worked over the course of several projects. It might result as a surprising treat for many – as it happened to this reviewer – since the quality and richness of this music probably exceed any expectation. Ashley – who specializes in text/speech operas – has clearly influenced artistic entities such as Laurie Anderson; yet this CD shows that his ability in writing instrumental scores follows standards that are possibly superior to the ones of the works for which he is respected. This is an utterly gratifying listen, a collection of five delicately unobtrusive infusions of compositional sapience coming in a refined digipack complete with a booklet with full lyrics and notes from the composer. The title track features him in person, reciting the words along a constant harmonic change dictated by an elegant pianistic propulsion. His reading is counterpointed by reeds and strings similar to a parallel enunciation, the trombone curiously sounding like Charlie Brown’s teacher’s voice, a fascinating combination that ends with the instruments left alone for the closure. “Outcome inevitable” is a crepuscular piece that mixes doses of Bryars and Reich, beginning with a curious clean-toned jazz guitar that pushes the whole into an irregular pulse-based series of melancholic sketches enriched by melismatic vocalizations by Noa Frenkel. “Hidden similarities” presents a text recited, in succession, by all the members of MAE upon a rarefied background; about this Ashley writes “it shows my belief that the use of the voice is in every way as important as technical skills on an instrument” and, indeed, a good method for appreciating this kind of material is considering the spoken element as an orchestral hue. “In memoriam ESTEBAN GOMEZ” (sic) is a slow undulation of trembling pitches, alluring and hypnotizing at one and the same time, continuously shifting from consonance to slight dissonance then becoming a little threatening when percussion and gentle distortion creep in. It comes and goes, impalpable and inscrutable, downright impressive. “She was a visitor” (from 1967!) is another mesmerizing moment, a ghost chorale of repeated phrases, sustained tones and hissing whispers that ends the show with an additional touch of mysterious beauty, the perfect signature to a release that can be declared a masterpiece without questions. In my book, the best Ashley that I’ve ever heard.
ASHTRAY NAVIGATIONS – To your fucking feather’d wings (Goldsoundz/Absurd)
As lo-fi as you can get, this is a guitar/fuzz/tape project by Phil Todd which could be defined as a strange cross between pre-acousmatic-era Main and the rethinking of instrumental parts by Pink Floyd (circa “Interstellar Overdrive”). Though distortion is more or less constant, the sound tends to be slippery and with a proclivity to detached leisure; this feeling is just shortly interrupted by a few interferences that don’t change the pillhead sensation permeating the whole release, which ends with a treated field recording coupled with a totally glazed-eye, out of tune arpeggio. If not revolutionary by any measure, this stuff keeps you snug during your slo-mo life segments.
ASRA – Souvenir à ASRA, la poupée vivante (Le Souffleur)
A vinyl, just like every Le Souffleur production, showcases the impressive talents of Asra, a duo formed by Raymond Dijkstra and Af Ursin. To get an idea of how this record sounds like, put yourself with your memory to the soundtracks of sci-fi movies of the fifties and the sixties, those suspended electronic atmospheres that could get scary and funny at the same time; add a good measure of improvisation on regular instruments (…did I hear a tuba or it’s just my imagination?) and you’ll really have a breath of fresh air: “Souvenir” is an interesting handicraft, well conceived and better played. It brings a sound that stays welcome both in the centre of your attention and in an eventual background, with hints to a naivetè that I found very capturing, particularly on the second side of the LP where a theremin – or something like it – sounds like a whistling siren, or a blackbird on LSD!
ASSUMED POSSIBILITIES – Still point (Rossbin)
Chris Burn, Rhodri Davies, Phil Durrant and Mark Wastell are Assumed Possibilities, so I was prepared to hear something near the lines of “Strings with Evan Parker” – but that was not the case. Most of this record is an exploration of subtle timbres (often very near to silence) and a general exercise in the good old adage that “less is more”. Compare the overall picture to a few persons carefully visiting a dusty forgotten attic, stumbling on small objects and old toys and putting them together in order to get usable sounds out of them; meanwhile, in the dark corners of the loft, the spirits of curious teddy bears and broken dolls join the visitors in the play, while the outside wind gently opens the window every once in a while, making the papers rustle and making tiny noises distracting the concentration. At the end, everything has changed but somehow the dust – and the forgotten memories – remain.
ASTRA – Steloj (Conv.net Lab)
The duo of Jason Kahn and Ilios, Astra create a tissue of compound materials which mostly insist on ear-piercing high frequencies that are differently perceived according to the position in the listening environment. Sixteen untitled tracks, pretty short in terms of duration, aggregate and transform energetic flows and icy winds into apparata for the generation of educated noise in finely tuned feedback processes; these interactions constitute a presence both heard and felt, as testimonied by my ears’ ringing during the track pauses. Any further description would be useless: this is a classic case in which individual features play a fundamental role in the intention of appreciating something that could be puzzling – if not annoying – for someone whose will is not so powerful, but that instead is a concrete stimulation for the ones whose inquisitive sense doesn’t stop in front of an apparently impenetrable façade. The hypnotic/looping quality of most of these aural footsteps is a useful booster for more powerful consequences; the immersion in a sonic idiom whose peculiarities reveal an advanced architectural intelligence is greatly enhanced by some dramatic spirals, characterized by incessant transmissions of unknown codes. Everything sounds organized, yet utterly unfamiliar. Surgical beauty of the highest rank.
ATELEIA – Swimming against the moment (Antiopic)
It takes a while, but after you put some minutes into listening to Ateleia his music becomes a relentless emotional disturbance, liable to create a complexity made of pleasure and unsteadiness. James Elliott has a knack for assembling pragmatic re-drawings of conventional instrumentals and wham-bang deformations of torrential flows of decorticated frequencies. All this comes from pretty regular guitars, synths and sampling, used as basic sources by Elliott and his colleagues to open several new vistas over vacant quarters and nondescript conglomerates of disposable detritus. Ateleia’s muezzin call to unsettling aural prayers must be heard – loud – in many world’s corners.
GILLES AUBRY / ANTOINE CHESSEX / TORSTEN PAPENHEIM – Swiftmachine (Creative Sources)
Absolutely no searching for purity here, as “Swiftmachine” – a computer, sax and guitar trio – are fully functional in their pretty atypical noise reflections. Indeed, Aubry, Chessex and Papenheim are not the most radical deformers of timbral regularity; it’s rather one of those instances where the voices of the single instruments are always pretty recognizable throughout the music. Nevertheless, the concoction works well without additional efforts, as the mass of sound twists and turns with a good degree of colourful peculiarities, mixing nicely like in a mad scientist’s laboratory alembics. These men do not try to rewrite the book of improvisational shapes, yet find their way through harmonics, string scraping, wet conduits and laptop transmutations in a series of strange bubbles which dissolve in the air wryly, like if germs of corruption decided to remain just a chuckle in the chaos of life.
AUDIOPIXEL – Memento rumori (Collectif Effervescence)
Almost 34 minutes of pretty nice music by Miguel Constantino, here at his first album under the Audiopixel alias. With just “an electric guitar, a mixer, 2 sampler pedals and a peculiar set that could enable him in sounding like a laptop without using one”, Audiopixel leads us through a fun-fair with deformating mirrors and sweet/sour candy shops, where echoes of Albert Marcoeur, Aqsak Maboul, The Pastels and Fennesz appear every once in a while amidst twisted melodies and reverse elaborations which involve, among others, Chinese singer Shuang Song and a cat named Luna. Constantino’s approach succeeds in most of the tracks, thanks to a light-hearted obliqueness that is relaxing as well as puzzling or – simple as that – amusing. Both in its guitar-based pieces and in more complicated pastiches, “Memento rumori” remains absolutely commendable.
AUDIO WARFARE AND CROWD CONTROL STUDIES – Less-Lethal, vol.1 (ALKU)
Shrouded by the intricate name lie 11 among the most legendary (or infamous…) suspects dealing with noise, environment and contingent sounds, therefore this might be defined as a “various artists” assemblage. The list: Carlos Giffoni, Dave Phillips, Francisco López, Gæoudjiparl van den Dobbelsteen, Justice Yeldham, Lasse Marhaug, Mark Fell, Torturing Nurse, Powerbooks for Peace, Weasel Walter, Zbigniew Karkowski. As usual, there’s not much sense in describing the single pieces; some of them are well made, others are curiosities or plain foolishness. One in particular tries to shock the listener through psychological violence, while several tracks are more ironic. Not everybody chooses true din to state a point of view, and there is also a combinations of rap (…) and silence. I’ll leave you the pleasure of discovering the worthy and the culprits, but what I actually recommend is to take a careful look at the CD booklet, the best part of this project. Paul Paulun’s essay “Music, sound and sonic technologies in military contexts” represents an illuminating read and a potential explanation of the bad feelings that sensitive people experience when they’re subjected to certain kinds of music from mind-regulating powers (radio, TV or just a shopping mall – speaking of which, did anyone ever notice the shoppers’ mood swing, from the initial excitement to an utter depression, in a couple of hours?). Interesting, thought-provoking stuff which one can enjoy accompanied by a stimulating soundtrack, relatives disqualified of course.
AUSTIN THEREMONIC ORCHESTRA – Electron cloud (Distillery)
Acid abstract theremin music comes from a sextet including guitarist/soundscaper Douglas Ferguson plus Aileen Adler, Heather Brand, Anne Heller, Steve Marsh and Lori Varga. The otherwordly sounds of the theremins mix and fight in a continuous shift of perspective, finding their place one moment just to leave it after a few seconds; soon this painting becomes a tissue made of inextricable knots, sweet/sour cries for help by extraterrestrial creatures urging us to tend our ears to gather some more data. Fans of sci-fi movies will obviously be enthralled by this mild mannered incoherent dream transforming itself in a symphonic war game of car alarms, but – if you listen carefully enough – there’s some exquisite involuntary finesse among the chaotic lamentations of these fascinating machines. A true oddity indeed, to be listened when the mood is right, otherwise you could really hate it.
AUTECHRE / HAFLER TRIO – aeo3 / 3hae (Die Stadt)
Hermetic and inscrutable, the second part of this project by Autechre and Hafler Trio – divided into 2 discs lodged in an elaborate packaging – tells the tale of lethargical looms imbued of concealed energy which is ready to be sprayed around under a dress of volatile frequencies, subsonic rumbles and incidental noises. The exteriorization of any audible phenomenon becomes a bleached sculpture carved from the mucilaginous sea of pseudo-silence; indeed, imaginary voices of strange birds and scorching static lights are heard from a distance, their incommensurable power of evocation a constant menace on our alerted faculties. Those auditive hallucinations are just the hidden regrets of our hardened memory: giving their signal of existence, they make sure that our haughty regression to stupidity is at least accompanied by a well-rehearsed pantomime of anguishing stagnancy. The perdition in this enormous reverberating hall of nightmares generates malformed intentions which transform our composure in a silent abandon of hope.
AUTISTICI – Volume objects (12k)
It’s getting increasingly difficult to come up with something genuinely new in the area where Autistici is stepping. Over the course of nine tracks, we’re shown different facets of this sonic painter’s aesthetic, whose style has more to do with the peculiar placing of a series of acoustic events than a real compositional concept. The adjective “tactile”, referred to the recorded sounds on the press release seems pretty coherent to what I perceived in the disc. True, there are several of the genre’s trademarks (delicately ringing bell tones, whispered gentleness, extremely simple guitar arpeggios broken by electric discharges) but are we really sure that one still needs to hear the damaged vinyl effect in a record after all these years? Fortunately, the artist is intelligent enough to displace some of these obvious presences with a rather concrete view of things, which include casual sources such as a motorbike, or someone snoring (!), thus adding a most welcome human element to a patchwork that otherwise might result in yet another “imperfectly perfect”, cracked-glass framed photograph of already visited territories. At the end of the day, “Volume objects” can be considered instead as a collection of vignettes somehow modified by a child’s crayon into scribbled figures that, although not beautiful, possess now a few characteristics and slight deformations that attract our curiosity more than before.
AUTODIGEST – A compressed history of everything ever recorded Vol.1 (Cronica)
Just a flick of the switch and you’re right into an absurdly efficient sonic end of the world or, even better, the audio equivalent of the Big Bang. As the title suggests, this is music dealing with compression; nevertheless, among the incredible accelerations and enormous expansions heard in this “History”, you can reasonably think about hidden space caves and obscure galaxies without sounding like a Star Trek (or Tangerine Dream, for that matter) aficionado, as breathtaking suspensions and harsh awakenings run together like there’s no tomorrow throughout the CD. Impossible to catch, never giving an inch of confidence to even the most courageous listeners, this artifact avoids “dark ambient” and “post-techno” stereotypes in favour of a no-genre fast recollection, similar to life frames running in the eyes of a man in extreme life danger: if he manages to save himself, surely he will remember those moments for a long time. Yeah, I’m waiting for the second volume!
AUTODIGEST – A compressed history of everything ever recorded Vol.2: Ubiquitous Eternal Live (Cronica)
At first, it makes you think of a bad joke or a divertissement: an infinite round of cheer and applause sampled from live recordings, more or less the same for long minutes. Then you notice it: there’s a drone – a dark, deep growl – lurking under all this mess. The low buzz slowly grows, while the voices start sounding tense, saturated with negative energy in dire need of exploding. And explode they do, in the shape of “soloists” (male and female fans) screaming their lungs out of bodies like if they were skin-burnt in hell flames; this progressively apocalyptic mess literally ices me (no pun intended). Such a “reality based” composition is certainly uncommon; I can only recall Ror Wolf’s “Der ball ist rund”, made with layers of football TV speakers’ voices – but “Ubiquitous Eternal Live” is sonically devastating, nerve-shattering and right to the target, which is the description of the totally idiotic behaviour and utter desperation intrinsically present in all kinds of people – especially when amassed. We’re all destined to be eaten by the “blob” that’s everyday life’s brain deterioration. Autodigest is a genius.
STEVE BACZKOWSKI / RAVI PADMANABHA – Tongue rust and lead moth (Utech)
No standards or ballads in this exciting duo, only a continuous flux of wordless messages about the mortality of the flesh and the aspiration to transcendence, all created by the fantastic playing of Baczkowski (tenor and baritone sax) and Padmanabha (drums). These profound dialogues succeed on all accounts, achieving the result of an artistic integrity which requires a careful study of every gesture that the musicians do while prolonging their sonic intercourses. Ranging through the most disparate aspects of his timbral unconsciousness, Baczkowski is nevertheless able to conjure up scents of Ned Rothenberg and Peter Brötzmann, while also taking the opportunity of sharing his own vision in diverse territories. His convolutions are raging yet equally serene, getting finely counterbalanced by Padmanabha’s rhythmical refractions which sound like a combination of disturbance and technical sapience destined to aliment the flame of active listening. Owners of their own small world, these artists show their absolute will to expand their horizons.
BAD GIRLS – Unauthorized recordings (Public Eyesore)
The violin/reed/guitar plus electronics formula brought by Mike Khoury, Wade Kergan and Ben Bracken makes for a non-homogeneous, non-regulated series of micro-organisms where noise and hum maintain a strict contact with artistic purposes; as a welcome addition you have the segments where these friends set up a three-way conversation in surroundings that change according to music’s pace and intensity. This notwithstanding, phrasing and melodic exchanges are quite often gobbled by torrential waves of electric and acoustic mayhem where any personal ostentation is forbidden. This is one of those improvised projects where you can calmly do your things while listening, as everything comes and goes naturally like an every day’s soundtrack.
BADLAND – The society of the spectacle (Emanem)
Badland are Simon Rose on alto sax, Simon H.Fell on double bass and Steve Noble on percussion. This trio plays a sequence of extended improvisations ranging from controlled passages – which could even have a good use as avant-theatre soundtracks – to full-blown, goddam uncontrollable music (don’t call it “free jazz” because it ain’t) where the single elements fuse in lawless blasts of extracurricular instrumental possibilities. Adjectives like “elegant” or “subliminal” are pretty much banned from Badland’s idiom; Rose exhalts harmonics and ferocious intentions through his howling phrasing, which often has the flavour of conscious desperation; in his thoroughly detached seriousness, Fell is nevertheless able to bomb our chest with low-end grenades, showing his most radical face while never losing composure. Noble’s surprising figurations gain muscle thanks to a precise choice of colours from his set, which he uses like a super-glue to individuate transitions and solo spots as parts of a giant mosaic whose nuances come from the artists’ essence more than their instruments. This is difficult, fervent music that burns quickly but it’s not easily forgettable.
SERGE BAGHDASSARIANS / BORIS BALTSCHUN / LARS SCHERZBERG / JACOB THEIN – Ilinx (FMP)
Here’s a typical reason for maintaining this section of Touching Extremes. A few months back, FMP’s honcho Jost Gebers was so kind to send this CD from 2002, which was previously unknown to me. Immediately upon the first try I had to declare, once again, that for all those hundreds of records reviewed on a yearly basis there’s always something important that can’t elude the barriers of my ignorance. “Ilinx” was recorded in different circumstances between 2000 and 2001, both in live and studio settings. The instrumentation comprises electric guitar, sampler, alto sax, drums, percussion and electronics. This is one of the finest examples of EAI before the genre became nearly fashionable (anathema!), a perfect amalgamation of original sources and modifications which sound like computer music at times, but with an acoustic feel that can almost be smelled. Manoeuvring their evident technical abilities in ways that range from the polite to the borderline, the musicians generate the disbandment of collective common sense while keeping in touch with a solid logic, driving the music across the most impervious unpredictability. A parapsychology of interdependence assisting the listeners with spurts of elegant mayhem where the need to separate timbre from pulse, rhythm from counterpoint, is absent. A salubrious layering of instrumental redevelopment, building uncertainty through intelligence, demanding equal intelligence to be understood. Satisfactory expressiveness from any conceivable angle in an important “reference point” release.
SERGE BAGHDASSARIANS / BORIS BALTSCHUN / ALESSANDRO BOSETTI / MICHEL DONEDA – Strom (Potlatch)
I can detect a classic after a few minutes – and “Strom” certainly is. Walking around the room, at a pretty good listening volume, one is caught almost off-guard by the sheer intensity of the vibrational movement given by the hum of Baghdassarians’ ground noise coming from his mixing desk plus guitar; on the exact opposite of the timbral range stand the terrifying overacutes of Doneda and Bosetti’s saxes, helped by Baltschun’s sampler in the production of an overwhelming mass of hisses, squealing harmonics, multiphonic overcharges and contrasting frequencies that “beat” against each other at intervals so close that unison is damn near – but unreachable. Not all of the music is so powerful, though: finesse and mechanical shades are alternated in several sidelight exchanges, where sibilance and discretion want to establish different patterns of judgement, leading the quartet towards membranaceous creations with a life of their own. Nevertheless, the dramatically pulverizing dynamics of most of “Strom” ‘s movements make me think of birds desperately trying to escape from the fire of a giant furnace, without succeeding; their last screams communicate to the listeners a clear message: your fate is sealed.
SERGE BAGHDASSARIANS / BORIS BALTSCHUL – 13:46 / 11:04 / 25:09 (Charhizma)
An absurdly spartan, “industrial” cover with hyper-straight graphics and bar codes introduces three movements of austere, cold, utterly detached electroacoustic phenomena; yet, there is much to like here, as uncommon occurrences of intense events attack the tranquillity of our aural scenery, painting an evolving picture of approximating danger and undisguised evil energies. In “13:46″ we’re welcomed by the overwhelming force of a mechanical rotation that gradually withdraws its violence in favour of implosive hums and swelling power-drones. “11:04″ shows yet another aspect of this duo’s personal jargon, peeping clicks and digital noises mixing with silence in a chain of not-yet-progressed, undecipherable evolutions. “25:09″ is the “quietest” track, a fresco of hush and sparse electronic ellipses whose substance is directly proportional to its longer duration. Baghdassarians and Baltschul score a lot of good points by remaining concentrated on the sheer sonic matter, their intimate relationship with the sounds acting as a magnifying lens over a microcosm that’s just awaiting to be understood by inquisitive individuals.
BANKS BAILEY / DARREN TATE / IAN HOLLOWAY – Summerland (Quiet World/Fungal)
While we’re all more or less up to date with the work of Messrs Tate and Holloway (and if you’re not, go check this website’s archives), this is my first occasion to hear about Banks Bailey, whose lovely field recordings full of flies, water, birds and possibly frogs represent a sort of foundation for the rest of the sonic incidences. Darren Tate limits himself to the guitar this time, rather innocent treatments set to expose the core of an unbalanced paradox, thus causing countless minutes of absolute lawlessness. On his side, Ian Holloway is perhaps the most circumspect presence in the disc yet it’s he who protracts the suspensions, bottomless droning electronics wrapping the others’ individualities in a cushion of insightful wavering and throbbing majesty. That such a recipe of familiar ingredients manages to sound consistent is an infrequent occurrence these days, yet these men thrive in crafting soundscapes that – whereas not announcing something truly new-fangled in this neighbourhood – allow us to mentally detach from an actuality made of redundant presences and people frantically trying to affirm their continuation through cumulative and systematically worthless words which, in comparison with the mesmerizing landscapes evoked by these tapes are really zilch. These guys know what they’re doing, and this is a must for the clued-up ones, certain pages from the Monos book being an acceptable term of association.
DEREK BAILEY – To play (Samadhi Sound)
The title could perfectly summarize the essence of Derek Bailey’s music. No prescriptions, no gimmicks, nothing more than his playing – and I’m certainly not the one who will repeat here how influential the man has been. “To play” was recorded in 2003 during David Sylvian’s “Blemish” sessions; it’s a scintillating proof of how Bailey – 73 at that time – could still teach many things. The recording quality of these improvisations – six acoustic, two “electric” sounding like “enhanced acoustic” – is magnificent, capturing the guitarist’s nimble fingers on their way to the most shrouded areas of the fretboard – were there any for him? – in search of sparkling harmonics, percussive snaps, fine altered chords and rasgueado-on-the-neck entangled visions. The resulting music is crystal-clear counter virtuosity, a torrential flow of vibrations which to this day remains vividly unethical in a positive sense, hardly rivalled – mostly by Bailey’s alumni – and still capable of bringing a guitarist to turn the CD player off, raise from the couch, take the instrument off the case and look for new reasons to love it. If Derek Bailey is still a perfect stranger to your record collection, “To play” could very well represent an excellent starting point.
DEREK BAILEY / EVAN PARKER – The London concert (Psi)
This concert was recorded in 1975, yet it sounds astonishingly modern and articulated in all its nuances. Bailey and Parker dialogue frankly, their instrumental voices devoid of any cerimoniousness, while their respective identities slowly come out like vapor, images of geniuses at work; Derek’s uncanny ability to elicit harmonics and splintered bends from every part of his guitar is, to this day, uniquely puzzling: when we’re caught defenseless, enjoying suave stereo panning and tasty, shimmering fretwork he slashes our presumptions with sheer string dissonance and rusty chords. Evan uses both soprano and tenor, his hugeness in saxophone’s history already at full-fledged potential, his playing stubbornly opposed to the vulgarity of cheap phraseologies, like if the future of explorative canons depended on him only. It’s a shame that these gentlemen remorselessly broke their relationship many years ago, as the level of turmoil in most of these conversations is enough to define today’s free music directions.
BAKA! – Ephemere (Hitomi)
More experimental guitars from Hitomi. Franck Lafay and JL Prades are a French duo of manipulators whose capacities find a perfect light in “Ephemere”. Fluorescent images and electric mayhem are juxtaposed in a strange nightmarish ambience; everything’s revolving around real and sampled/delayed guitar notes and noises. Just when a catastrophe is lurking near, here comes a repeated sweet phrase or a warm oblique arpeggio to create the illusion that existence will leave you alone, letting you sleep and fulfil your hidden desires. This doesn’t last for long: ghosts and evil creatures disguised under the appearance of multicolour flowers will entice you in a spiral of desolation before you’ve even realized what’s happening…and when the music’s over you still don’t know if all this was true or just a fantasy.
AIDAN BAKER – Dreammares (Mechanoise Labs)
Limited to 100 copies, so you’ll have to hurry to get this one, Aidan Baker’s “Dreammares” is a mixture of powerful guitar/bass drones (the ones for which Aidan is most known) and taped voices, giving the music the “dreammarish” quality you’d expect from the title. But the new colour prominently added here is drums – drum loops, too – bringing Baker to the “nouvelle frontiere” of advanced drum’n'bass. The news is that his music becomes a little more down to earth and almost with an “industrial” touch – which is not to be considered a pity, quite the contrary – but it must be said that when the roaring final drone of “No exit” takes the reins you understand that the Toronto hypnotizer is always at his best right there: you could listen to hours of this and be dead to the world.
AIDAN BAKER – Threnody One: Lamentation (Nulll)
Starting from the margins – still working there for most of his releases – Aidan Baker has deservedly reached the top spots in my personal “gallery” of static music masters. Each new release is welcome, as his guitar treatments and amazing looping work get more and more marvellous. “Lamentation” is so beautiful, his deep strength making me quiver through the resurrection of unconventional memories. Baker’s guitars are layered in a total haze, moving slowly across the room to reveal bits of frosty landscapes; no melody, only a slope of muffled, easing frequencies: fans of Klaus Wiese’s masterpieces like “Space” or “Neptun” will surely find a lot to dig in this great record, as the Canadian’s sound palette here is incredibly near to those fantastic recordings, without influences or derivations. Aidan Baker is a musician whose goal of giving refuge to emotions is obtained through numbing clouds of murmuring electric voices.
AIDAN BAKER – Blauserk (The Locus of Assemblage)
Baker’s high standards are again well affirmed in another 3-inch CD adding to the excellent level of this collection. “Blauserk” has a slightly murkier sound quality than most recent works by the Canadian artist; that’s because of low-frequency superimposition, layer upon layer, creating a suspended equilibrium that’s also the main character of this piece. With a little touch of distortion for good measure and abundant pumping of subterranean rumbles, it’s another long moment of introverted pacification with life’s nervous patches – and another beautiful chapter in Aidan’s always consistent body of work.
AIDAN BAKER – Antithesis (Petite Sono)
Aidan Baker’s production is augmented by this beautiful release (limited to 100 copies). Divided into four sections, “Antithesis” is another example of the darker moods the Canadian generates through his guitars – the only source used throughout the CD. Apparently unmovable, the “dirtier” strata I’ve heard from Aidan in recent times hover all around you giving birth to strange hidden patterns of mourning calls that aren’t actually there, though your ears discover them anyway. Even electric crackles and pickup hits are used as a composition/improvisation tool with good success. Putting yourself amidst Baker’s hypnotic washes of vibrating drones is such a beautiful way of passing your time in those moments when you wouldn’t want a tomorrow.
AIDAN BAKER – Butterfly bones (Between Existence)
You can change some factor, but Aidan Baker’s high-level sound and instantly recognizable style remains something I could be exposed to all day long. Here we’re introduced to Aidan’s vision of the future (???) of drum ‘n’ bass, just listen to “I dreamt you left” where slow patterns of broken beat mix with clouds of loops slightly darkened by a loose sadness; from another point of view, “Hardly human” samples a raged voice to create a lopsided form of sordid delight. The Canadian guitarist managed to cut a personal niche in a very effective way, namely through quality and artistry put out in copious doses with each and any of his releases. Aidan is the required healer for sore consciences, a studious assembler of immaterial imaginations by the utter command of an instrument that – while incessantly raped by undeserving people everywhere – in Baker’s hands spools and spirals towards a labyrinth of veritable emotional truth; even from the harsh distortion of the title track, something remains – and the last scintillating light flies away from there.
AIDAN BAKER – The taste of summer on your skin (Taalem)
The title captures the nostalgic character of this short composition by Aidan: its 20 minutes give the exact idea of a person meditating in isolation, in front of the waters, when summer is soon to be over. The masterful looping treatments are like a polaroid taken many weeks earlier but already faded and consumed after being exposed to the light. Even if the “taste/skin” element could obviously conduct to some kind of romantic afterthought, I also liked thinking to the rippling waves transporting straws, organic materials and oil residues in a sea that by now is nearing its death. But any negative connotation is cancelled by the sun light, making the water glow at sunset; indeed, we all want to be there for the rest of our lives.
AIDAN BAKER – Field of drones (Arcolepsy)
Recorded live during the summer solstice ‘s night in 2003, “Field of drones” is one of the most ethereal records in Aidan Baker’s (luckily) prolific career. As usual, guitar is the only means for a cascade of looping beauty shining all over the music, which is often accompanied by a cricket drone, too. Listening to the first track “Twilight” makes me feel privileged: suffocated basses, touches of invisible chanting and the overall sense of being under a spell characterize this long-distance call to heavenly hills of contemplation. “Darkness encroaching” is a little more menacing, yet utterly emotional and extremely mature as a composition in itself. “Shadows” is the final liberation, the flight to a coveted shelter on the top of a cloud, a music that could move even the most stone-hearted ones, describing the leap to that inner peace we’re constantly craving about. Of course we can’t understand it now, but it looks to me that Aidan has already been enlightened.
AIDAN BAKER – At the fountain of thirst (Mystery Sea)
You must have this record; first of all it contains Aidan’s absolute masterpiece “Rusalka” which, like the other tracks, is inspired by the tale of a water nymph. Here, a rhythmical cadence, a melody seemingly generating from water itself and what sounds like the creature’s cry (a guitar loop superimposition, instead) all together contribute to a state of intense mesmeric emotion. This gem should not detract from the other beauties like “Lorelei” or the initial “Melusine”, where I’m forced to lower the loudness level in order to let my room contain the complex morphology of Baker’s spectra. The last composition is “Undine”, based on a string-picked tremolo tapestry where a magic roundabout of lasting memories is left spinning in the shadow of our own melancholy. Don’t let this rare disc slip away to the oblivion of artistic ignorance.
AIDAN BAKER – At the base of the mind is a coiled serpent (Le cri de la harpe)
The subtle line dividing pure pleasure and blissful discomfort is often walked over by Aidan Baker in this album, of which the basic live tracks were later “reworked” in studio. Using his signature guitar loopscapes like a paintsprayer on a wall, Aidan applies a series of modifying modulations that are sonically charming and menacingly undulating, in a rapture of echo and flanger spreading all over the place. Even in the more dissonant juxtapositions, Baker’s stamp is totally his own: this music is never evil-tempered as it offers instead a placatory, almost ritualist bewitchment bringing more answers than questions. The Canadian guitarist is a thoroughbred enticer to otherwordly scintillations of lucid dreams and this recording is yet another chapter in a long book of aural rewards.
AIDAN BAKER – Figures (Transient Frequency)
A track featuring Baker’s vocals and a string section by Lisa Rossiter-Thorton are enough to raise the levels of curiosity around this release, whose streaming character remains evident all over its duration. “Figures” is a little more tangible than most of the Canadian artist’s albums, being prevalently built on slow arpeggios and patterns that add a sort of neo-psychedelic touch to the compositions, particularly in the title track and in “Figure 3″; Rossiter-Thorton’s frail tones contribute to a sense of violated intimacy which doesn’t alter the general strategy of hypnosis and entrancement, pretty much exalted by the frippertronic-like fuzzy waves of “Figure 1″. Yet, the record’s most emotional incantation comes with “Figure 2″, where a plumbeous sky is portrayed via the repetition of intertwining muzzled guitar lines, bringing the lyrical degree of the piece to an undescribable radiance mixed with deep pain.
AIDAN BAKER – Traumerei (Evelyn)
In this release, the always prolific Baker changed a bit of method as the five tracks of “Traumerei” are each played on a different instrument replacing the usual haze of electric guitar drones, here represented only by the title track. “Reve” superimposes slow flute melodies with a sapient choice of dynamics, recalling ancient rituals and amorphous ectoplasmic entities. The more mechanical character of “Reversion” for acoustic guitar is followed by a towering monster of low-frequencies-cum-distortion in a pretty atypical bass piece called “Trauma”. Aidan saves the best for last: “Reveiller” sees him manipulating a violin with masterful sensitiveness in a series of glissando layers and string plucks which form the basement of the album’s best track, a cross of eastern trance and luminous contemplations. “Traumerei” closes the show Baker-style, its gentle guitar arpeggios and sinuous looping developing into cathedrals of clouds and strangled cries for help.
AIDAN BAKER – Songs of flowers & skin (Zunior)
After becoming one of the most appreciated overlords of loop/drone-based music in recent years, Aidan Baker – pretty courageously should I say – presents us with a totally different project, an MP3-only album of songs featuring his whispering voice besides his usual multi-instrumental abilities. Scents of Pink Floyd characterize many sections, more as a general rarefaction of concepts than an effective musical influence, but Baker’s style comes out inexorably even in such a context; “Take me out of my” is based on one of his fantastic guitar tapestries, soon becoming a mesmerizing protection against any evil external ugliness, while the instrumental “Dance dance dance” features an almost sorrowful trumpet by Lucas Baker, punctuating a tune that is vaguely reminiscent of the most refined British pop of the 80s. A pleasant experience, revealing subtle layers of significance after repeated listenings.
AIDAN BAKER – Candescence (Verato Project)
The continuous flow of Aidan Baker’s releases is fueled by an incessant creativity where repetition and tiredness are completely banned. “Candescence” consists of six tracks – all sounds, even the percussion, generated by guitar and bass – whose identity is recognizable as soon as the first seconds have elapsed. The consistency, the depth, the evocative factors are splendidly prominent in a series of structured meditations where Aidan shows new sides of his artistic being, crossing his usual magic impersonations and patented looping with pulsating devices which, at moments, remind of Jon Hassell or Rapoon, even if for short glimpses. Changing your listening position during these 53 minutes will make you discover inner murmurs and imaginary voices that move around the room playing a game of peek-a-boo with your daydreams, something that only a high-class low-frequency manipulator like Baker can activate – and he just does it time and again.
AIDAN BAKER – Remixes (Arcolepsy)
Ever wondered how Aidan Baker’s enthralling guitar sounds could be applied to different, if not opposite contexts? The answers lie in these treatments of the Canadian’s sonic sources by the eleven featured artists. “Remixes” is more a curiosity than a proper Baker release, nevertheless it’s worth a good listen as all tracks suggest a nice alternative approach to Aidan’s hypnotic figurations. Apart from the drum’n'bass/techno oddities of people like Millimetric and Naw (the latter’s “Cloning” sounds more Muslimgauze than Baker…), there are some real jewels: Andrea Marutti is pretty respectful of the original piece, his reconstruction of “Metamorphose, 2nd stage” quite beautiful with its powerful drones on the verge of explosion, while Cordell Klier’s “I’ve been waiting for you” is a glacial observation of a dying world. Fear Falls Burning’s “Gossamer” is highly evocative in its nightmarish colours; the same could be told of “When you scream…” by Troum, verily the most PinkFloydian track of the whole disc, which is aptly concluded by a majestic superimposition of humming guitars by Duane Pitre/Pilotram, whose “Disfigured” is maybe the most incisive statement in a peculiar album.
AIDAN BAKER – Periodic (Crucial Bliss)
Even if quite atypical when compared to his abitual drone works, Aidan Baker’s “Periodic” is a thunderous statement by the Canadian sound (de)constructor. Generated by “manipulated/damaged/re-assembled cassette 4-track recordings of electric/acoustic guitars and drums”, this has to be Baker’s most serious attempt to enter the realm of hallucinating post-industrial disease. Surreal nightmares and incinerating eruptions of post-mortem frequencies make us think about collapsing buildings; during semi-organic assemblages of mantric desperation, all instruments melt into harsh concoctions where even the roughest pulse gets chewed and digested by superior evil forces. The hiss and the distortion of the tapes add a nice touch of degradation to an album whose emotional level diminishes with the passage of time, like if we already knew we’re directed straight to hell. The hypnotic concentration of many of Aidan’s masterpieces is here reduced to burning coal – but, naturally, the final result remains absolutely noteworthy.
AIDAN BAKER – Dog fox gone to ground (Afe)
Yet another CD by Aidan Baker, you might say. Yes, prolificacy is a double-edge sword: usually, too many releases are the clear signal of a pumped self-belief which clouds the eyes of people taking advantage of the ingenuity – and fat wallets – of record collectors to churn out useless, totally hollow albums which generate absolutely unjustifiable cults. Names? Too many: look no further than the 95% of dark ambient, trance, esoteric catalogs. Luckily, Aidan Baker’s numerous examples of enchanting creativity are the exception confirming the rule, as immediately evidenced by the first minutes of this, a record completely made with acoustic guitar with no overdubs that nonetheless sounds exactly “Baker”, a testimony to an immediately recognizable style which – forgive this rare vanity attack – I’m proud to have been among the first ones to champion. Therefore, more than describing once again the bewitching loops and the shimmering, enthralling waves of these beautiful meditations, I’ll just invite you to learn to raise your aerials and support real artists – like Aidan – rather than being subjugated by low-budget saints and presumed sound healers whose Paypal account grows thanks to your inattention. Kudos to Afe for releasing this rare example of sensitive hypnosis.
AIDAN BAKER – The sea swells a bit… (A Silent Place)
Three new handwritten messages from the hermitage of placental guitar stratification, courtesy of Touching Extremes’ admittedly favourite looper, whose output level – both in quantity and quality – would suggest some sort of subscription to ensure long hours of blissful concentration. To the tracks: “The sea swells a bit…” opens the album with a two-chord slow litany, a succession of quivering radiations, concentric circles, barely detectable drums. A sense of wholeness pervades the room, its levity mixed with the pre-storm wind brushing the tree leaves on the outside; a masterpiece in the tradition of the very best work by Aidan. The splendidly titled “When sailors die” explores a drum pattern-cum-undefined bass line in an engrossing piece whose malaised lyricism induces the demise of our faddishness by putting a veil of subdued menace all around the mental places. “Davey Jones’ locker” begins with a Pink Floyd-like arpeggiated invocation, immediately confronted by “spirit voices” captured on tape; then a new drum design comes in and the rest of the instruments follows accordingly, bringing the listener towards the fringe of what could be defined as 21st century psychedelia. Aidan Baker doesn’t know the meaning of “pas faux”; his artistic level remains several tides (pun intended) in advance compared to the average flock of wannabes he’s usually – erroneously – associated with.
AIDAN BAKER – Pendulum (Gears of Sand)
“All sounds produced by electric guitar recorded in a single take then doubled and the double reversed”. Easy, one would say – but it ain’t so. “Pendulum” is made of main roads that get abandoned to throw a look beyond the fences, only to discover that the sullen atmosphere you perceive is not only in your imagination but is born from the position in which life has forced you to remain. Baker’s sound here is ominous and dirty, blemished by those small imperfections that any other guitarist would try to eliminate; instead, he uses them as speculative means of introverted stimulation, massaging both our curiosity and sense of anticipation with fragmentary distortions and huge low resonances. All the shortsighted definitions that usually come to mind are finally neutralized, in favour of a total emancipation of the sound from the instrument that generates it. Insurmountable barriers appear now as approachable, the maximization of the effect treatment as a way to understanding rules that do exist but cannot be written; walls of looping strata slowly become a complex architecture where the few irregularities sound necessary. Baker has been working for many years to arrive to these results, and his multi-instrumental skill and harmonic consciousness – which an attentive, educated ear can perceive even when he plays just a guitar – are what separates him from the mass.
AIDAN BAKER – I will always and forever hold you in my heart and mind (Small Doses)
I’m constantly impressed by the “frequency/quality” ratio of Aidan Baker’s music. This CD, unfortunately a very limited edition of 155 copies that’s already sold out as far as I know, is both another demonstration of Baker’s methods and an impressive example of how an artist can produce ever-stimulating sounds by using the same sources all the time, in a way or another. You guessed right: this is, again, a looped guitar soundscape. Yet different, in several of its aspects. For starters, the notes picked by the Canadian are often more concretely perceptible, I mean exactly the pick thudding on the string – which, once sampled, stratified and reproduced together with the customary celestial strata of nebulous chords, attributes a distinct rhythmic drive to the material, thus bringing it quite distant from the “exclusively ambient, exclusively airy” canons (not that we don’t like those, too: when AB is involved, individuating even a few minutes that are not on the level of excellence is a hell of a task). These new qualities, the usual concentrated attitude mixed with the guitarist’s keen ear for everything superimposed, the hiss and the noise that every now and then creep in amidst the sweetness. Signs of a unique personality, something that many won’t develop in a lifetime and that Aidan has possessed since his first record instead.
AIDAN BAKER – Noise of silence (Hyperblasted)
Silence is dangerous for the weak, for the worst fears appear in that moment. Have you ever wondered why most people want to socialize at all costs, babble around, join communities, travel together, laugh insistently at parties, let everybody know who they are and what they do even if we don’t give a fuck, speak loud on the cell phone in front of others? That’s right, they’re afraid of silence. Aidan Baker – probably involuntarily – approaches a neighbouring concept with a 50-minute track and, by modifying the oneiric tendencies of some of his work quite heavily, hits the bull’s eye. Although guitars and tape loops are the only source for the music like in many of Aidan’s previous albums, this time there is a dominating colour that shifts the balance towards that perilous area where trance and mental influence meet. That hue is symbolized by Baker’s use of vocal fragments, which the man from Toronto adds to his stratified masses to highlight a correspondence between the basic elements, meaning silence and fear of course. These uttered syllables, elongations of speeches, disturbing accounts (“I felt suicidal”, a male voice reports in the last minutes of the CD) create a confused, but still engrossing jumble of subliminal messages whose persuasive power is highly effective, especially via headphones. It’s just like being submitted to some sort of psychedelic test without drugs, and sincerely I would not advise this record to someone who can be easily affected. A great release, then – but only if you’re trained in keeping coolness when the brain suggests strange things: for many, the noise of silence is unbearable. That’s when they start doing damage.
AIDAN BAKER – Green & Cold (Gears Of Sand)
For Aidan Baker, a “song” is not exactly what’s usually intended as such, this CD at least partially explaining what he means. The Canadian starts – as always – with guitar loops, this time captured in a full-hiss lo-fi audio quality so that the sonic mass turns undetermined and murky as the minutes flow, a truly psychedelic stroke that has become one of Baker’s various trademarks. After a while, vocals comes in; but Aidan does not “sing” indeed, he whispers and mumbles, the voice itself processed and delayed, multiplied in a jumble of moans and wheezes amidst which only a few words can be intuited. It soon develops into a cross between a bad dream and a lysergic trial, and it’s not the first occasion in which I associate this facet of Baker’s music to Pink Floyd. Yet the artist, even in an album like this – which does not really fit in the very top of his recorded output – shows that touch of class that distances him from the imitators. It may be the celestial jangle of two adjacent chords, or a magic flourish of interlocked arpeggios, but we instantly recognize it. This shifts the evaluation of an otherwise regular release towards the “positive” grade, and there’s no doubt that the next time we’ll put “Green & Cold” in our player it will bring many additional emotions that we could have forgotten about in the meantime. My trust in this man remains unblemished.
AIDAN BAKER – Scalpel (The Kora)
Certain moments in life make us think that coincidental happenings do not occur for a real coincidence, following a bigger design instead. “Scalpel”, a splendid album featuring Baker’s acoustic guitar, voice, violin and a recorder, happened to constitute the intimate soundtrack of a gorgeous spring morning: shining sun, birds everywhere, even the distant noise of the vehicles contributing to a macrocosmic soundscape whose tentative description in writing would result in a deadly sin. It can only be perceived as a defence-reinforcing vibe, that’s all. The five long songs, which should be appreciated by fans of Syd Barrett and Nick Drake – just to give you vague references, but don’t take me for granted – are unquestionably Aidan Baker’s in style and hypnotizing allure. Vocals are often slow-ish, elongated emissions substituting meanings that are essentially there yet incorporeal, imaginary. The guitars underline the overall beatitude with elegant minimal arpeggios or languid-yet-penetrating strumming, and as usual a knowledgeable use of looping transforms the whole in an uncatchable cloud of damp (un)quietness, rich in overtones and spurious reverberations. No more words from this side: 500 copies could be enough for a while, but act fast. This is a record that eats the whole lot of overhyped neo-psych-folk rubbish around today for breakfast.
AIDAN BAKER – Exoskeleton heart (Crucial Bliss)
This time, the label’s name could be a good indicator of the effect that “Exoskeleton heart” causes if one’s in the right frame of mind. The record is divided in two long segments – “Interior” and “Anterior” – for a total of an abundant hour of music. The first half is a demonstration of how the Toronto looper is able to generate hypnosis through distortion, exploiting the billowing qualities of layered saturated guitars to bring out unstable harmonics and interconnected resonances easily linkable to his harshest production (Nadja) and/or those “alternative” drone-rock outfits – no names necessary – hailed by more or less everybody except me and the wind (*); still, the man is a master in that field too. This observer does have a preference for the second segment, fabulously efficient in whatever setting you decide to enjoy it: leaving it free to spread in the room, its suspended aura enhanced by lullaby-like oscillations and pseudo mermaid chants that literally throw into oblivion. But if we analyze the contents carefully, lots of sinister quasi-radiophonic dissonances and oblique cross-fades are doing the work, the result being exactly the same. I even managed to get asleep while listening to this magnificent tapestry, despite its non-tranquil character; certain frequencies function way better than a prayer. One of the best Baker releases in the last twelve months. (* thanks, Andy Partridge)
AIDAN BAKER – Book of Nods (Beta-lactam Ring)
The stylish sleeve, adorned by Japanese lettering in an all-black background, hides an album that introduces a slight change of perspective for the Toronto soundscaper. In fact, guitars are not the most prominent instruments in “Book of Nods”, even though they’re as always featured; piano, organ, flute and drums were also employed plentifully by choosing uncomplicated fragments of thematic ideas and tonal hues, looping them – as per customary practice – to generate stratifications of slow melodies and remote calls from unearthly circumstances. The record begins indeed with semi-inert piano repetitions underscored by ebbing and flowing organ lines, their superimposed truthfulness eliciting a Palestine-like feel of upper partial resonance that would seem to orientate the music towards proper minimalism. As the minutes slip away we start identifying the Baker known by the rest of the world, gaseous essences initiating quivering pictures of elusiveness, nothing being exactly what it seems despite the somewhat disrespectful intrusion of the drums, which – either sparsely utilized or themselves processed, as in the final “Good & Evil” – actually disrupt the enchantment a little bit. This is probably the only unpersuasive aspect of an otherwise compelling release, well worth of addition in the collection of any serious Aidan Baker devotee. Fortunately, the man’s prolificacy keeps maintaining its proportionality to the over-average significance of his musical ideas.
AIDAN BAKER & BETA CLOUD – An open letter to Franz Kafka (Laughing Bride Media)
An atypical record (well, not too much) involving Aidan Baker. The immediately evident discrepancy is that the guitar is not handled by the Canadian, but his partner Carl Pace (Beta Cloud) – who also manipulates trumpet and synthesizers – is in charge of the axe operations this time, as Baker is instead exclusively performing on flute. Apart from a slightly more evident pulsating scansion and the hint of “melody” distinguishing the beginning of the disc, the customary stratified vapours of stretched out sounds that we expect from this sort of release are at hand and welcome, although characterized in this circumstance by a manifest acridness and a quantity of electronic trouble. A cross of psychedelic rock and less-than-ethereal, frequently dissonant trance at times bathed in distortion and feedback, sounding reasonably blissful nevertheless, at least for the bulk of the album – and especially in the conclusive track “Brief an Milena”, probably the best segment together with “Brief an Felice”. An attractive diversion from the loopmeister’s canons, while my first aural encounter with Beta Cloud can definitely be considered an encouraging one.
AIDAN BAKER / LEAH BUCKAREFF / NADJA – Trinity (Die Stadt)
The traditional event-related CD issue by Die Stadt sees the two members of Nadja in separate solo sets at first then working together as duo, as the world by now knows them. The concert at “Friese” in Bremen on April 20, 2008 was the occasion to show the diverse yet corresponding talents of Baker and Buckareff, who – not surprisingly – present the most hypnotic suggestions over the course of their soloist exhibitions, reserving the more muscular kind of entrancement for the Nadja performance. The guitarist starts from a series of static layovers to engender cascades and garlands of tremulous notes, the constant billowing of spotless tones at the basis of ten minutes of idyllic floating around the same tonal centre. Buckareff remains, quite expectedly, in the lower districts of the frequency spectrum; the gradual slow pulse of the piece is as bewitching as her partner’s, a black cloud of threat perennially hovering upon the listener’s head, without lightning. The final and longest track finds Nadja introducing a skeletal cadenced component in their dome of harshly saturated drones, the result slightly martial but equally stirring – especially when the volume goes way up. Nothing more, nothing less than the commendable qualities we always expect from both these artists and the German label.
BORIS BALTSCHUL / AXEL DÖRNER / KAI FAGASCHINSKI – No furniture (Creative Sources)
“No furniture”, created with sampler, computer, trumpet and clarinet, is a composition exuding intelligence. One can’t gauge its value simply by stating “I like/I don’t”; you just have to incline your sense of perception that necessary bit in order to experiment a powerful meltdown on yourself. The sounds generated by Baltschun, Dörner and Fagaschinski seem to have an ocular quality, like they were able to determine where YOU – as the listener – must stand and not viceversa; their total polivalence is the result of a pretty unique timbral research, even in this crowded field of “avant art”. The musicians are sound-engineering daydreamers, transforming ditchwaters into a sparkling farewell to normality; amalgamators of endangered ideas, they escape hermetisms keeping the same intensity level of a moving-coil mechanism. This music’s repassage through exhaustive analysis will guarantee its place among the most innovative exhibitions of indeterminate mastery. At the end of the day I still don’t know how to decipher and define the complex modules that form the music’s skeleton.
ELLEN BAND / DAVID LEE MYERS – Two ships (Pogus)
The timeless character of this collaboration is accented by its continuous flux of unpredictability, in a soundscape where environmental reverberations and polymorphic extentions of invaluable feedbacks “singing their own song” generate a truly involving experience. This is music made of extremely slow movements, subtle nuances and intelligent sensitiveness, at times sounding like a dozen radios emitting their last signals from the bottom of a mire, with birds and aquatic fauna joining in amazement and turning the dial for a better tuning; Band and Myers wrap their own clothes around each other, never trying to impose a basic value, always dancing together on the edge of hallucination. Listening to “Two ships” brings many beautiful gifts to our desire for detachment from the body – and that sounds incredible, given the deep complexity of Ellen and David’s visions.
BILLY BAO – R’n'R granulator (w.m.o/r)
Billy Bao’s noisy supergroup comprises Xabier Erkizia, Alberto Lopez, Pablo Reche, Mattin and Alan Courtis. Four truly sick tracks find the comrades playing ultra-distorted, angular guitar lines which get annihilated and/or chomped and spit out by various kinds of computer treatment, while the longest piece “El grado zero del pulso” is an extremely minimal percussive beat, echoed by modified ghosts of frequency as the time goes by. The record ends with a wonderful low rumble that extends its duration for long minutes, like a never ending thunder capable to lull us to sleep instead of scarying us. As usual with everything coming from Mattin’s label, there is no compromise to any aesthetic law: the music is harshly sincere and direct to the bone; take it or leave it, this is as essential and brutally honest as you can get.
RUTH BARBERAN – Capacidad de pérdida (Creative Sources)
Trumpet player Ruth Barberàn belongs in that area of improvisers that play wind instruments exploiting their more obscure cavities in a completely new approach to virgin territories, thereby also inventing a modern vocabulary. In “Capacidad de pérdida”, Ruth hoards lots of strange emissions and uses them to shut down every conceivable door leading to a “conventional” way of playing: we hear expertise and ingenuity in equal doses, the instrumental machinery radically altered by some kind of goblin robbing “regular” notes and leaving breath, tongue, saliva and fingers discussing about a future that has to be completely reinvented. Hell-bent on sheer gestural significance, distrustful of everyone in the perfect ruffle between the disclosure of a new secret and the opprobrium of ignorant reactions, this girl walks away with her head well high, like if she’s telling us “Do it yourself…if you’re able to!”
RUTH BARBERAN / MARGARIDA GARCIA / ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO / FERRAN FAGES – Octante (L’innomable)
The sounds that this quartet produces are probably the ones heard by an aching tooth’s nerve before the dentist’s machinery comes to devitalize it. Sometimes it gets really next to impossible distinguishing who plays what: is that sound of broken bones in a reverse closet Garcia’s bass or Fages’ clicking on pickups? How to separate the protrusive hiss of an almost dead accordion (I got you, Alfredo) from Ruth Barberan’s strangling of her valves? And what about my ears ringing after being bombarded with splitting fits of mega-highs? The fact is that I’m lost for words to describe the almost surreal dynamics elicited by this poker of noise-gnomes; Ruth, Margarida, Alfredo and Ferran could carve the fat off an obese person with their scorching splinters, then burn it to use its fumes in another record. Now, where did I write the phone number of that tinnitus specialist?
BARK! – Contraption (Psi)
Against the laziness of the cerebral circuits, and virtually dedicated to the brigade that waits for the moment in which music will be brought back to the ones who should officially own it, comes this exercise in uncontrollable instigation to disobedience recorded by Rex Casswell (electric guitar), Phillip Marks (percussion) and Paul Obermayer (samples). Nine tracks that fight the e-commerce of presets, laptops and pro-tooled bedclothes through the one and only available weapon: instant fancifulness. “Interplay” is a word that’s too often used without really considering its real meaning; this time, though, it makes all the sense in the world, as these three musicians not only listen – with the utmost attention – to what they reciprocally do, but also let us intuit what’s going to fill the blank spaces, leaving a little margin for the sounds to self-determine in order to extract immediate reactions and indeterminate enthusiasm from our systems, cranial twitches and spastic foot-beats augmenting their intensity in parallel with the puddles of scintillating liquids and ruptured percussive patterns characterizing spectacular tracks like “Snout” or “Mr Pointy”, the latter my overall favourite (think Last Exit put in a meat grinder with Bill Bruford’s trademark snare drum). Contrarily to many well known improvising motor-mouths whose redundancy leads them to repeated three-and-outs, Bark! is that kind of ensemble that deteriorates the patience of saints through insistent pricks to common sense that nevertheless cause an irrepressible smile of approval. A true fusion of radical gestures and wide-eyed electronic sapience that calls for an immediate check by the inquisitive minds whose goodness of heart makes them trust this obsessive scribbler.
BARKINGSIDE – Barkingside (Emanem)
This quartet’s name derives from the fact that none of the involved parties has ever been to the outer London suburb of Barkingside. If this means something in particular or it’s some sort of secret code we really don’t know. This aside, the four companions were recorded in different occasions – the first two tracks in Cambridge, 2006, the third in 2007 at the Freedom of the City festival. All three improvisations contain large doses of chiaroscuro interplay, with rare moments of clamour; basically, they sound like seamed preludes and interludes with ample spaces given to single instrumentalists to demonstrate a prowess that goes beyond the collective homogeneity. Alex Ward’s clarinet timbre is both matter-of-factly and highly refined, his control of nuances total during interchanges and soliloquies demonstrating that the meaning of “note squandering” is unknown to him. Pianist Alexander Hawkins introduces a half-formal, half-unchained method of choosing colours, resulting in several pictures of nervous positivity, still devoid of hypertensive gestures. The orthodoxy factor is taken care of too, courtesy of double bassist Dominic Lash whose work on the instrument is refreshingly snappy but, at the same time, almost sartorial in choosing links and connections. Paul May is the tickler of the group, always suggesting new frames which he promptly disintegrates, sprouting rhythmic concepts one after another with youthful enthusiasm. An ensemble that leaves a positive impression without actually doing nothing truly astounding. That speaks volumes.
MARC BARON / BERTRAND DENZLER / JEAN-LUC GUIONNET / STÉPHANE RIVES – Propagations (Potlatch)
The idea of a saxophone quartet might instantly recall ROVA, but “Propagations” certainly does not belong to that kind of expression. Two altos (Baron and Guionnet), a tenor (Denzler) and a soprano (Rives) are the tools that give life to this concise piece, a pretty homogeneous improvisation that is nothing but another try to exorcise the concept that every secret in this artistic area has been revealed by now. It is a successful one, in virtue of the players’ choice of dividing their introspective conversation in a series of frameworks whose basic characteristics exploit the nearly obvious, however fascinating conditions of pneumatic peculiarity that reed instruments determine when stimulated in the right way. Fluxes of continuous notes, halfway through the sound of a detuned squeezebox and an enthralling hypnosis, are reinforced by the slightly grainy distortion deriving both from the clash between the upper partials and the extended techniques applied by the four. Sine wave-like washes are complemented by impressively unhurried sharp frequencies, the sonic mass becoming at times almost colossal, a moment later next to pale-skinned and, just apparently, weak. Silence, when it appears, is soon disturbed by gentle hissing and tongue clicking and popping, only to re-launch the musicians towards those slanted settings in which the machines require once again to be set in vibrating contexts, the ones that better represent the most satisfying aspect of a music that – if intelligently tackled – has still much to say after all these years. Silently or not.
NATASHA BARRETT – Isostasie (Empreintes DIGITALes)
I heard rumours about Barrett as being one of the very best acousmatic composers around today; this highly engaging record shows me those rumours are true. “Isostasie” is one of the most natural sounding releases in this label’s history, its constitution based on light touches, warm feelings, escaping glimpses, faraway remembrances. Everything revolves around electroacoustic translations of simple settings and well defined concepts, such as watching the snow falling outside the window or the excitement and fear one can get while venturing into the very depth of a forest (the truly wonderful “Viva la Selva!”). Though she studied with Jonty Harrison and Denis Smalley, Natasha has a distinct and strong personality of her own – I’d say the main influence in her music right now is the fact that she lives in Norway; her sound rises from introspective silence, then hovers around making us ecstatic, completing its cycle into the realm of that same silence where it was born.
CARLOS BARRETTO TRIO + LOUIS SCLAVIS – Radio song (Clean Feed)
In “Radio song”, Mario Delgado (guitar), Carlos Barretto (double bass) and José Salgueiro (percussion) are joined by Louis Sclavis on clarinet, bass clarinet and soprano sax, if only for three tracks in which the French reedist’s creative brilliance literally shines. “Distresser”, based on odd-metred vamps, finds Sclavis and Delgado exploring unison complications and semi-dissonant phrasing; Salgueiro walks barefoot in a minefield of elegance with competence and authority. Sclavis lets it all go in a lyrically cutting solo, Barretto following with soft, tactile lines that go everywhere at first, then throw the whole quartet back into the main riff. “Nas Trevas” at first reminds of the most experimental Pat Metheny, but it soon bursts into rockish free-form and ebullient chit-chat between the members of the trio. “Searching” sees more repetitive angular guitar riffs flowing into post-bop, swinging harshness; echoes of early Bill Frisell are heard in Delgado’s volume pedal-tinged distorted shades. “Asa Celta” finds Sclavis spinning his elicoidal clarinet in oneiric atmospheres that mutate into an Eastern theme played in unison with Barretto; again, the solo section swings and rocks thanks to the interaction between Salgueiro and Delgado, but Sclavis keeps the whole “near transcendental”. “Espirito da Solidao” begins with Barretto in a meditative improvisation, then Delgado joins in, harmonizing with splendid arco melodies. “Luminae” is constructed on a slow bass vamp, the music creeping and barely moving until everyone finds a voice in a three-part march towards the sanctuary of 70′s jazz-rock. “Final Searching” is characterized by Delgado’s acid soloism, halfway through John McLaughlin circa Miles Davis/Tony Williams and Bill Connors’ hard fusion; Salgueiro accompanies these fractured elucubrations with extreme ease. A nice album that sounds like a homage to a not-so-distant past.
NIK BARTSCH’S RONIN – Randori (Tonus-Music)
Nik Bärtsch is a Swiss keyboardist/composer, this record being my very first meeting with his work. Leading the Ronin quartet – Bjorn Meyer on bass, Kaspar Rast on drums and udu, Andy Pupato on shaker and India bells – Bärtsch calls his geometric scores “ritual groove music”, where every track is defined “modulus”. For sure, the main character of this ensemble is their mastery of polyrhythmics; almost every piece starts with a looping (but really played) bass or drum/percussion pattern, then slowly but inevitably every musician follows his own path, creating a simple but extremely effective cross of jazz rock and minimalism. Then Nik adds his touches of piano, DX7 and Rhodes, just like a painter would lay some finishing touches to an already working picture. The grand total brings a result that I found lively, aesthetically pleasing and pretty innovative. Stay tuned on these guys.
NIK BARTSCH’S RONIN – Live (Tonus-Music)
Ronin keep their “search for the perfect groove” alive and kicking; and, in this Zürich and Bern recordings, they show to those who dare following their vision a lot of interesting developments in their already alluring style. With Bärtsch and friends there’s only no-nonsense patterns and a concrete fusion of different worlds: an esoteric beat can be used as a basic source to introduce complex bass/piano time signatures, while somewhere else shades of synthesized waves only nod to an almost total harmonic immobility. I dig a lot some repetitive Rhodes arpeggios, perfectly disposed in what could be a cross-pollination of Soft Machine and not-so-regular techno beats. The mix between an approach to well known idioms and the conscious effort to bring on a new way of playing hypnotical yet extremely technical figures is what actually separates Ronin from anyone I could think of right now.
NIK BARTSCH – Hishiryo (Tonus-Music)
Bärtsch’s approach to solo piano pieces is somehow reminiscent – not only for the Japanese title – of an oriental ceremony, such is the seriousness and the utter avoidance of embellishments and gratuitous effects during the continuing proficiency of his music. Nik is grasping concepts and mathematics to transform them into beautiful harmonic creatures intersected by obsessive moods and reiterative phrases. He’s an observer of tides, an intelligently poised rider of an artistic currency he himself invented; his compositional method is at the same time familiar and completely new to my ears, its staying power pretty high in memory. In the parched world of new music this Swiss musician is surely going to soar to well deserved high consideration.
NIK BARTSCH’S MOBILE – Ritual groove music (Ronin-Rhythm)
Not a single note is wasted in “Ritual groove music”. The whole recording is impregnated with impulse control, a general sensation of everyone being law-abiding as far as putting that necessary touch or chord right then and there where it’s due. This laudable attitude elevates the pieces to a place where no one can say “Been there, done that” – because Bärtsch’s peeled structures and balanced progressions are contemporarily one of a kind and catchy. Kaspar Rast (drumming), Mats Eser (marimba and percussives) and Don Pfäffli (alto sax and bass clarinet) are all excellent painters on the same canvas prepared by the leader; I have to be prudent and not exaggerate with words, but deep in my heart I have the opinion this is going to be music that lasts.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – Water music (2062)
A one-hour track entirely composed on a Voyetra synthesizer, “Water music” is a perfect antidote to the saccharin-drenched ambient cakes released nowadays by hundreds of self-producing wannabes. It’s a never-too-present low humming lullaby, caressing the brain and the ears and slowly developing from silence. Comparisons could be made with some of Eno’s best old releases, but please be advised this is not “Music for films 2002″ – instead, Basinski gets right to the point with a simple idea, a small plant that needs to be growing in the semi-obscurity of your deep feelings. What a nice sensation.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – The disintegration loops (2062)
William Basinski’s music has a profound sadness buried into itself. This particular release unifies two kinds of sorrow in its slowly unfolding, almost unreal sounds: the loss of youth’s memories (old tape compositions that just dissolved in dust while transferred on digital) and the pain for what happened in New York on 9.11.2001, which Basinski was a direct witness of, right in the middle of working on this CD. What you get then is a repetition of a series of lamenting phrases, a mourning melody that turns into itself and asks only to be remembered, because it’s inevitably evaporating in the middle of nowhere. It’s wonderful being captured by the magic of this work but also it’s not easy freeing the brain from the mass of thoughts that will grab us while thinking to a future that – by now – we’re afraid of.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – The disintegration loops II (2062)
The second “Disintegration loops” consists of two long segments, both strikingly beautiful; the first one is a single muffled – but radiant to my ears – chord repeating over and over, a musical fragment that, more than evoking abandon or solitude, brings to my mind the effort of a woman giving birth to her creature: repetition and the ongoing pulverizing of sound resemble the extreme force of life desperately wanting to overcome. The remaining part is one of the best tracks by William, as it’s based upon a loop seemingly taken from a “calm” moment of a western soundtrack – like someone watching an immense prairie in front of him; of course, the deterioration process and the constant shift of memories guarantee much more, as the two notes creating the constant, slow melody of the piece remain in your ears for weeks. Another testimony of how one can fill the pages of his own album of grey pictures without a trace of glue, only with a slight touch of soul opening.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – The disintegration loops III (2062)
As time passes by, one feels like trapped in quicksand: the more you try to liberate your mind from the echo of memories, the worse you get entangled into that certain “something” thought to be completely forgotten, but still there in your very “me”. This image came to my mind while listening to the fifth movement of Basinski’s work-in-progress on these heartbreaking loops, probably the absolute top of the series as far as a simple concept of “beauty” is usable. A few orchestral chords stretch one over another while the rolling tape shows here his worst kind of deteriorating, transforming a throbbing atmosphere of delicate infancy rememberings into a flesh-tearing interruption, then again getting into an almost complete silence, broken only by tape hiss and the last remnants of original sound: let me tell you, truly memorable. Part 6 begins right there where the other ends – more chordal superimpositions in infinite repeat – this time with minor damage to the tape during its course. This particular piece sounds like a long reflection on what’s become of us after so many beautiful moments of our life; what should we try to do to the ones we care about to let them feel our love and respect? William’s music is certainly a sign to all of us, he’s opening his chest and letting us see what’s in there: unbelievably, I – for one – have been able to look into a good portion of my own past thanks to his sad yet wondrous recalls.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – The disintegration loops IV (2062)
And then, the man remained alone with more doubts than ever before. Music had flown through the years, the tapes definitively gone. “IV” draws the final line in this groundbreaking “disintegration” cycle and it does it with a high grade of acute intensity and a totally developed loop aesthetic…moreover, the final track is sort of a reprise of the first segment in “I”, like putting an end to a whole giant texture. Basinski’s repetitions are truly addictive; I could listen for days, each repeat bringing out new details to punch my stomach with majestic emotional landscapes. This music turns slow cartwheels in the conscience of the “ones who know”: it’s a rerun of those life segments our brain likes spitting out randomly when we’re reflecting in the silence. This Brooklyn artist casts a shadow on many so-called “Ambient” semi-gods because of the simple contrast between his articulated flashbacks and the very simple means he uses. These loops are much more than fine-grained soundworks, rather they just turn out to put some well placed knot in carefully chosen throats.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – The river (Raster-Noton)
This is a highly anticipated release, as it brings more beautiful moments by the person who I believe has inherited the mantle of “king of ambient music”. Dating 1983, “The river” is a double CD consisting of two long suites, both based upon the superimposition of long loops of found sounds and shortwaves. Like in the previous – wonderful – “Disintegration loops”, Billy finds a simple way to bring the inner emotions out of us, still part of this cynical world. More than a river, I tend to link this sound with an image of myself watching a harbour immersed in the fog, standing far away and having few clues of what goes on – a boat call, a tidal wave, the quest for a communication that life itself makes more and more difficult to achieve. I love all the material but I must admit I have a slight preference for disc two, which in my opinion is a masterpiece for the years to come; try it in a low-key rainy day.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – Melancholia (2062)
“Melancholia” is probably the best Basinski’s record until now, even if this is hard for me to say given my love for each one of his releases. Contrarily to his “continuing” projects such as “Disintegration loops” and “Water music”, this is a sort of a sketch album, made of short pieces all created with tape loops and some synthetic wave here and there. This music is so beautifully delicate and sad in its auto-reflective moods, it stands right there with everything ranging from the usual suspects in the “ambient” field, to a distorted damp ghost of Claude Debussy or Maurice Ravel put into a time machine. Just ravishing as you can imagine, William’s almost suffocated loops celebrate the burial of any enthusiastic thought, to make room to the most difficult introspection – the one growing you in a hurry and leaving you alone, observing from a safe distance. This beauty is for any human being who’s not afraid to understand life’s happenings – maybe the hard way, but who cares?
WILLIAM BASINSKI – A red score in tile (Three Poplars)
Another beauty by Basinski, this time on vinyl. “A red score in tile” is a 1979 piece, based on a single loop whose sound quality is very similar to the (by now famous) “Disintegration” ones, as the slow piano phrase characterizing the whole LP sounds slightly out of tune and missing more frequencies as the record goes on. Think how Erik Satie could have sounded like if his most famous pieces had been inserted in a muffling mix after dropping him down a couple of octaves: a lament of decaying sounds, the feeling of a growing sorrow; on top of everything, William has once again managed to touch my heart very deeply. I suggest you to listen to this in a sunny late afternoon; you could have a lot of secrets revealed.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – Variations: a movement in chrome primitive (Durtro/Die Stadt)
The sunlight cutting through the window reflects itself on my writing paper, projecting a stencil shadow of trembling leaves upon the white sheet. Meanwhile, William Basinski’s “SatiEnoesque” loops sound like another presence from a non-existent ancient radio at the opposite side of the house, like if the ghosts of an old man’s hands played decaying memories on a forsaken piano. To the ones who eternalize their own nothingness, Basinski posts a memento of caducous contemplation where the safety of solitude leaves room to the fear of being not heard in our prostration. These heart-ravaging sonic experimentations from 1981 inflict a coup de grace to the whole plethora of hasbeens and neverwases dealing with new ambient and loop treatments; William is so unique, you’d recognize him shining in a thousand suns. As it often happens, the “chrome primitive” can teach a lesson or two to modern elitism.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – Silent night (2062)
It’s not a coincidence that I first listened to “Silent night” on Christmas day, since this is intended to be a “somnolent meditation” about the birth of Jesus, as told by William himself. Completely conceived on the Voyetra synthesizer, it’s a delicate cross of gentle intertwining melodies and cricket-like frequencies that instantly caress the nerves, inducing a state of relaxation and serenity. When compared to other Basinski’s milestones, it is also a less dramatic piece but its significance – in a world where no one cares about the others anymore – is extremely deep nonetheless. The synth notes are just like children chanting carols: sincere and comprehensible without hidden ends, while the accompanying “crickets” remain alone for the final 15 minutes or so, leaving everything just suspended in the air. If I confessed you that I almost cry each and every time I watch – and listen to – “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, then you will forgive me when I tell you that William’s records, so different yet so near to that in their purity of intents, always manage to strike a nerve, one way or another, in my very soul. Yes, he’s special indeed.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – The garden of brokenness (2062)
The leftovers of time are usually tone-deaf, nevertheless their unintentional melodies are capable of putting the finishing touches on our incidental presence in the complex process of existence. An inanimate nature, the tenaciousness of a simple three-note piano arpeggio – this is all what William Basinski needs to confront the reality of a dying world; through morsels of recaptured memories, he gives a voice to those spiritless creatures who inhabit our monochromatic self-assurance, mining the decorative mind poses we usually strike when we already know that nothing more remains to be done. Repetition, silence, a fragment of a phrase, then a distant mass of dull noise, like a microphone stuck in a gallery during the passage of cars; the events succeed to each other like in a subterranean contemplation where there are no loopholes to perpetual gratification. The naked frailty of these heavy-hearted musings brings us back of many frames, images of children playing in fields while still-young parents look at the camera waving their hands. This candid ingenuousness is no more – and it hurts.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – Variations for piano & tape (2062)
Hoards of imitators are desperately trying to join the professionals in the decomposed minimalism area but the real thing continues to be William Basinski, founder of a movement which identifies a whole existential background through a few iced frames of consumed – and consuming – stillness. The single track, more than 20 years old, is named “Variations #9: Pantelleria”, in memory of a 2003 residency particularly enjoyed by the artist, who doesn’t hide his love for the Italian island he frequently visits. A short, delicate, Satie-tinged piano arpeggio is looped and repeated all over the piece in a sort of conceptual continuity with Basinski’s previous outing, “The garden of brokenness”. The defining touch comes – once again – courtesy of the tape slipping along the play head, “revealing”, as the composer says, “an extraordinary counterpoint (in reverse) on the other side”. A typical crossover phenomenon that, in this particular case, seems to connect the feelings of calmness and anxiety that everyone (?) experiences over the course of inner growth. This piano figure walks parallel to a quick sequence of dampened bumps and ill-coloured, warped suggestions of misshapen harmony, the whole sounding like a relentless hallucination heard through cushioned walls. Every once in a while, the basic loop is brought forth in the mix, without its unfathomable, inscrutable accompaniment, as to remind us that no matter the ordeals one goes through, there will always be a guide light to save our head from crumbling. It’s undoubtedly one of the very best efforts by this disintegrator of loops and souls, setting an even higher standard that many will reach for, miserably falling short as always.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – Shortwave music (2062)
The first four tracks of “Shortwave music” constitute the original nucleus of a much sought-after Noton LP from 1997, while “Particle showers”, closing the CD, is an additional track that brings the total duration to almost one hour, everything according to the high standards that are typically expected from the Brooklyn-based artist. Those who don’t know this material and associate Basinski with albums like “Disintegration loops” or “Melancholia” will be partially surprised, as the cold embrace that the shortwaves give to the pieces is often able to swathe whatever sense of heartbreak one may feel. Considering that this composer became known worldwide for the association of his mournful repetitions and the most bloodcurdling event in modern history, it is curious that a wonderful moment like “Fringe area” – created, like all the rest, in 1982 (!) – sounds like a prophetic vision of what was to happen in New York 19 years later: a couple of decadent, nostalgic loops are encrusted by the frozen evidences of hesitant underbrush signals, a highly emotional moment for pondering about the intangible elements of our most intimate experiences that would be the perfect soundtrack for a documentary about desolated metropolitan areas. “On a frontier of wires”, lasting almost 24 minutes, decrees the triumph of cruel disturbances, unsociable frequency cascades wrestling with sick calmness to underscore a circumspect walk through the ruins of a soul destroyed by self-doubt and angst. Different, yes, but an instantly recognizable “Basinski must” nevertheless.
WILLIAM BASINSKI – El Camino Real (2062)
Recurrence is the basis of security, and nothing more than a cyclical repetition of something perceived as protective puts us in contact with that state of non-objective vision of reality that’s probably the best condition we, as erstwhile sensitive human beings, want to experience. “El Camino Real”, William Basinski’s latest emotional stream, is the perfect means to reach that level. Constructed upon a single orchestral loop, conductive to the third instalment of “Disintegration Loops” as far as sheer evocative power is concerned, this wonderful piece is another stunning example of Basinski’s sonic poetry, capable at its best of penetrating even the most stubborn defense, forcing us to ineluctably accept the poignant burden that its uncertain timbral definition provokes more or less always. Those familiar with Basinski’s work don’t need my words to understand: the loop – artfully misaligned – creates instead a slowly swaying balance that facilitates the flow of positive energy, sometimes down to moving depths. I’ve seen people who I esteem very highly crying while listening to this album, and that should count for something if we still believe we’re able to “feel”. On the other hand, this record is also perfectly fit for “active ambient” purposes, its presence a reassuring one in keeping with the above mentioned sense of safety that the best hypnotic music invariably generates. It’s easy to associate “El Camino Real” to the unchanging movement of a placid sea; this brought a distant comparison with the recent, gorgeous Iain Stewart/Keith Berry DVD “58° North” in which heartbreaking marine vistas were paired with Berry’s inspired aural visions. Still, Basinski remains one of the very few artists in the last twenty years or so that literally have given birth to a genre from nothing. This CD, one of his best, fully reinforces my theory.
WILLIAM BASINSKI / RICHARD CHARTIER – Untitled 1-3 (Line)
There are records that were born to be milestones since the very beginning, without further explanation needed. One just starts playing them, and something clicks – “that’s it” – their presence becoming instantly necessary. The fact that “Untitled” was reissued only four years after its first release (on the Spekk label) says it all; then again, circa 17 minutes of additional materials were added in this edition (remastered by Taylor Deupree), so enthrallingly gorgeous that alone are worthy of owning this CD. For the aliens that didn’t get the chance of listening to the original, this album is the result of a collaborative friendship that started with Chartier sending tracks to Basinski, then working on a piece tentatively called “The garden of brokenness” (the title, as you probably know, will be subsequently used for another recording). The New Yorker adapted Chartier’s “very rich” slowly spinning soundscapes to his own experiments with tape loops and a Voyetra 8 synthesizer; given both artists’ concordance on the good quality of the studio-manipulated final version, blissful history was made. The new pieces comprise more recent sonic circumstances by the couple, including sounds from the “Mixing desk” installation in Saratoga, California from 2006. While the earliest segments maintain the hypnotizing radiance of a heavenly succession of cyclic events, constituting what can be defined as the best ambient music of the 21st century – grace and geometry weighing exactly the same in the overall architecture – the third and newest part adds a touch of mysterious emotion to the whole, exploiting the desire of fully opening our inner essence to vibrational resonance through emotional washes of droning communions, slightly scarred by crackling disturbances and metallic shimmers. As usual, few means to a majestic end – and every abused concept of presumed “perfect cosmic order” becomes useless, for the umpteenth time. People keep talking while those who really know get to the point.
BASSDRUMBONE – The line up (Clean Feed)
The liners define BassDrumBone a “super team” and it’s difficult proving the contrary, as Mark Helias (double bass & bass guitar), Gerry Hemingway (drums) and Ray Anderson (trombone) are three of the finest jazz musicians on the scene, their collaboration dating back from about 30 years ago. “The line up” comprises nine tracks that leave no time to back up from the flurries and combinations that these gentlemen bring to our ears. The most visible voice is naturally Anderson’s, his trombone gauging the need of liberating jazz from the chains of irrelevance through a kind of phrasing that converges towards tonal centres and immediately flies away while remaining totally independent from poor-spirited gestural uselessness, his tone instead both effervescent and placatory. Helias is one of those bassists that play the line like the air would like to hear it, propelling the contrapuntal activities into the realms of field-day improvisation while remaining lyrically conscious at all times. Hemingway is the symbolic incarnation of the war that should be declared against the feeble-minded swingers who cause the idiots’ heads in the clubs to cluelessly bounce up and down with their glass in hand; his playing is spectacular at times, fractured at the right moments, always able to shift the balance of the trio within the space of half a beat. An electrifying effort that captures at the first listening.
BATCHAS – Explorations 85-95 (Monochrome Vision)
How many names still unknown to me after decades in this trade. Batchas is only one of the several monikers of French musician Robert Massé, who was active as a composer in the electro-acoustic and industrial scene between – you guessed it – 1985 and 1995, year in which he stopped creating music altogether (he currently works on multimedia project as a Flash developer). Where was I at that time? Why I never met this artist before? Questions without an answer – and this was among my principal musical fields of interest in those years, go figure. This CD features tracks from an unreleased Batchas album, plus reworked and remastered materials from the same decade. Most of this stuff is definitely enthralling, based as it is upon heavily processed vocal and instrumental sources that attribute an aura of mystery to the pieces. Think Lustmord – meaning the best Lustmord – and you’re not too far away: cavernous resonances, glacial tempests, breathtakingly throbbing low frequencies, reverberant quakes. Very well made, with consistency and a sense of limit – something that today is depressingly missing, resulting in esoteric releases that make me laugh hard. Rustling matters, tapes that slow down becoming a mournful ellipsis of beguiling shadowy beauty. Even the segments that could result as harsh possess a smoothness of sorts, making sure that they don’t overstay their welcome. Dark ambient at its finest. On a second thought, I’m not surprised about Massé quitting. He had probably realized that the genre was all but dying – so better leave it at that.
PASCAL BATTUS / ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO – Ductile (A question of re_entry/Organized Music From Thessaloniki)
After the extraordinary “Allotropie”, Alfredo Costa Monteiro shows once again his instant-composition talent with paper and microphones, this time in the honourable company of Pascal Battus, armed with the same instruments. The core of the question is that the sounds generated by the duo were captured on tape without any processing or effects, which is all the more astonishing when one hears the mind-dazzling variety of abnormal emissions, ranging from the most delicate (?) hissing caress to the harshest methods of distortion, all the while being surrounded by falling bombs, shrapnel-like fusillades, deformed whistles, crunch-and-munch morsels of insane noise. I suppose that the techniques used by the couple comprise the use of the mouth at least, but with this kind of maniacs you can never be sure of anything. The metaplastic quality of this music confines with a sense of jeopardy: well-trained listeners are already acquainted with this feeling. Two gentle sonic energumens who decided long ago that trying to explain a concept with words is totally useless. They do it with sound itself, which is always the best. Schismatic gestures and ominous emissions that the ears need to reinforce our structures.
MARTIN BAUMGARTNER – Shoot’s huft (For 4 Ears)
Swiss label For 4 Ears is among the scarcely diffused imprints publishing laptop-generated music that sounds a hundred yards away from those click-clacking, glitch-skipping fizz-fizzes we are submerged from since portable computers became the weapon of choice of pustulous students who couldn’t get a woman (or a man…) to save their lives so decided to give it a try in “creativity”. Not only Baumgartner doesn’t belong to that group, but his stuff is largely ferocious, with a few welcome exceptions under the guise of calmer droning electronics that don’t last too much anyway. Still, the large part of this CD borders on pure terrorism, indeed at times sounding more akin to something that could have been released by Mego. Baumgartner’s adroitness in alternating strata of dirty distortion and hypnotic loops just blemished by a sub-skin grittiness constitutes the point of strength of the work which results lively, surprising, doubtlessly interesting to the ears. Yet it’s violence that mostly fills the menu du jour, the kind of sonic guerrilla that makes one pant “got to turn down the volume or I’ll become deaf”, but instead is missed when it ends. Because while this noise might bite, it also contains forms of grace that the expert’s ear immediately picks up. Despite the difference in style from the label’s canon “Shoot’s huft” is a well-built, stubborn record on the same quality levels of the rest of their production.
SEAN BAXTER / DAVID BROWN / ANTHONY PATERAS – Ataxia (Synaesthesia)
Like a crazed gamelan orchestra or an army of overhyped tin drumming teddy bears wreaking havoc among crystals, these gentlemen don’t let the grass grow under each other’s feet: with prepared piano and guitar used prominently with a percussive approach, Brown and Pateras dialogue with Baxter’s “regular” hit-and-run tactics in a multifaceted agglomerate of improvised punchouts and calmer contemplations. If the latter are few and far between, there’ s no denying that the energy level put in the music by the trio is at times incredibly high; everyone pulls his weight, forcing a balance not always readily available in such undefined forms. Without the need of showing teeth Sean, David and Anthony express their virtues like if telling us something right off the chest, without thinking too much, directly and straight faced; “Ataxia” kicks like a horse.
EMIL BEAULIEU / JASON LESCALLEET – Rock ’n’ roll parts 1-2 / Toys in the attic (Absurd)
Another “absurd” oddity from Nicolas Malevitsis’ label, this is a 7-inch coming in an octagonal sleeve containing short pieces for, I believe, vinyl, found objects and tapes. Beaulieu is the most frictional character, dismembering any tentative sweetness into myriads of non-malleable shards of distorted dirtiness and recorded mayhem; Lescalleet tries to give some structure to his side, but after a few moments of more “regular” white noise turntablism he shifts to a low-budget kind of musique concrete where tampering and manipulation of things produce a nice crunchy confusion.
GIANLUCA BECUZZI / FABIO ORSI – Wildflowers under the sofa (Last Visible Dog)
There are occasions in which simplicity wins over pretense. Becuzzi and Orsi – this being their third album together – bring us three tracks whose primary ingredient is the slightly amorphous resonance that a superimposition of guitars generate. I really couldn’t say if they managed to get all of these engrossing gradations through the sheer detuning of some of the strings in small percentages – a sort of “just intonation guitar”, if you will – or only via effective processing methods. The fact of the matter is that the large part of this record sounds quite beautiful, without exception. When the clouds of harmonics are not hovering around the listener’s head, quavering arpeggios and pretty delicate thematic materials keep good company just the same. Points of comparison, rather distantly, could be individuated in Peter Wright and Birchville Cat Motel, but don’t take my word as Bible on this: the duo shows its own distinct personality, the music certainly less dramatic – and probably also less powerful – than the artistic entities in question. Becuzzi and Orsi found their niche, and it’s a very pleasing place to visit; they’re not overconfident, yet this fragility is a winning card. An inspired proposal that works harmoniously with peaceful minds in a quiet setting.
BEEHATCH – Beehatch (Lens)
A new venture by Phil Western (whom I didn’t know; he is a producer and DJ active both as solo performer and with Download and platEAU) and Mark Spybey, of Zoviet France renown and a teammate of James Plotkin in one of my choice drone albums of all time, “A peripheral blur”. This disc was prepared via internet, the musicians never meeting directly if not in a (very) early performance in Vancouver, deciding to do something together after 10 years or so. “Beehatch” is a rather light album in regard to the Touching Extremes canon, yet well made and, in the main, nice to the ears. Sharp electronics, imposing chorales of sampled voices morphing into godly manifestations, skilled synthesis. But also techno, drum’n'bass and sections that almost sound like a workstation’s demo. In those instances as well the couple inserts some slight disturbance or a few shapeless sounds so that an apparently silly concept becomes tolerable enough not to stop the playback. File under “oddity” without too many questions, and everything will work out okay.
BEEQUEEN – Time waits for no one (Herbal)
The duo of Frans De Waard and Freek Kinkelaar, Beequeen belong to the bulky file of musical entities that I’ve been familiar with for many, many years – but only nominally. Believe it or not, your over-enthusiastic reviewer had never listened to their records before, although meeting the name on every mail order list of the last decade and a half. This reissue of a 1994 Staalplaat release fits perfectly in the ice-breaking experience, as inaugurating my acquaintance with the project by listening to an earlier-period outing is perhaps a good thing. Credited with “instruments, electronics, treatments, voices”, De Waard and Kinkelaar seem to know what they’re doing since the very beginning. What they actually do is eliciting outlandish kinds of resonance, generally from the vibration of one or more strings or single notes (i.e. the opening of “Six notes on blank tape”), while adding lots of oscillating high frequencies (“Rupert writes a rainbow” fuses the best of two worlds in that sense) and trance/ritual waste materials. You might often be tempted to call this record drone-based, yet it’s not exclusively that: the vu-meters indicating the level of abstractness point to the red area quite frequently, and there’s nothing that can be acceptably defined as monothematic or minimal, unless we want to consider enthralling looped segments as such (“The shore of leaves” being dazzling stuff indeed, somehow reminding yours truly of Zoviet France; the same goes for the percussive “V-time”). In essence, this album still sounds modern enough for us not to neglect it, leaving the door of the room of past experience ajar to get a glance at our memories. Even those about previously unheard music.
MARC BEHRENS – Transition (Edition) – Security vs. Freedom (Edition)
Both these projects are released in a double 3-inch CD format with the same kind of graphic presentation, namely cards with striking images and photos from various cities and contexts, all of them expressing an almost heartbreaking desolation and/or experimenting with lights and colours. It all looks and sounds like a conceptual continuity but any technical disquisition is put on hold as soon as the sound comes out of the speakers. Behrens’ music is a set of measures of a listening space that’s scanned, painted and finally invaded by waves, transmissions, artificial environments and extreme frequencies definitely marking the membranes. There aren’t two compositions alike in the four discs; forms, angles, cold breezes and mercurial acoustic behaviors zero in on your head’s centre, retrofitting the brain with the necessary power to catch a glimpse of the upcoming silent apocalypses that your whole system will experience if you are in the right frame of mind. Better listen to this couple of double sets consecutively; then, everything will seem perfectly clear, no matter if no one knows what remains of that “everything” after your aural equilibrium is more or less gone.
MARC BEHRENS – Animistic (for Donatella) (Auf Abwegen)
As usual, Marc Behrens’ configurations give some food for thought. By listening to “Animistic” we’re projected into an almost intimidating no man’s land, as Behrens’ field recordings are integrated in a soundscape where apparent silences dominate the first part (there’s always something lurking underneath, even in the quietest sections) then most of the acoustic indications take the shape of a deeply resonant hum or some kind of rumble. Tibetan bells and a metal chair were also used to rupture this document’s quietness. What really strikes is the sense of solitude transmitted by the natural sources: the composer reports that his perception of an “animist” understanding of a landscape’s sound came out strongly during his customary walks through the hill forests near Frankfurt and the Italian/Slovenian border. The whispering wind and a flock of rooks seem to suggest a means of communication to that very nature in which Behrens tries to find possibilities of music that’s not made by humans. These doubts – and an even stronger feeling of extraneous presence – are reinforced by “Decaying study 3″, an engrossing juxtaposition of frequencies halfway through radio waves and nuclear winds, whose intensity level ranges from the barely audible to a pre-explosive dangerous feeling. Despite the many questions proposed, Behrens is one of those artists whose work can withstand a thousand tests and still refuse logical explanations. But, just like his countryman Asmus Tietchens, he manages to touch emotional spots that many of their peers can’t even detect.
MARC BEHRENS – Entity Mülheim (Auf Abwegen)
In 1998, Marc Behrens started working on various audiovisual installations that dealt with the sonic characteristics of predetermined sites which he defined “entities”, like if these places were “a being, an essence” to quote the artist’s words. “Entity Mülheim”, from 2005-2006, was originally conceived as such and subsequently transferred on this double DVD, whose sequence can be played both in “linear” and “random” mode. Mülheim is a district of Cologne, Behrens bringing to our attention aspects that could be normally perceived as “regular” – a bridge suspended on the river, traffic, kids playing in a courtyard, a flea market, a dirty beach. But he does it by vivisectioning both their pictorial qualities and sounds, the latter rendered fascinatingly impenetrable thanks to his knowledgeable methods of alteration. The images are sometimes edited, too – more or less heavily – to add a sort of casual schizophrenic touch. Two representatives of the biggest ethnic groups in the city (a German man about 60 on the first disc and a younger Turkish woman on the second) were asked questions about Mülheim and their opposite ethnos; yet their answers aren’t heard, as they were fragmented, scrambled and mangled by Behrens, transforming the experience in something akin to a sensual electroshock. In another combination people, cars and trains on the above mentioned bridge move forward and backward like in a metropolitan dance. The sounds aren’t necessarily paralleled by pictures; indeed, a good number of sections consists only of the audio segment while we find ourselves staring at a black screen. But the quality of the aural messages is on such a level of evocative response that we could listen to them singularly and declare ourselves happy enough. The very last couple of minutes pairs an aircraft in a blue sky with a breathtaking subsonic rumble, ending this excellent piece of work with yet another classy touch.
MARC BEHRENS – Architectural commentaries (Entr’acte)
The logic surrounding Marc Behrens’ artistic output is often inflexible, not really open to chance except for slight and mostly controlled intermissions (or is it?). But, at the same time, this scarcity of openings results in a rarely seen coherence which, on a sonic level, guarantees that each one of his releases sound absorbingly attractive, placing the listeners in a space that might appear either like the restricted area of their interior conflicts or a symbolic representation of human thought in its most inaccessible corners. The aural constructions that Behrens is able to conceptualize, elaborate and, ultimately, exploit are indeed unique, in this case facilitated by his choice of presenting successions of events separated by short silent segments, a concept based on Luigi Nono’s “isole musicali” (musical islands). “Architectural commentaries” comprises three pieces composed between 2002 and 2005, built around field recordings that our man has accumulated over a 15-year span. The composer writes that he was inspired by “architectural criticism, structures, buildings, involuntary cityscapes (…) and technological noise within buildings”. The latter point is expanded in “Architectural commentary 5: some models for resonant behaviour”, which utilizes the sources captured at Resonance FM in June 2004 (both the studio equipment and the room’s noises), remodeling and juxtaposing them in splendid fashion; the segment starting around minute 13, an awesome humming moan-cum-oscillating high frequencies, is purely and simply a thing of beauty. The opener “Architectural commentary 4” shows at times a strong conceptual link with Asmus Tietchens’ work, even if Behrens’ coldness still possesses a degree of humanity – barely visible in the distance, yet it IS there – that attributes a “faraway-light-in-a-thick fog” aura to the piece, something that could appeal to fans of the best dark ambient as well. The album’s overall quality, excellent in any circumstance anyway, will be enhanced by your own preference of setting as this is the kind of music that, while revealing more details on close listening, yields the most satisfactory outcome when we let it manifest its grayish blackness in the rare, precious moments when the world’s asleep.
MARC BEHRENS / FRANCISCO LOPEZ “A szellem alma” (.absolute.[Koblenz])
Find me, if you can, someone more intransigent in sonic research than Francisco Lopez and Marc Behrens; I was sure in advance about the value of this 2-CD release and of course I didn’t fail. Working on the same basic materials, namely recordings made at Frankfurt airport, Marc and Francisco put their definite personality stamp on the sound mass, directing the energy ejections as they please in a series of aural maps that mark silence with groundbreaking effluvia, finally arriving to inhabit it without our senses’ complete approval. Behrens is more than happy to bring us right into a distorted overload: large parts of space are filled with snarling white noise and scathing frequencies, with long moments of almost total absence of sonic content to balance the yin/yang element of the composition. The same extreme measures of calmness are applied by Lopez in his customary way: minutes of pure whisper-to-nothingness, the only sound is blood pressure in your ear and maybe a virtually inaudible hiss; then, a monstrous growth of perturbed audiovisuals is shown only to be completely burnt out by torrential insufflations of instabile laptop violence, bringing the whole to a clicking quasi-standstill – again.
MARC BEHRENS / NIKOLAUS HEYDUCK – Plastic Metal (Antifrost)
Gracile but determined, tending to the high spheres of psychoacoustic whispering, “Plastic” is a massive demonstration of genius by these two masters of the art of attributing deep significance to inanimated materials, like shopping bags or medicine packages. An intense, under-the-skin bubbling activity is gradually revealed; images dissolve in fractions of seconds to disclose follicles and particles which – opening and changing their shapes – launch our sense of aural perception in a ruthless infrasound rollercoaster, proposing a whole new series of decoding signals which we’d better be ready to accept pronto if we want to keep in touch with sonic evolution. Even more beautiful to my ears is the second disc “Metal”, which was started during a cleaning day at Behrens’ place; here the not-so-subliminal titillations of forgotten steel objects originates longitudinal waves and less than domesticated impingements which saturate the air with menacing rumbles and implacable clangours. The space between these vivid manifestations is inhabited by self-centred whirlwinds of celestial elucubrations that could teach a lot to many practicers of pseudo-experimental infotainment; on the contrary, Behrens and Heyduck’s procedures avoid any pourparler to get straight to the core of a sound that’s among the most propositional I’ve heard in a while.
MARC BEHRENS / DAVE PHILLIPS / CHEAPMACHINES / KEITH BERRY – Coincident (Entr’acte)
“Coincident” comprises five pieces, four of which commissioned by Phil Julian (Cheapmachines) who asked for a 4-minute location recording to be realized exactly at the same hour of the same day (19:00 GMT, 15 October 2005) by the participants. Behrens responded with creaks, knocks and thumps of a table and a chair (plus his sighs while working), Phillips submitted a taped conversation, Cheapmachines collaged domestic noise with radio/television zapping and interference and Berry processed the sounds of an indirect hot water cylinder with contact microphones, this being the only contribution with a kind of harmonically resonating content. The four tracks were layered together in a fifth one, which became a (still too short) specimen of moving textures constituting an interesting patchwork of real life sonic snapshots. It’s a pretty simple concept that could be exploited in myriads of combinations and – although headphone listening is recommended in the CD notes – the effect is intriguing also by pressing the repeat button and utilizing “Coincident” as unquiet ambient music.
MARC BEHRENS / PAULO RAPOSO – Hades (And/OAR)
The sea is an obvious source of fascination; innumerable artists have tried to come to terms with its sonic power in the past. Marc Behrens and Paulo Raposo added a “mechanical” nuance to their interests by recording the noise of ferry boats and quays in various Portuguese marine locations, placing them amidst other local environmental recordings to generate this beautiful artifact. “Itinerantly” composed between 2003 and 2006, “Hades” stimulates and wakes up the nervous centres, but even more often it leaves a lot of mental room for concentration and reflection. The raw materials chosen by Behrens and Raposo allow for an intriguing deployment of gradations that might sound indelicately harsh in tracks like “Gate 1″ but, when sapiently treated, become mutations of angelic choirs looking for a sky to dissipate in, ruptured by faraway thuds and bumps, or even studies in dreams elicited by adjacent pseudo-tones, finally directed to complete oblivion (“Crossing into”). “Gate 4″ is an enthralling, obscure drone in a reverberant virtual cathedral of noise, exquisitely sober and impressively layered, later morphing into a siren’s lament lowered three octaves, wind and seagulls barely perceived in this profound context; it’s a masterpiece of the untold, one of the overall best compositions I’ve enjoyed in at least a decade. Every sonic object manipulated by the couple is translated into something utterly meaningful, and the silences they leave for the sounds to breathe in are nicely filled by extraneous elements (a faraway belltower entered my room at noon this Sunday during this listening session, and it was wonderful). “Hades” is brilliant, just like everything in the And/OAR catalogue.
BURKHARD BEINS – Disco prova (Absinth)
German percussionist Burkhard Beins’ intelligent use of resonant space is fundamental, in that his music is built upon a few simple sources that need a lot of air to deliver themselves from their original citizenhood. For those who really want to know, “disco prova” means nothing else than “test record” in Italian; that’s one of Beins’ elements here, an old test-tone LP containing analogue synthesizer waves which he puts at good use in two pieces (“EQ-20″ and “Reel”) together with location recordings and environmental matters. The self-explanatory “Igniter” multiplies the click of an electric gas lighter until thousands of ticks are diffused all around the listening space, while “For Ian Curtis” uses minimal snippets of Joy Division’s LPs rendered unrecognizable until a thorough dismemberment of any meaning is achieved in blurred post-industrial visuals. The overall most satisfactory composition on offer is “Sekante”: two microphones are placed into a polystyrene box, which amplifies the “oscillation and friction sounds” of a 12-metre string that Beins attached to it; water is also added to contribute to an impressive electroacoustic potion. This record contains basic forms of beauty that are there to be discovered, sapiently camouflaged by Beins within structures that appear more threatening than they really are; indeed, repeated listenings bring us to a different conclusion, as each layer reveals minute particulars and disguised codes which the ears find extremely pleasing to dissect and swallow.
BELASKA – Vault (w.m.o/r)
Working at the junction of almost pulmonary exhalations of grainy textures with barely perceptible human intervention on contrasting decolorizations of feedback and gloomy silence, Belaska (Mark Wastell and Mattin) are two shelterless walkers in the middle of a fogbound course. Their method privileges those huge low vibrations that somehow remind of thunderstorms caught when you’re closed into a room – something you “experience” rather than “hear”. Then again, the duo travels all around the membranes without really uncovering objects or bodies; squatting amidst uncharted sound emissions, always looking for the most important balance – that between tension building and breathing room for the ears – Wastell and Mattin spear commonly known electroacoustic codes and regulations, once again grabbling under unbroken sonic soil to come back with a good measure of truth.
CLIVE BELL & SYLVIA HALLETT – The geographers (Emanem)
Droplets of hallucinogen reiterations take fantasies by the hand, cold-shouldering any possible machination designed to keep emotions at bay; instruments from ancient cultures as well as cheap department stores are played without scumbling their edges, in a gradual departure from pure sound artistry to the inspection of remote cavities, in search of those small discarded treasures that – appearances be damned – are giant steps for the refinement of the act of listening. While Hallett’s haunting ceremonials sound like they were born after a blow on a magic powder causing twilight fever and deceptive fancies, her mastery of bowed instruments and perfectly disposed looping traps is what this wonderful music needs to be promoted to the top rank of improvisatory sensitiveness. Bell could not be a better companion for this highly reminiscent connection of memories and instinct, as the imprinting he puts on all the duets is decisive, given his thorough command of shakuhachi, pi saw, khene and the likes: it’s a perfect 50-50 concoction of gracefully balanced miniature dreams that every once in a while make a proposal for recanalizing fear and anguish into a single course of placid joy.
CLIVE BELL / BECHIR SAADE – An account of my hat (Another Timbre)
Unbelievable how many albums are being released these days whose content is differently appreciable according to the context and the technical setting in which they’re enjoyed. During my first time with this collection of duets for ney (Saade) and shakuhachi (Bell) I found myself in the condition of catching the single voice’s essence, mentally absorbing any droplet, any barely audible harmonic, all the complex relationships existing between the wood and a pneumatically enhanced system of liquids during the circumstantial occasions in which those elements are put in direct confrontation. A wonderful experience, rendered memorable by a detail-splitting recording quality that lets the audience feel like the very embouchure of those exotic whistling tubes. The notes just flow through our substance, into the core of self-examination. I tried a second listen at low volume, and was astonished to discover that the spirit of the music was still there, certain aspects of its ritualistic charm even boosted by the connection that my ears and brain had already established during the first session. Naturally, it helps that Bell and Saade are masters of the game, their intertwining sensitiveness and intelligent choice of spaces, reticence and wavering vibrations – or the mix of all these ingredients – demonstrating what “inner ear” really means. Music that spread-eagles between the silence of your reflections, arriving at the right moment to save us from idiot television programs and useless chit-chat to establish a poetic logic of no-nonsense and gratification of the remote depths of the soul. A great, great record, confirming Another Timbre as currently the best English label devoted to improvisation, on a par with Emanem.
BELONG – October language (Carpark)
Turk Dietrich and Michael Jones, from New Orleans, are the human element behind Belong; with “October language” they have managed to produce an apocalyptic soundtrack for the succumbing ones, a sort of ill elegy depicting the transition from the final part of life to death, evoked through montages of looping materials – sliding orchestral modulations, chorales, instrumental lamentations – put through a massive distortion treatment to the point of, er, disintegration. Indeed, the press notes declare William Basinski and Fennesz as Belong’s main influences – and there are moments (for example, “Who told you this room exists?”) in which these influences cross the borders of plagiarism. But there are lots of good things in this CD, like the stunningly beautiful title track, which get me prone to pardoning the “offense”, since Dietrich and Jones are capable of eliciting strong emotional reactions through their already evident personality; they do it by challenging our fear of the unknown with heavyweight intensity and pitiless stretching of the unconscious. Play loud – and prepare yourselves to the end.
JUSTIN BENNETT – Wildlife (Spore)
My only prior contact with Bennett’s output was “Noise map” on this same label. As good as that one was, “Wildlife” is probably better: I wouldn’t hesitate in classifying it as a great album, a nearly faultless crossbreed of environmental recordings (mostly zoos and botanic gardens) and post-processing that proposes ample opportunities for relaxation, concentration, sheer thinking. The maker, born in the UK but residing in the Netherlands, offers an interesting explanation of his work: “hybrid artificial spaces for the listener to inhabit”. This is exactly what this music gives, without any pretence of unconventional views or “political” statements. Bennett is certainly not the first analyzing the contrasts and the overlapping between natural and metropolitan soundscapes, yet one can’t help observing how plausibly the different pictures of life succeed, frogs and cars, lions, children, nocturnal activities, birds. We feel the air, the hot, the damp and the vagueness. Does all this imply some sort of revelation? Of course not, yet the gratification deriving from listening to routine presences according to a dissimilar perspective – especially when contained by your own silence – can literally transform the approach to the forthcoming day (that’s right, you did get it: this CD should be listened to at very early morning for greatest results). Add to the whole the eye-striking container – a folded A2 poster featuring beautiful B/W photos of the visited locations – and the fact that this is a limited edition of 300 copies to finally accept that this release is needed.
HAN BENNINK & TERRIE EX – Zeng! (Terp)
Arrived at their second CD as a duo, Han Bennink and Terrie Ex present a series of curiously titled improvisations that won’t delude those who are acquainted with the creative fantasy and anarchic tendencies of the components. Drums and guitar is not an easy pairing; let’s face it, the risk of boring the audience is pretty high. No danger here: the pluralist approach of Bennink allows the limbs to follow three or four different logics at once, his use of the colours of the drum set uniquely rebel to any rhythmic common sense. He’s a very intelligent drummer, one of the wittiest explorers of techniques around, and the interaction with Ex’s guitar is just perfect. On the opposite side, the latter is an animal in the hands of someone who does not want to know about a regular phrase, chord or scale. We’re talking grunts, moans, hollers and yells; we hear feedback and hum as concrete elements of a “sound”. There is not a single moment when one can guess in advance what will happen an instant later. The dynamics that Ex throws up in this slapping game are efficiently invigorating, his timbres leaking oil and rusting the air. Brisk musicianship all over the album, conversations brought forth with clever irony and no fear of errors. Like improvised music should always be, this is fresh, vivid playing that doesn’t ask for anything more than being serenely enjoyed.
VINCENT BERGERON – Philosophie fantasmagorique (Vincent Vit Et Sent Comme Un Berger Rond)
Here is a curiosity for those who are REALLY curious – did you look at the label’s name? Canadian Bergeron composed this artefact “with an imaginary movie in his mind” (a pretty worn out concept by now) about “an artist who finds his identity in a confused world” – an undecipherable scenario from this perspective, since my fluency in French is insignificant and the record is wholly sung in that language, or in an English-French mixture. Not that this man sings “regularly”: no, VB rambles with a timbre which is peculiar to say the least – picture a cross between a culturally developed turkey and a castrato who loves serialism. The protagonist’s voice is constantly present, female contributions shortly appearing somewhere, together with minimal help from other participants. What’s nice is a good portion – maybe three quarters – of the instrumental foundation, standing halfway through sampladelia and theatre of absurd, crazed loops and unpredictable pre-recorded sources alternating with out-of-control electronic and acoustic instruments. In the first part it sounds quite interesting – sort of “John Oswald meets Albert Marcoeur” – but overall there’s a slight bit of “too much everywhere” to define this a totally valid release. I do see germs of unadulterated creativity in there, yet what needs to be done is either reducing the program’s length or giving the music some relief every once in a while. Bergeron’s vocal character itself is funny at the beginning, yet as minutes elapse one gets used to the perennial eloquence, which becomes a drag at the end. A little less please, and we’re all set. Building upon the most intriguing orchestrations – the sound-seaming work is almost flawless indeed – will have to be the starting point for the next chapter. File under “Self-believing in sounding strange, partially succeeding”.
DAVID BERNABO – Graphic scores (Abstract On Black)
Multi-talented David Bernabo is both Abstract On Black’s superintendent and an artist active in the audiovisual field. As you might easily figure out alone, “Graphic scores” is an album built upon the sonic interpretation of “visual markings and cues”, played on an assortment of different means – acoustic guitars, sitar, dulcimer, electronics, percussion, voice, viola and violin – by the boss with the help of Ben Harris, Daryl Fleming and Megan Williams, either semi-regularly or through what the world knows as “extended techniques”. There’s not a lot to say other than remarking the great capriciousness and multiplicity of this nonfigurative (indeed) material, whose range expands more or less everywhere without actually deepening any of the points touched, just giving us pure sounds in bursts and flashes. From yelping gurgles-in-water to peculiar explorations of the non-existent relations between disenfranchised strings and random hints to instrumental open-mindedness (intangible as this concept may be, but you do the work after I did mine), clutches of good things that deserve to be listened to do exist here, although one might want not to ask too much to the music in regard to its permanence in the memory.
KEITH BERRY – The golden boat (Trente Oiseaux)
Some of the best sound artists make music where vagueness is a virtue. While listening to this CD I felt the necessity of remaining seated, waiting for events coming out of a cloud of silence and undetermination; sure enough, soft frequencies, nebulous waves and mixed strokes were soon joining the strange, pre-rainstorm calm atmosphere made of mist and haze that characterized my afternoon’s weather. I’d say “The golden boat” is the perfect record for early birds, right in those moments where even the smallest noises are shoved out like a persona non grata. You can pledge a hour of your life putting your ears in full reception mode, devoiding your room of any additional intrusion as Keith Berry’s work must be fed with generous doses of reflective spaces and stimulated by total absence of speech. Let this sweet mizzle wrap you completely and enjoy its beauty.
KEITH BERRY – Buddha’s mile (Authorized Version)
Endless seconds of silence transport the first sounds out of the speakers: a peripheral urban area that one watches from a safe distance while going home in a slightly rainy evening. From this desolated sense of grieving awareness we go to an even deeper level, to fading images of constantly shifting environmental sights. One moment it’s like walking along a marsh with your dog sniffing and rustling around; right after a corner you meet a shortcut to incogitable, mind-bending materializations of unexpectedness. What transpires from the body reactions is our incapacity of accepting the unexplained; the soul is inappetent when it all comes down to fear. Passing halos of low drones make clear that the readmittance to a daily routine will carry a high-price tag; a final crumbling mass becomes just a symbolism for contemporary brainlessness. While thinking to all this, you’ve missed the last bus to home: your path starts now.
KEITH BERRY – The ear that was sold to a fish (Crouton)
Perseverance, circumspection, specularity. Longsuffering renouncers should never expect to be rewarded with anything different from an additional repassage through their own voiceless doubts; just like followers will continue to hold their breath until the necessity of oxygen will finally clear their salt-burned eyes, consumers of juvenilia will always be linked to moments and events that don’t exist anymore – and maybe they were fallacious in the first place. Then, your time to delineate a personality is up and of course you’re gonna pay for it, but indefiniteness becomes an instant gratification for those needing to hide behind a mental shelter; yet, it’s likely that sorrow will constantly be a faithful companion throughout the trip. Thus, consider “The ear that was sold to a fish” like an undespoiled retrieved drawing of the many and one personal projections generated during childhood’s games, all gathered under an incommensurable shadow of heartbreaking awareness which won’t stop swallowing the few remains of that time we believed abundant and now are crying about as mostly wasted.
KEITH BERRY – A strange feather / Turn left a thousand feet from here (Twenty Hertz)
No available reason to justify our continuous fencing of shrouded instincts. We aren’t willing to admit it yet, but an undeviating route to becoming totally forgotten by the rest of our own world of insulse acquaintances and uneducated friends is being traced – right now. With impassive perfectionism, superior presences give answers that are still too evasive, as one wants to know more about those strange fumes coming out of the underground; they modify their colour according to the feeble, sloping glimmer of casual watchers’ smiles. Still speculating about our right of remaining misinterpreted, we stand still while perceiving a warm wind of docile dejection that swallows shapes and movements, drying tears before they’re dropped on a book which is opened on the same page since weeks. Halfway through a poised strength and the desire of completely evaporating after being exposed to the malign disease of a rudimental menticide, we shut the windows, turn off the TV, pocket our small change and turn backwards, squeezing a sheet of handwritten memoranda into our sweaty palms until the ink gets blurred. Lying behind these undescribable impressions, the laziness of the senses is progressively exuviating; its remains will help the reason to be restored, as fear recoils from our newly acquired tranquillity.
KEITH BERRY vs FESSENDEN – Bleu: résultat (Chat Blanc)
Joshua Convey, Stephen Fiehn and Steven Hess’ sounds – appearing as “pt1/1 original w/mix” in the final track of this 3-inch CD, a hypnotic Tortoise-meet-Can interlacement featuring chugging non-rhythms spiced with jangling strings and moaning opacities – were reworked by Keith Berry in the remaining two tracks of the set. “Floating weeds (for Yasujiro Ozu)” starts with a few treated sources (apparently, rain and slowed down crickets but I’m not really sure: Keith is a master of the unlikely transformation) that immediately get embraced by a warm superlunar drone bringing us right back to the beginning of our atavic doubts. The best is yet to come, though: “The other shore” is a marvel of a piece, in the same vein of the recent “58° North” DVD’s soundtrack released by Berry with Iain Stewart. The resignation to a still unknown fate is wrapped by an engrossing mantle of synthetic emanations moving in the low regions of the audio spectrum; upon this cloud of grief a barely perceptible, inherent embryonic melody characterizes this poignant combination, which I’d gladly enjoy for hours. “Bleu: résultat” comes in a limited edition of 111 copies; those who love the involved artists’ work should not miss this microgem.
ANDREAS BERTILSSON – Paramount (Komplott)
Also known as Son Of Clay, Andreas Bertilsson presents a very interesting and well tought-out composition under his own name. After rising from a deafening hush, a deep drone underlines concrete sources (squeaking sounds, water and birds) surrounded by a superimposition of electronic frequencies. Sounds of wood and water are placed at the forefront in the mix. A voice whispers a few phrases in Swedish, the ever-present drone interrupted by spurts of treated and warped emissions; the atmosphere is pretty dark and mysteriously reticent despite the sonic variety. More birds and strange harmonic codes open the second movement, interrupted by short silent segments. Faraway subsonics are heard, like the sound of cars heard from a long distance. Rustling and crackling fuse with peculiar resonances, apparently computerized, then an improvised section of drum’n'noise breaks both the tranquillity and the sense of anticipation perceived until that moment. It finally cuts back to that half-scary, half-protective environment heard at the beginning of this quite inscrutable section. The third instalment is the most unpredictably dissonant, with percussive sources and disguised rumbles introducing what sounds like adjacent stratifications of female vocals, disturbed by additional doses of interferent electronics. The concoction annoys and allures but never for a moment loses its grip on our attention. A noisy mayhem is started about 5 minutes into the part, and it involves everything: destruction has finally won its war against the basic immobility of the track. “Paramount” is 30 minutes of excellent acousmatics, well worth of everybody’s consideration.
TONY BIANCO / PAUL DUNMALL with MARCIO MATTOS / PAUL ROGERS – Hour Glass (Emanem)
The propulsive drumming of Bianco and the continuously ripping sax of Dunmall (particularly awesome on the soprano in the second CD of this double set, 62 minutes named “The teepees dive deeply”) are the main colours in this release. More than in other Emanem recordings, this has a contemporary “jazzy” feel and – with ideas flowing one after another, often without stopping for VERY long spurts – it nevertheless results as a pretty relaxing meeting among complex musical personalities. What’s really different here is the use of bass: in the hands of Mattos, who plays on the first set “Hour Glass”, you get classic deep, solid notes; the instrument is meant as a strong expressive communicator and meshes perfectly in a global conversation. On the other hand, with the pluri-stringed A.L.L. bass played by Rogers, one can almost smell wood, being its character a little more “light-hearted” than the regular acoustic bass (but what a sound…likely to be appreciated by guitarists more than bassists). Tony Bianco’s light but steady pulse and the never ending lung pumping by Paul Dunmall are absolutely astonishing; the same old “thumbs up” is required, but that’s no news to the label’s aficionados.
TONY BIANCO / DAVE LIEBMAN / TONY MARINO – Line ish (Emanem)
Tony Bianco’s mercurial drumming is the propeller of this great trio, where each voice brings common sense and solidity in every single moment. Dave Liebman applies his phrasing like a whirlwind, quivering, self-consciously groundbreaking, exploring theme fragments and pulling out harmonics like a drink of fresh water. The jawboning sound of Marino brings back fluids to parched ears, emerging like a paramount element even in a cohesive setting like this. Bianco’s wrists are probably made of highly elastic rubber: his sticks’ command is a good explanation for a scorching yet natural playing, more evident than ever during his solo parts. The feeling here is that this is a nugget, a record that’s destined to stay, without flashes but with feet planted in the concrete.
BIOSPHERE – Autour de la lune (Touch)
The first of the nine movements forming the skeleton of “Autour de la lune” is somehow deceiving: a very long repetition of the same electronic ripple which had me thinking along the lines of “Geir Jenssen goes minimalist”, pretty disorientating in regard to the total purity of the largest part of the following aural beauties. But – having been Biosphere a class act for many years now – one doesn’t need to wait too much to find a way through a mass of frequencies that are sometimes scarily powerful and all times absolutely mesmerizing like in the fantastic “Deviation”, a vibrational kneading on the cerebrum to which anyone who listens will become addicted in a matter of seconds and that puts most of the sacred cows of the “inner spirit department” to a heavy shame. At least 50 of the 75 minutes of this disc could be successfully used to cure nerve-related disorders; listening without headphones will add the resonance of walls and objects to something which – more than music – should be defined as evolutional phenomenon. When “Autour” reaches its conclusion, you’ll notice your cochlea has suddenly become thirsty, for this is a milestone of contemporary electronica.
B.W.BIRD – Solo Duo Trio (Stoat of Victory)
Bryan W.Bird – for his own admission – still believes in the “power of abstract”. This can be guessed from his self-made CD covers, which I dig a lot by the way, but – above all – from his music. He has a lot of different projects ranging from the “totally free” random electronics to looping nostalgic soundscapes. This very short record (33 minutes) was recorded one instrument at a time in several weeks, overdubbing improvisations on a multitrack recorder. Except for the presence of a drummer in the final two tracks, everything is played by Bird; I could not help thinking about extreme radical music such as Borbetomagus – a lot of raucous electric guitar screaming and arguing with a sputtering, free-flowing, really gorgeous saxophone; here and there, rare calm moments are abruptly swatted away by more raging distortion. Don’t be afraid to try; this is voracious music, highly energetic and fresh.
BIRDSONG FOR SEWERS – Birdsong for sewers (Digitalis)
This is a duo project between Peter Wright and Uton, who divided their instrumental and recording duties and sent the reciprocal results to each other via mail. The music is fantastic; it has a tension building towards infinite that makes it shine brightly, even if most of the atmospheres are created through droning guitars, obscure looping and a thoughtful use of field recordings. The inexplicable becomes imagery, while the moaning of distant strings shifts the level of our conscience up to oblong figures of mistaken identities. The mind gets out of any known frame, avoiding the manipulations of many puzzling cerebral settlements to librate in open air, just content of being shipwrecked in opiate silences. Grounded on a cross of unapproachableness and sense of unstable gravity, “Birdsong for sewers” is another of those hidden masterpieces you’d better search with all your zeal; if I never had the pleasure of meeting the work of Uton until now, Wright confirms his undersung greatness once and for all.
BIRDSONGS OF THE MESOZOIC – The iridium controversy (Cuneiform)
Let’s just hope this absolutely perfect object guarantees more exposition and kudos to the band, one GREAT collective of REAL progressive music, if you ask me. Tying their instrumental knots with harmonic mastery in tapestries of lush arrangements, mixing every second like it’s their last chance to say something to the world, Lindgren, Field, Scott and Bierylo stamp their knowledgeable singularity on a healthy pinguidity of beautiful pieces. The senses are just iced over by the continuity of smart compositional devices that leave you almost breathless right away; just like self-collected sonic killers, Birdsongs seize a golden path until the definitive affirmation in the selective process my mind does when thinking to similar groups. Verily, an easy process: there’s no group like this one and their regal class should be peppered onto many technically-proficient kings of nothingness. Can someone say “a peremptory must”?
BIRDSONGS OF THE MESOZOIC with ORAL MOSES – Extreme spirituals (Cuneiform)
Bass baritone Oral Moses is one of the most renowned singers of operas, oratorios and spirituals. Birdsongs are one of my all-time favourite new progressive-chamber rock ensembles. And – get this – I prevalently HATE opera, especially when it’s sung in Italian (but, while we’re at it, I also consider John Adams’ “Nixon in China” one of the most horrible records that I’ve ever heard). So I was prepared for the worst, but…how can one doubt artists at this level of heart, intelligence and technique? Moses’ voice is imposing and always perfect, and Ken Field, Michael Bierylo, Erik Lindgren and Rick Scott managed to father a series of arrangements for twelve famous (or less) spirituals that, at times, left my mouth agape. Try to get the correct picture here: we’re talking about songs like “Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho” and “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child” played by a quartet that morphed them into their technologically advanced versions by cross-pollinating Igor Stravinsky and Univers Zero, yet sounding unquestionably Mesozoic. On top of all this, a gorgeous lyrical singer lays powerfully articulate lines, which at a first try might sound slightly strange but after a while you really need them – and how. “Extreme spirituals” is one of those records that take about ten minutes before you completely fall into their arms; it is a splendid rendition of music that is already ageless and – after the “Birdsongs extreme makeover” – is likely to become even more valued, maybe also by those who don’t like spirituals. I call it a perfectly accomplished experiment, and you’d better give it a very attentive listen.
MICHAEL BISIO QUARTET – CIMP 360: Circle this (CIMP)
Bassist and composer Michael Bisio declares himself to be a superstitious man, thus explaining the strange album title, which joins its catalogue number and the name of the first track recorded in the session, here also the program’s opener. Personal convictions aside, we’re safely cuddled by a warm, smooth-going kind of slightly edgy jazz that shows both the qualities of innovation and various links to a reverenced past, without sounding outdated for a moment. In the rhythm section, the leader is sustained by drummer Jay Rosen, the pair working together as a perfect counterbalance for a couple of “conversational fighters” on reeds, Avram Fefer (tenor and soprano sax) and Stephen Gauci (tenor only), two soloists whose musical intelligence and will to share long confrontational moments makes for a few sizzling exchanges that mesh unhampered counterpoint and upfront nods to the giants. The swing-for-the-fences drumming creativity of Rosen – also excellent in the quieter sections – and the sober, always elegant tone of Bisio’s double bass define the foundations of the compositions (all penned by Michael except “The Fighting” – here we go again – by Bob Nell, a splendid fusion of reflection and right-about turns). Short linear cells are expanded until they become more complex constructions, their structure allowing repeated implementations of that kind of virtuosity whose primary nuance is modesty. Yet the best feature of “CIMP 360″ remains its sense of solid continuity and constant inspiration, the artists sharing intuitions and influences without despotism, a well regulated democracy that the length of the CD – about 72 minutes – does not endanger for a split second.
MICHAEL BISIO TRIO – Composance (Cadence Jazz Records)
Bassist Michael Bisio, helped by Rob Blakeslee (brass) and Greg Campbell (percussion, French horn) represents one of the “traits d’union” between freedom and scheme in modern jazz. His music possesses that leading edge quickening the separation from stereotypes and gossip-like hyper-technical passages; on the contrary, his trio organizes ideas and intuitiveness with the same deadpan rigour of a small chamber orchestra, honouring their influences yet saluting new sights whenever they materialize. Extremely mindful of his performing strength, Bisio alternates his fingering sapience with cascades of royal arcoing, while his companions join the discourse lessening tensions and building intelligent examples of precise sound equipartition. Easy music it ain’t; just listen without preconceptions and enjoy the rewards.
JOHN BISSET – Smithy (2:13 Music)
Without gadgetry, armed of an acoustic guitar only, Bisset plays expressively and free of cliches without any trace of gabbling. Couching in a niche where silent reflection and the exposition of himself meet, John paints splashing small drops of fretboard knowledge that leave a door slightly open, like he wanted us to peek into his own private moments without entering or disturbing his flux of thought. I love the surrounding sounds captured by the recording, too – the distant cars passing by are a truly magnificent touch of reality in an already out-of-canons piece of work. “Smithy” is limpid and extremely sincere, standing the test of a lasting attention – which not always is easy to keep during instrumental solo albums.
SINDRE BJERGA / JAN M. IVERSEN – The Oslo groove machine (Utan Titel)
My first encounter with Bjerga and Iversen is a pretty short live set, recorded in 2004 at Oslo’s Brugata. The guys dabble with amplified electronics, various objects and ground noise, the latter a major presence throughout the whole CD. More than the refined undulations of people like Mattin or Graham Halliwell, “The Oslo groove machine” looks for a barely restricted control of a rather industrial sound, with metallic tampering and pre-adrenalin slow movements which rarely abandon the territories of rusty rumbling interference. It’s a familiar, fleshy, relatively invigorating exercise in maintainance of expectancy, as the duo keeps its head down, holding us in a continuous waiting for a full-blast eruption that never comes. In their raw-sounding genuine approach, these gentlemen remind me of the Russian group ZGA – but their personality is clearly defined.
SINDRE BJERGA / IAN M. IVERSEN – Cosmic surgery (Housepig)
I love the label’s description of this 100-copy limited edition CDR, which talks about “a disturbing atmosphere of surveillance, paranoia and desolate space”. Indeed, the three segments presented by Sindre Bjerga and Ian Iversen, who are among the noisemongers using the means at their disposal with compositional competence rather than stupid rage, are effectively functional in many of their applications; they even work at lower volume in a sort of gloom-drenched ambient music. There’s always a sort of thrumming underground pulse that gives a definite direction to the mass of hiss, rumbles and moaning reiterations that characterize the tracks; the diversity, in this lo-fi heterogeneous jumble of anti-relational information, resides in its implicit harmonic content, which pushes the brain towards the acceptance of the inescapable. We expect something, but that something never happens; meanwhile, the sound appears like an external background in which the mind adapts quite effortlessly, no questions asked. The half-hour duration helps to avoid any potential doubt; the record is concise and intelligently realized, one of the best noise works that I heard in years. Noise? This is just good music.
HEIMIR BJORGULFSSON / PIMMON / HELGI THORSSON – Still important somekind not normally seen (always not unfinished) (Cronica)
It takes a while to fully enjoy this recording, which is best appreciable if you listen to it on shuffle play mode: that way, the “out of tune TV” effect of this schizophrenic enigma will show its complete efficiency. A complete lack of communication is reconfigured through an apparatus of strange codes, each one looking for uncommon expressions and non conventional coupling with other weird physical manifestations. The three artists do a “catch-them-all” kind of electronic trawling, mixing silences and distortion, fragmentations and ironic looping, aleatory phases and algesic acousmatic shapes that rarely touch my heart but, for sure, stimulate my attention. Robert Hampson edited the whole show, recorded in Holland in 2002, but don’t think this could even remotely sound like a Main record.
PETER BLAMEY / JIM DENLEY – Findings (Split)
This is a succinct statement by a duo of systematic analysts of the harmonic properties of resonant air (Denley’s alto sax) in conjunction with an expert manipulation of a mixer (Blamey). How many releases such as this one have already been discussed since, say, 2000? Hundreds? Well, Blamey and Denley managed to find different escapes from a canon that usually welcomes few inventors and dozens of imitators. In this instance, the couple looks mostly interested in the harder core of the matter, Denley insufflating with a good degree of violence so that even a normal wheeze tastes like rusty metal. When he adds doses of massive overtone emissions to the recipe, that’s the signal for Blamey to augment the visibility of his sibilant textures in a murmured rebellion to silence, corroborated by minuscule plops and almost inaudible gurgles in a strange kind of reed-ish radioactivity. The result is excellent, 34 minutes of burbling currents, shrieking upper partials and disguised counter-patterns appearing in the form of a violent hail storm or, in other occasions, more similar to a malfunctioning steam locomotive running at speeds that no regular vehicle can usually reach. It remains to be seen how this compact unity of intents will stand the test of time in this congested sonic field; still, on a deep listening basis, “Findings” reveals a number of unexpected gradations that separate it from the average, precisely delimited intuitions presented with rational balance. Not all improvisers are endowed with that.
BLANKDISC TRIO – im KomikerLand (Nurnichtnur)
German imprint Nurnichtnur is one of those places where hidden genius and deserving unknown talents gather; when messages from that zone are received, the fun and liveliness of the improvised materials is all but assured. This particular group is formed by Georg Wissel, who plays prepared alto sax, obone (?) and a.o. (???), Srdjan Muc (electric guitars) and Róbert Rósza (no-input mixer, electronic), the latter two hailing from Serbia. The disc is divided in halves: the self-explanatory “Pieces and shortcuts” contains eight tracks whose length goes from 1’28” to 4’36”, while the “Zrenjanin suite” is made of different sections linked into a whole, yet sounding as fragmented and mangled as the previous ones. The trio explores different expressive areas with nonchalance, not really focusing on a subject but individuating a few nodal points around which they build a discourse that might or might not follow an immediate logic. Electronic sounds, scratched strings and squawking reed emissions gain a well deserved citizenship in magmatic cauldrons of inexplicably attractive music that just refuses to be classified. Piercing distortion is alternated to articulated chatter without noticeable problems, the artists willing to stay awake and conscious also in the moments where the sonic events flow in apparent full autonomy (yet they remain totally – and coherently – anarchic). Quirky and twisty, this CD is a nice surprise from three musicians demonstrating a much appreciated purity of vision and intents.
TIM BLECHMANN – Re-reading (Free Software Series)
In keeping with the libertarian policies of about anything established by Basque artistic agitator Mattin, the Free Software Series make use of the chance of producing music unyoked from the obligations of copyright, and I believe that an initial statement better than this fabulous offering by Tim Blechmann couldn’t possibly have been made. “Re-reading”, recorded in a live performance in 2006, is a laptop composition that would not be out of place on a label like Antifrost, in that it’s a masterful exercise in restrained violence amidst gradual mutations. A slowly unfolding, cirriform piece based on granular crackle and ever-growing, sinisterly hissing whirrs which nevertheless leave the scenario they depict available for observation at all times, reminiscent of the most impenetrable aspects of the work of pioneers such as John Duncan, but also early Daniel Menche and – why not – Bernhard Günter: the last fifteen minutes contain sonic data of such a subtlety that it’s difficult to perceive their essential functionality without the aid of headphones or a dead silent environment. Blechmann shows great maturity in applying strictly rigorous rules to his sound, the outcome being a record that doesn’t really appear as a real-time recording but bears the characteristics of a painstakingly conceived studio track. The most perceptive among the listeners will certainly appreciate the infinitesimal reiterative currents that characterize several of these icy passages, underlining through their presence the ripening of frequencies that, in an ideal world, should delineate human evolution. Things that, inevitably, are reserved for few lucky ones.
TIM BLECHMANN / GOH LEE KWANG – Drone (Herbal)
The title could be a little misleading, since Blechmann and Kwang are not selling meditative resonance or deep hums; instead, “Drone” is a composition – neither mixed nor mastered by its originators – for prepared mixer and laptop. The slow/speedy/slow complexion of the basic pulse helps the electronic element to introduce a sense of displacement – particularly evident when listening by headphones – enhanced by hardly perceivable frequencies on the extremes of the scale. At about 40 minutes into the piece, we’re left with subsonics juxtaposed with piercing highs tending to the realms of ultrasounds; the music has finally reached its fixed equilibrium, the innocence of the initial exploration of the aural space has given way to a glacial manifestation of human impotence. Sustaining almost one hour through such a course of restrained sonic acts comes as a major plus for these silent analyzers of our head’s chances; declaring “Drone” as an excellent release is the least we can do after being left suspended, waiting for answers we don’t need.
OLIVIA BLOCK – Change ringing (Cut)
A finely balanced juxtaposition of “field recordings, scored segments for acoustic instruments and electronically generated sounds” constitutes the signature of composer Olivia Block, whose “Change ringing” – in its 30+ minutes – is a good representation of the dynamic phenomena and secret relationships between the single parts that she loves to apply to her music. Fifteen of the most accomplished improvisers (among them Kyle Bruckmann, Jeb Bishop, Bhob Rainey) lend their instrumental voices during the liveliest sections of a disc which – in various instances – recalls the work of artists as diverse as David Behrman, Christof Kurzmann, Lionel Marchetti, Voice Crack; yet, don’t be influenced by these comparisons, as the crafty care for the sonic circumstances which Block puts throughout the piece expands the sound up to a high degree of contrasted linearity and morphing electro-biology in perfect self-disposition as the time goes by. A rare case of multi-faceted psychoacoustic structure within the impalpable borders of unpredictability.
FRÉDÉRIC BLONDY / LE QUAN NINH – Exaltatio utriusque mundi (Potlatch)
Piano (prepared and/or played with extended techniques) and percussion install a series of lucid dialogues never transcending to hullabaloo, instead inhabiting many open spaces carved in silence. Blondy and Ninh accept no manacles whatsoever, going from (Cecil) Tayloresque articulations and arco/long string sonorities mingling with omni-directional shards of sinless percussive eruptions – quite often after repeated preliminary caressing. At the end, we listeners sat out the 45-plus minutes with tangible pleasure: after the music is over, the house hasn’t been left in shambles and on the walls there are a few new abstract paintings looking to be appreciated any time more than the previous one.
FRÉDÉRIC BLONDY / JEAN-SEBASTIEN MARIAGE / DAN WARBURTON – L’écorce chante la foret (Creative Sources)
Spurts of macerated puissance have their original vehemence transformed into a needlework of lyophilized surmise, as these three men glance one another like if their most important revelation had to be kept secret. Mariage’s unyoking of guitar from ill-equipped concepts reveals a whole subterranean game of torment and reclusion, rarely interrupted by stabilizing minutiae. Warburton’s micro-dissection of his violin shows all the details of a visionary head carefully disposed in total disappreciation of artistic licentiousness; his sound sparkles and cracks in the very moment of its generation, then waits hopelessly for its specular image to come back. Blondy uses piano parts like surreptitious writings, flanking his colleagues with acoustic lip-reading and noble telepathy to put a three-way breakage of silence under the umbrella of a laconic maturity. Yes, it’s just another masterpiece by Creative Sources.
FRÉDÉRIC BLONDY / THOMAS LEHN – Obdo (Another Timbre)
The basic method used by Blondy and Lehn for “Obdo”, a record born from different recording sessions from 2003 to 2006, is feeding the analogue synthesizer’s external input with the audio signal of the piano, thus obtaining what the liners call a “cross-effecting real time sound processing”. This means that what would normally constitute the typical features of a piano note – attack, sustain, decay, the dampened metallic qualities of the hammer-on-string processes – are heavily disfigured. OK, not always so massively, but certainly in a most unusual way. Apparently marginal phenomena, semi-distracted touches or quasi casual hits are captured by the modulating network of Lehn’s machine, portraying the worrying presence of some intruder who creeps behind your relaxed posture with silently threatening attitude, content with letting its blurred image be reflected in the mirror, the listener wide-eyed and open-eared to understand what’s going on. There’s no attempt to our security, though, the music mostly belonging to the “discomfort zone” where the instrumental lexicon privileges morphologies previously unheard of, totally excluding rosiness in favour of jangling impingements and unquiet modifications of the surrounding reality. The whole remaining on the “subdued” side for large chunks of the album, which only towards the conclusion of the title track brings out a quantity of repressed nervousness, the kind of “boiling inside” rage that ill-minded individuals disguise with affected smiles and fake goodness while intent in unsettling the life of someone perceived as superior to them. Lehn and Blondy seem to sonically portray exactly that feeling at the end, their conversation finally erupting in harsh contrasts and noisier parallelisms, enough to let us declare this CD as the most “concrete” – at least partially – in the already significant history of Simon Reynell’s imprint. Fascinating stuff, like in all the other chapters.
BLUE COLLAR – Lovely Hazel (Public Eyesore)
The trio of Nate Wooley (trumpet, flugelhorn, voice) Steve Swell (trombone, voice) and Tatsuya Nakatani (percussion) plays with perennial ardour in a bang-for-the-buck cycle of unpretentious trajectories, where nervous irony and marginal seriousness imperceptibly depict a multiform structure of moving particles in peculiar rituals. In the nine tracks of “Lovely Hazel” we’re treated to new shapes of controlled freedom whose refreshing abstraction enhances both the musicians’ performance and our competence in interpretating their short stories of disembodied formulae. Always instant composers, never sheer noise makers, these men provide lots of good sounding impulses to the utopian desire we secretly grow within us when thinking to subvert the world order while playing an instrument; unfortunately, it’s usually much easier running towards the opposite side, wrapped in total numbness.
F.S. BLUMM / LUCA FADDA – F.S. Blumm meets Luca Fadda (Ahornfelder)
Multi-instrumentalist Blumm and trumpeter Fadda recorded this long-distance artefact utilizing both regular and toy instruments for what the liners define as “light-hearted tunes”. Intermittently, the patterns and themes constituting the backbone of the pieces generate a bit of head-scratching. Taken as compositional ideas they don’t amount to an awful lot, yet manage to elicit some measure of cloudy tranquillity. The two longest tracks are built upon repetitive bass vamps and processed trumpet tones, which is a good thing when we deal with proper minimalism; here, the trick becomes a little worn out at the end. The deployment of toys as an orchestration tool is not really a new discovery, either. What’s appreciable instead is the non-invasive approach that the artists propose, their treatments of the basic materials as gently introverted as one might hope for. This music, at the same time unrealistic and meticulous, compares to watching an old photo album – a smile every once in a while, a tad of amazement when looking at how our physical features have changed. Then we close the book and it’s back to everyday life; and if nostalgia prevails, that’s a bad sign for your current frame of mind. Nice-sounding, innocent games for thoughtful children, it doesn’t go farther than this. Sipped at the right moment, it’s a pleasing listen anyway.
TORE HONORE BOE – Confessions of a poolboy (Humbug)
Bits and pieces that rape ears, extorting a complete re-evaluation of the concept of “sonic violence”, except for a short middle section that sounds like a Siberian wind as listened from Honolulu. Endless fragments of almost dadaist deconstruction, without an apparent aim if not a total speaker overload. Yet, “Confessions of a poolboy” works in its own way: taking all the spaces, leaving nothing to imagination and using irony when necessary – did I hear a mangled berimbau there, somewhere? – Boe takes his place at the market of Scandinavian noise-mongers, reinforcing the theory of attracting opposites – in this case, hellish haymakers fired by people living in the most silent places on the globe.
HERVE BOGHOSSIAN / STEPHANE RIVES / MATTHIEU SALADIN – Plateformes [(1.8) sec]
“High volume listening on speakers recommended”; that’s what is written on the cover, adorned by a cold-looking photo by Taylor Deupree. Indeed, “Plateformes” is one of those records where the collaboration of the house walls, reflecting and refracting the impressive throb of the adjacent frequencies, is mandatory. It’s all the more interesting that this music was captured live (Paris, 2005) as one would instead think of it as a pre-recorded installation soundtrack, its engrossing algid power as a catalyzing enhancement of the relationship between space and cerebral (in)activity. Another striking aspect of this piece, at least in many of its sections, is the stark contrast between the ominous hum of what I believe is Boghossian’s electric guitar and the biting hyper-acuteness of the winds (Rives’ soprano sax and Saladin’s amplified bass clarinet), a dichotomy that’s as simple as a black/white divergence but whose result is in effect an achromatic wave of textural manipulation. The most obvious reaction to this gradual penetration of electroacoustic rays could be a comparison with Eliane Radigue’s timestretching radiations; what starts as a piercing juxtaposition of highs is soon joined, then materially gulped, by a painkilling murmur enriched by almost visible oscillations and beatings whose rhythm is in constant change, like our heartbeat in relation to the intensity of an effort. The instrumental sources waste no time in finding an even-tempered balance, slightly pinched by insidious semi-distortions that are typical of narrow intervals, especially major and minor second. These small indentations of inertia introduce a progressive rise of extensive layerings of the three voices, which in the final ten minutes play hide-and-seek before finally settling down in apparently definitive calmness. Complete silence is required to enjoy the stirring consequences of “Plateformes”, for sure one of the very best releases of 2006.
HERVE BOGHOSSIAN / JOHN TILBURY / MARK WASTELL – Archi.Texture vol. 1 (Cathnor)
The concept behind this release is quite linear: three segments, about 20 minutes each, in which Hervé Boghossian altered via computer the sound of John Tilbury’s piano and Mark Wastell’s cello, first working on the single parts then merging the two tracks in a final virtual investigation of the resulting reciprocities. It’s an intriguing record who will displace many of those – like yours truly – who had thought about some sort of study in crepuscular silence. What’s immediately noticeable is instead the severe coldness of the whole, as the protagonists express themselves within opposite ranges: Tilbury never departing from a rumbling cascade of low-note arpeggios, Wastell sporting an impregnable defense that prevents any “sweet spot” from being individuated in a very harsh melange of squealing and hissing high frequencies. In both instances, Boghossian manages to chip off selected harmonics that keep hovering around the room even at very low volume, just as curious butterflies could remain fluttering near a high-tech incinerator; this choice of glimmering confinement within well defined limits of the audio spectrum seems to be Boghossian’s favourite (…only?) exploratory field throughout the CD. On a more vulgar level, Tilbury’s boiling rolls on the piano keyboard involuntarily recall, for a few moments, Rick Wright’s “Sisyphus” on Pink Floyd’s “Ummagumma” but, strangely enough, also elicit wobbling reverberations similar to Wastell’s tam tam’s in his “Vibra” albums, especially – again – at low listening level; incidentally, speakers are absolutely a must for this release. No headphones! In his solo section, Wastell’s cello depicts an X-rayed Tony Conrad surrounded by tear gas while fighting a silent guerilla of high-pitched unanswered questions. That said, the final track is obviously the most satisfactory on a sheer ear-pleasure level, the main reason being the acquired interiorization of the single elements, explicated through a hermetic system of contrasting waves and vibrations. Nothing truly groundbreaking here, but everything works fine for my taste.
ADAM BOHMAN & ROGER SMITH – Reality fandango (Emanem)
“Reality fandango” was digitally recorded in Smith’s kitchen and sees him playing guitar, while Bohman is active on prepared violin and objects. The CD booklet is enriched by Bohman’s collages and Elizabeth James’ writings, sort of a cross between cut’n'paste poetry and the description of the phenomena that the music could elicit in the listeners’ imagination. Coherently with the instrumentation, a frictional aura of disjointed acousticity pervades the improvisations, which may sound pretty harsh on a first approach but reveal billions of minute particulars that depict a story within the story – and then many other stories – all in the space of moments. The 35-minute “The first question” sees the duo perusing the highest range of notes and harmonics that their instruments allow to reach, metallic chips and zinging particles dropping like bird shit upon a rusty laminate of acid scraping, repeated creaking and disemboweled violin parts. Throughout the record, Bowman and Smith’s gawkish phraseology stamps a hastily handscribbled signature on a malleable concept of “harmony”, which is there but is not visible, and might even cause intellectual dysentery to many style-linked, lydian-upon-superlocrian “fans” of improvisation. In this music, you can picture tremoloing high-tension wires, malfunctioning trombones, crazed barbers slicing their customers’ heads with corroded razors, crows tripping on cyanide glue. But you won’t find a commonly defined “chord” to save your life. As ancient bluesmen used to sing, “come in my kitchen”.
BOKOR – The field (Dreamland)
This is one of the best releases in the series of Dreamland’s “mini records”. I could define Bokor’s dark sound as a perfect example of what post-industrial ambient can be, when the music is focused on exploring interesting frequencies instead of searching for the “scare” elements at any cost. “The field” grows slowly but constantly, perfectly capturing that desolated picture of silence and abandon typical of the instants following a total destruction of something. What I bear in my ears is the long reverb following the collapse of an old building: only dust and some volatile presence remain – the rest is all but dead.
ROSS BOLLETER – Secret Sandhills and satellites (Emanem)
If an ancient piano is like a grandpa narrating a whole life of experiences and lots of war stories, then a Ruined Piano (“…abandoned to all weathers and become a decaying box of unpredictable dongs, clicks and dedoomps…”) is a dying being whose body is giving to Eternity the secrets of an apparent incongrousness, which only after the end is finally understood to be a gathering of essential principles of harmony and resonance. Ross Bolleter is an authority on this kind of instruments: a member of WARPS (World Association for Ruined Piano Studies), he travels in search of such wrecked machines, improvising on the spot (“…a Ruined Piano should ideally be an object trouvé…”) so that we can easily define these tracks as “field recordings”: birds, environmental presences and Bolleter’s intense breathing are parts of the whole. The 28-minute title track – referring to a painting by Timmy Payungka Tjapangati, an artist from Papunya who was one of the founders of the Western Desert art movement – is a different kind of animal, as Anthony Cormican’s Pro Tools-based studio treatment transforms the plonks and the thuds in impressive dark vortexes of deep reverberation amidst noiseless areas of quiet uneasiness, in what’s maybe the most “acousmatic” piece ever released on an Emanem disc. The remaining segments contain different seeds of memories which somehow would like to be framed by the decomposing woods, and that can sound like a toy forgotten in an old house (“And then I saw the wind” comes to mind) or recall disrupted chorales mutating into hollow metal clusters. It’s a great collection, if one’s receptive enough to understand the spirit of this researcher. For many people this could be a tough test, but those who pass will be thankful for their persistence.
BONUS – Bonus (Root Strata)
Bonus are Jamie Potter and Scott Goodwin, working with repetitive looping structures alimented by a mass of dirty, harsh, acrid electric emissions seemingly obtained through guitars and derivates (feedback manipulation, controlled saturation, or maybe none of the above – no explanation whatsoever is given). Except for a short introduction, two minutes of a fat, deep drone which gets cut abruptly, the music uncoils with metallic spirals of uneasy yet spellbinding magnetism that could be described as “early Main through the instrumentation of a punk band”. It’s surely one of those “no headphone” albums that gain momentum through the gradual diffusion in a room, as the particular beating of adjacent frequencies and no-nonsense dissonant waves progressively entice our attention, which focuses on the strange, formless regularity of these convolutions rather than the little imperfections and extraneous noises heard every once in a while; in a word, substance wins over production tricks.
BOOTS BROWN – Boots Brown (Slottet)
Can an improvisation “supergroup” sound so refined and, in a way, subdued? Not only the answer is a sonorous “yes”, but Boots Brown sketch the first lines of a virtual project that could even attempt to bridge two separate worlds through a kind of music that summarizes the issues of a probing instrumental freedom and the narrative structures of the most engaging moments of ECM’s production (we’re talking 70s and early 80s here). This is especially evident in the third track “Gaucho Volcano”, where the quartet of Johan Berthling (double bass), Magnus Broo (trumpet), Mats Gustafsson (alto, tenor & slide saxophone, electronics) and David Stackenäs (acoustic guitar, low budget electronics) is joined by Tomas Hallonsten’s grieving Hammond organ to reproduce atmospheres that are not far away from Terje Rypdal’s seminal albums (circa “Descendre”), with an emphatically higher vitamin content as far as the generation of impromptu ideas is concerned. Yet even silence and composure are weapons against useless etiquette, and both Broo and Gustafsson demonstrate their ability to insert segments of pensiveness and – why not – humour throughout the seven tracks of the CD. “Black industrial greasy” finds Stackenäs’ delicate arpeggios and Berthling’s sober contrapuntal lines as the backbone of repeated changes of scenario, Broo alternating Davisian nightmares and muted trumpet-based observations, Gustafsson introducing penetrating overtones and multiphonic disturbances, Stackenäs again treating the strings as yet another metallic chipmunk protesting for hunger. The trumpeter concludes the whole with intelligent phrasing along this extravagant background, a revelatory example of the unconventionality of this ensemble, shown over 40 minutes of decidedly palatable, at times truly excellent untainted inventions.
THOMAS BORGMANN / PETER BROTZMANN / WILLIAM PARKER / RASHIED BAKR – Cooler suite (Grob)
Well, there’s not much that I can add to this music, literally speaking for itself. Just be thankful for that second-hand ferro cassette where these two improvisation were taped in absence of better means, as the muddy quality of the recording just adds to the visceral, bloody playing of these four greats. Borgmann and Brötzmann exchange the sound and the fury, starting with a chant or with some melodies that could stand alone – like hymns, in a way – approaching straight phrasing from a parallel road and coming to a blowout where everyone cries – including their own hearts. While Rashied Bakr is an incessant torrent of rhythmic suggestions and drives the quartet like there’s no tomorrow, I can’t avoid thinking William Parker is the most prominent voice here, also due to his “in front” place in the mix: you’d have to be clinically dead if his powerful lines, ripping chords and poignant instrumental clairvoyance failed to catch your throat and fill it with gasps.
ALEXEI BORISOV / JEFF SURAK – Ulitsa novatorov (The Locus of Assemblage)
Another 3 inch, 20-minute little present from this interesting Scottish label. This time we find two irreducible post-industrial creators, whose four pieces contain small and well mixed doses of research, ingenuity, irrational and logic. Borisov and Surak evolve their tracks through electronic pulsation and found sounds, giving the impression of being tuned to a somehow forgotten radio station (as an example check the first track, matter-of-factly named “Radioalmaata”). The guys disable any easy definition of what their music should sound like; even in the moments when you hear “those” electronics and “those” drones as rather familiar, you also get in touch with a sense of honesty which is pretty rare in most avantgarde scenarios today.
ALEXEI BORISOV / ANTON NIKKILÄ – Typical human beings (N & B Research Digest)
This music is claustrophobic and disturbing; its heavy atmosphere touches your nerves even only through its presence. A sense of menace without an explosion hovers around; the recited Russian texts sound like the madman’s vision from a hill of an urban environment that’s reaching its last stop. Sound and noise are sapiently linked, like if they came out of a giant, constantly out of tune broken radio. Guitars are skeletal and detuned, too; a bass riff accompanies darkish vocals in something resembling a damnation. Sometimes the jumble of frequencies is so thick, your woofers would like to say goodbye and go relaxing somewhere else. Fractured pulses, powerful mixing, it all gets more obscure as the minutes flow. A perfect isolationist soundtrack, it’s also a very interesting broadcast of compressed rage and frustration, with a little humor brought by the sparse use of muzak loops.
ALEXEI BORISOV / ANTON NIKKILÄ – Where are they now (N & B Research Digest)
Referring to a particular piece of the CD, the press release says “…through the track’s rejection of any smoothness and genre convention, it should be clear that the rest of the album needs to be listened with a full foreground attention or not at all”. Not that I had any doubt, as Borisov and Nikkilä are not known for treating ears with grease, and “Where are they now” just confirms the axiom. Picture a malformed sculpture of broken appliances, disobedient electronic instruments and war bulletins recited by a deadpan Russian voice from within the ozone hole. Not only attention is needed, but the whole cuts with a sharp blade through any indifference we could oppose, in the guise of easier listening or “I’ve-got-better-things-to-do” reactions. This is not even a “genre”, it’s something more related to text/sound composition with a punkish attitude, but without the idiocy of punk; it’s a way of presenting data that, taken singularly, may sound or appear insignificant, but fused in a single cauldron they become symptoms of an undecipherable uneasiness. Borisov compares his texts to “the automatic writing of the Surrealists”, yet the results heard in this CD made me rather think to a couple of anti-techno terrorists who take control of a commercial radio station and fuse all the jingle tapes and the payola hits into a magmatic mire of detached hate. I fully sympathize. Oh, and the “Metaphysics of Swing” track is wonderful; aaah, that cut-and-paste muzak and delirious rants…I just miss Coppertone, then it would be the ideal soundtrack for my day at the beach.
ALEXEI BORISOV / ANTON NIKKILÄ – Live at Belly (N & B Research Digest)
This absurdist recital occurred during an event organized by Finnish anti-war groups on the United Nations Day, in which Helsinki is typically pulsating with pro-peace manifestations. Yet there is no trace of that feeling in the 35 minutes of this download-only release by Borisov and Nikkilä, who start off procedures with high-class funky muzak that gets rendered unrecognizable straight away, until it turns into a mash-and-jumble mega-cluster, a veritable bionic hotchpotch. The whole set appears like a descent to hell, as the music’s violent character – more or less repressed – little by little distances the listener from whatever bears a resemblance to an ordinary conception of “serenity”. Triturated rhythms, corrupted styles and acrid textures are elements in which the Russian/Finnish pair swims without difficulty, and it’s just logical that the noise factor gradually becomes fundamental in the economy of the exhibition, developing into a next-to-unbearable chaos at the end. In parallel with a silent TV screen, this could almost represent a soundtrack for the transition from despair to schizophrenia. Very well made, as we expect from this hard-nosed, uncompromising duo.
CJ BOROSQUE + ROBERT M. / INSTAGON – Beautiful (Edgetone)
Even in the unprejudiced areas of improvisation there is the possibility of meeting music which sounds either sterilized or filthy. This disc definitely belongs to the latter grouping, but at the same time fully justifies its name since it encloses several merciless outbreaks of exhilarating raw energy. The Borosque/Robert M. couple performs on electronics and computer, while Instagon are a quartet of bass plus metal percussion, keyboard, guitar and “turbntable” (sic). Two of the tracks, the most raucous ones, were captured live at Norcal NoiseFest 2006; the third is a “quieter” piece whose intimidating temperament is enough to keep our hands up at all times. Underlying the whole is Borosque’s “fear of madness and fear of death”, both presumably detectable in the work. In fact, relatives and friends might take nuttiness for granted should one manifest pleasure from listening to this album; let me stress, though, that the motivating factors largely exceed the bad vibrations. I mean, there’s stuff here that will make Merzbow jealous. Check “The blackness of dark space spyder dances with wisdom”: an absolute carnage of distortion and extra-squealing high frequencies that sent this sufferer reaching for the volume knob – repeatedly – during his Discman session. Instead, the opening title track somehow recalls a configuration typical of Elliott Sharp’s Carbon in its incessant rhythmic pattern, only with more anarchy and less compositional effort. Excellent CD for those who want to discover new gradations in what otherwise would be the “same old noise”.
ALESSANDRO BOSETTI – Zona (Grob)
I’m greatly impressed by Alessandro Bosetti’s constantly growing interest in using saxophone parts not only as an interesting improvisational means but also as a keen tool for composing music that sounds fancied and totally concrete in the same sentence. The sax becomes a live wire through which enormous tensions are channelled; untouched eruptions of thought and fragmentary structures feed a continuous hunger for individual self-research. Perfectly at ease with extended techniques and with the utmost restraint, Bosetti coordinates his ideas with precise concentration: the four tracks here emanate an almost halogenous aura of seriousness. I warmly suggest you to listen to “Zona” with volume raised well up, so that every nuance and micro-detail is captured; the rest is all Bosetti and it’s enough to let me affirm this is a whiplash to the new music scene – a minor classic, yes.
ALESSANDRO BOSETTI – Il fiore della bocca (Rossbin)
The idea that aliments this project is working with people needing to reconstruct a broken language, as opposed to a good portion of contemporary music where the opposite – namely the deconstruction of a given language – is applied. Writing about a piece whose foundations derive from the voices and utterances of spastic and laryngotomized people (to whom the composer asked a description of what they were hearing while subjecting them to examples of electroacoustic music) is not exactly a walk in the park, but I won’t put my head under the sand while blaming personal delays (the CD was in fact released in 2006). The sounds contained by “Il fiore della bocca” are difficult to swallow, its silences all the more. It’s a work that, ideally, should make everybody think hard about the weight of words, or even of a single word, which for a speech-impaired being can be compared to completing a marathon. Alessandro Bosetti, one of the (very) rare Italian artists who look into themselves rather than for ideas to steal, defines this a “text-sound composition” and it looks to me that he may be right after all. The voices were utilized both in their nude appearance – breath overtones, unintelligible snippets, contorted syllables and superimposed salivations appearing amidst a terrifying quietness, only broken by the ticking of a clock or, in other occasions, by the stomach-churning cries by other unfortunates coming from another room – or cut, pasted and juxtaposed (via computer, one surmises) to generate arrhythmic crescendos, peculiarly swaying background choirs over which one or more “soloists” elaborate concepts, laugh or sing in their own special way, and veritable counterpoints where the differences between unorthodox timbres almost make us forget the core of the matter, namely who the real protagonists of the album are. This is an effort that no one can afford to approach light-heartedly, and will certainly result quite disturbing for non-superficial listeners. We deal with something serious, and Bosetti pulled no punches in showing the cruel reality hiding behind the great illusion of our existence while using the musical qualities of these deficits. At the end of the day, “Il fiore della bocca” is an act of love, probably the best way to homage these souls with a moment in the spotlight (although I doubt that some of them are aware of it and, obviously, a record like this doesn’t guarantee that much of a wide exposure) during a life that usually starts bad and ends worse. After reading a few comments around the web, which brought on the potential chance of exploitation of people not in possession of their full faculties and the morbid curiosity that such a release could attract (Reynols-style), I have two responses. First, I’m not so sure that the hundreds of associations and leagues hypothetically devoted to publicize this segment of humanity are doing a better job than Bosetti did in about 48 minutes comprising several touching, if controversial moments. Second, the comparison with Reynols’ Miguel Tomasin’s Down syndrome applied to art is not acceptable: here, we’re in presence of an austere compositional method dictated by severe, crucial issues, while I’ve always seen more of a folklorist overhype in the Argentine ensemble’s glorification. The music was not exceptional. For sure, “Il fiore della bocca” is not in competition with that; a comparison with Jason Lescalleet’s “The Pilgrim” – not in terms of sound, rather matching the tangibility of different kinds of suffering – is probably more useful.
ALESSANDRO BOSETTI – Her name (Crouton)
A surprise awaits those who link Alessandro Bosetti exclusively to air currents fizzling in a saxophone. “Her name” is in fact a collection of seven tracks in which the Germany-based Milanese artist exploits the voices of the many people met during his tours, adapting them to the necessities of computer manipulation in addition to the timbral palette used, which includes sax, guitars, electric and acoustic piano, harmonium, electric organ, electronics, shortwave and “conversations”. Some of you could instinctively back off this juxtaposition of distorted vowels, stuttering syllables and poly-idiomatic expressions in lullaby sauce. But the sonic architecture that lies under this vocal pot pourri is functional to the movement of the parts – which, for their “conversational” origin, are not really easy to use for creative means. The outcome is a sort of post-modern “worldloungefolk” music that, somehow, I connected to Roberto Musci and Giovanni Venosta’s early releases (especially in “Mask” and “It’s me”) and, above all, with René Lussier’s “Le tresor de la langue”, but that manages to insert a few funny games into a pretty coherent structure that rewards listeners unwilling to be bounced back by an only apparent chaos and by clear – if probably involuntary – references to other people’s work. Nothing really new under the sun, then (except perhaps for the delicious “stupid hook ‘n’ shortwave” of the aptly titled “Idiot”, where even the singers can’t contain themselves from giggling for the absurdity of the situation). But nice enough for this reviewer.
ALESSANDRO BOSETTI / MICHEL DONEDA / BHOB RAINEY – Placés dans l’air (Potlatch)
Three men on soprano sax, exploring the space in a large room, expelling what’s left in them of uneasiness, bad thoughts and sadness to look instead for a more serene state of mind; but, without forgetting the strangeness of air blowing without a note through the instrument or some alternative technique transforming a reed in a percussive source. Three sax masters, yes – but they have completely left behind this status to know how sometimes a breath of life means more than complex phrasing. And what a beautiful feeling when finally the long, almost infinite notes coming out of six lungs through those saxes look for one another, searching for an unison, observing the other’s flight and going parallel to that – an airy formation, three independent personalities, never indulgent, always intelligent.
HEDDY BOUBAKER – Lack of conversation (Creative Sources)
“A print of spacial breath into organic wet cavities” is one of the definitions of this work, and it’s a good one; but there is much more to savor here, as “Lack of conversation” is an excellent solo saxophone excursion in which the relationships between fluid and pneumatic emissions of the human body interacting with a reed instrument yield results that go further than usual in this kind of art. In Boubaker’s playing – which, it must be said, was magnificently recorded for the occasion – the metal parts of his “machine” are more resonating devices than sheer components of an instrument (he also uses cans for that scope). Most tracks contain an abundance of euphonious intelligibility; we’re talking more or less of what Arnold Schönberg had predicted in his “Harmonielehre”, namely variations of the consistence of the harmonics contained by the “object”, which in this case includes human apparata. In easier terms, Boubaker sounds like a host of seals, like water bouncing in a pan left in the sink, like the consequences of ashtma – listen to his fat multiphonics and then tell me – or even like the heavy breath of a woman about to deliver. And then again, many more resemblances. He’s a one-of-a-kind virtuoso, one of the best sax dissectors I’ve had the luck to meet recently. This album represents a ticket to several enticing moments of naked instrumental truth and comes absolutely recommended, like all of Creative Sources’ best releases – that means the large part of the catalog.
BOURNE / DAVIS / KANE – Lost something (Edition)
In recent times the protagonist of a great piano duo, “Dismantling the waterfall” with Edition’s chief Dave Stapleton, Matthew Bourne is here in company of drummer and percussionist Steven Davis and bassist Dave Kane, both oddly featured as composers in the album, which Bourne – probably the most evident voice – is not. “Lost something” is fairly idiosyncratic indeed, alternating original material with covers of tunes by Annette Peacock, Carla Bley and John Surman, plus an unsettling version of Thelonious Monk’s “Round midnight” including stuttering babies and hysteric screaming. The atmospheric conditions seem to vary from a piece to the next: one moment we get dissonance a go-go, contrapuntal fusillades and cascades of uncontrollable notes, only to be subsequently treated with smoother amalgamations of characteristic jazz elements in the ensuing track. The record is a fascinating attempt to crack some rules of probability in a genre that’s progressively approaching clinical death, and just because of cultivated youngsters such as this trio’s members one can still look forward to hearing stuff fresher than the umpteenth revisiting of “Autumn leaves”. The unquestionably elevated technical level of the concerned parties doesn’t hurt in placing this music halfway through the reverence towards tradition and the will of subverting certainties without being automatically world-shattering. Entertaining enough for a series of dutiful listens, even though not a chef d’oeuvre.
BOX DESERTER – Two revolutions (Edgetone)
An indefinable record, this one. Six instrumentalists (Hassan Abdur-Razzaq, Michael Carey, Marko Novachcoff, Joel Peterson, Kurt Prisbe, Steven Baker) on reeds, Laotian mouth organ, double bass and drums were conducted by pianist Thollem McDonas in two long “semi-structured improvisations” recorded at the Bohemian National Home in Detroit. The performances are totally instrumental, except for a short segment recited by Brad Duncan about Portuguese colonization of Africa. After listening thrice to the CD I still haven’t made up my mind for a definitive judgement. The alternance of extremely calm, almost silent moments and fully eruptive sections – not too many, indeed – is the main feature of the disc. Overall, it’s a relaxing affair which can be enjoyed as a rather coherent whole, without the need of looking for emerging voices or stand-out timbres. The inspiration behind the improvisational concept, it says in the press release, might be found in a meeting point of Stravinsky, Mingus and Oliveros, yet one struggles to associate what’s played to a name or a style. We could think to a jazz septet trying to push boundaries a little bit, exploring the no man’s land between chamber music and regulated chaos; indeed, those places seem to have been visited already, but this is meant as a “complimentary familiarity”. A good, if not exceptional album, demanding careful attention to catch all its features yet, at the same time, useful as a stimulating “presence” if you’re not in seriously inquisitive mood.
BOBBY BRADFORD – Love’s dream (Emanem)
This is jazz as it should really be, ladies and gentlemen. Leading a great quartet with Trevor Watts, Kent Carter and John Stevens, Bobby Bradford’s beautiful cornet fluctuates in the air while singing lots of flowing melodies, constantly jumping borders between “free” and “thematic” approaches. The plurality of thoughts and the radiant undercurrents coming out of this much deserved reissue (of 1974/76 Emanem vinyls) bring us back to a time where art and “first impulse” acts had their rewards, as opposed to today’s “corporate jazz” careerism. Watts fiercely blows his lips off throughout, his alto and soprano voices well beyond the trite “body and soul” definition. Carter and Stevens, more than a rhythm section, resemble a couple of lamp-carrying road openers showing the way to the colleagues who will have to build from there. The high point is a memorable dialogue between Bradford and Watts in a piece called “She (Woman)” – quintessential counterpoint from the heart.
PAUL BRADLEY – All that was (Twenty Hertz)
Look no further than this meaningful record when choosing your favourite “drone statics” by talents risen from virtual obscurity. With “All that was”, Paul Bradley not only establishes himself as the best trance-inducing composer currently at work but I strongly believe he’s the most appropriate heir to the mantle of low-frequency main artist that used to belong to Lustmord in his beautiful (…and gone by now…) past times. This album hoists that big heavy stone that closes access to your hidden soul cavities, never exacerbating the sense of fear, instead projecting an apparent desperation to a quest for sub-lunar ways to escape the lethal blows of life’s many atrocious mediocrities. Paul’s wonderfully unpredictable sounds establish a liaison with your strained nerves, making your whole system work much better. It’s a collection of stratospheric loops indicating the only available path to a much needed sprinkle of emotional rain.
PAUL BRADLEY – Droneworks no.1 (Twenty Hertz)
Even if the first “Dronework” in this (hopefully long) series lasts less than 20 minutes, I warmly suggest the use of “repeat” button to enjoy hours of pure pleasure. By now I don’t need to recommend you Paul Bradley anymore – just read my other reviews and visit his website – but I still have to talk about his music’s almost scary depth. This particular record is a perfect example of how a dying genre like dark/ambient/drone could be revitalized with the right touch of magic by someone who can lift you mid-air with just a low vibration spiralling around. These sounds will have you concentrated yet relaxed almost to the point of abandon, while everything negative has flown out of your body. It’s a lesson in economy to dozens of self-believing sacerdotal loopers.
PAUL BRADLEY – Sepulchral (Twenty Hertz)
Paul Bradley can turn a patchy day in an endless slow flow. If he hadn’t told us, I don’t think we would detect a guitar as the single source for this soul-seismic wash of heart opening music. Paul’s customary stratiform frequency design yields strange resonances, harmonic shifts and stills, clouds of dark incantations; a few droning splashes in a masterful architecture of treatments modify our sense of rectilinearity, transforming what we perceive as inanimate entities into nameless pluralities of well seasoned obfuscation. Demanding a total polishing of our ears to be fully enjoyed, “Sepulchral” is made of deliquescent matter and shows impressive routes to a cosy mental shelter; getting out of passiveness won’t be an easy task after you play it.
PAUL BRADLEY – Anamnesis (Twenty Hertz)
When I listen to Paul Bradley’s drifting sound spheres I’m always sure there will be no flirtatious convenience to entice listeners, as all his drone-based compositions are made of floating intensity and recurring proportionalities which transform the act of aural observation in a list of pure pleasures. The three tracks in “Anamnesis” move slowly as usual, giving their progression a regular spin that’s just perfectly clear to the ears; the frequencies automatically find their own place around the body, giving us the illusion of being swimming in a crystal river where resonance and space maintain dual control over the parallel dimension we’re transported in since the very beginning. The best overall piece here is “Irenic”, a really radiant stratification of subterranean essences whose uncoiling evolution forces me to stop even the slightest movement to better pick up the vibrational harmony of this pragmatic abstraction.
PAUL BRADLEY – Sophia drifts (Mystery Sea)
Existing only in the time span of a long breath, this music by Paul Bradley comes from nowhere and unveils itself to an astonished auditory, finally directed to the fringes of environmental modification. Its power of vibration is revealed by certain frequencies used by Paul, drones so impressively forceful that your speakers risk being saturated by their dominion. By now one the leading forces of static music in recent years, Bradley works with a methodology that’s logical yet absolutely natural, its effects on the psyche sometimes captivating, more often blood-icing in their embodiment of a remorseless compulsion towards the darkest corners of mind suspension. Resulting both deeply emotional and infectiously hypnotizing, “Sophia drifts” is a fine specimen of Paul Bradley’s capabilities and one of the best Mystery Sea releases.
PAUL BRADLEY – Liquid sunset (Twenty Hertz)
“Liquid sunset” is definitely a great album in Paul Bradley’s discography, once again highlighting this composer’s incredibly quick ascension to the very top of my personal list in the ever-too-densely populated area of electronic dronescaping. As usual, Paul does not reveal his sources and immediately starts a slow wave dance where real and imaginary harmonic shifts and constantly changing realities morph into perennially altered states, contraptions and expansions succeeding in a natural-sounding blur of sensual astonishment. As the sinuous spirals of shimmering wonders find their way around our freedom of movement, one can’t help but appreciate Bradley’s use of accurate yet extremely moderate programming; his creations become almost tangible, sort of “solid vapours” in absence of gratuitous vacuity. Bells and whistles don’t belong in this majestic sparkler’s sound world, as Paul is DEEP – and many people should learn from him.
PAUL BRADLEY – Memorias extranjeras (Alluvial)
An interesting change of direction from Bradley, whose drifting drones find here a counterpoint in a series of field recordings he made in Spain. The sounds were mostly captured during a street celebration by the community of Valencia; we experience a compelling mix of transcendental and concrete, where the association between the composer’s helical glissandos and hard-hitting inspections of the low-frequency domain with voices from the road, rhythmic slogans corroborated by drums and police sirens howling in the background becomes at times very involving from an emotional standpoint. Bradley’s bravura resides in his capability of finding a way for the reality to hide in a niche of unconscious memory, so that one feels like having participated to the event without actually having been there. The contrast between the oneiric submersion and the edgy involuntary orchestration generated by the human element works extremely well throughout the album, establishing a sensation of whispered intrigue that highlights this artist’s soundscaping cleverness.
PAUL BRADLEY – Sketches from dust (Twenty Hertz)
I vividly recall that one of my first encounters with music based on slowly drifting, alluring synthetic waves was Kit Watkins’ double whammy “Thought tones 1+2″, which to this day I consider a most enjoyable listen in that sense. Somehow, certain sections of “Sketches from dust” brought those albums back in my mind, but Paul Bradley has well surpassed that intensity by now. Not only he’s quickly become a reference name in this field, Bradley has already travelled several “extracorporeal” paths with several essential releases that, in their economy of means, have demonstrated an integrity level that fascinates even an old grumbler like this writer. This disc is yet another fine chapter in the Englishman’s oeuvre, its fading lights and shifting unstable harmonics the cradle for a beneficial infinite sensual nirvana. The slow dance of the frequencies is beautiful to contemplate, as the deep resonance and indecipherable mystery of these currents throw us into a sense of standstill, much appreciated in these days of growing tension, social danger and even climatic menace for the poor, deluded insects that we, the so-called sentient beings, indeed are; the bell-like, low piano notes heard in the final section sing a requiem to human cheapness. One can read and study throughout its life and pretend to be fulfilled; but one of these superb drones should be enough to teach the most important thing, the one that’s never learnt, namely to speak no more.
PAUL BRADLEY – Chroma (Twenty Hertz)
Sometimes it’s good to know that the music we’re going to listen to won’t surprise us, especially when sure that it will enable our nerves to lighten up the tension and our body to fluctuate in crossing currents of stimulating waves and heartrending drones. “Chroma” continues to report about Paul Bradley’s voyage through the spheres of electric/electronic prayer; no indications are given about the instrumentation – as always with this soundscaper – but I’m willing to guess that a dose of bowed strings is in there. The seven movements are among the best things that I heard from the English composer, symbols of an otherwordly contemplation whose intense radiance puts our vital functions in standby mode, as we’re left suspended in amazement and stirring emotion. The consecutive wonders of the third and fourth parts are a metaphorical representation of the perfection and the self-centering to which human beings should ideally aspire to; then it’s all the more annoying that, once we’re brought back to senses after the record’s over, we must start again from square one, dealing with delusional individuals and overboard physical specimens whose presence is nothing but disturbing and debilitating.
PAUL BRADLEY – Somatic (Con-V)
This is one of those sonic sculptors whom I’ve always felt as totally honest even if he moves in a musical jungle where getting trapped by the quicksand of banality is fairly easy. To have an idea of Paul’s efforts to avoid such deplorable methods (which usually go “buy me the latest synthesizer, change a wave shape in the 01 preset, supplement with heavy reverberation, burn 100 CDRs and sell them”), just think that I realized about the exclusive use of guitars in his first records only after the man himself told me. They were more or less unidentifiable to my ears, the ones of a guitarist…That should tell a lot (OK, who whispered “about you”?). In recent times, Bradley has added field recordings and different sources to the music yet the beauty of these presentations remains intact, “Somatic” fully reinforcing the theory. The basis for this long track, roughly divided into three movements, are environmental elements from Spain and Turkey, voice, other instruments and various manipulated objects. Bradley processed the main origins fusing the results in his customary brew of resonant drones and entrancing aural depictions, this time reinforced and complemented by those “extraneous” interferences from the real life that do nothing but add a touch of vividness to an already beguiling soundscape. Particular relevance must be attributed to the third and final section where, from a mournful female chant, a gorgeous state of stupor based on a harmonically suspended chord takes shape to wrap our crumbling security in the cocoon of an apparent comfortableness, which fizzles out as soon as the record’s over. One of the very best releases in this English artist’s prolific career.
PAUL BRADLEY – Searching for the way (The Locus Of)
This gentleman couldn’t release bad records if we paid him. His new contribution to The Locus Of is a serene meditation for stratified cirri of static sounds, in all probability derived by heavily processed guitars (the man is always ready to surprise me, though). A whole slide show of oneiric atmospheres, halfway through conscious modulations between clustery dissonance and gradual openings towards constantly expanding galaxies typical of the best space music, if this definition still carries some weight. We’re left suspended mid-air ever since the very first moments of the track, and never brought down until the end; the last few minutes are instead used by the composer to subtract certain frequencies to the wall of stringed amorphousness, so that the aural shapes get beautifully similar to the engrossing droning of Andrew Chalk and Mirror, that place where the word “harmony” assumes the most important of meanings. There’s not much more to be said, besides inviting you to add this little pearl to your personal Bradley necklace.
PAUL BRADLEY – Mas memorias extranjeras (Alluvial)
Presenting the second version of an album released about a year before would seem to be a wrong artistic choice. Furthermore, to add mystery to the puzzle, the first edition of “Mas memorias extranjeras” came out with the same cover of its predecessor, a move that could have been losing from a commercial point of view (I myself had thought about an error after opening the promo packet, and from what’s found on the label’s website the sleeve is now different – well done). Then you listen to the music, and – voila – this is one of the best Bradley records of the last years, in my opinion better than the previous episode. As it happened there, PB meshed his trademark dissonant-yet-caressing drones with location sources captured in the Valencia area (Spain). The difference lies in a more organic amalgam of the components: this time, voices and noises from the streets were somehow treated differently by the composer, who processed them in a way that almost results as ghostly, definitely incorporeal (except maybe the final section, where a marching band appears amidst the local clamour). The feel of mental absence, of suspension of the physical functions, is here rather evident. It all amounts to an outing that lovers of both drone-based soundscapes and static electronica-cum-field recordings should not leave unattended. Paul Bradley is one of the few artists in this zone who managed to create a personal style, soberness and introspection at the basis of the sense of achievement that his releases consistently guarantee.
PAUL BRADLEY – Consumed (Twenty Hertz)
Always a delight receiving reports by Mr. Bradley, who over the years has been doing everything in his authority to contrast my pessimistic views about the growing ineptitude of the mass of droning amateurs affecting the world. The core of the matter is that we’re not dealing with a dabbler but a serious composer, his choice of tinges and configurations – as shapeless as the latter may be – reflected into some of the most spellbinding electronic works of the last decade. At this particular juncture, we have two versions of the same idea: “Consumed” is in fact a double disc (DVDr/CDr), so that one can decide if exclusively benefit from the music or associating it to a pictorial content. Speaking of which, the images are as intangible as the related sonic matter, a series of blurred saturated colours with a few flashing lights contributing to the state of downright trance that wraps the watcher only moments after the start. Says Bradley: “the origin of the sounds and the concept behind creating them is ultimately unimportant for the listeners (…) who will create their own emotional responses”. Exactly: while the sheer existence of those peaceful radiations – whose slightly modified stillness is a joy to the ears – is sufficient to file “Consumed” as an outstanding release per se, the practice of remaining stuck to our seat in stunned contemplation, looking transfixed at the screen as the vibrational currents flow, is perhaps preferable. The man doesn’t know how to shoot a blank indeed.
PAUL BRADLEY / CRIA CUERVOS – Moraines (Twenty Hertz)
I don’t know if “Moraines” was originally conceived as a soundtrack but most certainly sounds like one. Bradley and Cria Cuervos assembled their deep-frequency based subterranean hums – once in a while slightly modified by the appearance of more biological sounds – like if they needed some sort of audio documentary for an installation (or an aquarium; good comparisons could be found with Michel Redolfi’s and Vidna Obmana/Hybryds’ past work in that area, as sounds of water are well in evidence in the most relaxing segments). The music moves very gradually, almost afraid of waking us up from a state of torpor; blurred pictures of peculiar forms of life slide in front of us without interruption, at times reinforced with resounding low vibrations. Not groundbreaking, but well worth a careful listen, this is an accomplished ambient coalescence.
PAUL BRADLEY / COLIN POTTER – Confluence (Twenty Hertz)
After listening to their “Droneworks” I was pretty sure that Paul Bradley and Colin Potter would have knocked me down with some serious low-register electro cooperation; naturally, the three movements of “Confluence” confirm that I was expecting the right thing. The disc starts with crossing ascending/descending slow notes establishing a sort of non-secure feeling, to which one immediately gets used and cannot renounce at the end. The second track is a masterful drone exploration that’s probably able to heal several of the unspecified nerve diseases characterizing everyday’s life. Finally, to understand the capturing magnitude of “Confluence 3″ I just had to look at my wife, abruptly falling into a torpor/REM state while reading; extreme spacial rumblings and reverberations seemingly out of unknown caverns, slightly bathed in strange interferences, accompany your thoughts for ten minutes of complete existential immobility.
ALBERTO BRAIDA / WILBERT DE JOODE – Reg Erg (Red Toucan)
Braida is a pianist from Milan who has played with a who’s who of international new music – Wadada Leo Smith, Peter Kowald, Wolfgang Fuchs, Alessandro Bosetti, you name them. De Joode is a Dutch bassist defined by his website as “a veritable research scientist of bass pizzicato and bowing techniques”. Surprisingly, this CD represents your reviewer’s first meeting with both artists’ expression. I found the music essentially elegant, at times even crepuscular, with enough doses of personal insights amidst a few influences that are not exactly marked in red. Apart from “Wadi” which lasts about 13 minutes (never boring, we should say), the tracks are mostly on the short side – which is a plus in my opinion: that way, the exposition of one or more concepts gets framed in a restricted time span, which usually makes for concise, incisive statements. Although there are several instances in which many notes are played, with or without the help of extended techniques, this duo never transcends the limits of good taste; petulant chatter this ain’t. No provisional remedies, only firm gestures; Braida and De Joode know what they’re doing, their experience attributing the material a “composed” quality that increases the pleasure of appreciation. Hospitable improvisations that don’t ask for our patience more than the strict necessary, worthy of consideration under any point of view. A nice album.
GAIL BRAND / MORGAN GUBERMAN – Ballgames & crazy (Emanem)
While my first meeting with Brand was the excellent Lunge CD on this same label (see review), “Ballgames & crazy” introduces me for the very first time to the multi-talented Guberman, whose kind of vocal impersonations stroke me at first listen. First of all, this duo’s funny; the complete control of trombone’s features by Gail is totally absorbing, to the point I couldn’t hold smiles listening to her animate conversations with Morgan over a thousand matters. Music that’s very well digestible even if acutely discursive, showing improvisation under deforming lenses with results that just surpass the “regular” expected canons. Accepting filth and candour in their self-created lingo, Brand and Guberman wash any discrimination away with a cloudburst of fresh and lively “natural” virtuosity; their clutch on your humour will be strong.
GAIL BRAND / TIM PERKIS / GINO ROBAIR / JOHN SHIURBA / MATTHEW SPERRY – Supermodel Supermodel (Emanem)
This set of electroacoustic improvisations is dedicated to the late Matthew Sperry, who died in 2003 after being hit by a truck while on his bycicle. Sperry’s work on double bass is as important as the other four voices in this lively quintet, where he and Brand (trombone), Perkis (laptop), Robair (assorted percussion and objects, horns) and Shiurba (electric guitar) act as a group of difficult kids conspiring against school teachers and – thanks to their well evident bright-mindedness – get them crazy with cruelly studied jokes masked by false serious intentions and poker-faced bogus concentration. Following the canon of the album title, all the tracks are baptized with a famous model’s name repeated twice – “Naomi Naomi”, “Twiggy Twiggy” and so on. I’m quite sure, though, that if ever Cindy Crawford or Elle Mc Pherson give this album a try, they will rather look like Marty Feldman right after. Volatile, fantasy-full, concrete yet uncatchable (and, for someone whose ears are still full of easy-melody wax, probably undesirable), this music succeeds in what Gino Robair auspicates in the liner notes, namely getting to the loved point “where it’s difficult to tell which instrument is playing at any given time”.
ANDREAS BRANDAL – This is not for you (Eh?)
A mesmerizing record – its composer unknown to yours truly – characterized by a multiform merging of electronic emissions, various percussions, regular instruments and objects, possibly improved by a minor degree of treated field recordings (not sure about that, though). Eerie astral moods nonetheless convey a somewhat sheltering feeling – can you spell protection? – with a few surprises scattered here and there. Throbbing low frequencies proliferate, the abstractness of the material ever present – but don’t ask me for similarities, because I can’t find any. All of a sudden, an acoustic guitar appears in “Sleep miracle”, its arpeggio furnishing an otherwise nearly robotic segment with a bucolic stroke. Compositional sagacity is at work, everything sounding carefully chosen, weighed and assembled. At first one almost doesn’t notice that the music is going, situating these sounds in the back of the mind while doing something else. As soon as focus is given, we’re captured and positively charmed, the rest rightly fitting in the overall design: as I’m writing, the remote sound of the bell tower from the adjacent town – a distinctive occurrence in this area – is properly amalgamating, as the sun goes down, with a small candlelit wonder of a piece named “Abreg Ad Habra”. “The mirror stage” is another gorgeous experience, based as it is on resonances of rubbed glass amidst overhanging counterpoints. There’s some magic in this CD, what’s needed is the right mental pattern. Very good things indeed.
MARTIN BRANDLMAYR / WERNER DAFELDECKER / STEFAN NEMETH / MARTIN SIEWERT – Die instabilitat der symmetrie (Grob)
Sometimes improvisation preclude listeners from a complete comprehension of the music, so that quite often one is sceptic before giving a piece another try. This quartet, working with few combined timbral elements, piles little quantities of loaded sounds in favour of long moments at low volume, progressively building interesting flares of subterranean energy. At first, instruments resemble persons new to each other – eyes barely crossing, a faint smile, a few glances. As the minutes flow the conversation gets started and the respective expertises take turn in expanding the communication. Even without a “gregariousness” among the musicians, everything sounds pretty natural and mostly ear-pleasing, for this is a release that doesn’t gravitate around trends or genres but it’s just a gathering of well exposed lumps of clear-cut, high grade permutations of vibrating cells.
BRASSUM – Live (pfMENTUM)
Does someone remember Bill Frisell’s music circa “Rambler”, way before it became a truck driver’s wet dream? Well, Brassum sound like a cross of that – minus Frisell – and Frank Zappa’s recently rediscovered “Petite Wazoo”; but there is so much more. A quartet led by tuba player Mark Weaver, featuring Dan Clucas on cornet, Michael Vlatkovitch on trombone and Harris Eisenstadt on drums, this band is a peculiar assemblage of theatrical method and half-ironic, half-dramatic lyricism. The seven compositions, all penned by Weaver, show an almost painful progression towards the core of a music which accepts no sticker and moves according to contrapuntal laws gathering funeral marching and jazz structuralism, all the way through dozens of impulsive sketches and memorable themes. Two of the pieces are indeed trios; in one of them (“Brown blue”) Clucas delivers a gorgeous cornet solo. The leader’s bass lines are cleverly intelligible, the proper skeleton of a sound body that walks and runs without any stumbling. Vlatkovitch and Eisenstadt play with the same attitude of a couple of conservatory-trained street jugglers, adding a touch of beautifully restrained freedom to the whole. The musicians’ tightness makes this release sound like a studio album, as these guys tend to cohesion rather than spread away from a center. It feels just right.
ANTHONY BRAXTON & MILO FINE – Shadow company (Emanem)
Performed in real time on a variety of saxophones and clarinets plus drums and piano, “Shadow company” is a beautiful representation of these two artists’ corroborating playing as captured in 2004. Heated exchanges between wind instruments alternate moment of intense yet comfortless freedom and lyrical obedience to polyvalent schemes just waiting to be disintegrated by the burning breath of the musicians. A proper use of space and silence manages to capture the most authentic essence of an attentive reciprocal listening that’s almost visible during a vast portion of the record. I’m left quite amazed by the brilliance of Fine’s piano playing, which mixes digital monstrosities and accurate harmonic choices all in the space of fractions of seconds. While Braxton’s impulsive opinionatedness is also his greatest gift, his immaculate virtuoso insights will never be enough appreciated, even if a large amount of new music’s literacy owes something to him.
ANTHONY BRAXTON / JOE FONDA – Duets 1995 (Clean Feed)
This album was originally released by Konnex, one of those unsung milestones that necessitate of a reissue in order for people outside the experts’ circle to dip their toe in something that is described – often, and very superficially – as difficult, if not plain hostile. I’m referring to Anthony Braxton’s music, one of the most important expressions of advanced composition and off-commonplace reed playing of the last century, which jazz purists classify as “too cerebral”. I remember, a while back, a review of a Leo CD in which the poor writer misjudged Braxton’s quarter-tone dexterity and unyoked improvisational acumen as “errors” in the interpretation of some standard, causing an amused email reaction by Feigin himself who reportedly was “roaring with laughter” upon reading that nonsense. In these duets, in which the saxophonist plays C melody and alto sax, contrabass and B flat clarinets, bassist Joe Fonda – himself a stalwart of intelligent jazz – lends his dazzling technique, both with arco and bare fingers, the couple generating music that features everything at the right place in the right moment. The record is opened and closed by two homages to tradition, “All of you” and “Autumn in New York”; I dare you to find more atypical approximations and tasteful deviations from the classic rendition of such well-known pieces, all the while without lacking an ounce of respect for the originals. But, as told before, this could be a good entrance door for “Braxton beginners”; if one looks for more dramatic absences of compromise, “Composition 168+147” will do the job, Braxton’s unpredictable flutters, superb dissonant lyricism and forward-looking open mindedness once again making the difference. Not between himself and other players, but among prepared and unprepared audiences.
BREKEKEKEXKOAXKOAX – We used to be such good friends (Hushroom)
This impossibly named collective – founded in 1996 – recognizes its leader in Josh Ronsen, a Texas-based sound and mail artist who also happens to be an active force in the outflow of unadulterated music and writing (he publishes an online webzine, Monk Mink Pink Punk, and an email newsletter, Austinnitus). The record contains about 73 minutes of music divided in four tracks. “Haifa Hi-Fi” features Ronsen on electric guitar and clarinet, Jacob Green on oboe, organ, “misc instr” and electronics, Glen Nuckolls on acoustic guitar, banjo and violin and Genevieve Walsh on flute and snare drum. It’s pure improvisation, that which many are convinced to be playing but don’t even get close: approximate shapes, detuned strings and unpretentious approaches to a collective imagination that lasts the space of a moment allow the music to fluctuate in search of a definition that never materializes. The four parties look for critical tresholds and hidden places, from which they seem to observe their reciprocal self-response to the complete lack of a so-called “style”. Moments exist when the creature tries to spread the wings and learn to fly without success, due to an undescribable frailty that is also the true, essential beauty of the piece. “Figure or failure II” is a short solo work for turntable, voice, electronics and computer – all by Ronsen – boiling with discreet electronic possibilities and subterranean interferences under a fixed droning hum that stabilizes the matter in an engrossing self-replicating cycle, unfortunately ending too soon. “Tuesday on Sunday” is a quartet of electronics, oboe/organ, electric guitar and computer (respectively by Vanessa Arn, Green, Ronsen and Bill Thompson). Uncertain guitar arpeggios nourish a growingly tense layering of acute dissonant frequencies that generate a distressing sense of unexpected and untold; the repetition of selected patterns renders the music a little more permanent in memory, but the feeling remains one of decay and forgetfulness, reinforced by a pretty murky equalization, until the whole fuses into a final ejaculation of stridency. “For I.D. II” is a solo for bowed bass guitar that closes the show with the most frictional music of the whole CD, a roaring upheaval of granular harmonics and harsh resonances accompanying a bad trip through minimal hopelessness.
BREKEKEKEXKOAXKOAX – I manage to get out by a secret door (Eh?)
Josh Ronsen – unaided, or in company of Jason Pierce, Glen Nuckolls, Genevieve Walsh and Jacob Green – keeps sending encouraging signals via his Brekekekexkoaxkoax project, which regularly strolls around two poles – semi-structured improvisation and drones – often integrating their reciprocal qualities. This collection, assembling pieces recorded from 2002 to 2006, is not an exception: the first selections find Ronsen and Pierce manipulating prepared guitar and drums in quiet, if unsettling duos where – as pleasurable as the listening may be – we don’t move too far from the habitual sonorities of the genre: twinkle, rustle, screech and bump if you see what I mean. Nice stuff, yet the best comes in the second half of the CD: a pair of superlative rumbling laments by Ronsen alone on electronics (in one of them, also guitar and turntable) – “Shoham” being so dominant that my furniture rattled during the playback – and two shorter joint improvisations where the mix of acoustic and electric instruments places the music several hundred yards from a characterization: not really free, as there seems to be an underlying organization (at least in the minds of the performers) but certainly nothing to do with alternative or “post” rock, either. Let’s just say that this is a fine album: 65 minutes that get swallowed without problems, three of the tracks reaching a superior level.
BRETSCHNEIDER + STEINBRUCHEL – Status (12k)
In wrong hands, sequential electronics sound boring and sterile, but with two masters of the game like Frank Bretschneider and Ralph Steinbrüchel such a possibility is out of the question. The basic materials were exchanged between 2003 and 2005, evolving into a definitive form which works perfectly in the most diverse contexts; listened by headphones, the music reveals subterranean intersections under a bright linearity, while from the speakers it becomes an insinuating ambience where patterns, rhythms and ethereal configurations create a delicate balance that a knowledgeable ear cannot define differently from “pleasing”. Such a thorough control over every single nuance of this apparently perfect organism yields an overall feeling of beneficial pulsing radiation which delivers muscles and brain from the residual rust of confusion and displacement.
JAMES BREWSTER / PETER HENNING – Rönnblomsgatan Rudbecksgatan (Sprachlos)
Only 14 minutes (yet another 3-inch, folks) yet stimulatingly efficient for testing the reactions of your systems (both physical and hi-fi). Brewster and Henning, who are based in Malmö, Sweden, improvised this music (October 2007) through no-input samplers, no-input mixers, effects and a cassette player. The final results were edited and remastered two months later, the names of the recording and mastering places giving the work its title. Not a lot of new ground broken in this one, but there are no moments of boredom either; the customary mixture of feedback, vibrations, tremors, crazy slides, drilling and guerrilla-like electrostatic activities changes continuously, overlapping congruities and discordances with the same ear-splitting facility of a computer whose hard disk has gone berserk. The samples are spliced, fragmented and reprocessed, acts not regulated by any law, the artists willing to let the machines go wherever their mechanic instinct tells them to. We’re constantly forced to curiosity by this dynamic horde, a multitude of stimuli that lets the time flow even faster than we thought. It sounds very natural, in spite of all.
BRIAN AND CHRIS – 3 (Dielectric)
There are a couple of moments in “3″ where I was reminded of Dif Juz, one of the best groups coming out of the 4AD label; nevertheless, Brian Fraser and Chris Palmatier certainly have no fear of bringing out their own artistical dimension which is nicely explicated through a harmonious blend of relaxing post-rock minimal vastnesses and not-too-predictable loose drum patterns. Brian and Chris work quite calmly amidst shifting cadences, pulsating grooves and placid fretwork to reach a pretty detached serenity that never outstays its welcome. Observing their music flow while in their confidential stance, Fraser and Palmatier achieve a beautiful result, with a very positive sense of balance and an eye to aesthetics, too.
BRITTLE STARS / YANN NOVAK – Long distance vol.3 (Dragon’s Eye)
In this 3-inch CD a basic, unhurried melody is repeated on and on, increasingly transformed by a cycle of laptop modifications, until its spirit – although somehow remaining observable – falls to bits, practically lost in numberless different combinations of harshness and deformation. The very title of the only track is a self-explanatory “Melody to Maelstrom”. According to the above description, it would be easy to dismiss this outing as one among similar hundreds; still, there’s a measure of attraction in the music that made me want to play it again before the ultimate verdict. Which hasn’t come yet. The jury is still out, but I’ll keep listening to this. A sleeper? Who knows. Meaningful in some incomprehensible way, the plainness of the model notwithstanding.
BROKEN HANDS + LUCKY RABBIT – Lucky hands (TwoThousandAnd)
The title suggests the record’s content, as this is a 2003 radio performance involving two duos in various combinations; Ross Lambert, Anthony Guerra and Michael Rogers play electric and acoustic guitars while Seymour Wright is featured on alto sax. The music is right in your face – no tricks or tactics, just the concrete movement of particles of strings and wood, at times mixing with Wright’s disembodied emissions of uneducated air. The overall sound reminds me very much of certain vinyl releases by Metalanguage in the late 70s/early 80s, the essence of a raw spirit hovering around free musicians looking to forget the rules they had learnt many years before. There’s a track where the squeaks and the clicks on the fretboard by one of the guitarists using a semi-distorted electric tone made me think to the immaterial courses of Pink Floyd’s “Interstellar overdrive”‘s central section. This is not an easily penetrable record – but it surely has a good degree of depth.
PETER BROTZMANN / MICHAEL ZERANG – Live in Beirut (Al Maslakh)
Influential as it is, Peter Brötzmann’s sax tone is among the most inimitable instrumental voices ever. And when his emotional content meets the uselessness of a “technical proficiency” that’s right there anyway – this happens regularly in “Live in Beirut” – there’s the good chance of being testimonies to the birth of something special. Enter Michael Zerang’s mouth-watering performance, which couples magnificently with Brötzmann’s passionate tantrums and connected individualism in four duets chock full of scintillating musicianship. Zerang is not necessarily contrary to patterns or structures; in fact, he raises serious mayhem through steady (?) pulse and interactive percussive anatomy. He also plays a mean darbuka solo on the second track, with his comrade exploring the hidden significance of tarogato with subtle responsiveness. When the pair decides to shift that couple of gears, all hell comes loose – but even Satan and Lucifer are seen nodding their head in approval. A saxophonist throwing out a gut solitude that exploits fervour with incendiary purpose; a drummer who can match his opponent punch for punch, at the same time inviting him out for dinner while working his ass off in belly-dancing rhythmic variations. No wonder that, according to the liners, the Beirut audience responded enthusiastically to this set, which in my walkman-enhanced early morning wait at the train station provided the right set off to a nondescript day. This is explosive fuel for your yawning moments, the best rebellion to being submerged by football and “Dancing With The Stars” chit-chat. Fellow commuters be damned.
BILL BROVOLD AND LARVAL – Surviving death / Alive why? (Cuneiform)
I had met Larval for the first time in 2003, by listening to their “Obedience” on this same label. Yet, Bill Brovold’s band is active since 1995, having released albums for the Avant and Knitting Factory labels. At first they were a noise-oriented entity, but their musical range has become surprisingly variegated with the passage of time, mixing known and unknown elements in a kind of descriptive action that moves through dissonant repetition and hardnosed riffs to find more serene openings in compositions that at times would be acceptable even as a TV special soundtrack (check “Scottish blood”). Brovold, who among other collaborations has played with the Rhys Chatham Ensemble (he even thanks him for “kicking me out of his band so I would start my own”), had a shocking experience right after the release of “Obedience”, suffering five heart attacks in a year’s span. The new record’s title obviously refers to his struggle, but the music is still full of energy while remaining extremely clear in every component. I don’t agree with several of the comparisons that are often used for Larval, especially the ones linking them to Glenn Branca and the vastly overrated Godspeed You! Black Emperor, while indeed a King Crimson-ish attitude is perceivable, especially in the second disc of this set. The two CDs (one studio, one live containing the “best energy performances” according to the leader) demonstrate instead that the band can superimpose genres and atmospheres without pain: the title track’s “epic movie” aura constantly underlined by boiling saturated guitars blathering all over the place, or the great “minimal noir” of “The 300-pound nurse”. In the live disc, the musicians light their fuse more often, the material repeatedly reaching an intense apex of emotional fury and smoking corporeal abandon (“Childish delusion”, Alpha Thejone”). When all is said and done, Larval can be considered an “almost pure” rock ensemble in their spirit, in which even difficulty becomes easily assimilable thanks to the perfect dosage of their instrumental ingredients. A classic case of “play loud!”
CHRIS BROWN – Rogue wave (Tzadik)
Brown’s status among modern sonic inquirers should be held in high esteem, as this most interesting collection shows. The key word in Chris’ material is “interaction”, applied both to real instruments and advanced software and techniques, all of which create pleasing and stimulating aural domains – like in the gorgeous “Flies”, scored for violin, piano and percussion plus live electronics. Brown’s expertise in computer networking is greatly evident in his unstable organizations of psychoacoustic investigations, of which “Cloudstreams/Bellwethers” is the perfect symbol here; what starts like a claustrophobic house of mirrors becomes an almost graceful harmonic decomposition that dissipates and re-coagulates in translucent metamorphoses. Yet, the best satisfactions lie in the treatment of the acoustic instruments by this Chicago-born composer: the way percussion, trombone and vibraphone mesh with orchestral synthesis in the final “Alternating currents” is nothing short of glorious, while “Retroscan” (for piano and electronics) offers a whole new meaning to the concept of multidimensional writing for a single instrument.
ROB BROWN TRIO – Sounds (Clean Feed)
Rob Brown (alto saxophone) and Daniel Levin (cello) have been collaborating since 2003, but only with the addition of Satoshi Takeishi – a percussionist mixing Japanese taiko drums with the rest of his percussive arsenal – the trio reached its definitive form. “Sounds” is a gathering of ideas that appear totally delivered from genre constrictions; it’s neither “real” jazz (although the leader consider this a jazz group), nor chamber music and even improvisations sound somehow composed. The title track – divided into three movements – is the soundtrack to a multimedia performance in collaboration with the Nancy Zendora Dance Company and video artist Jo Wood-Brown, while “Tibetan Folk Song” takes a popular theme into the realms of freedom, the three using the few melodic colours at their disposal to expand and rebuild what originally was a simple, almost primal concept. Throughout “Sinew”, the feeling is one of looking at three musicians who catch what floats in the air to instantly reproduce it with their instruments, the whole contained by a configuration that, absurdly, seems to be pre-existing; but in the final ballad “Moment of pause” we have a glance to the essence of a more traditional jazz approach, and “Stutter Step” augments that vibe until rebellious dissonant accents spring out. The three instrumental voices shine collectively, their attentive consideration of each other’s propositions being the most important feature of the album. As Brown suggests, this music should be listened to without preconceptions.
KYLE BRUCKMANN – Wrack (Red Toucan)
Bruckmann, a classically trained oboist and English horn player, composed “Wrack” as a means to work at the junction of styles and genres he’s interested in, which of course include improvisation. Leading a quintet with trombone, viola, percussion and bass, Kyle ranges from polyrhythmic fantasies to slow, sad themes made out of dissonant relationships, sometimes leaving a bit of reins to allow his comrades to assume a more confrontational stance in “free” contexts. “Wrack” is carefully conceived and played with attentive passion; it’s a record in which there isn’t a predominant character or artistic influence – nevertheless you can feel Kyle’s love for XX century composers: he quotes Bartok, Messiaen, Stravinsky and Webern in his notes, I also detected some Charles Ives here and there…you get the picture. The overall judgement remains definitely positive.
KYLE BRUCKMANN / ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / JOHN SHIURBA / KAREN STACKPOLE – Grand Mal (Barely Auditable/Pax Recordings)
Electric and acoustic guitars, percussion, oboe and French horn are the basic timbral elements in this setting. Strings are caressed, plucked, tip-tapped and scratched by Diaz-Infante and Shiurba to create different points of view of the guitar as a soundbox, while multiphonics, no-tone blowing through the instrument’s body and long/held irky notes contrast with staccatos and screeches in Bruckmann’s excellent showing of technique and intuition. Stackpole contributes to this “formal instability” with an array of percussive choices that never dominate upon any of the other voices, instead repeatedly engaging them into conversational exchanges. At 45 minutes, also the record’s length is just perfect.
KYLE BRUCKMANN / WERNER DAFELDECKER / BORIS HAUF – Wane (Formed)
This album comprises four improvisations for oboe and French horn (Bruckmann), guitar and percussion (Dafeldecker), synthesizers and baritone sax (Hauf). The mixture of electronic and acoustic sounds works pretty fine, with the synthetic element often in evidence in the form of fat low-frequency bubbles and classy pulse-waving functioning as a brain-massaging tool. As opposed to the rarefied seductions of certain reductionism – by now partially abandoned by various members of that movement – this music subordinates to a logic made of soft-and-loud continuums and sequences of organic-sounding events. Bruckmann’s split harmonics and fluttering ghost notes constitute the only truly “irregular” presence in an otherwise pretty delineated scheme, while Dafeldecker’s applications of strings and percussion on the curved surfaces generated by Hauf remain quite discreet, if instantly noticeable. A high degree of cohesion among the musicians notwithstanding, the single elements remain perfectly separated so that one can choose where to focus the attention during the listening session – a subsonic caress or the crossroad hits between the most acute timbres. Yet, even in the most frictional sections, the whole remains without a real cutting edge, a soothing picture of semi-tranquillity to which we can surrender or react. Either way, the musician’s sensitive approach makes “Wane” a much appreciated ear cleanser, very useful for those moments of mental standstill where one would never want to get up from the couch.
BRUME – Accident de chasse (Waystyx) – I’m… I come… I was… (Waystyx)
Christian Renou, aka Brume, is certainly one of the European mainstays in the history of the so called post-industrial movement (which usually includes practically everything unclassifiable elsewhere), with particular reference to the late 80s and early 90s. In recent times there has been a kind of “rescue the relics” urge as far as this kind of music is concerned, with excellent Russian labels like Waystyx and Monochrome Vision assuming the protagonist’s role in terms of retrieved materials and reissues of old tapes. Such is the case of this couple of CDs, which were sent to me as a pair even if I honestly don’t know if they should be considered as parallel or independent releases. “Accident” was originally published in 1989, “I’m…” is from 1992, both issued by Tonspur Tapes at that time. The first represents Brume’s alienated side, so to speak: a sort of cheap-means-but-great-fantasy musique concrete mostly based on obsessive loops, reiterative circuits, tape collages, crazed vocals. Anything goes to achieve the aim, from exotic instruments to coughs and laughs used as a rhythmic foundation. On an inattentive listen it could almost result as scarcely digestible yet, when we manage to go with the flow, the “naivety of the absurd” factor lets us swallow the whole rather comfortably. All the more difficult is appraising “I’m… I come… I was…”, something that can easily be defined as a completely deranged opera (the lyrics, if you’re able to decode them, are by Renou himself and Lautréamont), with the use of (heavily) altered voices at the basis of a sometimes hilarious, sometimes utterly abstruse aesthetic that only the most open-minded supporters might be able to appreciate. Either way, Renou’s purity of intents is what really stands out, his ingenuousness mixed with a curious penchant for finding peculiar shapes even in what might have been designed normally. The not exceptional sound quality of the original cassettes adds a welcome touch of vintage fascination.
JON BRUMIT – Vendetta retreat (Edgetone)
The link between understanding a music piece in its depth and simply enjoying its content as pure listening pleasure is subtle, and not necessarily the key to decode the complex personality of Jon Brumit, who makes music which is at one and the same time pretty violent and gifted with a strange fascinating consonant complexion, mostly born from brilliant looping and flamboyant layerings of guitar riffs, sonic detritus, long silences and cascades of drums. Another interesting aspect of “Vendetta retreat” is a surprising dynamic game played with the volumes in the mix by Jon (mostly evident in the gorgeous “Good life”) which kicks our previously established connection to his strata of harmonically repetitive patterns that seem to welcome us at first, then throw us in the middle of a mayhem where echoes of the Residents (“Invisible/Hu/Man”) and motives sounding like a second-hand Alan Parsons Project get masterfully intertwined with something like a blown-up version of Glenn Branca, everything rolled by a machine that mashes emotional strategies. A great album, whose conceptual continuity is also its strongest asset – and which leaves a sour taste at the end.
THOMAS BUCKNER – New music for baritone & chamber ensemble (Mutable)
Baritone Thomas Buckner is a veritable foundation of the new music scene, having collaborated with an incredible list of contemporary composers over the course of a lengthy career, also characterized by more experimental ventures in the field of improvisation. Here he tackles three of them, adapting his characteristics to a series of variegated scores that, although different in their development, yield absolutely fascinating results. Annea Lockwood’s “Luminescence” is a song cycle whose lyrics were penned by poet Etel Adnan; the piece – born from a shared love of the Pacific Ocean by the contributors – sounds a bit like the soundtrack to a complicated kind of fairy tale, Buckner inserting daydreaming and intense reflection on Petr Kotik’s S.E.M. Ensemble’s splendid execution, the third movement’s slowly wavering harmony the highlight in this sense. Kotik himself is the originator of the long “Conceptuality/Life”, a difficult score based on a text by R. Buckminster Fuller where the vocal element is only present in circumscribed sections, the instrumental balance maintained by an accurate depiction of frames where the bravura of the single instrumentalists is in continuous evidence. My overall favourite is Tania León’s “Canto”, a group of five rather short poems by various writers including the most touching moment of the whole disc: “Canción de Cuna” by Iraida Iturralde, a complex lullaby in which the combination between Buckner’s heartfelt interpretation and (ensemble) Continuum’s hypersensitive playing – with a fabulous Kristina Reiko Cooper on cello – seems to represent a portrait of serenity amidst intriguing technical difficulties.
MICHAEL BULLOCK / JAMES COLEMAN / DAVID GROSS / STEVE RODEN – Untitled, or not yet [(1.8)sec.]
A limited edition of 350 copies coming in a vellum and cardstock package (four different kinds of prints exist), “Untitled, or not yet” is a set of thoroughly interesting restful improvisations for contrabass, Theremin, alto sax, voice, objects and electronics. The recording was made in 2003 but the tapes have been languishing in a vault for years, and it’s a good thing that we’re now able to enjoy the strength of this material. The artists first met in 2001, playing in an art gallery “where Christina Ricci was the matron saint”, then tried again to let their timbral fumes come out at a club named The Smell, where they were more or less erased by a hard-pumping salsa ensemble from a nearby restaurant. Home sweet home is, incontrovertibly, the perfect listening site for this conglomerate of long tones, unhurriedly succeeding thumps, light whispers, tampered things. The players show a predilection for the rarefied side of the matters, Bullock often joining Gross’ held notes with his arco, both expanding the music’s sense of insinuation by steering clear of the excesses of fragmentation in favour of conditions of near-trance. Coleman’s Theremin supplies a slight measure of contrapuntal divergence, while Roden’s sighing attendance is also an aide-memoire of a manifest humanity. In this instance, the old commonplace “music that breaths” works just fine.
CHRIS BURN ENSEMBLE – Horizontals white (Emanem)
Born in the late 80s, this group kept morphing, expanding up to 11 elements then reducing to 6 (like in this recording) and taking part to several live festivals and concerts. This particular incarnation consists of Burn plus John Butcher, Mark Wastell, Rhodri Davies, John Russell and Matt Hutchinson. Though fundamental colours like guitar, sax, piano, cello and harp are used, the music has a spacey “electro/metallic” quality that carries the players near territories not far from some Morphogenesis moment, only with just a touch of “lucid madness” in addition. What’s incredible here is the complete disintegration of the sources, as breathing, percussion and plucking become one – a creature suddenly waking up, looking herself in the mirror, her constitution continuously changing – and there’s no time for anyone to adjust their ears. The surprising quality of this ensemble’s vibe is a top asset; starting from near silence, Burn and his comrades take you by the hand and introduce a cauldron of tasty, unexpected flavours at the same time enforcing highly active listening.
GUST BURNS / ERNESTO RODRIGUES / VIC RAWLINGS / DAVID HIRVONEN – Refrain (Creative Sources)
The 26+ minutes of “Refrain” were recorded at Seattle’s Gallery 1412 during the local Improvised Music Festival. The instrumentation comprises piano, viola, amplified cello, surface electronics, loudspeakers, electric guitar and electronics. It’s one of the “obscure” releases in the history of the Portuguese label, both in specific terms of sound and intuition of where the musicians are directed, which is still unclear at the end of the piece. That is not to say that the performance is not good, au contraire: there’s a feel of eeriness in this improvisation that forces us to stay under the shadows of suspicion throughout, as when troubled individuals try to worm a way in our mind by suggesting impossible doubts on someone we trust blindly. The alternatively radical and familiar quality of the timbres exploited by the accomplices contributes to this state of unhinged interest: clear piano notes stain otherwise persisting static superimpositions of feedback and drones, viola and cello attributing a component of normalcy in otherwise unclassifiable clutters of small noises let loose by the guitar. Sinister scrapes abound, as the quartet seeks out for rust and residues – not a hint to any kind of tidiness. When they manage to achieve the aim – with a little suffering – it just looks like when it stops raining, but the sky remains threateningly black.
ELLEN BURR – Duos (pfMENTUM)
A truly nerve-soothing album, this is the first recording by flutist Burr as a leader after numerous appearances in other artists’ projects. Hailing from Los Angeles, she is gifted with a unique personality that is nicely highlighted by the two solo pieces contained here, beginning and ending the record. Burr vivisections her instrument to bring out its most hidden characters, employing a range of techniques going from pure atonal phrasing to raucous vocal/air utterances, all the way through a whole world of multiphonics and particles of lingual chattering. The large part of the album, though, is a series of advanced conversations with Sara Schoenbeck, Andrew Pask, Jeanette Kangas and Steuart Liebig. The composer uses graphic scores – partially illustrated on the CD insert – as a starting point from what she actually defines as “songs”, where improvisation is “at least 50% of all tunes” and, of course, the involved players’ bravura does (half) the trick. The duet with Liebig, “Senbazuru”, is a cross between native American music, with the prepared bass acting as a tuned percussion against the alto flute, and Motor Totemist Guild’s most intelligible pages. “Permutations ’62″ features Andrew Pask in an exquisite exchange of self conscious melodies that never lose their orientation towards technical excellence. The two tracks featuring the bassoon are my favorites; “Canon-Cards-Canon” (I and II) mix irony and refined control of the instrumental nuances, the timbres fabulously blending in an outstanding collage of multiform remarks flying around like intertwining butterflies around Stravinskian flowers. Sara Schoenbeck’s virtuoso playing is at one and the same time riveting and light-hearted, perfectly complementing Burr’s zig-zags. The longest piece is “Four square”, where Burr and Kangas go beyond their specific aesthetics to inquire about silence and its relative ruptures, reminiscing about what once were “melody” and “rhythm” and now instead are just a now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t invitation to a barefoot dance. All in all, “Duos” is one of the very best releases by this fine Californian label.
WARREN BURT – Harmonic colour fields (Pogus)
Armed only with a Roland Sound Canvas synth module, Warren Burt creates music that’s pretty much in the vein of electronic composers of the sixties; he quotes Palestine and La Monte Young as influences, though I don’t hear much of them in the five pieces presented here. Exploring microtone junctions and superimposing chordal waves after tuning his machine in uncommon ratios and scales, Burt sends his message to our ear quite politely but at the same time inviting you to keep an eye always open; just when you’re relaxing to an apparently consonant drone, he pinches your lobe with some harsh timbral variation or with an unexpected harmonic movement. Then, forget about minimalism and think instead of Laurie Spiegel or Morton Subotnick; that will give you a better idea of Burt’s approach. An uncontaminated musician’s self portrait, perfectly represented on this nice release.
BURUM – Alawon (Fflach:Tradd)
Over the years I’ve come across loads of different curiosities concealed into thousands of records but, to the best of my memory, this is the first time that I meet a band rearranging traditional Welsh tunes to a jazz format (the title means in fact “folk songs” in the local language). And they’re pretty good at that, too. Burum are Tomos Williams (trumpet, flugelhorn), Daniel Williams (tenor sax), Dave Jones (piano), Chris O’Connor (bass), Mark O’Connor (drums) with Ceri Rhys Matthews (Welsh horn pipes) as a guest in three selections. Folk or not, the album’s best quality for this reviewer is its wonderful nostalgic patina, which is the main hue in tracks like “Ar lan y môr”, a melancholic slow piece where one almost imagines the musicians performing in a show from the 60s watched from an old black-and-white TV set, or in Daniel Williams’ moody thematic exposition of “Yr eneth glaf”. On the other hand, the title track’s four movements alternate Matthews’ homesick pipes and Tyneresque progressions in a stimulating mix of idioms that sounds as fresh as a mint water-ice. Tomos Williams’ trumpet lines maintain a perennial comprehensibility, hinting to a delicate consciousness that’s typical of a sensitive jazzist, while Jones’ piano highlights a subtle kind of beauty through its heartfelt purity of intents. Although we’re not in presence of technical monstrosities, the whole group possess a brisk fire of sincerity transforming apparently meaningless segments in moments to be remembered. Let’s face it, mankind can’t be fed avantgarde all the time, and “Alawon” smells like a morning flower.
NICHOLAS BUSSMANN & TOSHIMARU NAKAMURA – I know how you frown (KwanYin)
Another early morning test for my speakers was conducted by spinning this CD, which comes without technical explanations or descriptions, except for the label credits and the names of the six tracks. Of course I’m familiar enough with Nakamura; instead, this is the very first time in which Bussmann’s methods are met by this side. The record begins as we would expect, with all kinds of mixer-cum-electronics-derived emissions: from the barely audible, to the voltage-controlled, to the rhythmically charged. Whirr, wheeze, mweeoow, buzz, crackle, pop, hum, hisssssssssssssss. You get the picture. Crunchy matter all over the place, this man worried about subjecting his wife to an undeserved torture at 6:30 AM, coffee and biscuits just swallowed amidst smiles and niceties. A Jekyll-into-Hyde turn of sorts. With the passage of minutes the scenery changes a bit, the noise getting progressively “musical”, even complemented by what sounds like snippets of pre-recorded material and synthesized sequences. Which probably ain’t, yet the result appears very similar. At one point, we think of Biosphere with the addition of several layers of grittiness and granular textures. Also recalling David Lee Myers (aka Arcane Device) in a couple of instances where more reverberant spaces seem to prevail. But no worry, these guys are not so easy-going: soon the auricular membranes finish their holidays, returning to a long shift of sticky high-frequencies and non-tranquilizing washes of digital din whose wax-melting effects are easily demonstrable. Confusion for almost everybody, an approach with a different kind of internal resonance for the most probing ones. Find yourselves a copy, I know you can do it.
JOHN BUTCHER – The geometry of sentiment (Emanem)
You own a magnificent Selmer. Have practiced your scales for decades. Bought a Real Book. Learnt a gazillion tunes. Studied all the jazz masters. Feel ready to go. Think again – you still can’t play the saxophone. Instead, John Butcher can – because he VIBRATES – and at least a hint of what can be done with this machine (tenor or soprano, acoustic or electronically enhanced – but are we really convinced that it makes any difference?) should be apprehended by the above mentioned human typologies before they can even attempt to define themselves “good sax players”. Butcher is up there with the Parkers, the Rothenbergs, the Zorns and the Harths, yet his style is inimitable; he has arrived at the top at last, and dominates in a world of bent overtones and multiple subdivisions of a single note. “The geometry of sentiment” – which I perceive as his masterpiece – presents seven tracks recorded at various places between 2004 and 2006, each one with a different kind of resonant space forced by our man to respond in a unique way, at the same time exploring that very response to push the instrument to another level of internal juddering, with decisive consequences for the lucky ones who receive the message. These sounds penetrate the muscle and the bone, ploughing through the opposition field of the auricular membranes which, once subjected to this treatment, may react in bizarre ways. Murderous hoots, perfidious rauco, sensational adjacent movements within a quarter-tone, held notes slightly ruptured by the same bump-in-the-line of an electrocardiogram, toxic chirps in a wall-of-nothingness reverberation. Phrases filling the silence from where they were born and returning there in a five-second span, the hiss and the burble as strengthening elements in a series of concepts that, difficult as they might sound, become acceptable only by lowering the guard protecting a by now useless need of comfort. A crystal-clear sense of obliquely lyrical invention that finds no equals. The refreshing feeling of being able to sustain an invasive assault by the most acute stridencies without becoming deaf, since this music conforms to the cerebral cortex – when a sharp enough brain is present, that is. One of my personal favourites of 2007, requiring incessant listening for decades to come. A quavering orgy. Just great. Oh, and don’t forget to transcribe that Coltrane solo.
JOHN BUTCHER / PHIL MINTON – Apples of Gomorrah (Grob)
I’ve always been a fan of Phil Minton, so I’ll try to be the more objective I can be. By all means, this is not music for the newcomer; it’s a duet for sax and voice, but this definition could be a limit. Try to figure a situation in which sometimes you don’t understand who’s doing what; Minton’s voice explores any single tone, harmonic or simple utterance, while Butcher travels through the secret places of tenor and soprano saxes with sense of curiosity and very careful ears. Both are masters of their respective crafts, yet the music remains the highest priority throughout the record: no circus numbers here, just radical timbral juxtapositions. Not comparable to anything that I’ve heard recently, this CD deserves much more than just one listen to be fully digested.
JOHN BUTCHER / JOHN EDWARDS – Optic (Emanem)
It will be extremely difficult finding somewhere else such a passionate, involving music at the same time so carefully detailed and, dare I say, elegant. Butcher’s saxophones seem to contain strange ideas in their own body; John is always ready to build cathedrals upon them, he’s able to raise a hell of multiphonics and shower us with impossible melodies but, in the very next minute, he’s putting a lump in your throat with some of the most lyrical chants since John Coltrane’s masterpieces. A real giant of the instrument, continuing on his road to the top of the improvising community which, I’m sure, will recognize him a great in less than no time. Even the birds around my house seem to appreciate his playing (no kidding). On his side, Edwards is a perfect companion, completely at ease with both arco and plucking techniques, not to mention alternative approaches, his beautiful sound never trying to rape but always caressing the beauty of the very moment. Edwards gives a good dressing down to most soloists, while satisfying the listener’s hunger for serious talent. In a word, hats off.
JOHN BUTCHER / PHIL DURRANT / PAUL LOVENS / RADU MALFATTI / JOHN RUSSELL – News from the shed (Emanem)
A most welcome reissue of a 1989 LP on Acta, gifted with additional tracks for good measure, gives us the chance to enjoy five great improvisers caught in a transitional moment of their respective styles. Those of you who are used to Malfatti’s silences and Butcher’s explorations of natural – or less natural – resonances will find them both in more “conversational” dressing; not that this diminishes in any way the level of their playing, already stratospheric at that time. Durrant’s violin is a “now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t” presence between peculiar electronic spurts, while the clattering expressionism of Lovens, who often takes a predominant role in the overall dynamic context, is also an extremely noticeable colour throughout the whole set. Maybe the most atypical sounds come from Russell: his trademark spurious rasgueados-cum-supercharged harmonics are often put aside in favour of point-blank hits and invisible luminescences acting as a link to the most prominent voices of the ensemble, whose balanced attitude between restraint and chatter is truly something to be heard.
JOHN BUTCHER / CHRISTOF KURZMANN – The big misunderstanding between Hertz and Megahertz (Potlatch)
Butcher and Kurzmann have a strong reputation in the field of exploration of that micromolecular matter surrounding the fundamental elements of a sound. This distinction is reinforced by this straight-looking, honestly deep album, which sees them improvising on the verge of those harmonic phenomena that have to be cultivated in the most hidden parts of an instrument (in this case, Butcher’s saxophones) possibly with the help of intelligent treatments and expansions – enter Kurzmann’s “Lloopp” computer software, which he uses together with a pickup (and, not surprisingly, there are several pieces here that sound like a distorted duel of defaced guitars). The borderline analysis carried on by the couple yields its best results when the crumbling of timbral certainty originates a thorough reconstruction which is as transitory as a flashback can be. Butcher’s whirling meta-phrasing and ever-impressive knowledge of the sax mechanics allow him to highlight many eventful successions while maintaining an attentive look over a quite familiar continuity, bird-like harmonics and metallic wet kisses mixing with hypotheses of new energies in membraneous vibrations. On his side, Kurzmann creates circular backgrounds and extreme interconnections among the viscera of a pretty complicated loop multiplicity, erasing any potential egotism while allowing the music to reach distant suggestions and fleshy proximities. Assertive enough to claim its space in your life at any moment, this balanced conversation is another fulgid example of the dedicated discernment that Butcher and Kurzmann have always featured in their research.
JOHN BUTCHER / PAAL NILSSEN-LOVE – Concentric (Clean Feed)
“Concentric” is a gathering of high-energy improvisations, four tracks captured live in Oslo in 2001 that show many different angles of Butcher’s playing, here often more concrete and corporeally articulate than in his most recent output, where the extreme borders of the relationship between instrument, body and environment are masterfully trespassed. He and Nilssen-Love work splendidly together, the drummer approaching his comrade with fibriform figurations that never betray the original goal, that of mixing two different schools of musical conception to find out, with a certain degree of anxiousness, the potentially explosive outcome. The couple seems to wander around parallel definitions, each with his own background coming out in spurts to loot ideas from the Gnome of Jazz Boredom’s sack. They decide to remain in the realm of extroverted stimulation, apparently content of reciprocally affirming their own idiosyncrasies, Butcher mixing strident lines, inhuman overacute frequencies and nuclear salivation, Nilssen-Love using his drum set like a chef does with different sizes of pans, his percussive derivations regrowing within astutely complex settings. What transpires is an idealistic instrumental iconography where every certainty falls apart under a continuous process of hook-and-liberate-the-listener that leaves everything unsolved, the conclusion finding us puzzled and perplexed – which is usually a good sign.
BUTTERCUP METAL POLISH – 50 ballets (Creative Sources)
Two drummers were once typical of expanded rock bands (I’m thinking of Allman Brothers Band and the 1974 version of Frank Zappa’s Mothers, with Ralph Humphrey and Chester Thompson). Two drum sets plus percussion is what Alexander Babel and Nicolas Field play in “50 ballets”, a 13-track CD of improvisations that sound neither filled with testosterone nor bombastic, a vast range of gradations and morphologies appearing rather delicate even in the most beat-prolific passages, only to release the hottest, most intense vapours at the end of the program. Indeed I’d be willing to bet that a good portion of these pieces was played with bare hands, brushes or mallets; I didn’t hear too many wooden sticks around the house, but have no certainty whatsoever. “Civilized neutrality” shows the couple’s tasteful mixture of economy of means and tuned ears, built as it is upon an initial gong-like aura that gets interspersed with swift cymbal touches and sapient tom-based rolling, while “Rubber dust” is a comprehensive demonstration of dynamic sensitivity amalgamated with a keen sense of event placement amidst ample spaces. The only proper thunderous activity is to be found in “1328”, followed by the final “Caudeval by night” exploding in “full metal friction” mode. Shorter tracks like “Private puppetry” act as a temporary division between the paradoxically non-logorrheic discourses of the duo, showing Babel and Field’s attention-catching ability to determine the exact moment in which calmer sections should be inserted, thus enhancing their will of being recognized more as instant composers than just drummers. An appreciable effort by two talented men, “50 ballets” is a rather surprising album that should grant the protagonists a deserved visibility.
GREGORY BÜTTNER – Every (1000Füssler)
Büttner is a multimedia artist from Hamburg who specializes in audiovisuals and is also the founder of this stimulating label, whose 3-inch CD series presents works by people on the fringes of electronica and acousmatics. “Every” was created by radically altering and manipulating the voice of Peggy – a friend of the composer – who was singing Depeche Mode’s “Everything counts”, of all things. Apart from a short segment at the end of the record, you could never guess that the ethereal evolutions and amorphous parabolas heard in this piece derive from vocal origins; this mysterious enigma is a hide-and-seek game behind the corners of silence, where focused waves of perplexing frequencies introduce us to parallel galaxies of dazzling alienation. Very well made and totally pleasing.
GREGORY BÜTTNER – Nil:.audio (AIC)
Concentrating his research on compressed data, frequently derived from ads contained in old CD-ROMs (those were the times…), Gregory Büttner created a variegated series of interesting electronic pieces, three of them pretty short, the fourth lasting over 10 minutes. Muffled voices, metallic ringing, psychoacoustic effects deriving by atypical concurrences of frequencies, aquatic bubbling and background microcosms: there’s a lot to be found in this music, which manages to convey a basic sense of equanimity after all. The composer has an aptitude for finding the precise moment in which an emission must appear, evaporate or – like in the longest track “Banking7” – remain centre stage. We could make a case of “nothing particular yet we miss it when it’s gone”, as the wrapping qualities of these sounds create a much welcome unperturbed infatuation. A full-length release moving around the same coordinates wouldn’t disappoint.
MIGUEL CABRAL – RGB (Rudimentol)
For lovers of old space movie soundtracks, dissonant organ chords, low budget electro-experimentations with more sincerity and good ideas than expected, here comes Portuguese Miguel Cabral. “RGB” is a stimulating listen: based on organ and effects only, it’s a fascinating voyage through the past, when fantasy and intuition counted more than fine technique or pretentiousness. Miguel treats the instrument with various distortion levels and strange ambiental morphings, often surprisingly and efficiently concise, straight to the focal point of each piece. In a few moments I thought about the very first (pre-pompous soundtracks) Vangelis albums such as “Hypothesis”, or about less consonant areas of ancient works by the German “cosmic couriers”. I’m aware of a few very good sound alchemists coming out of Portugal and I’m happy to add Cabral on this precious list.
MIGUEL CABRAL – Latacantante (Rudimentol)
Another interesting release by Miguel Cabral, this particular one is centred around a biscuit metal box fitted with a neck and two strings, resulting in a sort of amplified primordial banjo. Through his studio effects Miguel shows a variety of approaches to this strange instrument: detuning up to the lowest range, arpeggio, pizzicato, radical transformation of sound to the point of total non-entity. Cabral works his personal way to improvising and composing in a record not easy to define; I detect a basic passion in this man’s vision that’s much more appreciable in these times of undeserved credits to hollow last-hour participants.
ANTHEA CADDY & THEMBI SODDELL – Iland (Cajid Media)
Anthea Caddy is a cello player who has worked with Darrin Verhagen and François Tetaz; she exploits unconventional surroundings to bring out the most hidden colours of her instrument, which she’s able to transform into creatures that growl, howl and moan while looking for a far corner of their short lifespan to affirm their unpredictably menacing attitude. Thembi Soddell, here featured on sampler, uses both field recordings and abstract sounds to develop splendid textural backgrounds and surprising outbursts of unusual timbres, only to suddenly disappear leaving room to a disquieting faraway urban hush. The thirty minutes of “Iland” are highly impressive, in that the fusion of these different kinds of electroacoustic presage cracks our fake tranquillity, dragging us into an uncertain kind of awareness that doesn’t admit the presence of danger but at the same time almost expects it with unpronounceable pleasure. By alternating movement and stasis, Caddy and Soddell manage to express an otherwise undefinable sense of inner connection with something that resembles the various phases of a nightmare, but one that – one way or another – has an happy ending.
CAETITU – Caetitu (Emanem)
Besides being a Brazilian mammal similar to a wild boar, Caetitu is also a stunningly efficient quartet formed by Yedo Gibson (tenor sax, Eb clarinet), Veryan Weston (piano), Marcio Mattos (double bass, electronics) and Martin Blume (drum set, percussion). I was familiar with the involved musicians except Gibson, himself a Brazilian, whose style seems to be born for this ensemble: a unique cross of traditional legacies and hints to the future, his tone splendidly articulated throughout, the sense of note placement and spacing among the most satisfying ones heard recently between these walls. Weston’s playing in this circumstance emphasizes elegance and self-possession at one and the same time, neat chordal chemistries recalling memories from other eras – chamber music meets beguilingly old-fashioned jazz, melancholy-tinged progressions flourishing in the splendid “Membrance source”. Mattos might go a little unnoticed at first, after we’ve been dazzled by the insightful expertise of the main soloists, but an attentive analysis of the low-frequency regions reveals a meticulous counteraction against the glut of lawless inventiveness, as he anchors the group’s overall sound to that wide-ranging intelligibility that knowledgeable audiences expect from this calibre of artist. Blume’s percussive presence defines, once and for all, that what was formerly intended as “section” has by now been forgotten in favour of a methodical liberalization of roles. It’s life that dictates a rhythm: a drummer can’t possibly recommend patterns to someone attempting to respire through a phase of polite self-determination. Accordingly, he’s all over the place and then disappears, inimitable sensitiveness at long last revealed to glad receivers. Remarkable things, complemented by an excerpt from Chefa Alonso’s essay “Composition in motion” full of mind-stimulating truths about the fine art of improvisation.
JOHN CAGE – One4 / Four / Twenty-Nine (OgreOgress)
This disc contains the first recordings of John Cage’s final works for strings and/or percussion, masterfully handled by a quartet including Christina Fong (violin, viola) Karen Krummel (cello) Glenn Freeman (percussion) and Michael Crawford (bass). It is a surprising side of the American composer, revealing a new introspective light that plays hide-and-seek with a hesitant silence; the almost feeble voice produced by the string scores in “Four” is like a picture of Cage’s inner views finally getting their due completion as he nears the end of his life’s course. Glenn Freeman’s rigour in the initial “One4″ is almost scary in its pronounceable tension; he returns in the longest piece, “Twenty-nine”, which is a continuum reminiscent of static minimalists – Phill Niblock comes to mind – where percussion and strings embrace in a dramatic shift to sympathetic responsiveness, while light-hearted proportionalities are flattened by dissonant held tones. The six versions of “Four” are playable in various combinations of succession but the result is the same as Fong, Krummel and Crawford depict an emotional portrait of unstable punctuality, as chance and probability give the music a sense of imminence rarely heard in other Cage compositions. Together with their Morton Feldman’s CDs containing some of his best rare works, we have another unmissable jewel from OgreOgress here.
JOHN CAGE – One7 [from One13] / One8 (OgreOgress)
This is one of the most “reductionist” releases of John Cage’s music from his late years, a perfect trait d’union between the visionary yet contemplative kind of minimalism of the American composer and the incessant quest for reticence that many new music artists are undertaking during this decade (in this instance, Nikos Veliotis comes to mind). These first recordings of Cage’s final works for cello, played by a soloist who wishes to remain anonymous, show both a strong mark of integrity and the representation of an organism emitting its last spurts of energy before sailing to the unknown; while “One7″ is all consisting of timbral variations on a single note – also being a challenge to our perception of broken silence – the masterpiece here is “One8″: chords made of frail harmonics, ghost tones and a hopeless tendency to disgregation are held for long moments of enlightenment, delivering us from any asynchronism to bring the sensation of being lifted to a far superior level of discernment.
JOHN CAGE – Two3 / Inlets / Two4 (OgreOgress)
The first question that arises is quite simple: are people willing to subject themselves to over 150 minutes of music which is probably not their usual cup of tea, music that is neither useful for ambient purposes nor eventful enough for the listeners to remain strictly concentrated and catch all the different shades that it presents? My answer is that one has to try. Set aside the necessary time (I waited for two months in my hectic daily schedule to be able to listen attentively to this DVD) then judge according to your responsive schemes. These are pieces for sho, conch shells and violin, played by Tamami Tono, Glenn Freeman and Christina Fong respectively; the sho – a kind of mouth organ with bamboo pipes – is the most prominent voice throughout, while both the watery sounds of the conch shells and the violin appear more sparsely over the course of the pieces. The whole is not really easy to swallow, despite the many long silences and sonic events similar to a light breeze changing direction depending on the main current. It never becomes violent or harsh, although its gentle immobility is somehow characterized by frequent dissonant, even strident clusters, courtesy of the sho’s peculiarly grainy all-highs register. After a while, we find ourselves immersed in a typically Cageian “no expectation” situation, the music existing only for its sheer presence or as an inevitable phenomenon. Aesthetic considerations are out of context here, as the player is just a means for a pre-existing vibration to be translated into sound; it exclusively depends on the receiver’s predisposition if this works or not. The magnitude of the concept, like in many of Cage’s compositions, overcomes the “lyrical” or “emotional” aspect, thus it is not strange to perceive this music as slightly annoying in some of its components. But it still carries a heavy weight, representing yet another example of Cage’s most important teaching, namely learning to listen what surrounds us – good or bad sounding, it doesn’t matter – and assimilate its intrinsic values to put them at good use as a defence against unbalance, or even as a new dimension in which isolate ourselves and get better trained against all kinds of adversity.
JOHN CAGE – One6/One10 (OgreOgress)
I received this album a long time ago, somehow losing memory of it. Still, is there a “right moment” to analyze a John Cage release? Of course the answer is no. Moreover, the participation to recent discussions dealing with this composer’s opus elicited a personal reconsideration of Cage’s significance as a composer, a figure that – despite a whole lot of intriguing pieces, many of them published by this very label – is ultimately deemed as less attention-deserving than the theories introduced for those who listen what happens around them carefully. In essence: why something extremely simple, or just noisy, should be valued as high art “because it’s Cage”, while the same thing played by a nobody remains just insignificant? Why everything done by this man should be considered so important? Then you press the play button and Christina Fong’s violin starts singing: hoarse held tones, minimally weak emissions, raspy semi-ultrasonic activities, slightly oscillating (literally, in terms of cents) pitches. She plays these notes and stops. The hush is broken by the birds, the murmur of the winds amidst trees and the distant cars. Then she restarts, and it goes on and on – the whole 71 minutes of it. And the polemic writer thinks again. Maybe I got it all wrong – isn’t this what humans really need? No aesthetic, no meaning, no nothing. Events, single occurrences with their pros and cons. Who told that something written on sounds can touch inside more than sound itself? What presumption drives to assume the reasons for liking a piece or defining it as useless? Questions that remain unanswered. But the record, once more, is splendid. What were we talking about? Keep listening to the world: this music fits in, gracing the hot air of this particular afternoon. Even birds seem to appreciate: they’re chirping louder right now – and never dreamed of writing treatises on silence.
JOHN CAGE – Three / Twenty-Eight (OgreOgress)
OgreOgress keeps perpetrating the miracle of forcing this writer – not a John Cage fanatic by any means – to like gradually increasing portions of this composer’s output. It must be told that the artistic picks of the label when dealing with the American groundbreaker’s opus do well in smoothing the progress of my positive reception: in this instance, three quarters of the audio DVD are occupied by a remarkable version of “Twenty-Eight”, performed by Prague Winds with Christina Fong, Karen Krummel, Michael Crawford and Glenn Freeman. A piece that, in its static if pretty dissonant temperament, recalls eminent “mavericks of stillness”, resulting to the ears as a plausible amalgamation of Niblock, Conrad and the likes, spectacularly commanding attention in this large space through adjacent resonances and upper partial contrasts emblematic of this kind of offering. The impressive feature of this masterpiece lies in the mystery of such a powerful sonic mass deriving by the concurrence of notes whose dynamics range from p to pppp. The orchestral result – which in the conclusive section “Twenty-Eight with Twenty-Nine” is nothing but imposing – may cause varying degrees of headache to the ill-equipped listener and quivering excitement to the nerves of the cognoscenti, fixed tones that seem to float, harsh harmonic conflicts securing a weird sort of realization. On the opposite side, “Three” – scored for a series of variously pitched recorders, superimposed by Susanna Borsch – is more of an experiment than a proper composition, single notes and sparse batches appearing as veritable stabs to silence, not asking for recognition in terms of memory, only existing as almost self-regenerating phenomena. An interesting episode, yet nowhere near the magnitude of the program’s remainder.
JUAN JOSÉ CALARCO – Raiz de invierno (The Locus Of)
Rarely The Locus Of leaves us wanting with their products, especially the most recent 3-inch series which presents field recording-based music of the highest order. Calarco is a new name to yours truly, but his mini CD shows that he’s worthy to play in the top team of sound artists working in this twilight zone. “Raiz de invierno”, starting from both its title and the cover photograph, is clearly deriving from a winter day in an undefined urban landscape. It reminds me of a time in the early 90s, when in mid August’s afternoons (apropos of winter) one could still go on a hill dominating the Roman area where I grew up and hear just a humming pulse, rarefied motors and an unidentifiable groan symbolizing the absence of people who had left for the summer holiday. Something absolutely unrepeatable today. In the same way, here, the composer chose the whooshes and the reverberant metropolitan presences as interlocutors for our soul, baptizing his creation with a masterfully recorded wash of heavy rain somewhere around middle track. Well known elements, yet very finely assembled. A great piece.
CALIFORNIA OUTSIDE MUSIC ASSOCIATES – C.O.M.A. (Jazzheads/Edgetone)
Like a breath of fresh air in a torrid afternoon in that car graveyard which is jazz today, John Vaughn (sax) Brian Clark (bass) and Dax Compise (percussion) present a lively, limpid, linear specie of thrifty interplay that includes everything going from post-Coltranian prayers (“I love you”) to interesting mutations of kindly improvisations upon detached turnovers, going through mashed chamber music – just like in “Elevator to hell”, where the precious arco work by Clark offers its brotherhood to his comrades’ crosswinds. Themes and blowouts are well distant from sounding furibund, instead maintaining a perspiring porousness which is a major plus to my saturated-with-academic-formulas ears; it is not ultramundane stuff, yet it bears a strong element of sincerity and fun that makes me appreciate it no questions asked. Rent Romus plays his C-melody saxophone in “Tradition” and “Payin’ the Rent”, while “Shalom, Mickey” is my personal instant favourite.
LUCIO CAPECE – BB (A question of re_entry)
A nice item under the guise of a DVD that presents saxophonist Lucio Capece in two video extracts from different performances, the first recorded in Berlin in 2006, the second in Buenos Aires the year before. In the former, Capece exploits the ambience’s hush and his own acoustic devices, which include selected plastic boxes, sawed-off cans, a vibrator, several mouthpieces and various gadgets, to offer an essay of single tones alimented by knowledgeable circular breathing techniques, a minimal improvisation that shows the player’s ability to extract juices even from apparently meaningless gestures. It’s a good occasion for people who can’t watch these things live to finally comprehend how artists of this caliber generate those unconceivable sounds that on record are only vaguely imaginable. In the Buenos Aires performance, Capece uses a mixer and saxophone feedback for his needs; beware, though – Graham Halliwell’s slight undulation it ain’t. The music is indeed a torrent of noise and harsh dissonance, the artist causing the most unbearable squeals following an involuntary choreography during which he walks around the site, bending the saxophone to find new ways of altering the normal perception of its timbre. It’s difficult to digest but rewarding nevertheless, probably a little more than the Berlin track despite a mere 10-minute duration. In both cases, the camera work is pretty rough, yet it looks perfect for the raw energy that Capece is able to conjure up from his excursions.
EUGENE CARCHESIO & LEIGHTON CRAIG – Leaves (Naturestrip)
Originally released in a smaller-than-small 30-copy limited edition, “Leaves” is one of those recordings destined, in a way, to split the sea waters – adore or ignore – yet the overall sensation transmitted to this reviewer is one of pleasant, tranquilizing company, even if I don’t really think of it as hall of fame material. Carchesio is mostly known as a visual artist (although he has already produced music of his own) while Craig is the more “official” musician of the duo; both are parts of The Lost Domain, an underground ensemble with several CDRs out. This release reminds me quite a lot of Darren Tate’s output on Fungal, with a slightly lesser intensity; recorded in a backyard, its instrumental sounds (mostly guitar, banjo, reeds and cheap keyboards) mix very well with the environment – wind, airplanes, cicadas and beautiful birds are very good reasons to appreciate this CD. The tracks consist of simple improvised melodies and arpeggios upon static keyboard figures, or basic free-form miniatures without excessive care about the technical aspect. It all feels just like it happened, two friends relaxing amidst the voices of that very moment of their life and who decided to share that fragment with more people. “Leaves” works well at not-too-high volume and is an unobtrusive, modest record which can help soothing your nerves. And you would never believe how cicadas can generate soft tinnitus when listened for long minutes…
ERIC CARLSSON / DAVID LACEY / PAUL VOGEL / MARTIN KÜCHEN – Chipshop music (Homefront)
In any case, it’s EAI. This is the answer to the many questions that listening to “Chipshop music” raises, and not rarely. Two long tracks – including a King Crimson parody, in name only – played with an assortment of instruments and materials which include percussion, electronics, saxophone, pocket radio and computer. The first improvisation alternates situations and settings that could easily be associated to AMM on the one hand, to a malfunctioning microwave oven on the other. Watching from a third angle, one pictures a squad of men at work with muffled tools, in order for them to avoid public disturbance – except during a couple of intense high-frequency shrieks. Timbres are virtually unrecognizable and the feedback meshes with the reeds’ squealing harmonics; the buzz of the quartet’s activities is more or less omnipresent, making me think about life in an unknown subterranean site from which external sounds can just be intuited. Fascinating, sub-urban, thought-provoking stuff indeed. The second half of the album again mixes chance and obscurity, at times recalling the humming soul of a peripheral town heard from afar, then becoming concretely noisy and uncontrollably nervous in thirty seconds, scraping matters and wavering failures alimenting the necessity of a clear sky in an otherwise grey day. Then, all of a sudden, a hundred coffees are apparently ready and everything starts whistling, although inside the machines there’s actually mercury. It’s only EAI but I like it.
PEDRO CARNEIRO – Improbable transgressions (Sirr)
The Imperial Grand Marimba is a five-octave monster that percussionist and composer Pedro Carneiro uses as his main expressive means. The artistic intention of “Improbable transgressions” is pretty easy to decode, but also quite demanding for the listeners, articulated as it is over two long CDs that could probably be too much to swallow in a single session without suffering a few cases of dwindling attention, unless you’re properly trained. In fact, Carneiro recorded nine solo improvisations, using the many techniques at his disposal to show every nuance, noise, resonance and protruberance to conjure up fascinating dissonant networks and pronounced rarefactions. He then asked nine contemporary sound manglers (Convolution Brothers, Chris Brown, Ivan Franco, Brandon Labelle, Stephan Mathieu, João Pedro Oliveira, André Sier, Christian Vogel and Ralf Wehowsky) to “hack” his instantaneous compositions. The results born from these processes sound pretty serious (not that one would ever dare to think differently) yet we should stress once again that this music should be enjoyed in small doses, because both PC’s original improvisations and their reworkings need intense concentration to truly penetrate their significance. Obliqueness, correspondence of intents, disintegrating relations and unrecognizable projections are at the basis of sound fields that allude to many different reality modifications. On the one hand, Carneiro maintains the physical structures of his playing in obvious evidence, given also the absence of any overdub or edit; contrariwise, several of the “hackers” determine a thorough disembodiment of his tones, most notably Convolution Brothers, Wehowsky and Mathieu. And, naturally, it was meant that way – or was it? All in all, this is a conceptually important, though not steadfastly ear-pleasing release, certainly a different step in Sirr’s usual path.
CARNIVAL SKIN – Carnival skin (Nemu)
Debut album by a high-octane improvisational quintet that peels themes and confrontational fermentations off the fruits of intelligent belligerency, comprising Bruce Eisenbeil (guitar), Klaus Kugel (drums), Perry Robinson (clarinet), Peter Evans (trumpets) and Hilliard Greene (double bass). Indeed, “themes” is not the correct word here, “photoemissions” is probably more appropriate. This group plays with educated fussiness, the artists placing their attention on the details that usually go unnoticed in those jazz strangleholds made of worn-out Real Book trash. Evans and Robinson do everything in their capacities to preserve the purest spirit of rebellion while channelling their unchristian rage into angular methodologies and proactive gleams of contingent beauty. The fabulous arco bass of Greene mixes lyricism with a burning, literally ferocious desire of opening the listener’s mind (check his “Iono” to believe). Kugel sacrifices every piece of his drum set to the god of explosive discrepancy, something that Ronald Shannon Jackson let us know very well over the years. Eisenbeil is caustic, smartly verbose when necessary, open to being raped by his comrades’ eruptions; he’s not afraid to put his feet right into the bloody Massacre (pun intended). The musicians are all completely taken by their roles of disintegrators of nostalgia. “Carnival skin” enters nothingness and rips it open, destroying all the prefabrications that wallpaper music constantly tries to build around us; their energy is devastatingly positive.
FRANCOIS CARRIER – Happening (Leo)
Recorded live in Montreal in 2005, this double CD presents about two hours of free music which, in many instances, sounds composed rather than improvised. Carrier is among the most important virtuosos from Canada, a talented Quebecoise saxophonist whose influences find their roots in a span between Eric Dolphy and Ornette Coleman, with an eye on intercultural dialogues. Throughout the set, he plays with composed attitude, his phrasing energized by Mat Maneri (viola), Uwe Neumann (sitar, sanza, ektara and Indian talking drum), Pierre Côté (double bass) and Michel Lambert (drums). This quintet carries a distinct collective vibe which is quite reminiscent of the many explorations of new languages that were typical of the sixties and the seventies, revolutionary discoveries at that time but still very palatable today, especially considering the exquisite technical finesse of the involved musicians. Speaking of which, a special mention goes to Maneri, whose viola really connects with something different than “jazz”, and Neumann, his exotic percussive arsenal the medium for a relaxing flight through sensations and flavours that constitute the skeleton of these methodical revisions of times that won’t be back.
FRANCOIS CARRIER / DEWEY REDMAN / MICHEL DONATO / RON SEGUIN / MICHEL LAMBERT – Open spaces (Spool)
In loving memory of the late Dewey Redman, here featured on tenor sax, Spool releases a 1999 live set by a peculiar “double reed-double contrabass-drums” quintet. Redman is flanked by François Carrier on alto sax, and throughout the album this couple of forwards plays inspired lines moving from post-Coltranian recollections and invocations to a non-structural, fast-paced quality of atonal phrasing which travels in and around different jazz meanings, but always remains wholly comprehensible. Bassists Donato and Seguin perform their duties maintaining a firm grip on the lyrical aspect, keeping a steady pulse while observing the contrapuntal directions with concentrated serenity and resourceful instrumental command. The excellent Lambert glues the overall keenness of the musicians into a series of percussive frames where both swing and freeform switch-hitting articulations sound like a totally conscious and utterly intelligent decision. Overall, “Open spaces” is an album made of cohesion and passion, full of elegance and freedom, luckily devoid of clichés and formulaic posing by the artists. A worthy homage to a great saxophonist.
FRANÇOIS CARRIER / MICHEL LAMBERT – Kathmandu (FMR)
In October 2006, alto saxophonist Carrier and drummer Lambert were invited – together with a third member that didn’t make it on time – to Kathmandu (Nepal) in order to participate to Jazzmandu, a local festival of jazz and improvised music. In the liners, Carrier underlines the immediate sense of “positive radiation” felt upon arriving on location, deriving both from the beauties of that land and, above all, the natives who apparently transmitted loving energy throughout the duration of the trip and were willing to listen to – and be involved by – the most disparate aspects of the featured materials. The artists repaid this feeling with a set of improvisations – recorded in two different live settings – that sound as light-hearted as a casual conversation while maintaining the specific refinements of conscious, well-constructed instantaneous playing. The mood remains pretty jovial throughout, the reed man repeatedly joking with the audience before starting the pieces. When the instruments materialize, an elegant mantle of concentrated thankfulness and technical prowess wraps the duets, the musicians wandering in that zone where everyone can be an active party without necessarily reaching particular states of trance or detachment. It’s a collection of charming yet advanced vignettes positioned right in the middle of the emotional range. If the ancient Latin saying “in medio stat virtus” is still true, then the protagonists have reached their goal with a single endeavour. One fuelled by optimistic vibrations.
DANIEL CARTER / WILLIAM PARKER / FEDERICO UGHI – The dream (577)
“The dream” is made of a series of open-minded jams that fuse three generations of jazz musicians in a single ideal of freedom, the music channeled in a large-view structure that doesn’t contrast with the overall feel of the album. Daniel Carter’s multi-instrumental approach (he plays piano, flute, sax, clarinet and trumpet) makes him a leader of sorts, his melodic intuitions the starting point of many elegant conversations. William Parker, who as a bass player really needs no introduction, is also featured on shakuhachi and tuba, the latter at times drawing static circles over which his companions perform exercises of controlled disconnection from reality. The trio’s finest moments come in more shadowy tracks like “Never before”, in which Parker’s pensive lines on arcoed bass are accompanied by Ughi’s perennially gentle rolls and restrained flurries, with Carter seaming the decorations of a fine tapestry. This music is a concentrated fusion of intents bordering on Coltrane-ish spirit, a quite enjoyable and pleasing addition to any collection.
KENT CARTER STRING TRIO – The Willisau suites (Emanem)
Carter’s writing for strings is full of finesse and abundantly pollinated by cross-cultural listenings. Most of this music’s character is centred around unfrequent tonalities and profound dialectics among the participants; thematic sketches are not used as a mere starting point, instead becoming a relevant part of the following developments. Invalidating the norm according to which string ensembles are one of the hardest tests for the average public, Carter – here flanked by Carlos Zingaro, François Dreno, Albrecht Maurer and Emmanuelle Roch – repays our attention with imaginative fluttering pictures of delicate animations and also – if the circumstance requires it – with an inappeasable quest for wheezy ciphers of dissonant hobnobbing. “A ballad”, closing the record, perfectly summarizes the enormous talent of this riveting artist.
KENT CARTER STRING TRIO – Intersections (Emanem)
Consisting of Albrecht Maurer (violin), Katrin Mickiewicz (viola) and the leader on double bass, the Kent Carter String Trio shines through nine sensitive pieces (three written by Carter, one each by Maurer and Mickiewicz and four collective ones). Understanding what’s scored and what’s instead improvised is quite difficult, as everything sounds extremely arranged even in the most undescribable sections. There are lots of directions one can look to, minimalism and a sort of “modern baroque” being a couple of them; yet, the elegant eloquence of these tracks sets a very high standard, which is all the more appreciated given the absolute lack of pretentiousness and pomp characterizing the playing. Delicately melancholic themes and Reichian tapestries enrapture through their sheer exquisiteness; dissonant pluralities and almost sorrowful counterpoints ask for some space in the silence of apparently wasted autumnal afternooons. Carter, Maurer and Mickiewicz are linked by an invisible thread which gives their music its coherence, making them sound always conscious of what happens to the others despite the fact that they’re completely absorbed by the very same incantations they create. “Intersections” is a splendid album, one that instantly captures your attention yoking it to the seductive power of its adamant beauty. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of 2006′s best releases and comes very highly recommended.
TOM CARTER + VANESSA ARN – What is here for? (A Silent Place)
Old-style LPs seem to be preferred by musicians whose output deals with mental displacement. In this album, Tom Carter – of Charalambides fame – lends his guitar while Vanessa Arn furnishes us with a healthy dose of electronics in a music that really doesn’t ask for many words to be described: two sides of shapeless timbral spectra whose main gradation is uncertainty, trembling figures and lysergic entities where glissando, tremolo and hum represent the basic factors in about 36 minutes of instrumental roaming that we could easily associate to a lot of ambits, possessing a raw kind of fascination that makes it not only acceptable as a whole, but definitely pleasing in various instances. The wavering character of this concept might cause listeners to cease any intellectual activity, concentration left behind in favour of total relax, especially in settings like the one found today (a cold Sunday afternoon of a bad November day, the air transmitting a quite depressing pre-snow feeling). Just strings and waves, fluttering high then falling down, noise and background activities all part of the recording. No need for perfection, then: “What is here for?” is exactly what it is and, taken in the right moment, even worth of the “repeat” button, at not excessive volume given the customary imperfections of the vinyl that, at least in my case, always spoil the ceremony.
KIM CASCONE / JASON KAHN / STEINBRUCHEL – Atak 004 (Atak)
Organicistic flares and traceless electronic engraftations constitute the subliminal turmoil animating this impressive collaboration between three of the most gifted sound manipulators on today’s scene. The enormous staying power of these immobilizing technostructures is corroborated by an almost odoriferous half-light, full of frequency tampering in pursuit of diaphragmatic emissions of unclassifiable motionlessness. Neglecting any kind of regular rhythm in favour of a pulsating recycling of vital multicoloured dust, Cascone, Kahn and Steinbrüchel quicken the selective process of a congested brain, liberating it from useless data in order to impose their unthawed composite with the firm tranquillity of a zen master. Suddenly, coldness becomes the logical reason for a coveted nerve relief.
LAWRENCE CASSERLEY / SIMON DESORGHER – Music from ColourDome (Psi)
The ColourDome is an installation by Peter Jones, an inflatable structure consisting of a series of coloured tunnels leading to a transparent dome “where the magical inner world of colour meets the real world outside”. Lawrence Casserley (signal processing) and Simon Desorgher (flute and bass flute) have been working “in and around” the ColourDome since the early 80s, both as a duo and in collaboration with other illustrious performers. The recordings contained by this CD were made in 2006 in Exeter, the participants for the occasion being Evan Parker (soprano sax), David Stevens (computer processing) and Philipp Wachsmann (violin). The main criterion behind the abstract formulas conceived by these artists is the sampling and reshaping of small particles of instrumental phrases, reproduced in a sort of environmental amorphousness that swallows the visitors’ voices while generating the almost transcendental “nothingness” that the ColourDome’s particular shape facilitates, rendering the timbres more like the manifestation of a blurred thought than the result of the players’ original intention. It’s difficult, yet stimulating music that can even be enjoyed as a mind-filler when the eyes are concentrated on something else (yes, my old trick of listening to EAI while watching a muted TV still works) but, above all, a precious documentary about the activities of a group of clairvoyants who, just like children do, try to convince us that there are many surprising tones that are worth discovering, our depressing retrogression to the lowest grounds of human reason notwithstanding.
TIM CATLIN – Radio ghosts (23five)
After Catlin’s first CD – 2003′s “Slow twitch” on Dr.Jim – four years have passed before “Radio ghosts”, a collection of six pieces – two for acoustic guitar, three for electric guitar and one for crash cymbal. It’s an intriguing assortment, in which Catlin shows his ability in setting guitar strings in continuous motion, thus creating systems that highlight the impact between an oscillating emotional response and the sheer mechanical experiment. Staying away from manual interventions as much as he can, the Australian is one of those artists who seems to prefer the observation of an unfolding process, with just a modicum of changes over the course of the pieces. Motorized preparations and alternative tunings contribute to the creation of tapestries that exploit the clash of the adjacent upper partials while maintaining a sort of inner consonance, the only exception being the cymbal-based track “Mirage”, which throws its most potent rays of unfathomable environmental symbiosis with a higher degree of controlled violence. The title track adds a radiophonic presence to the existing soundscape, determining phenomena of imaginary voices accompanying a mantric graduality. All things considered, Catlin’s music is quite different from that produced by the names quoted in the press release – Branca, Rowe, O’Rourke, Organum – as its remote morphology is perceivable deep within its most obscure sections, in contrast with the oppressive rumbles and deformations reminding us what Greek composer Dimitri Voudouris wrote: “Consciousness itself is a vibration pattern”.
TIM CATLIN / JON MUELLER – Plates and wires (Crouton)
Very few labels present such a variety of formats and packaging as Jon Mueller’s Crouton. This time they placed a disc perfectly hidden under the info sheet in a 10-inch cover – enriched on the opposite side by Thomas Kovacich’s artwork, a painting named “Cadmium dyptich” – to the point that I had already filed “Plates and wires” as a vinyl in my archive, only to discover that it was instead a CD when I went for the first listening (please save your “check the internet” comments, I haven’t THAT much time in my day). It was indeed the first of what will probably be a long series. The pairing of Catlin and Mueller works well because of their differences, which is to say everything except the fact that they specialize in making their instruments quiver most of the time. One uses self-built devices and peculiar preparations to “extend the sonic possibilities of the guitar”, the other is able to put the skin of a snare drum in such a vibrating excitement that you’ll have to watch out for your wife’s Murano collection’s safety if raising the volume too happily. The five tracks alternate the basic colours of Catlin and Mueller’s palette quite regularly, percussion initially leading with an uncomfortable, incessant, crackling tremor that develops into a thorough disintegration of percussive laws, then leaving room to steady drones, repeated hits, surges of whirring strings that finally stabilize into a beneficial rubbing of the nape of the neck. Through just a few changes of tricks and consequent timbres, the 45 minutes flow without a single moment of tiredness in a fine study on drone complexion that finds many useful sweet spots to knock our willpower out.
JODI CAVE – For Myria (12k)
Suspended between a slightly material kind of ambient music – found objects and muffled aural particles disturbing carillon-like melodies reminiscent of a residual innocence – and its character of soundtrack for an installation, “For Myria” is the recording debut of Sheffield’s Jodi Cave, originally a clarinettist, whose main influences are told to be artists such as Yves Klein, Ad Reinhardt and Agnes Martin. Visuals more than notes, indeed; no wonder that Cave just says that “Myria sounds yellow” to describe what the title refers to. For each piece the maker chooses a minimum of hues, comprehensive of electronically treated sources like the dripping water of the title track, to describe something akin to that kind of involuntary physical activity that human bodies exercise while sleeping, movements that are not decided but prevent us from assuming those contorted positions that cause difficulties to the circulation of blood in our limbs. The record flows with a certain grace, at times letting the listeners focus on fixed, if often pretty frail textures made of adjacent harmonics and wavering resonances, “Untitled” being the best example in that sense. Music whose subsistence depends on the level of non-attachment to the surroundings that the receiver brings into the equation: if one looks for abundance of content, delusions wait around the corner. But managing to deliver our head from interferences by escaping from the fear of what could happen one hour later will brand this experience an enriching one.
CELER – Ceylon (Self release)
Celer (which ideally should be pronounced “sle”) is the duo of Will Long and Dani Baquet-Long, working in the field of loop-based hypnosis and stationary electronica. Their releases are singularly designed and handmade with a die-cutting machine and satin finish paint (by Dani, who also adds some poetry in the inserts) so that each one constitutes a unique homemade art object. “Ceylon” comprises two segments: the first is the one-hour long title track, consisting in a hold suspended chord that I perceive as synthesized but, says Will, is indeed enriched by the presence of wind and water sounds. While many times I laugh at “meditations” made with a single note hiding a total poverty in terms of artistic meaning, Long chose a functional combination of oscillating waves that produce a warm resonance, thus giving a sense of movement to something that in essence is almost completely firm, avoiding tediousness in favour of a beneficial membrane rubbing that works quite well as an active background. “Mainenn” is even better, adding throbbing and wavering low frequencies to a murkier motionless harmony, but unfortunately lasts only 12 minutes. By inverting the track durations, this would have been nearly perfect; yet, despite these annotations, “Ceylon” remains a good album of static trance.
CELER – Sunlir / Scols (Self Release)
Of the three releases that Will and Dani Long kindly sent me a while back, this double CD is undoubtedly the best. To answer the question “What kind of music Celer do?” you only need one word, and that’s “loops”. In about 150 minutes of music, 19 different loops are presented for your mental gratification and bodily relinquishment; and they’re not of the easy kind, those unbearable melodic cycles whose sentimental value is often overwhelmed by harmonic boredom. No, here Celer decided to let the “evil” overtones do the hard work almost everywhere, and it shows: clouds of malignant upper partials clash in the air, the unrecognizable sources and decidedly lo-fi recording quality contributing to an unclassifiable jumble of chordal disgregation (disclaimer: this music is NOT a clone of William Basinski’s “Disintegration Loops”, although one can detect slight traces of influence). It’s that kind of material in presence of which one must necessarily avoid both listening too closely – why try to unveil a mystery? – and using it as background wallpaper; you can’t enjoy your collection of beetles while “Scols” is playing. My advice: find a window, look at the traffic, at the passing people, at the sky. Better still, at the swaying branches of a tree. Remain there. You’ll notice something new even in the most common figures, as those perennial waves alter your concept of “sound perception”. Limited edition with unique artwork, follow the link and bother the artists: this time it’s worth doing.
CENTRELESS – Centreless (Stray Dog Army)
James Brewster’s latest offering is a 12-minute disc that constitutes a concise and effective example of his current vision, consisting of a basis of pretty unusual field recordings whose core essence gets profoundly modified by a thorough digital treatment. One might think that the short duration and a not exactly novel artistic concept would somehow hamper the appreciation of the final result, but it isn’t so: the three tracks are finely crafted artifacts where the apparently absurd links between everyday reality and total disengagement from truth are constantly under the eye of the beholder. There’s not an ounce of redundancy, every sound carefully chosen, manipulated and placed right where it should be. A sense of familiarity pervades even the most displacing fragments, the alternance of sudden close-ups on materiality and poisoned auras of insubstantial frequencies producing an ineluctable experience of complete belonging. I still have to understand to what, though.
ANDREW CHALK – Over the edges (Streamline)
I’m quite sure that this splendid artifact will appeal to anyone who loves Mirror and Christoph Heemann’s albums, not to mention all the excellent recordings by Chalk himself that I’ve been listening to for all these years, plus Ora’s outings. The beauty of the drones elicited by Andrew Chalk is something I can’t describe with mere words: three movements, sounds only apparently immobile but actually changing tonalities and colours, directly touching the deepest corners of your perceptive area. We’re in for a fabulous flight through straight rainbow spectra, each one augmented with hazy processed sounds. The suspension of body and mind’s primary activities brings to a state of mourning stillness, while we’re forced to think that something’s going to change – but it never does. Furthermore, we just realize to be happy about it. Indispensable.
ANDREW CHALK – Fall in the wake of a flawless landscape (Three Poplars)
The challenge of producing one gorgeous album after another is no problem at all for Mr. Chalk, who in “Fall in the wake” applies his electroacoustic magnetochemistry to a profusion of mental trips to the land of nowhere. Starting as usual from complex frequency resonances, Chalk generates a kind of music which is mostly based on overtones and harmonics one would think as coming out of some Tuva singer’s throat, while instead they fall off storms of vibrating instruments that are better left as undefined. The record is fabulously engrossing in its perfect continuity to Chalk’s solo output. It is gifted with rare magnitude, sustaining the strong, consistent quest for an inner “something” we can just try to get a vague feeling of. It’s also the confirmation of a way of chipping sounds away at silence which is totally coherent with the minds operating under the guise of Ora, Mirror, Monos and their relative ramifications.
ANDREW CHALK – Shadows from the album skies (Three Poplars)
This is not music, it’s rather a presage or a magic combination of spirit and research. Common knowledge is thrashed to ribbons: what remains is following new paths of harmonic sensitivity. Is it possible to litter the ground with sonic remnants of purposeful enlightenment? Yes, if your name is Andrew Chalk and you just made a decision to let a single chordal mantra express all that is within yourself at that moment. This silent prayer is resplending from the same sunlight you see refracted on the surface of an apparently immobile sea; knowing the origins of this sound, at least this time, is not necessary. “Shadows” is another example of the continuing effort by Chalk – alone or with Christoph Heemann in Mirror – to define the future of static soundscapes, occupying that extremely important land existing between non-artists and men on a mission; the latter’s goal is fusing themselves in absolute nothingness, while trying to bring positive radiance in our life, through a sad smile or by a record like this one. I can’t do much more than say “thank you”.
ANDREW CHALK – The river that flows into the sands (Faraway Press)
Home-recorded live, the newest album by Andrew Chalk is a sonic picture of the slow flowing of blood through veins, a silent incessant flux from the smallest ramifications until the definition of a complexion in the more or less peripheral phenomena of our life. Created through a wall of reverberating guitars whose resonances and harmonics are beautifully delineated by the droning temper of the music, the tracks of “The river” are less inscrutable than usual, allowing the ear to follow some sort of movement within the mantric chords in a withholding, barely moving circulation of harmonic air. This gives the record a meditative mood – a superior serenity, so to speak – which shows another dimension of the man from Hull, not too far from his previous work (“Over the edges” comes to mind in brief glimpses) but nevertheless a little more straightforward and – possibly – accessible for the uninitiated. While the most static recordings by Andrew put us in a suspended state between corporeal abandon and desolate melancholy, this river unintentionally invites to following, its chiming prayers like monologues by an evolved creature in no need of raising its voice.
ANDREW CHALK – The river that flows into the sands II (Faraway Press)
Contrarily to the usual elusiveness as far as the instrumentation is concerned, this time Andrew Chalk let us know that both these parts (6 to 10) and the first five sections of this piece, previously issued on another Faraway Press CD, were obtained with an electric guitar and the tape delay of a Ferrograph series 7 recorder, except part 8 which adds a keyboard and a two-track recorder. Maybe the composer felt the urge to reassure the listeners about the impenetrable glow of his splendid music being indeed generated by actual machines, not by ectoplasms and ghosts. Yet it should be stressed that every time I concentrate on this Englishman’s swaying beauties something strange happens (in this instance, while the rays of a weak sun filtered through the window, sudden power oscillations started to make my house’s lights flicker. Coincidence? Probably, but one likes to entertain other ideas and no, I’m not talking divine presences). The second instalment of “The river” belongs to that kind of overtone-based rapture which literally freezes; it is also a complex metallic incantation that needs a being’s inner calmness just as living organisms need oxygen. Therefore it’s clear that, in this overexcited world of slapdash mind healers, not many will be inclined to accepting of being invaded by these frequencies. There’s no sense in mixing this wonderful soundscape to the cheap occurrences of daily life; the only admissible comparisons for Chalk’s nerve-rubbing fluctuations come from a long distance, discernible but not to be seen. Did you ever manage to listen to your consciousness manifesting itself? Of course not, despite the incessant blathering of clueless charlatans who saturate their stomach with junk food and their brain with non-stop deliria. Andrew Chalk’s propagations can help to intuit that vibration, and he doesn’t even try to evoke your family traumas and childhood nightmares. That his label’s denomination contains the “faraway” adjective tells a lot. Words are useless. Sound is everything. The right sound. Where the right people are – that remains a mystery.
ANDREW CHALK – Blue eyes of the March (Faraway Press)
In typical Andrew Chalk manner, “Blue eyes of the March” comes in a splendid package, a blue-tinged cover with a photograph of a solitary house in a desolated area. The sounds – which at first I had perceived as processed guitars and bass and instead derive from an acoustic piano – are mixed low and distant, disguising the attack of the notes in a fog which lets only glimmering reverberations and layered harmonics free to diffuse through the surrounding air. This deliberately unclear sonic morphology connects the two movements of “Blue eyes” to the hallowed power of an Indian ceremony, like in an imperturbable mantra where even frequency clusters appear like small praises to an invisible dominion. Once again, Chalk’s music necessitates of our silence, as we try to identify the energies that this artist is able to bring out and let loose in his profound analysis of the inner self through the study of resonance; when we don’t know if a sound makes us happy or sad, it’s usually a clue that no evident message is necessary to understand. Andrew Chalk’s luminescent signals of awareness are a link between sorrow and illumination and I pity the ones who miss them.
ANDREW CHALK – Vega (Faraway Press)
In short, this is one of the finest albums by Chalk, who not only is a beautiful creator of highly absorbing soundscapes but should also be rated as a talented visual artist just by looking at the refined sleeves and poignant pictures adorning his recent and past releases. “Vega” starts in calm indetermination, with a group of contrasting harmonics and processed vibrations slowly bubbling under the film of tranquillity. After a few minutes the magic starts, as what appeared to be without a fixed place finds its way in a puzzling harmony, slightly obfuscated by a complete cut-off of the high frequencies. All notes and chords gradually intone a dejected chorus of enigmatic resonance, a quietly sad procession of virtual looks and eyes whose sorrow is underlined by fabulous glissandos blocking the stomach pit with the most aching, intense emotion, mixing a feel of pain and the consciousness of our being an insignificant particle in an unlimited whole. Thoroughly weightless, these layered washes of desolate beauty still leave doubts about their (and our) origin, establishing magnetic currents whose transitional drive remains beyond the border of extracorporeal. This process requires a complete abandon of instinctive defense, a personal background built on long solitary walks rather than disco nights and TV football, an ability to decipher the most disguised nuances of a sound to use it as a bathometer for a fair evolution. With “Vega”, Andrew Chalk has tried to give us the key to open the door of an apparently unreachable untaintedness.
ANDREW CHALK – Goldfall (Faraway Press)
Featuring Vikki Jackman on piano, the latest effort by Chalk is an album of “complex” ambient reverberations that was originally conceived as a soundtrack, then it gained its own independence. The vinyl comes in a stunningly elaborated package featuring the high quality artwork which Faraway Press is growing us accustomed to. The first half of “Goldfall” sounds like the music of a long dream, hazy visions and blurred luminescences surrounding our self; Chalk mixed the sound deliberately low and muddy, thus the sources remain virtually unrecognizable. The second section re-elaborates the same ingredients through additional processing: everything seems to flow in reverse motion, like a manipulation of our very memories in the vane attempt of retrieving the fragments of our past that we would like to live again, maybe to withdraw something wrong we said, or to have another try after realizing – only many years later – that the path we chose was not meant to be the one we’re travelling now. Andrew Chalk’s astonishing sonic visuals are the means to access the most impervious zones of our consciousness – but after listening, everything’s sense suddenly becomes clearer.
ANDREW CHALK – East of the sun (Faraway Press)
If I ever needed a reminder of my perennial ignorance despite a lifetime spent amidst sounds of every conceivable kind, I’d just have to think to “East of the sun”, a sublime expression of “in-betweenness” – sound drowning in quietness and viceversa – that I had never listened to before Chalk decided to reissue it many years after its original release. “Winter arc” starts like the murmur of a sleepy giant, the only recognizable element an almost immobile alternance of humming bass notes delineating a subdued ideal of illumination, the whole surrounded by emissions that remain undecipherable at first, then reveal themselves to be something like a marine storm whose voice is like a ghostly presence amidst taped and slowed down feedback. You can try as many times as you want, but there’s no way of capturing even a glimpse of what happens in the background; the music moves according to a scheme of faint lights and recurrent dimness that seems to have been conceived by a desolate god of winter weather who’s fed up with decisions and prefers leaving things to their involuntary evolution. “High water” derives from similar coordinates, getting its nourishment from the same well of low frequencies for which the composer is famous, yet it is a little more “present” as far as deep resonance and impressive throbs are concerned. Here, more than everywhere else, oscillating muted drones put our conscious being in a state of reluctance; we’re incapable of accepting this foggy logic of sonic dismemberment but meanwhile realize that submerged voices are calling from within, in order for us to forget what’s untruthful and concentrate on what we already squandered but that’s still there to be retrieved. We just need the right suggestion. Andrew Chalk’s music has plenty of them.
ANDREW CHALK – Time of hayfield (Faraway Press)
“Time of hayfield” is one of the sweetest-sounding releases by Andrew Chalk, a collection of eight delicate pastels whose melodic content is a little bit more pronounced when likened to the blurs of heartrending indetermination which the composer has grown us used to in recent years. In truth, this music could almost be compared to certain pages of Brian Eno’s book, such are the gentleness of touch and the trembling lights that the sounds project, just like the sun rays when they get refracted by the droplets hanging on the windows following heavy rain. As it happens, the ideal setting to enjoy the album is a slightly disturbed silence, letting the dampened poetry of these muffled phrases come out and penetrate, softly, every niche of your self at a whispered volume. In a short while we’re completely bewitched by an aura of intangible sadness that, at the same time, reveals secrets and intuitions belonging to a different way of thinking, possibly a different era. The reminiscence box opens slowly, perfumes and old photographs brought back to visibility after having been forgotten for decades. This is the moment when we realize that developing a deep relationship with vibration should be the sole thing that beings really need to accomplish in their cycle. An alluring fleeting dreamscape – as always accompanied by a gorgeous sleeve artwork – to which Vikki Jackman contributes by playing electric piano in the final track “Seven suns”. If every artistic gesture only possessed half of the purity of Faraway Press’ productions, there would be a weak chance to see again places and situations where inner values still count for something. But let’s not delude ourselves – this is a hallucination.
ANDREW CHALK & DAISUKE SUZUKI – The days after (Faraway Press)
Frequent collaborators Chalk and Suzuki completed this mysterious-sounding album in 2003. Originally issued by Three Poplars, “The days after” resurfaces now, adorned with the splendid artwork characterizing Faraway Press’ sleeves. The Japanese soundscaper provides field recordings made in Tokyo, crickets and percussion, while the Englishman responds with harmonium, chimes and guitar. The first track, “Kasuri”, contains the right balance of improvisation and scarce mobility – the latter ones very Mirror-like in its stringed adjacencies – allowing for the music to remain suspended in between a non-existent harmonic propulsion and the temporary displacement that every sentient being should theoretically feel whenever put in confront with the indecision of a move in life. Sometimes it’s better not moving at all, especially physically – and there’s maybe no one more proficient than Chalk in dissolving the idea of concreteness that marks the aridity of certain “regular” sounds, which he manages to turn into pure beneficial vibration. The second piece “Flaxen” encloses the voices of wind and sea at the beginning and throughout, plus a few human touches (small bells and objects whose noise is barely perceived). Gone three minutes or so, a fabulous subdued drone makes the soul a property of its own, again nailing our willpower to complete immobility. We just need to be invaded by those frequencies that bring us back to a womb of insecurity, yet one that we like to experience. The crickets begin to intone their unique chorale over the existing sources while the drones grow in intensity, a mantra in a deserted factory through a deforming lens. The circle is once more closed, for this is a unique moment of sound art that must be advised but, ideally, not shared. Born alone, die alone. Finishing the existence with this kind of soundtrack wouldn’t be inappropriate, though.
ANDREW CHALK / DAISUKE & NAOKO SUZUKI – Senshu (Faraway Press)
Consider yourselves extremely lucky if you manage to perceive a fraction of the displacing emotional states which “Senshu” is capable of eliciting. Coming in a finely crafted limited first edition of 100 copies (a “regular” reissue is upcoming) this jewel by Chalk and the Suzukis is a reserved prayer of soul-melting invisible force, whose scarcity of instrumental sources – mostly acoustic and electric strings with environmental sounds – is the key to a seldom heard world of resonance whose vagueness is the most important aspect in the subsequent self-conscious responsiveness, insufflated into our being by these pale pastel drawings. Carving holes in our confidence in order to cause the leakage of our egoism, this music relegates the numbness of rational thought down to the very end of the value scale, finally rewarding those who defy arid immutability by believing that even the most incombustible essence can burn of frail tenderness, in a total symmetry with Sound.
PEDRO CHAMBEL – Anamnesis (Creative Sources)
Using his guitar as the only source, Pedro Chambel debuts in the foreground section of the six- stringed avantgarde phalanx with a very mature work. “Anamnesis” is mostly based on low humming, possibly coming from enhanced earth loop noise, over which a lot of amplified and treated waves (some overdriven hissing flange/chorus here and there) and a nice collection of disturbing frequencies create a “storm-peace-storm” atmosphere that permeates the whole CD. The above mentioned humming constitutes the link for everything you hear; all sounds are carefully placed and set to receive the right dose of attention by the listener, without any strain.
PEDRO CHAMBEL – Bruit (Creative Sources)
Portuguese guitarist Chambel starts with microsounds camouflaged as barely visible biotic structures but sure enough, from the second track on, hisses and hums are amplified, dissected and exploited, becoming a mirror reflecting everything that a guitar and a microphone would never want to say. Crude and naked, the electric meditations that Chambel initiates get disturbed by fiddling and scrabbling on strings and other surfaces, like if tiny animals – prisoners in a six-stringed cage – tried their best to catch the attention of the casual listener. But the most satisfying texture of the disc is indeed the progressive hypnotic pulse of the feedback drones: long moments of pre-explosion drift strain the nerves without deviating from the main course, making “Bruit” maybe the first “minimalist” release by Creative Sources, at least until the creator bombards our brain with echoed distortion in the sixth movement.
TOM CHANT / SHARIF SEHNAOUI – Cloister (Al Maslakh)
This is a soprano sax/acoustic guitar session recorded at Sehnaoui’s apartment in Paris, which is near an old cloister. The record comprises three long improvisations whose grammar derives from an obstinate research for uncharted areas of intelligent needlework, thus fertilizing the ground for new contiguities between the percussive resonance of instruments. The results achieved by this duo through the application of extended techniques bring the whole thing to shine, and quite often. Chant’s saxophone creates its illusoriness through reversible hoarseness and chirping tremolos, yet at the same time his playing is radioscopic, bringing out all the multiphonic sensibility at the right moments while eradicating any immunity from its almost probabilistic aesthetic. Sehnaoui’s technical clothing exploits every particle of his guitar; he fills gaps with wooden friction, string detuning and relaxed responsiveness. Gentle bumps and muffled roars respond to Chant’s calls without hurry, and listening to the Lebanese artist hit the strings with random jauntiness in the third section, with the saxophonist bouncing around those semi-chords like an excited peeping bird, adds a pinch of salt to an already appetizing recipe.
XAVIER CHARLES / ROBERT PIOTROWICZ – /// (emd.pl)
This performance was recorded in 2003 on the MS Stubnitz ship, of all places. The sounds summoned forth by Charles (vibrating surfaces, CD player) and Piotrowicz (analog synth, guitar) could probably have caused a sinking, had the set not been so short at about 22 minutes. The very first part is defined by a muzzled deformed voice of someone speaking (in Polish?) coughing and laughing, a manifesto for the repression of vital stymuli. In the background, “regular” music – I’m sure I heard Neil Young somewhere – appears and disappears like the ghost of normality, amidst a first helping of unsafe tumult. If you envisage something like Günter Müller’s creations, even more mashed and distorted by sulphuric treatment, you’re nearing the idea of how “///” sounds like. Even in its considerable fragmentation, the very hubbub, in a way, stabilizes the atmosphere after eight or nine minutes, its possession of the brain by now complete and constant. We are subjugated by a noisy mystique that reveals millions of facets, creates new openings for intuition and is finally set free by the final loop, an alarm clock that ends the piece. Excellent stuff that doesn’t need more time to affirm its meaning, and a great training for that often forgotten cerebral muscle.
XAVIER CHARLES / BERTRAND DENZLER / JEAN-SEBASTIEN MARIAGE / MATHIEU WERCHOWSKI – Metz (Creative Sources)
The rather obscure narrative of this excellent quartet is nicely showcased in about 32 minutes of live improvisation captured in France in 2003. Charles and Denzler often outgrow their clarinet and saxophone during stratocumuli of humid pronouncements coping with gravity during an alternance of crescendos and silent mirages. The rhomboidal figure is completed by Werchowski’s underlinings through a groundwork of sustained timbres and radical alterations, while Mariage’s radioactive guitar hums and purrs without forgetting to launch electrostatic snaps every once in a while. The four musicians move slowly, pushing themselves just that necessary much for us to understand their position; the rest is useless explanation and it’s then and there that you have to raise your antennas.
CHARLIE CHARLIE – La respiration des Saintes (Antboy)
A 3-inch containing a 13-minute devastating blitz on your sense of aural security by Charlie Charlie, a duo operating at the margins of our nervous health who produce their own exquisite blend of piquant musique concrete through altered recordings and cheap sources. Dramatically juxtaposed, all sounds are a bunch of incidental activities, foreign language speech, soft spots and destructive cacophonies which need no refining work to maintain their expressive uproar; it’s like being in silence, at school or in a library, and suddenly being attacked by an “acousmatic violence squad” with wrecking balls.
RICHARD CHARTIER – Archival 1991 (Crouton)
An initial simulacrum of tranquillity slowly develops an almost scary edge, transforming itself in a strict, no-genre music stretching all over the place. Richard Chartier’s “Archival 1991″ takes its basic source from reworked analog and digital synthesizer sounds; its first minutes are characterized by an impressive series of resonant metallic blows, such as in giant bottles with air compressed inside, struggling to get out, yet just turning around itself. As the mass of sound flows on, getting thicker and surrounded with haze, it seems like it wants to possess you completely. Everything comes to an unstoppable sense of uncomfortable levitation; you just don’t know where this painful hovering will decide to land you. One thing’s for sure – a pleasure trip it ain’t: you have to listen hard and get all your faculties in place, otherwise your senses could betray. Chartier starts from very simple means to design an outlook of your own desperate will of surviving even the hardest ordeals; like a greybeard’s eyes, his music can surely wither you. Magnificent stuff.
RICHARD CHARTIER – Tracing (Nonvisualobjects)
I had just finished annoying myself by listening to some verbose, pretentious wannabe and was pretty discouraged; immediately after starting to enjoy this wonderful album by Chartier, my whole being felt much better. “Tracing” is minimalism with a purpose, in the strictest meaning of this abused term: an intimate procession of gaseous particles starts from silence to gradually penetrate our psyche, like a necessary guide helping through a hazy environment with a fog lamp. The orbital period of this impalpable shroud of frequencies is extremely slow, giving our body the chance to adapt to a new condition in which alertness and tension decrease inexorably until reaching the limit between conscious and subliminal. As it often happens to yours truly, the awesome radiance of these recurring icy daydreams is perfectly contextual in a cold, grey gloomy morning where the faint light coming from outside seems to decompose and refract very distant, afraid of disturbing the perfection of Chartier’s memorable piece, for sure one of his very best.
RICHARD CHARTIER – Further materials (Line)
Anticipated as a follow-up to “Other materials”, published in 2002 by Richard Chartier’s own 3particles, this anthology congregates 10 compositions that – from that year until 2005 – graced rare or out-of-print compilations. This is a much appreciated modus operandi from this observer’s position; as a matter of fact, I’m not exactly affectionate with the “various artists” type of records, often muddling up precious music with unmemorable things thrown in as fillers instead of going straight to the trash bin where they belong. In Chartier’s case, the quality of each of his productions is well ahead of certain standards, so it’s good to be in the condition of opening our systems, once again, to the enticing permutations that this talented man persistently fabricates. The CD follows an appropriate logic of dynamics which places severe minimalism (read “pieces that need absolute silence, otherwise you won’t hear a thing”) at the beginning of the program, while the tracks erected upon reiterated appearances and imposing low frequency drones materialize towards the end, a work of art in that sense being “Improvisation_122904b”, formerly on “35 Mutant Seconds” by the Portuguese label Grain of Sound. That is the innermost episode in a faultless release which gives an accurate idea about the methods of one of the sharpest sonic architects around, for whom space and individual acuity should ideally belong to the same sphere. In the real world, a figment of imagination.
RICHARD CHARTIER + TAYLOR DEUPREE – Specification.Fifteen (Line)
This music is the response to an invitation by the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington DC, whose curators asked Chartier and Deupree to create a soundscape for a retrospective exhibition by Hiroshi Sugimoto, a famous Japanese photographer whose splendid “Boden Sea” picture is featured on the cover of this CD. The light and dark shades of grey seen there give a correct perspective on the deeply affecting sensorial blur that the music elicits. Thick clouds of gaseous matter, moving from one side to the other in the stereo field, follow dazzling pulses that seem to come from everywhere except the speakers. Washes of hissing low-pressure ectoplasms join catatonic loops, leading us into territories that might not be unknown to the experts in this area but, thanks to the brilliant sense of spacing that only artists at this level have, the music radiates with that sort of interior harmoniousness that causes the recollection of the most striking personal experiences. At one moment, and I never doubted that it had to happen right then, the outside afternoon light projected the shadow of trembling leaves on the wall of my room, in the very same instant in which the sound particles had gathered around me and my wife, both in a gentle torpor state: it looked like the sound’s warmth was trying to caress our head. The whole “Specification.Fifteen” is just that, a significant exposure to something impalpable, yet able to change the heartbeat’s rhythm when one finally surrenders to its constant slow flow.
LOREN CHASSE – The air in the sand (Naturestrip)
Listening to Loren Chasse’s constructions one can’t avoid noticing the parity among their sources; given the risk of repetition, cliches and color predominance that often are the consequence of environment-based music, Loren seems to have found the correct combination to represent natural components in all their brightness, mixing biotic sounds and concrete human manifestations with experienced sapience. For example, in “The air inside the rain” the stunning “glissando motor” Doppler effect of a flying aircraft appears out of nowhere, leaving room after a few moments to unstable pseudo-drones, seemingly made of a non-existent composite of air and metal (tape speed manipulation is not out of the equation, I suppose) that modulate unvoluntarily, just like the wind in a bottle filtered by an harmonizer. Chasse design unresolved electroacoustic problems which are just looking for the right slot in everyone’s psyche to affirm their inherent staying power.
LOREN CHASSE / PHIL MOULDYCLIFF / COLIN POTTER / KEITH ROWE – Debris field (ICR)
As quoted in the catalogue that comes with this disc, a debris field is “…a region where an accumulation of fragments or remnants of destroyed or broken objects is to be found”. “Debris field” was also a visual/sound exhibition that was located in Bolton Museum and Art Gallery, where the works of 13 multimedia artists (Max Eastley, Loren Chasse, Russell Mills, Julian Lees, Peter Oakley, Colin Potter, Phil Mouldycliff, Keith Rowe, Tom Phillips, Colin Fallows, Hugh Davies, Glenda Lees and Paul Mason) could be viewed and heard. The exhibition catalogue is soon to become a collector’s item, thanks above all to the gorgeous environmental/concrete soundtrack that the four above mentioned soundscapers realized, of which this CD contains an edited 48-minute version. The involved personalities are strong, but this work represents a perfect concoction of their respective peculiarities; the prevailing atmospheres range from low-rumble dominions to natural sounds, with beautiful birds and feet-on-the-ground rustling noise. The overall sense of solitude is enhanced by a balanced mix, which fuses all sources (including Potter and Rowe’s electronics) in an amalgamation of sensitiveness and suspension, the whole giving the idea of something very serious about to happen. This music sounds like the prelude to the fulfilment of a quest which is impossible to define conceptually; play “Debris field” continuously and get lost in this wonderful sequence of doubts about our very selves.
CHEAPMACHINES – Miracle surfaces (Evelyn)
The use of broken and malfunctioning records and CDs by Cheapmachines represents the evil side of modern turntablism, a genre that’s becoming quite trendy in recent times. “Miracle surfaces” is ironically amusing and elegantly fastidious with lots of its hysterics sedated by funny loops, crunching skinning of vinyl and flexi discs, instant hiccups by cheap drum machines and esoteric-to-industrial cauldrons. It’s a spiky course, requiring Doc Martens for your brain to be fully captured, but there is some serious substance at the end of the road.
CHEAPMACHINES – Drone works #8 (Twenty Hertz)
Like a dampened mantra coming from the abyss, Cheapmachines’ contribution to the ever better Twenty Hertz collection of drone assignments is able to stop listeners in their tracks, abruptly changing the light of life and modelling their vision around that very moment. The music is wonderfully effective at very low volume in complete silence, propagating like an intoxicating exhalation made of relinquishment to any corporeal necessity. The engrossing fusion of looping resonances and poised shimmering soundwaves is indifferent to any kind of emphasis; after less than 22 minutes the deep blue has definitively prevailed, bringing back the magic into the memory of stillness.
CHEAPMACHINES – Transit (The Locus Of)
A 3-inch containing a 16-minute piece by Phil Julian aka Cheapmachines, composed on organ and electronics. Those who know me are well aware of the fact that I detest the excess of democracy (read “releases”) in static music, dark ambient and minimal electronica, but “Transit” is a remarkable realization indeed, a perfect example of “minimum of means, maximum result” that I’m pleasingly surprised to find in these territories. A gently sober undulation, generated by the adjacent waves and shifting harmonics of the sources, keeps us snug and warm for the whole duration of the track. It morphs just a tad in terms of reverberating hues, and resonates luxuriously throughout. Instantly we feel at home in Cheapmachines’ entrancing world, needing only a few minutes to decide that the “repeat” function is required, here more than anywhere else (at least as far as the last weeks’ discs that lie on the table are concerned). It could even work for those who still believe that they’re “meditating”. I must confess that I’d have appreciated a full-length CD of this particular drone, such is the extent of my liking. Highly recommended.
CHERRY BEACH PROJECT – Silo 11 (Mystery Sea)
Joda Clément and Nigel Craig had a dangerous experience in Cherry Beach, an isolated place in an artificial peninsula “on which various heavy industrial facilities and toxic no man’s lands decay”. After realizing the recordings heard here – which include nocturnal stillness, metallic scraping, insufflations into bottles, dragged objects and breathtakingly evocative distant airplanes – they had to escape after becoming aware of ongoing “violent activities” in one of the nearby structures. Even after having rescued their equipment in the early hours of the morning, Clément and Craig were fronted by two unknowns who expelled them from the area. Knowing this story is important for a better appreciation of these untreated, unprocessed sounds, which seem to represent the voices and the whispers of hidden presences advising the two comrades to leave the place before it’s too late. The connection between the raw harmonics of the metals and the passing planes is absolutely intriguing, the threatening reverberant thuds heard in the fifth section letting even the listeners at home raise their heads in alerted preoccupation. Overall, an enigmatically fascinating piece of suburban sound art.
ANTOINE CHESSEX – Lost in destruction (Editions_Zero)
In style with the short, sharp, shocking character of many and one releases by this Greek imprint, this is a 30-minute CDR containing five tracks where Chessex utilized “a tenor saxophone through guitar amplifiers and some shitty pedal effects” to perform reiterated acts of hair-ripping devastation; a couple of them were recorded live, other ones in the studio or at home. Are we sure that only a sax was used? I’m only asking, since I distinctly seem to hear screaming voices amidst the carnage, like if Chessex underwent an exorcism while delivering us from the residual memories of what once was called “music”. This has mainly to do with the violent stuff which, by the way, somehow recalls (yes) a mass of distorted electric guitars (picture a Borbetomagus vs Fear Falls Burning hybrid). There’s more: the third segment (all are titled with just the duration time) is an example of growing static tension that never explodes, corroborated by a jumble of frequencies that range from low to lower. Indeed the cheap overtone exploitation and the humming nervousness at the basis of the less noisy moments are the record’s best, but the whole thing is really nice, another chapter in the “how to destroy your good relationship with the neighbourhood” book. As Roger Waters would have it, “Careful with that sax, Antoine”.
ANTOINE CHESSEX – Antoine Chessex (Naivsuper)
Recording this CDR implied a good measure of sacrifice for the concerned parties, since the exact moment in which this session came about was a very cold Berlin day in 2007, and the selected location – the Electronic Church – had not been aerated for quite a lot of time, thus causing the room’s icy dampness to affect both the saxophone (which took approximately a hour to warm up, the protagonist already semi-exhausted before the recording’s start) and the attending personnel, all more or less freezing. The endeavor was repaid by a dazzling, if literally “minimal” result: the whole concept is in fact based on a single note, held by Chessex through the celebrated technique of circular breathing (listen attentively and you can hear him persistently sneezing as he plays moving around the place). The music was subdivided in five sections yet the central pitch remains practically the same, either precisely produced and kept resounding or slightly undulating, often brought to clash with its own reverberation to origin that slight conflict of adjacent frequencies that lovers of Phill Niblock or Alvin Lucier (or, better still, John Butcher) know so well. Only for a few instants of the fourth chapter, Chessex – I couldn’t say how willingly – transposes the tone one octave higher, but it doesn’t last. The concluding act lets us get the impression of the instrument’s sound slowly deteriorating, a handful of feeble multiphonics perceptible in the decaying airy mass at the end of the track. Despite the label’s recommendation of listening by headphones, the effect via the speakers is especially beautiful. 33 minutes of your life for these nerve-reinforcing quivers are definitely well spent.
BRUNO CHEVILLON – Hors-champ (D’Autres Cordes)
Bruno Chevillon is the father of a fascinating work, the (altered) voice of his basses just one among a myriad of elements – samples, tapes, found and environmental sounds – of a patchwork that’s very similar to the sonic landscapes we’re used to receive from acousmatic composers specializing in electric string machines (I’m thinking Paul Dolden, even if Chevillon’s music’s level of complexity is certainly not the same of the Canadian’s). Like fellow Frenchman Samuel Sighicelli – whose excellent “Marée noire” on this very label features the bassist – Chevillon is interested in detailed imagery and emotional evocation, but distinguishes the music with a dose of rock-ish energy, probably derived from the obvious influence of the growling frequency of the utilized instruments. Not that the record is full of riffs and elicits heavy metal fantasies, not at all; still, the sense of gloomy future pervading it is palpable, although finely balanced by a masterful alternance of psychoacoustic settings in which the single source can determine the orientation of the listener’s frame of mind. Paroxysm and evidence, outburst and peaceful stream. These contrasts function magnificently, wrapped by a tissue of timbral coherence that renders the trip definitely more galvanizing than boring. Antye Greie-Fuchs (AGF) appears in two pieces, her German interpolations adding yet another element of perplexity to an already puzzling pastiche.
DAVID CHIESA – Phonèmes (Creative Sources)
“Phonèmes” is an album in which double bass is more the means for an anguishing self-analysis than a regular instrument. David Chiesa does not hide his intentions, confronting us with a meagre aesthetic of gestural subtlety, eliciting concentrated bursts of energy from the bass while leaving silence to oversee the whole performance. Although devoid of any kind of known pattern, Chiesa’s style is a counterattack against that genetic manipulation which – slowly but inevitably – is transforming what we used to call “reductionism” to a cliché, still palatable but somehow predictable. Without the need of extraterrestrial techniques or excess of revolutionary application, the two tracks of this CD use a whole lot of dynamic (in)discipline and textural dissonance, privileging pictorial representations of touching depth and accomplished manipulations of acoustic attributes – both strong assets in this artist’s engaging work.
CHILOPOD – Skin picking (Post Office)
More interesting music from Wales, this time by Chris France (aka Chilopod) who writes pretty significant audio letters using field recordings, sound sculptures and well distinguishable beats to achieve entertaining memories through intelligently resilient instrumental compositions. Exploring zones nearing the realm of deformed ectoplasmic clones of Hafler Trio and Zoviet France (in their early years) and fusing those unquiet diversities with (ir)regular pulses which appear every once in a while to lessen the tension, France determines his own coordinates in an area where ideas and sketches seem to evaporate one after another in delirious flurries; he’s very good in striking a good balance point between movement and stasis, so that “Skin picking” results as a positive effort by all means, thanks to a strange but functional elemental harmony that goes beyond a normal description.
MICHAEL CHOCHOLAK – Hollow bodies (Echo Music)
There are pretentious people all over the experimental music world, but Michael Chocholak doesn’t sound like one of them. Especially when listened at low volume in the early hours of the morning – and I strongly recommend to do it via speakers – “Hollow bodies” gives the idea of a pretty innocent try at guessing what lies behind the secrets of an audio cosmos which seems somehow reachable yet remains mostly undetermined. Synthetic shapes and hermetic encumbrances are all part of a game in which every pawn is entirely active, sometimes to the point of self-emphasizing their role almost in excess; matter-of-factly, the only defect perceived here is a slight overstaying of a few repetitive formulas, but luckily this doesn’t happen so frequently and the “plus” sides are vastly superior. What I really like instead is the way some of the electronic waves work amidst silences and slightly disturbed celestial moistures, organisms of effusive promiscuity glimmering in eccentricity. Some of the parallel courses depicted by these impressions are indeed engrossing: those are the very moments in which I think that Chocholak – if given the right opportunity and by removing some dead branch – is capable of giving us something even better than this artifact, itself already walking on steady legs.
CHOP SHOP – Oxide (23Five)
Scott Konzelmann, a New York-based sound artist specializing in installations supported by speaker construction assemblages, was subjected to the same problem that struck William Basinski while the latter was working on what became “The Disintegration Loops”. In fact, the tapes containing the things you hear in “Oxide” were affected by their long-lasting exposition to moisture, causing the original content to be somewhat spoilt. Three words are printed in black in the sleeve: “DAMAGE. DECAY. LOSS.” That would have to be a perfect summing up of Chop Shop’s music: a cold, isolated view on a crumbling civilization where sentiment, or whatever might be defined as “heartfelt”, doesn’t receive citizenship. In terms of sonority, the substance ranges from a string of built-up drones recalling the distant mantras of marble-cutting machinery at work to a series of breathtaking swashes meshing the rumble of a jet engine and the acoustic pollution of the worst kind of noisy industrial unit. The most peaceful (so to speak) sections are characterized by a subterranean ebulliency, making us reflect about inviolable secrets and misanthropic existences. The record works differently depending on the reproduction level, though: when playing it at moderate volume, its presence is felt as a soft kneading, silence fed by sinister whispers, the interstices between the events pervaded by the authority of a silent menace.
HONG CHULKI – Without cartridge, with cartridge (Balloon & Needle)
Why wasting nerves and energy arguing and fighting when you want to divorce? All’s needed is putting these two 3-inch CDs in the machine and press “play”. You’ll be left alone in seconds. Seriously, this is dangerous noise. Hong Chulki is a turntable artist, not in the vein of Philip Jeck, Janek Schaefer, Christian Marclay or Otomo. No, the only term of comparison here might (vaguely) be Ferran Fages, even if the Catalan improviser approaches his instrument a little less violently (at least as far as the final result is concerned). As the self-explanatory title reveals, Chulki divided his experimentations in separate units, one per mini-CD. “With” has to do with scratching sounds on vinyl, yet it seems that they were produced by a delirious dentist with a nuclear drill. “Without” is slightly more monotonous (ha!) but equally piercing, if not downright membrane-disintegrating. The Korean sonic terrorist amplifies everything he manages to capture until loudness becomes Bible. And you will be careful in avoiding headphones this time, because this stuff literally stings and bites. And is valuable, believe it or not (your ear specialist will confirm, after handing the bill).
CINEPLEXX – Restar (Testing Ground)
Cineplexx is Sebàstian Litmanovich from Buenos Aires, now based in Barcelona. His biography reports that, aged only 8, he put his hands on a cheap Casio keyboard and that was all he needed to start loving the fat, dirty, often horrible timbres springing out of the thing. Fact is, he still uses them in his music, which in this case was recorded on a laptop but maintains anyway a totally lo-fi aroma, often deliriously delightful. With just a modicum of help on guitars by Sebàstian Kramer and Martin Litmanovich, Cineplexx created a brilliant chain of stupid-but-effective themes, gaseous ambiences and trembling memories which are all the more welcome here, reminding yours truly of certain adolescential experiments on a well-beaten Fostex 4-track cassette machine. Synthetic quivering, fake theremins and ugly drum patterns are all part of a whole that smells like the rubber toys in the kids’ room. Entrancing in a peculiar way, “Restar” is a surprising and atypical listen, even on these shores.
CIRCLE – Tower featuring Verde (Last Visible Dog)
OK, I’ll admit it; although Circle’s music is described as something that should be relatively well known, I never heard a note from them until this very CD, which was recorded with (and mixed by) Mika Rintala, aka Verde. In case no one noticed, we’re talking Finland here. The music is strangely alluring in its simple formula, which seams loops, grooves and spirals of electric piano upon more loops, grooves and spirals of percussion and drums, the whole putting me in a mental haze – very near to sleep – in a matter of minutes. And this is meant as a compliment: this stuff is effectively bewitching, almost lo-fi in a silent way (pun intended, even if I tend to agree more with the Soft Machine comparison pointed out in the press release) and minimalist in a positive sense, its mesmerizing, hypnotic patterns shifting and intersecting all over the place in a meltdown of preoccupation and tension. There’s nothing much to add; “Tower” is a refreshing listen, it doesn’t break any rule but then again who wants to constantly live in search of rules to break? Mike Ratledge and Karl Jenkins nod their approval. Maybe.
ŁUKASZ CISZAK – Phloem (Sqrt)
A guitarist and composer from Poland, Ciszak is immediately soliciting attention with a well conceived formula that fuses his instrument – detuned, slowed and altered – and a nice work with tapes and field recordings. Gloomy atmospheres – perfectly suited to an ugly April morning that’s my own today – and strange canons of metals and loose strings are presented in succession by Łukasz, who doesn’t like remaining in the same place for more than a few minutes. This obscure slide show never loses its focus, as one learns a new low-key lexicon without feeling disoriented, instead recognizing some distant influence without needing to take note of it. Braininess and obfuscation get meshed with great care; the same goes for untreated and distorted sources. Let’s keep our ears open to future music by this new acquaintance.
ŁUKASZ CISZAK – Landmarks (Sqrt)
One thing’s for sure: Łukasz Ciszak is not a predictable musician, and he’s also one of the few names active in the area of “semi-quiet sonic terrorism” who’s able of fathering absorbing elaborations without recurring to cheap illusions, shocking images or fake iconoclasms. “Landmarks” consists of three tracks that often put Ciszak’s axes in good evidence, even more than he’s grown us accustomed to in his previous works. “Transition in patterns” begins with a mass of shrieking feedbacks that after a while implode into that world-famous definition of “ominous drone”, a disquieting feeling of menace under which various voices and signals can be heard. Over the distant echoes of an urban environment, a bleached guitar invites the listeners to get lost in a haze of industrial pollution and mind-numbing noise. Ciszak then introduces additional six-stringed improvisations whose stridency contrasts with the abnormal state of anticipation that they generate. “Rough circle” moves the air with distorted frequencies and nuclear winds that agitate an already tangible nightmare of inharmonic, non-tempered acidity, a convulsive trip through the viscera of idiosyncratic mayhem which terminates in a blissful rusting of the senses. The title track, contrarily to the others, starts pretty calmly – but never believe the weather report. An incessant mechanical rhythm takes command with growing intensity accompanied by unusual bleeps and hisses, the same voices coming out of the background once more, if only to give the faint idea of a still present humanity that is going to be radiated away by the evil nature of these spurious layers. A superimposition of jangling oblique loops adds a wry touch of dissent, barely repressed by last-minute electronic crescendos, until the sudden conclusion. Again, excellent stuff and, unbelievably for this genre, extremely emotional.
ŁUKASZ CISZAK / TOMASZ JUCHNIEWICZ – Field Extension (Sqrt)
“Scored” for guitar, keyboards and percussion – even if it’s often pretty difficult to recognize them – “Field extension” is a 3-inch that once again testimonies about the creative fertility of Polish sound art/avant scene, of which Ciszak and Juchniewicz are two mainstays. Comprising a series of pretty short tracks whose prevalent atmosphere doesn’t leave any hope for blue skies and sun rays, the record is remarkably bewitching in its hypnotic chiming and metallic/electric nature. Most pieces profit by a single “minimal” idea’s maximum potential, according to a compositional philosophy that recognizes resonance – harsh or less – as a carrier of echoes in the listeners’ mind, whatever their anticipation might be. Everything melts into a remorseless coldness whose fumes are intoxicating but, at one and the same time, revelatory of new approaches to that difficult matter called “individual relationship with static improvisation”. I warmly suggest the use of the “repeat” mode to seriously penetrate the raw subtlety of this excellent music.
CIVIL WAR – When fact threatens belief (Longbox)
After only 11-plus minutes of engrossing soloism recorded in an abandoned grain silo, one is left asking for more. Though Civil War is a trio, each one of the members plays a short improvisation all alone: Amy Cimini’s viola is beguiling and forceful, her harmonics spectacularly jinxed; Adam Sonderberg’s metal/percussive shrieks come directly from the university of harshness, while the resonance of Katherine Young’s bassoon closes this 3-inch CD with a cross of corporeal immanence and ethereal majesty. Concise and excellent.
CIVIL WAR – The brutality of fact (Longbox)
…or “The beauty of contrasting harmonics”, which could very well be an alternative title for this authoritative statement by Amy Cimini (viola) Adam Sonderberg (percussion) and Katherine Young (bassoon), who record their improvisations in an abandoned grain silo, fusing the breathing quality of their instrumental ramifications with some faraway extra-urban apparition. Young’s bassoon represents a lead voice of sorts during most of these destructured mantras: undulating notes on the verge of exhaustion explore impressive multiphonics and stomach-gripping glissandos, while Sonderberg embraces a stabilizing tranquillity by putting metals and skins at the service of an engrossing natural resonance. Cimini’s viola, apparently more decentralized, is instead a focal point: it joins these conflictual chants for a while, then departs in search of heretic melodies, then again returns to complete a ruthless ritual, an initiation to the almost hurtful responsibilities that this trio’s unique voice symbolizes as a whole entity.
CLAUDIA QUINTET – Semi-formal (Cuneiform)
The Claudia Quintet – led by John Hollenbeck, who’s played with virtually everyone in the New York scene, from Meredith Monk to Rich Woodson – follows the tradition of unclassifiable Cuneiform bands which have been gracing our ears for twenty years or so; we’re talking Doctor Nerve, Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, Curlew just to name a few. Their third album, second for the Maryland label, transcends the boundaries of definition: Hollenbeck is flanked by four monster multi-instrumentalists (Drew Gress, Matt Moran, Chris Speed and Ted Reichman, each one having his own fabulous CV) in a lively, unpredictable, intelligently strange pot-pourri of virtuoso technique and fragmented nomadism, the result being a record that’s very accessible even during its most contorted moments. It’s a new generation of contemporary audio vignettes, full of useful quirky vistas for lovers of jazz, pop, rock and avantgarde in equal measure, revealing a peculiar outlook on the strangest aspects of today’s music via fanciful playing and fresh approaches. The best aspect of Claudia probably lies in their impressive balance of heart, humour and detachment; it’s no surprise then that Hollenbeck calls this “semi-serious music by musicians who only take themselves semi-seriously”.
CLAUDIA QUINTET – For (Cuneiform)
In a way, this group’s material is built upon paradox; at a first glance, it could sound pretty “simple” to the ears of many obsessive new music aficionados who only live for endangered rhythmical species and finger contortions. Give it a coupla (make that three, or four) attentive tries and think again, as under the appearance of sheer “linear” themes or minimalist repetitions there’s a puzzling world of details and structures that, taken as a whole, furnish the compositions with the richness that’s typical of a great “progressive” band mixing contemporary jazz, Reich, Piazzolla and Bulgarian folk played with the same attitude of a technically hyper-advanced bionic busker. “For” is Claudia’s fourth CD – note the title’s pun – each of its tracks being dedicated to someone, famous or not (check for yourself). Besides the well-known percussive bravura of leader’s John Hollenbeck who – incidentally – penned all the pieces, lots of kudos should ideally go to Ted Reichman, whose accordion is the real protagonist of compelling situations ranging from the melancholia-tinged immateriality (“This too shall pass”) to the plain virtuosity (“Be happy”). These notations must not detract from the astounding musicianship and adroitness of the other Claudians (Drew Gress on bass, Matt Moran on vibraphone and Chris Speed on clarinet and tenor sax) completing the line-up of an ensemble that acts as the perfect trait d’union between the necessity of something complex and the will of relaxing the nerves every once in a while, still without being able of actually lowering our guard, given that a circuitous construction can always be lurking behind the corner of a single-note melody. Don’t worry if you can’t find a definition for the Claudia Quintet; just rejoice for their newborn creature, as these guys are extremely serious in what they do. Furthermore, Kate accepted John’s proposal.
JODA CLEMENT – Movement + Rest (Alluvial)
Can you say “high class in treatment of sorrow”? That’s what came to my mind while listening to the gloomy atmospheres of Joda Clement’s music, which is often comparable to greyish funerals for the light-hearted, slightly dipped in pre-Lustmord sauce. Nevertheless, your approach with this composer should avoid any lateral esoteric thought, since Joda does not indulge in easy emotional tricks; his field recordings are treated and mixed in a rarefaction of drones – multieffect processing and various synths are used extensively – that reveal slow movements of disillusion in the agony of a futureless serenity. Furthermore, Clement works masterfully with time stretching, giving a sense of stasis even to the few moving blocks of his desolated quarters; over there, textural mud evolves into fascinating low-frequency densities, rarely enhanced – better, distracted – by some subtle pulsating sequence or a couple of lamenting synthesizer notes. Keep your eyes open.
CLIMAX GOLDEN TWINS – Climax Golden Twins (Testing Ground)
A bucolic acoustic guitar arpeggio is polluted by tapes in contrary motion and strange consonant electronic sounds; after a while, barely audible frequencies appear in an almost mute setting, soon engulfed by very distant external sounds coming from my open window. I look at this 3-inch CD cover, finding no mention of anything or anyone, except for the artwork’s creator. I decide to shut the window (too bad, there were birdies mixing well with the “music”) and all I hear is a low hum and – every now and then – a shifting high frequency pitch manifesting itself, then disappearing almost instantly. Raising the volume, the underground murmur becomes more evident, gaining strength after about 9 minutes of the piece, then leaving me alone with a gentle toll of metallic “bells” immediately replaced by acid distortion and crafty low-budget acousmatics which transform everything in a hellish mess…for about 30 seconds. Then, as Bernhard Günter would have it, silence. Excellent stuff.
NELS CLINE / JEREMY DRAKE – Banning + Center (Experimental Musical Research)
When you’re down and troubled and need a helping hand, put “Banning + Center” in your CD player and prepare yourself to have your neuronal activity completely discombobulated. Recorded live at Line Space Line in LA (2005), this 32-minute improvisation finds Cline and Drake in full six-string terrorism mode; except for a few moments, every sound is deconstructed and overprocessed in a way that could cause some intervention by the League for the Protection of Guitars. Using an arsenal of effects and tricks, this duo goes for the listener’s jugular by raising waves of distorted rumbles and loops of untidy patterns sounding nearer to a factory production line than an instrumental exchange. Tenaciously grabbing each other’s figurative neck, these noise-slingers sound fascinatingly violent, yet their aesthetic maintains an articulated feel that highlights their technical ability quite nicely. One of those albums which won’t help social relationships in your condominium; even Carole and James would agree.
CLOCKED OUT DUO – Water pushes sand (Clocked Out Productions)
I felt joy as soon as I put this CD on. This is music so innocent, sincere and beautifully pure you’d listen to it for days. Erik Griswold and Vanessa Tomlinson are an Australian couple playing prepared piano and percussion of any kind; their influences are too many to be listed here but also so distinctively fused in an artistic breath that you just have to listen to fully comprehend. Most of everything, even in Erik’s piano playing, I detect a gestural architecture comparable with Asian theatre/dance manifestations, plus a good dose of sense of humor (particularly evident in the use of rubbing balloons by Vanessa: she’s a master of this technique, getting everything from motors to string sounds from them). There are Chinese rhythms, folk tunes, lots of contemporary shades in “Water pushes sand”: generally speaking, you have two excellent musicians who seem to share their love for life and for themselves, both as human beings and adventurous workmates.
CODE INCONNU – Spoil, microbe (Chmafu)
Rarely you meet drum’n'bass-influenced music that’s also very rich in dissonant intensity, therefore generating peculiar overtones all around the place; this is exactly what happens in this album, which I like much more – you guess it – when listened from the speakers. Code Inconnu’s line up consists of Gottfried Krienzer (guitar, sampling) Christoph Uhlmann (synth, sampling) Markus Sworcik (drums, sampling) and Andreas Klöckl (bass); the quartet raises a mass of deranged resonances and unexpected colours, thanks to very individual voices that, while interacting in the overall context, are each one the reason for slight deviations from the norm, which results in angular fragments, chiming shifting chords and throbbing organisms of low frequencies that seem to come from the outside, so eccentric is their placement in the mix. Try this CD at medium volume in a silent environment and be rewarded by a product which won’t have you howling for pleasure but whose mechanisms approach perfection.
COELACANTH – Mud wall (The Helen Scarsdale Agency)
Jim Haynes and Loren Chasse work with metals, organic materials, shortwave radio, their music sounding like a nuclear wind in a desert parking lot. Ignoring flavoured atmospheres to privilege unquiet natural pollutions, Coelacanth dwell in the patchy surroundings where sound sterilization is prohibited; the sources – undiscernible yet mind-blowingly detailed – produce a menacing somnolence leading to the no man’s territory of mental displacement, in a sense of predestination that’s almost resignation to uselessness. Throbbing and stony-hearted at the same time, “Mud wall” raises the bar for most participants to the new isolationist banquet, distancing itself from the mass of predigested records pretending to “discover the truth”; covered with soil residues, this mass of phenomena stares glacially, reducing you into speechlessness.
CHRIS COGBURN / JEFFREY ALLPORT – …of borders and room… (Ten Pounds To The Sound)
Cogburn and Allport belong to that race of improvisers that explore the no man’s land between frictional development and ear-filling resonance. The 20 minutes of this 3-inch CD make full use of the most obvious qualities of alternative percussion, which they exploit with asymmetric grace and cryptic associations amidst the environmental noise of the Vancouver site in which these recordings were made. Rustling and scraping start the process, many moments of quasi-silent phenomena are deployed; but the most effective music is the one generated by the howling waves that the players elicit in long segments of auricular rubbing, which I instinctively associated to the work of Jon Mueller. This kind of territory remains fertile enough, even given its pretty well known basic coordinates; the repeat mode won’t hurt a deeper appreciation of this duo’s effort.
CHARLES COHEN & RED WILCOX – Those are pearls that were his eyes (Ruby Red)
Here’s something that will curl up the toes of the “stranger is better” cult adherents: a duo improvising on a Buchla Music Easel (for those who don’t know, it’s a vintage synthesizer), drums and gongs. Both musicians come from Philadelphia; Cohen is a pure instant creator, his synth the one and only machine used in 20 years of performances which include working with Jeff Cain in The Ghostwriters (whose music I confess being not acquainted with) while Wilcox, who plays with the likes of Arthur Doyle and Steve Mackay, gains my instant utmost approval with the news that he lodges raccoons in his residence, a condemned tower of all places. I’d be lying if I told you that this stuff is totally “abstract”, since both musicians do their best to shape their modified realities into partially structured, if often scarcely accessible accounts from the borders of contrapuntal nullification; this transforms casual intuitions into multifaceted crystals and peregrine vibrations, everything splendidly detailed by the high quality of the recording which lets us catch even the players’ breath during their effort. Eventual terms of comparison can be just imagined, halfway through any competent metaphysical exploration of a synthesized world and the midi-and-drum music of people like Matt Davignon. Wilcox is a very “human” percussionist though, his unconstrained fantasy contributing a lot to a better acceptance of Cohen’s evolutional, but at times still inward-looking passages. A Buchla is a Buchla, ladies and gentlemen.
STEVE COHN – Iro Iro (Red Toucan)
A Japanese expression that approximately means “this and that” distinguishes an album whose contents were recorded in 1999 at New York’s Knitting Factory. The nominal leader is featured on “piano, shakuhachi, hichiriki, shofar, ektara percussion” and he’s finely complemented by Masahiko Kono on trombone, Tomas Ulrich on cello and Kevin Norton on drums, vibes and percussion. Narrates Cohn that he looked to bring together innovative improvising ensembles while still leading his chamber unit, previous works with Thurman Barker in mind. Three sympathetic comrades were found and hired, and we can’t but appreciate the outcome – even almost a decade later. The quartet does possess a penchant for individuating spots where the intercommunication is so highly evolved that contemporary classical music instantly zaps the imagination. I’m especially thinking of the spellbinding central section of “Kombawa”, where Ulrich’s poetic poignancy becomes a much desired spouse to Cohn’s flutes, while Kono peeks and gets away with an instrument certainly not known for levity; yet, in his hands, the trombone is less talkative and more imaginative, unerringly fishing the few notes necessary for the completion of those instantaneous concepts. Norton, who was chosen also in virtue of a “spiritual side”, as per the leader’s words, demonstrates yet again an utter command of the percussive culture and, what’s better, that he knows exactly when the time is right to disappear, only to be back with a vengeance after minutes. The piano figurations remain firmly anchored to a classy refinement certainly not jeopardized by the bolder playing, leading the music towards a lack of restrictions that is all the more appreciable, if disciplined by four or five well-placed rules. Which ones, of course, we will never know.
MAILE COLBERT – Moborosi (Twenty Hertz)
Maile Colbert, from Los Angeles, is a filmmaker, video and sound artist whose activities include teaching sonic design and applying her craft to other people’s work, especially in the movie, documentary and installation areas. “Moborosi” is Colbert’s misspelling of the Japanese word “Maborosi”, which should approximately be translated as “phantasmic light” and enclose vague concepts of “otherworldly, a bit lonely, a bit of longing, a bit of hope and wonder” (a monk indicated a distant luminescence in the nocturnal view of an harbour to give her an idea of what this concept means). Of the same importance is the quality of the record which, although not exactly conforming to the Twenty Hertz canon of advanced electronica, evolved ambient and droning soundscapes, is truly of the “short and sweet” kind, lasting in fact only half an hour filled with moments to be repeatedly savoured and definitely remembered. The composer is extremely clever in her choice of not fossilizing herself on a specific setting, possessing an uncanny ability in elaborating the right alternance of evocative ambiences and juxtaposed pictures, offering a series of aural snapshots whose contrasting character outgrows the limits of the recorded format to expand within our system with the delicacy of a fine perfume. We hear voices singing in Latin and reciting poetry amidst slowly melting backgrounds, misshapen dreams, strange loops of electric bass, a carillon reproducing “Greensleeves”, snippets from old records à la Janek Schaefer, female choirs, environmental fragments, impressive subterranean frequencies, interferences abruptly changing a previously oneiric scenario. The listeners are put in confront with those invisible entities that dematerialize thoughts during the REM phase of sleep. It’s a very personal style, despite being made of pretty familiar elements; we’re not too far off the target when suggesting names like Helena Gough and Gavin Bryars as just two of the many entrance points for an optimal approach to this deeply inquisitive release.
COLD BLEAK HEAT – Simitu (Family Vineyard)
Paul Flaherty (alto & tenor sax), Chris Corsano (drums), Greg Kelley (trumpet) and Matt Heyner (acoustic bass) release their second CD as Cold Bleak Heat, showing that they can teach a thing or two to improvisers everywhere. Although this music was recorded in 2003, it sounds like it was created one hour ago. “The voice of people is the voice of God” attacks almost immediately with a blowout, a bobbing-and-weaving assault in which Flaherty and Kelley spit pieces of lungs into their instruments while Corsano and Heyner create a lattice of chanting ebulliency and Last Exit-like powerful rumble, the whole flowing into a more meditative finale where the four voices assume a more colloquial, yet always energizing stance. “Should we destroy the hubble?” begins with a Kelley solo whose inventiveness would make a blackbird envy, soon joined by Heyner’s nervous arcoing in a tense conversation, with Corsano skipping and strolling over a mind-boggling polyrhythmic vision. Flaherty comes last to make sure that a feeble ray of lyricism remains visible, but soon is beckoned into that cloud of exhilarating freedom. Nocturnal echoes are heard at the start of “Mugged by a glacier”, a 21-minute piece whose initial intimacy is progressively transformed into a groovy declaration of independence to be affixed in the main streets of contemporary jazz. Here Corsano shows why he’s considered one of “da men” in modern drumming: he sustains and fights, always remaining in complete control of his dynamic fluency, while Kelley destroys anyone who dares to whisper “Miles Davis” with a porous tone that leaks rage and consciousness at one and the same time. An impressive showcase of horny-handed emancipation from stylish insecurity is given in “Pound cake”, Flaherty’s contorted howls and Heyner’s outrageous lines at the basis of a fabulous turmoil, while “A white bandaged head in the shadow of death” parallels mourning shadows and severe-sounding elegies in a sonic organism replete with insubordinate sensitivity, the four comrades virtually ready to bare their soul for an ideal of purity, then launching in yet another battle of iron wills and self-defenses that fuse into a roaring corporeal entity. The album is ended by “To understand all is to forgive all”: Corsano rolls and bangs to open discourses, then Flaherty and Kelley shake hands and walk together for a while remembering the good times, while Heyner intones a contrapuntal texture that comes and goes. They can’t resist to their inner urge, though, allowing themselves to enjoy a last opportunity of showing their proud musicianship, bathed in talent and expressiveness. Call this stuff “free jazz” if you like, but this record is simply a masterpiece.
COLD READING TRIO – Life of ghost (Form Function)
Here is one of those electroacoustic artifacts that I love calling “sleepers”. First try: hmm, interesting but maybe who cares. Second: nice stuff, the boys know what they’re doing. Third: adequate enough for a review. Therefore, here’s to you Christian Pincock (laptop, valve trombone), John O’Brien (percussion) and Evan Mazunik (accordion, keyboards, ukelin). Each musician comes from an altogether different background: Pincock is a technology geek who also graduated in jazz and composition, O’Brien is trained both classically and in jazz, too – he studied with Andrew Cyrille and Gerry Hemingway among others – and Mazunik started on piano “to develop hand-eye coordination”, became an adroit pianist then one day took an uncle’s accordion and his preference definitively went to that instrument. An engaging factor in this music, although not uncommon, is the use of MAX/MSP software to expand the timbral possibilities of the trio. The improvisations are quite unobtrusive, mostly made of short sketches and minor movements that get levigated, extended and expanded by this “foreign presence” acting as amalgamator of an otherwise pretty disjointed series of elements: pulmonary drones, percussive bursts, various kind of insufflation, the whole standing halfway through concrete and amorphous. “Life of ghost” is an apt title, in that the overall sonority is more perceived like an aura than as a result of instrumental efforts. Something that’s not memorable, much less definable, yet – strangely enough – working. Every time for the better.
JONATHAN COLECLOUGH / COLIN POTTER – Low ground (ICR)
By now, when listening to field recording-based music, I can easily detect pretenders and unmask them, even when the production is so glossy and nice-sounding that they might catch you guardless on a first try and appear more profound than they really are. On the other hand, take a record like “Low ground” by Coleclough, Potter and Tim Hill (credited in two sections) and sit – or walk in your room – after pressing “play”: not only you’ll get austere, concrete and carefully detailed sound documentaries, you’ll also be able to penetrate a resounding vibration, that droning aura typical of these artists’ craft. Sometimes it’s an everlasting string resonance, somewhere else electronics start pretty calm, only to gain in volume and complexity as the time elapses, finally transporting us into a maelstrom of frequencies (listen to Potter’s “Sinister Dexter” to better understand these words). Wind, birds, water, engines, distant reverberations of human presence appear every once in a while, forcing us to listen with the heart more than the ears. Then again, what I really love in this superb group of soundscapers – which includes Darren Tate, Andrew Chalk, Christoph Heemann and a few more – is the manner in which they always hide their light under a bushel, never releasing music just for polishing their “personal outer surface”, only moved by what I perceive as respect for the basics of life.
JONATHAN COLECLOUGH / TIM HILL – Beech for John and Miho (Sea Pool)
Originally published as an extremely limited edition CDR, this gorgeous release is finally seeing the light of officiality thanks to the Japanese Sea Pool label. A single, beautiful droning mantra – born from a 15 minute segment made for a private wedding CD – by the ever deep-digging Coleclough, whose sound sources are not revealed (like those who belong to the Ora/Mirror/Organum/Monos circle often do, for the better) even if one could guess that there are a lot of strings and bowed metals à la David Jackman. “Beech for John and Miho” is more consonant than Organum, though; its vibrating force can be thoroughly enjoyed at high volume in a large room, the body completely absorbed in the natural reverb of your place; nevertheless, this 74 minute piece can also work finely as a lower-volume soundtrack for mental abandon, that very moment in which you might want to shut everything (and everyone) else off your existence. There aren’t excuses to miss it, now.
JONATHAN COLECLOUGH – Halant/Heat/Beech (Self-produced)
The ultimate companion to “Beech for John and Miho” (and itself another 150-copy edition CDR), this is a shorter but maybe even better example of Jonathan Coleclough’s capability as a sound assembler and dronescaper. Particularly beautiful is “Halant”, where Jonathan uses Alan Lamb’s wires to stunning results; the listener can’t help but being unbelievably attracted by something undescribable through sheer words. Suffice to say that I’m not feeling my body firmly anchored to the ground as it should be during the playback. The final track, “Beech” – of course not the same released in the namesake CD – is music standing halfway through different worlds, so concrete and austere in its conception, yet also so unusually deviant from the norm of today’s “low frequency navigators”. Once again, I can’t help but listen and remain silent; no hyperbole can do justice to this man’s work.
JONATHAN COLECLOUGH – Makruna/Minya (ICR)
The fences are so high, you can barely see the sky; after the situation has been pondered there’s no way to escape. It’s better to concentrate and understand: behind the inside darkness, you’ll be able to listen to the mere flow of life. “Makruna” by Jonathan Coleclough is just a giant earthly heartbeat masked as an evil thunder; instead, it radiates vital particles constituting the essential vibration of the air we breathe. It’s a potent statement, even more concretely significant in relation to other masterpieces of this English sound crafter. The second half of this great CD presents the stratiform hermitage of “Minya”, a cross between the view of rubble in an abandoned city after a bombing and an almost holy vocal fleet, slowly turning towards electronic drifts. Through their peripheral yet seamless diffusion, these sounds renew Jonathan’s quest for tangible emotional ordeals, frosting this writer in front of his speakers, waiting for something to bring him back to real life; that something is the final tolling of a moribund bell, with strange voices underneath – an apt conclusion to an emotionally moving record.
GENE COLEMAN / RAED YASSIN – The adventures of Nabil Fawzi (Al Maslakh)
In this era of global extermination and progressive incapacity for a direct communication of our mutual feelings – which is absurd considering how powerful the means at our disposal are – a label like Al Maslakh shares an important role with other fundamental discographic realities (such as, for example, Creative Sources), namely the development of a pancultural improvisation lexicon that should always be a necessity, not a coincidence. The meeting between Coleman’s bass clarinet and Yassin’s double bass is a fulgid example of achievement of an excellent result in that sense. Comprising five accomplished duets, this record immediately determines its appeal through its intimate yet enthusiastic character, which gives this music an immediate spotlight for its inherent standards. The struggle for freedom is often defined by the quality of the energies that are put into it; in this occasion, Coleman and Yassin articulate their exchanges with serene consciousness, avoiding generic perceptions to deliver themselves from their own skills, which are enormous but get hold in the background, as opposed to the bright effervescence of a never aggressive communication between the parts. The perfect match between the frequencies of the two instruments is the icing on the cake, with the musicians applying a level-headed control on the percussive clatter and the harmonious buzzes they elicit at various times, yet not once they reiterate fixed patterns or manifest rigidity in their marvellous expression. It’s a splendid album, a worthy representer of the high level of Mazen Kerbaj’s label.
COLLECTIF INAUDIBLE – Cardo (Emanem)
“We hope this album will help to put Brussels on the map of improvised music” writes Jean-Michel Van Schowburg at the end of his presentation of “Cardo”. Indeed this effort will do, being a beautiful document of various emancipated instrumental/vocal conversations – duos, trios and quartets – by an aggregate of Belgian musicians who, over the years, had access to Collectif Inaudible and BROL (BRuocsela Orchestra Libera), two structures allowing them free expression and a better knowledge of their uniqueness both as artists and as human beings. The most recurring name here is pianist, clarinettist and percussionist Guy Strale who, together with Van Schowburg, contributed to the foundations of the whole movement; the large part of these pieces is on the restrained side of the improvisational spectrum, with the musicians in “careful reciprocal listening” attitude, just anxious to perceive what their partners are willing to communicate. My favourite track is a quartet with Strale on piano, Jean-Jacques Duerinckx on baritone sax, Pat Riské on percussion and Fabrizio Rota on synthesizer; its title, “Aigue-Marine”, is the perfect indication of a sound which truly connects with distant memories and introspective tranquillity. But the whole “Cardo” brims with authenticity and fellow-feeling.
JOE COLLEY – Project for an LP, or, one method of (nearly) avoiding a composer (Edition)
This album consists of a composition and its derived installation’s documentation. Two minidiscs set on “random” mode send silences, sounds and noise to a channel of a DAT machine, creating a spurious superimposition of codes and signals in between droning moments of electronic tension. It’s all very beautiful, not too distant from some of the best of John Duncan’s early material. On the second side, the above track is played by three vinyl test copies on turntables put among a series of oscillating fans: that way, their arms are constantly dragged to and from various random grooves, so that the mixture gets even more complicated, also through the addition of the styli noises. All in all, an interesting work in which I appreciate the careful choice of the randomly meshing sounds in the basic piece, which constitutes its biggest value.
JOE COLLEY – Psychic stress soundtracks (Antifrost)
If you make the mistake of remaining trapped in a corner, Joe Colley’s diffusions of poisoning vapors will remorselessly peel your skin. A tangible tension permeates the air during the territorial predominance of concentrated drones which make an instant impression on the brain, facilitated by an enormous power of propagation that’s often comparable to some of the intense nerve-shattering pulses of Daniel Menche. From time to time we are surprised by a violent discharge that constitutes just a link to more engrossing segments in which emerging from the background of the unconscious becomes a pretty uneasy task. Hypnotic waves of hammering spirals destroy every point of reference, leaving an indelible trace upon the overall sonic complexion; this interaction with space brings the sounds to transform their structure incessantly, reassessing their dynamics and reconstructing their broken shells.
GRAHAM COLLIER – Workpoints (Cuneiform)
In 1963 Graham Collier became the first British graduate of the legendary Berklee College of Music in Boston; five years later, the Tynemouth composer had already assembled a real “who’s who” of Britain’s jazz players. The Graham Collier Dozen included – among others – Mike Gibbs, John Surman and Kenny Wheeler; their premiere recording of “Workpoints” is here released for the first time, together with extracts from a 1975 concert in Middleheim (Belgium), a sextet whose only link with the previous piece is trumpeter Harry Beckett. Both discs are an important page in British jazz, showing Collier’s lucid vision pretty clearly; the music, be it in the hands of the “Dozen” or in the jazz-rock tendencies of the sextet, shows its age without reticence, preserving the fascinating charm of those well known codes that Collier loves to apply, even when the groups’ cohesion is put under pressure by the centrifugal force of the soloists. His themes are strong, sustaining the weight of time admirably, although some of those years’ clichés appear here and there – together with tape distortion – to remind us that we’re listening to archival material; but this look into the past, as it always happens with Cuneiform’s similar operations, conjures lots of forgotten enchantments which we won’t probably be able to savour anytime soon.
GRAHAM COLLIER – Hoarded dreams (Cuneiform)
A seven-part suite commissioned by the Arts Council of Great Britain for the 1983 Bracknell Jazz Festival, “Hoarded dreams” was played by a stellar cast of nineteen pretty illustrious musicians including, among the others, John Surman, Tomasz Stanko, Kenny Wheeler, Conny Bauer and Malcolm Griffiths. Graham Collier, one of the leading minds of jazz at large and also one of the few ones able to deliver himself from the schematic narrowings that have implanted cancerous cells in the genre in recent decades, intended to exploit the “collective interplay within the band where the dividing line between what is written and what is improvised becomes blurred”. The occasion was perfect for him to submit a score in which the musicians receive a great support from the composer, who wrote extremely functional parts that fuse into gratifying contrapuntal confluences on one hand, becoming foundations for immediate blazes of creativity on the other; sometimes these events occur together, and it’s right there that things get more interesting. The second movement starts with a delicious quasi-funky aroma to end with nasty solos by Ted Curson and Surman in straight free-jazz mode, while Kenny Wheeler graces the third section with a gorgeous trumpet flight over a progression that reminded me of a speedier version of Zappa’s arrangements in “Grand Wazoo”, but this is probably a coincidence. Throughout the album, the instrumental relationships keep the music confined in the no-nonsense zone, where even what could aspire to sound more anarchic (like Conny Bauer’s handy-dandy soliloquy in part 5) finds its raison d’etre in a great scheme of things that makes sure that each instrumental line completes its cycle at the necessary moment. The success of the operation is evident, not only for the enthusiastic response of the audience but also in consideration of the atavic difficulties in listening to big bands sustaining our interest for prolonged periods. Collier achieves the desired result without impinging on our need for air, his music a tangible presence that doesn’t fill the ears, instead educating them to a unique concept of jazz composition.
COLUMN ONE – Feldaufnahmen I (Auf Abwegen)
I’ll spare you the ideological matters at the basis of the artistic intention of Column One; let’s just say that they are a German collective, founded in 1992 by Robert Schalinski, Rene Lamp and Eike Bölling, influenced by the “philosophical ideas of Radical Constructivism, the paths of the Cut-Up demonstrators & Dada Fascists”. An apparent pretty heavy intellectualism, not too helpful in highlighting the core of this review. In fact, we’re talking about field recordings – a surprise, after having read that Column One come from a post-industrial past. These sounds were captured “with the simplest equipment” in a mountain zone of the Eastern region of Germany called Polenztal. How many countryside roads must a man walk down in avant music’s world nowadays? A lot, right? Water, insects, walking in the mud, wind, children at play, a dog that sniffs, pants and howls. But you know what? This particular album is rather splendid, well-known sources or not. There is indeed something grading the abilities of the ones who try to record the voices of life, probably deriving from their inner ear. The editing of the raw materials applied by Schalinski in 2006 elevated this collection to a different level. It is a musical statement, not an insignificant sonic documentary; every single gesture, every element, literally everything causes a reaction – be it a sheer smile, or holding our breath to hear what’s going on a little better. The beautiful photos of the booklet complement an excellent release in style.
COMA – Ornamental urban shrubbery (Edgetone)
Standing for California Outside Music Associates, COMA were founded in 1998 as a collective of improvisers from central and northern California. Although the line up changes constantly according to the circumstances, the current team is a trio made of John Vaughn (sax, percussion, theremin), Zone (electric cello, electric bass, percussion) and Dax Compise (percussion). You know, there are occasions in which – whatever the writer’s effort – there’s actually no way to really define what is being played in an album. This is one of those cases, and it’s surely for the better. Despite traces of jazz and contemporary classic, mixtures of R&B riffs and performance art gestural activities, this is free improvisation at its purest, captured warts and all in different settings. Ransacking genres only to fuse them into unpredictable juxtapositions, COMA are happy to displace expectations and provoke seriously head-scratching thoughts, yet their music is also tranquil enough to allow the listeners to do something else while the record spins. Avoiding sophistications or easy shortcuts, the musicians communicate at various levels of intensity without straining nerves, at times opening the windows a little more to a reduced version of grandeur (“Unrepentant regret”), rarely allowing a single instrument to shine, most often sounding like a well-behaved gathering. A puppy who can stay with the family.
CONFERENCE CALL – Poetry in Motion (Clean Feed)
The specialist skills of the members of this quartet – together with a perceivable enthusiasm in the approach to the music – are relevant elements in this particularly elegant recording, which gathers musicians who – one way or another – have been working jointly for many years (especially pianist Michael Jefry Stevens and bassist Joe Fonda, whose artistic connection dates back to 1984). Saxophonist Gebhard Ullman performs on soprano and tenor, plus bass clarinet; both he and drummer/percussionist George Schuller are also frequent partners of Stevens. Each of the accomplices contributes with his own compositions, thus applying an iridescent lacquer to the record that is all the more conspicuous given the high standards of the instrumental level. The foursome are able to unchain themselves from straight behaviour when they wish to do so, pushing the boundaries of attitude well ahead of the canons of mainstream; it’s clearly observable, though, that their strongest asset is the ability of cuddling the listener across relatively placid seas, a rigorous pursuit of the graceful and the tasteful the fundamental objective through passages where delicacy and fervour find a point of compromise, leaving a door open to comprehensibility in the most elaborate fragments as well. The single voices shine throughout but, overall, this is a truly collective effort, the only actual deviations from the canon being a moaning-and-panting bass solo by Fonda where he seems to make love to the instrument (“Next Step”) and Schuller’s suggestive hammer whistle call ending the disc in “Desert… Bleue… East”. Fluently communicative and sophisticatedly instinctive, Stevens and Ullmann complete a superb combination, their coolness being the proof that jazz can still reach significant altitudes even when not furiously screaming and flaming from the nostrils.
LOREN CONNORS – As roses bow: collected airs 1992-2002 (Family Vineyard)
Loren Connors is undoubtedly a cult figure, although this reviewer has never been seriously captured by his music. Really couldn’t say why. I remember buying “Rooms” – a rare earlier CD under the “Loren Mazzacane” name – when nobody outside a few stray cats knew who this man was, yet that very release has remained lying in my archive for years following a couple of listens, and the experimental work that came later (I’m especially thinking to “In twilight”) is nice, but not something to rip hair off my head. After paying taxes to my off-bandwagon sincerity here we go, writing of a sweet double album gathering 43 “airs” – influenced by Irish tunes, in particular O’Carolan’s – that LC produced in short creative bursts upon embracing his Stratocaster and taping the results over the course of a decade. The most ancient takes – the majority of which is grouped on the first CD – contain large doses of hiss that often swallow the chorused timbre of the guitar, thus enjoying the object via speakers at reasonable volume is warmly recommended. The collection was compiled from ten out-of-print albums and includes several previously unreleased tracks; 90 minutes of placidly dejected playing, mostly instrumental except sparse interventions by Suzanne Langille (and Connors himself, who at times hums timidly together with the melodies he’s elaborating – lovely moments, indeed). Some of these instantaneous songs are just delightful, others are a little more than experiments, seldom with different timbral solutions (“Frozen Star”, “Death of Shelley”). All of them are full of sadness, deeply imbued with spiritual discernment and introspective moods, as pleasing to the ears as a favourite movie soundtrack, if definitely more cutting in terms of metaphoric grief. Even a tepid participant like myself can’t help but be attracted by this great set.
POST SCRIPTUM (for the oh-so-literate, truly cultivated readers). Regarding “Mazzacane” (pronounced “Mutts-Uh-Cun-Eh” should non-Italians be interested), a surname reportedly removed by its bearer for “bad karma” reasons. The often narrated myth about the significance (“kill dogs with a club and get paid for this”) needs to be slightly degassed. As a matter of fact, the original meaning is simply “dog killer”. Confusion perhaps arose since “mazza” also translates into “club” in Italian, yet in this case’s acceptation it comes from the same root of the Spanish “mata”, therefore “kill” (“cane” obviously meaning “dog”). Understand? Not that it changes much, but at least money is out of the equation. Who else would type 125 words only to explain this to you? I probably need a holiday.
TONY CONRAD / RALF WEHOWSKY / JIM O’ROURKE – Avanto 2006 (AAAAA)
Three big names of the avantgarde scene are featured in this excellent record documenting this edition of the Finnish Avanto Festival. Tony Conrad’s “DAGADAG for La Monte” is both the demonstration that time heals all wounds – remember Conrad and Young’s harsh verbal exchanges of the past years? – and a warped homage to the earliest forms of minimalism: a very simple melody repeated over and over, its maker’s violin timbre harmonized, modified and disfigured at various times during the piece. Ralf Wehowsky “transformed and morphed” the sonic essence of guitarist Topias Tiheäsalo and the Rogalli Revival Band (two female children and an oud), generating a 22-minute patchwork whose uncomfortable appearance is directly proportional to its intelligent arrangement. Wehowsky’s palette makes for powerful colour shedding and unpredictable semi-human behaviours featuring kids with a deviated intellect and monstrous frequency throbs that carve a bloody niche in our unsuspecting brain; the juice of the most interesting non-academic electroacoustic music flows in this man’s creative channels. “Out with the old” is an example of Jim O’Rourke’s mastery when dealing with trance-inducing music, for which he’s always been willing to recognize influences – most notably, Folke Rabe and Phill Niblock. It’s a splendid moment whose harmonic light changes continuously, even in the overall quasi-immobility of the piece; but it’s right there, at the core of that apparent stasis, that the vibrating energy of O’Rourke’s sound leaves in search of holes – in our bodies, minds and above all hearts – to be filled with the wish of something better of what we have, which is quite different from what they promised us when we were still young and trustful.
CONURE – The generation of our grandfathers (Edgetone)
Behind the Conure pseudonym hides a member of 15 Degrees Below Zero, of which we recently reviewed material in this same place. Mark Wilson is one of the many individuals who made the transition from listener-and-consumer to composer-and-performer but, contrarily to the large part of the useless music that these processes usually generate, this is an enthralling recording – noisy yet highly effective. In 2003, the originator watched a documentary called “Paragraph 175”, which dealt with the Nazi persecution of homosexuals (the title refers to an article of the German Penal Code of 1871). That was all Conure needed to be inspired in the creation of this work, which he composed with “laptop and other assorted lo-fi equipment and sound sources”. Mixing pre-recorded voices and devastating floods of growingly massive distortion in a semi-static sonic complex, Wilson fathered an impressive soundscape where the emotional element is always at the forefront, a cross of threat and bliss that results as dramatic as the roar preceding an earthquake. Under a semblance of mayhem, several strokes of sapient assemblage of decomposed colours lie. An album deserving reiterated listens, revealing new secrets with each try.
COOKE QUINTET – An indefinite suspension of the possible (Black Hat)
Michael Cooke plays all kinds of reeds (in this occasion flute, soprano, alto & tenor sax and soprano & bass clarinet), being also a composer who tries to reach a fusion point between his many influences – which include John Zorn, Klezmer and Indian music – while keeping an attentive eye on the single paths walked by the instrumental entities of his quintet (Jen Baker on trombone, didgeridoo and singing bowl, Shoko Hikage on koto, Alex Kelly on cello and igil, Timothy Orr on drums and percussion). It amounts to a nice effort by an unconventional gathering of sensitive artists, seven tracks for almost 70 minutes of music that explores various themes, not only in music but also life; as a matter of fact, two improvisations (“Loss” and “N 36 7.46′ W 121 38.36″) are memorials for persons that Cooke loved very much – his two grandmothers and a dear friend – and both are veiled with conscious, pensive sadness. Even the 15-minute final suite, “Chain of existence”, is referred to unspecified “personal events” which affected Cooke’s growth. These feelings aside, the record brims with pugnacious loquacity alternated with spiritual depth and inquisitive-minded playfulness, helped by the strange timbral juxtapositions of the ensemble. The instrumentalists know their chops inside and out but never for a moment the music sounds manufactured, getting its energy from the very interplay that these akin souls are able to continuously generate and aliment with what I’d call “devotional fantasy”. A mouthful of fresh fruit for new jazz aficionados.
MIKE COOPER – Giacinto (Hipshot)
One of the snoopier musicians around, Cooper divides his attention between various different fields including traditional material, improvisation and his own self-styled songwriting. But this great album comes as a real surprise, introducing us to this artist’s view on drone-based music, here created with just a guitar and an electric fan with rubber blades, which elicit fabulous overtones from the strings. Cooper himself recognizes that this technique has already been exploited by a lot of players; percussionist Eddie Prevost even used it with a gong on his recent “Entelechy”, while Keith Rowe is the brightest example of guitarist applying the trick to the six stringed machine. “Giacinto” is a personal celebration of the 100th anniversary of Italian composer Giacinto Scelsi’s birth, and in that sense it’s all the more important that this music sounds deep and, for lack of a better word, spiritual. The repetitive mechanism set in action by Cooper generates resonances that could be described as a cross between an Indian raga’s “Alapa” – namely its non-rhythmical prelude – and David Jackman’s explorations of the nuances of bowed metal. In different moments, looping and pitch-transposing devices are used to initiate cycles of android glissandos and irregular vibrations, partially dismembering the static blueprint of the pieces. The genuine approach used by Cooper takes any exasperation factor completely out of the equation, so that “Giacinto” sounds fresh and “serious” at one and the same time.
DARREN COPELAND – Perdu et retrouvé (Empreintes DIGITALes)
Born in Bramalea (Canada) in 1968, Darren Copeland is yet another fine specimen from that breed of young electroacoustic composers who are gracing our ears in recent times, thanks to Empreintes DIGITALes’ interest in opening new vistas on a domain that has often been risking to become something of a joke, hyper-intellectual nerds creating unwholesome pastiches by clicking on a mouse. The audio DVD shows this artist’s various approaches quite exhaustively, the music ranging from – can we say that? – “traditional” collages of voices and concrete sounds (the first track “They’re trying to save themselves” was composed for a commemorative radio broadcast for the first anniversary of 11/9, while in “On schedule” a computer triggers train-derived samples) to fascinating abstract soundscapes full of glittering lights and dark corners, comparable to certain electronic digressions from the 70s in a way, which reveal much of the composer’s autonomous growth. It should be noted in fact that Copeland arrived to these results after having started his career without any particular instrumental training; then, in the 80s, he accidentally discovered that analog synthesizers were something that interested him plenty. This led to acousmatic composition and sound art, hence various important collaborations in this area. Moderate enough and deeply enigmatic at one and the same time, the fruit of Copeland’s creativity gives some food for thought also by leaving ample spaces between the different scenes. It is one of those records where external environmental infiltrations mix nicely with an interesting per se amalgam of chiaroscuro images and sudden motions. Nothing that could really be defined “transcendental”, yet all the pieces are nicely crafted, indeed encouraging attention. “Perdu et retrouvé” deserves several careful tries before allowing us to understand its remote secrets.
JON CORBETT / NICK STEPHENS / TONY MARSH – Today’s play (Loose Torque)
Dedicated to the memory of Elton Dean, “Today’s play” comprises five attractive improvisations for trumpet, bass and drums. I don’t know if the reference to the late saxophonist counts for something, but a well discernible sadness seems to pervade the atmosphere throughout the album, which is as concentrated and intensely melancholic as one can get. Corbett is an articulated transmitter of melodic virtuosity, which he carries for long distances without sacrificing his quest for timbral purity, explicated through post-Davis plasticity and more idiosyncratic configurations where multiphonics and gentle exhalations get a little space under the spotlight. Stephens’ bodily sound is adequately harmonious, filling the record with constructive relationships based upon a fundamental immediacy which brings the listener to instantly metabolize its byproducts; both by plucking and through short fragments of arco work, the bassist manages to create a small, protective world of his own – yet open to all visitors. Tony Marsh’s delicately articulate touch is a definite plus, his extraordinary inventiveness not diminished by the total control that his technique exercises on an otherwise intense necessity of tripping outside the canons of jazz. An album of exquisite pleasures, finely interpreted by experienced artists who own a sensitive side which they aren’t afraid to show; for sure, one of the very best Loose Torque releases.
ERIC CORDIER – Osorezan (Herbal)
“Osorezan” is a collection of field recordings gathered by French sound artist Eric Cordier between 1993 and 2007 in France and Japan. The CD comes splendidly packaged, each piece paired to a magnificent picture somehow related to the track and the location where it was captured on tape. A booklet containing notes about the compositions completes the offer, which – let me be perfectly clear – is one of the very best assemblages of natural and human ambiences that I’ve ever heard. The tracks exploit totally different settings with knowledgeable accuracy and care for the particular, demonstrating Cordier’s uncanny ability in describing a landscape or a pre-determined situation as a whole image while maintaining minute details clearly visible. The primary sources were the bubbling gas in the sulphureous waters of a volcano, a ferryboat on the Seine river, a “phantom bridge” in a isolated marine area, a ceremony that happens on a yearly basis near the creator’s hometown, the typical sonic attributes of a summer afternoon in a small village. Every environmental frame reveals its own fascinating blend of calls and presences; during the rare moments in which noise appears, it becomes an obvious consequence of something that seems to have been predicted. The preparation of a ritual bonfire accompanied by the tolling bells of a rural town. The whistling of the metallic structures of an unfinished construction elicited by the ocean wind. The innumerable species of birds. The various gradations of hiss amidst the boiling water. The majestic roar of an airplane in a silent country setting. The sense of solitude and, at the same time, of immensity that being alone in a meadow causes. It’s all here, recorded without tricks or façades, no hidden meanings or subterranean intentions. The essential sounds, just as they are. That means wonderful, especially in absence of people.
CORNUCOPIA / PABLO RECHE – Nebula 9.3 (Testing Ground)
When I put this 3-inch CD in my player I didn’t know what to expect, being not familiar with the names involved and just staring at a black cover. To my great surprise and pleasure, “Nebula 9.3″ is a startling piece, impressively powerful and remotely wrapping; its inertness is just apparent, as the sound comes out of the speakers like a poisoning gas in fusion with the numbing whirring of an aircraft cabin while you’re semi-conscient during a flight. The more it goes on, the better your room is filled with thick electronic vapors and – when the track’s over – your ears just miss that presence. If this was an appetizer, I’m hungry enough for the next morsels. PS after this review I discovered the parties involved are Jorge Castro and Claudio “Yituey” Chea – score another point for him!
CORNUCOPIA – Diametros (Paralelo 18)
Jorge Castro and Claudio Chea performed this in 2003 in Puerto Rico using data sound files and partially manipulated field recordings. Almost immediately we’re thrown in the “infinite variations on white noise and feedback” line; an electric mass slowly grabbing the air makes me think about one thing only: burning flames. The scenario remains more or less the same with progressively growing intensity; there is no gold at the end of the rainbow here – and the rainbow itself it’s pretty metallic. A no-smiles, no-nonsense work likely to be appreciated by fans of Lasse Marhaug’s dirtiest recordings and – in general – of noisy minimalism.
CORNUCOPIA – .c. (The Locus of Assemblage)
Transmitting from who knows where, Cornucopia’s world of plughole electroacoustics reaches its very top right here. A lonesome low drone mantra opens the dance, inhuman but flattering to my nerves; from here, after a few minutes, real life sounds and heavy computer/effect treatments find a mutually rewarding relationship, domiciling themselves in a time capsule where obsessiveness and anger are left out the window. After a while I’m hooked: everything sounds familiar, water and jet noises (real or…?) predominate among a vast fecundity of miniaturized pictures of existence. The body becomes renitent to action while the contamination is by now completed; without clamouring for attention, Cornucopia have stuck their finger right into my energy channels – and it works wonders.
VIV CORRINGHAM / MILO FINE – Senilità (Emanem)
This album features the very first public performance by Milo Fine (B flat clarinet with electronics, alto clarinet, marimba with electronics, voice) and vocalist Viv Corringham. The couple met when Corringham moved from England to Minnesota, right where Fine has been active as an artistic jolly for many years. The duo becomes a quartet in four tracks, with the addition of guitarist Charles Gillett and percussionist Davu Seru. “Senilità”, the Italian title of a famous book by Italo Svevo, is quite a difficult listen, first and foremost for the extreme concentration of microscopic activities, tiny details and events that the artists try to control throughout the 72 minutes of the disc. Fine is a perfect example of dichotomized neural network, in that his playing – on both instruments – is so densely complex, segmented as it is in a series of uncontrollable patterns, that it must be necessarily judged as a whole system without caring about nuances or – heaven forbid – “style”. Talking about which, Corringham is slightly more collocable in a zone of female voices situated about halfway through Shelley Hirsch and Julie Tippett; nevertheless, she remains anchored to certain basics of her own school – narrow glottology, multiphonic sensitiveness and total openness to the dialogue with other instruments – that define her singing as a thoroughly personal physiology. The tracks with Gillett and Seru are probably even less palatable for the uninitiated – not less interesting for me, though – as the jarring timbral behavior of electronically treated sources and Gillett’s harsh electric guitar sounds, mixed with the unfriendly kind of percussive work by Seru, create a peeling interaction that is certainly not for everyone’s ears.
MIRIO COSOTTINI / TONINO MIANO – The curvature of pace (Impressus)
Brilliant trumpet & piano duo by a pair of Italian artists who have been working together for almost ten years, having had their fair share of excellent collaborations (Vinko Globokar, Zeena Parkins, Elliott Sharp, Jaap Blonk to name a few). Pianist and composer Miano lives in New York since 1993, while trumpeter Cosottini is a teacher of improvisation at the conservatory of Padua, Italy. The record is full of intense reflection, impulsive changes of mind, sinister small noises and, to end the whole in style, a beautifully melodic lullaby. Miano works a lot with the inside parts of the (prepared or less) instrument, at times recalling Keith Tippett in the use of bouncing metallic objects during the most concentrated arpeggios, contrasts between superimposed digital maneuvers and irritable, thudding low notes alternated to delicate touches of literate contrapuntal cleverness. Cosottini is one of those players who luckily tends to avoid sterile virtuosity, privileging instead the human factor of his timbre, often comparable to the voice of a wounded animal, even more frequently suspended halfway through a skeletal, hesitant explicitness and the will of joking, at any cost, with the sonic imagery just conjured up. The couple is not lacking in the sense of humour department, indeed; nevertheless, theirs is thoroughly serious music, replete with intriguing subtleties, still greatly fascinating after several consecutive listens.
ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO – Rumeur (Creative Sources)
Just an accordion. Should I believe this after listening to “Rumeur”? Here’s the first track, sounding like a microphone stuck in a room full of industrial mosquitos biting you to death before you realize there’s no insect powder around. After this, a cross between a triturated Steve Reich and an old coughing engine takes control, making feel you pretty uneasy; beautiful indeed and very hypnotic. The third segment is similar to a perforated lung trying to imitate the noise of cars passing at night on a freeway, listened with covered and uncovered ears with cupped hands – this goes on until a crackling, bottom-end “trouble” arrives and transforms everything into the broken roar of a perplexed lion drowning in a lake. New track, more dissonance…and I could swear that I heard contrasting shards of rubbing arcos upon strings disintegrated by a corrosive process; high-volume/headphones habituees, beware your hearing. The last seven minutes fuse someone ice-skating on a frying pan while discarding and chewing a chocolate snack. All of the above is great one-instrument concrete music that will cause Richard Galliano undergoing therapy against nightmares. It’s only an accordion, but I like it!
ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO – Stylt (Absurd)
This potent work, composed by Alfredo Costa Monteiro “for pickups on turntable”, delivers an impact not dissimilar from Lou Reed’s “Metal machine music”, minus the jangling high frequencies of the guitar strings. The elicited noise is nasty, opulent, utterly saturating, its controlled rumbling intimidating like the eyes of a beast ready to attack; there are neither sense of humour nor ironic twists, just a mass of radioactive turnarounds that don’t even need to let their energy all out to nail you in place while conquering your concentration cells one by one. Yet, “Stylt” also possesses an hypnotic charm, comparable to the raw beauty of some of John Duncan’s work between the late 80s and the 90s; this deadpan look within the hidden caves of self finally gathers what’s left of your brain power, putting it at work to create a positive efficiency. This is probably the best stuff I’ve heard from Costa Monteiro.
ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO – Allotropie (Bourbaki)
If you plan a blindfold test for your know-it-all friends who pretend to identify everything experimental, subject them to this CD. There is no chance that they’ll guess the source used by Alfredo Costa Monteiro to bring out sounds that could be described as follows: polar wind, creaking knees, squeaking shoes, a bicycle seat that needs to be lubricated, drunk seagulls, echoing purrs, a walrus in love, the air current that precedes the arrival of a subway train, a hundred woodpeckers on cocaine, a violinist who put a finger in an electric socket and arcoes at 2000 km/h, ice skating on dying mice, horses running on crumbled concrete, chalk drawing on a blackboard, bionic chickens looking for seeds, water pressure in a malfunctioning toilet, amplified gas bubbles in a soda can while a car passes by, flanged Moto GP races. Make no mistake: this is only 30% of what you get in “Allotropie”, recorded testimony of “Concatenaciò”, a 2005 installation presented in Barcelona. The album is also another splendid example of what a real artist does, because he gives life to ideas rather than copying them. Costa Monteiro, whose creativity can’t probably be fully appreciated if you never saw him perform live, is one of those perennially ebullient brains that find a way to make music out of an instrument, a circuit or sheer inert matter, the results being always the same, namely refreshingly mind-bending sonic materials that are unluckily heard by a few hundred souls while they deserve a much wider attention. It’s great music, to be listened to while also getting energized from. That’s right, the source: different types of paper, without additional electronic treatment. Short and sharp. A genius.
ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO – Épicycle (Etude)
This is probably Alfredo Costa Monteiro’s finest moment to date, a concise, mature composition lasting over 37 minutes, entirely conceived by processing vocal sounds. Still, locating something even just nearing a voice is an arduous task, for the source gets thoroughly modified and transformed in a virtually unrecognizable mass of biting frequencies. Distorted, yes, but often almost suave to the ears: since the beginning, in fact, a shadowy droning elongated wash is the basis for a waiting condition at first, then it is submerged by well circumstantiated dynamic alterations – occasional bursts that could surprise and scare should one rotate the volume knob way up – so that nearly always the piece follows this alternance of static caress and avalanche mathematics, never conceding a second of relax. We’re perennially conscious of an incoming mutation, severely concentrated on those acrid emissions whose arrhythmic yet precise in-and-out dance is exactly the reason that defines the greatness of the concept. It may be a personal opinion, but perhaps Costa Monteiro’s recent collaboration with John Duncan has introduced a couple of new dimensions to an already brilliant artistic credo – which recites more or less “everything becomes a good sound if its creator resounds within”. To Duncan’s vocal works (such as his albums with Elliott Sharp and Asmus Tietchens) the audience might look as a distant point of reference when approaching this outing, a classy move by a figure we can easily rely upon, reassured about the existence of pure sonic materials even in an artistically watered-down era like this. “Épicycle” leaves behind the “independent production” status to reach the elite of modern electronic music that must be deemed considerable.
ALFREDO COSTA MONTEIRO – Anatomy of inner place (Monotype)
“Inner place” being in this case Alfredo Costa Monteiro’s domestic environment, from which all the furnishings of this splendid record were captured without any kind of additional electronic treatment of processing, “except for the dynamics”. How many times people wonder what was that low hum heard at late night after suddenly waking up? Did we forget the sense of protection caused by mum’s appliances at work while, under the sheets, we desperately tried to postpone the moment of our definitive rise? What about the hissing pressure of water? A house can indeed contain fairly unsuspected elements of progress, if only one possesses the ability of understanding their inside qualities. Costa Monteiro has recently focused the attention on the interrelations between the sounds of regular objects (his efforts with paper are astonishing to say the least) and the listener’s psychology. The results achieved here situate this music, once again, in proximity of Francisco López and John Duncan’s strategies of redesigning the mental approach to a sonic setting. We’re shown a series of mutating scenarios where the original sources may lose their unique character – which is already mindboggling, given the absence of manipulation – but never fail to instigate an interesting reaction, the capacity of adaptation constantly challenged by repeated dynamic shifts that make the whole approximate a purring massage of the cranium, all the more efficient when mixed with our own surroundings, mumbling distances and tones ranging from “uneasy mutter” to “imposing whirr” shaping up the contours of a not-so-secure extremism. Home is where the heart is, and somehow I feel like having been here forever.
COTI – Dunung (Antifrost)
If you think about Antifrost’s releases as inevitable bearers of hissing perfidiousness and quaking auricular membranes, you’re in for a swift change this time. Coti K (which, unbeknownst to me and with great surprise, is an Italian) utilized a “regular” piano to record this collection of pieces. Yet don’t believe for a second that you’ll find romanticism or New Age here. What we get instead is a disfigured representation of wrecked acoustic palaces whose resonance is rendered spurious by the adjacent overtones; I couldn’t say if this is due to particular tuning methods – La Monte Young docet – or if the studio processing was heavier than imagined. The music’s complexion varies from track to track, spanning through strange kinds of reflective bitterness (the magnificent “Pythagorean cluster” comes to mind) and studies on the behaviour of upper partials in definite contexts (“Mesi come giorni”, which also seems to feature some measure of background field recordings). The evident difference with the usual offerings by the Greek label does not imply a lesser quality of the materials, deceptively simple in their structure, generating repeated states of suspension via intriguing coronae and gloomy juxtapositions. Fans of just intonation might have found an unexpected bijoux, but even occasional listeners could like this one without too much of a problem.
ALAN COURTIS – Antiguos dolmenes del Paleolitico (Sedimental)
The press sheet describes this work as “pure, hypnotic and straight to the psyche” and I can’t possibly touch this perfect definition. Entirely made with processed feedback controlled by a mixer (“No microphones, instruments or inputs of any kind”, says Courtis) and inspired by – you guess it – palaeolithic dolmens, this music works fabulously at very low volume from the speakers in a silent room, its four movements exploring the whole gamut of frequency brain-rubbing. Most of all I like the impressive subsonic activity of part I, which will be appreciated by those who love Hafler Trio’s most static output (think “How to slice a loaf of bread”), while the bird-like chirps of Courtis’ signals in the third segment were most welcomed by my wife, who is a truly severe judge for this kind of sound art. But the whole record’s consistency is absolute and even if no-input feedback has been repeatedly explored by the likes of David Lee Myers and Toshi Nakamura – to name just two – Alan Courtis can safely declare himself as one of the very best in the game; will I be forgiven if I tell you that this CD and “North and South Neutrino” (with Lasse Marhaug on Antifrost) are more relevant works than Reynols’ opera omnia?
ANLA COURTIS – Tape works (Pogus)
Outdated recorders, cheap cassettes and forgotten tape reels are an infinite universe of sound that, in the right hands, can generate interesting outcomes but in the wrong ones aliment the (never really extinguished) flame of “bruit-art” perpetrated by those knob-rotating, button-pushing bedroom animals who are guaranteed to destroy our stomach when delivered from the chains of their self-confinement (the “horrible independent release” syndrome has by now become a terminal illness). But this CD is another kind of story, as Courtis retrieved some very nice memories from his old tapes, which contain a few selected ideas that – lo-fi as they are – sound good enough to raise curiosity in this gibbering reviewer. In “Tape works” you’ll find low-budget acousmatic mini-operas where tape hiss and ancient rack effects fight for a place in the mix’s front row, a superimposition of female voices reciting an ad for diapers, studies for a wire’s ground loop noise that sound like a polar bear right after waking up, a crazed analog synthesizer that would make Klaus Schulze cry for desperation and a 16-minute, incessant, immobile electric guitar loop that saturates my headphones until one of my eyes reads “Electro” and the other “Harmonix”. Some of this archival material is just naive, but there are moments in there that really stand out, achieving a discombobulating, radically unbalanced excellence. It’s a classic Pogus release, uncompromisingly effective in a “do-what-you-want-of-it” kind of a way.
ANLA COURTIS / LASSE MARHAUG – North and South Neutrino (Antifrost)
The collaboration between Jazzkammer’s Marhaug and Reynols’ Courtis is 45 minutes of speckless radiation starting from utter silence and slowly turning into an exploration of cavities revealing much about our sense of resistance to aural attacks. Low frequencies wavering in and out the picture are paralleled by a continuous, stinging high pitch which constitutes the main presence throughout the record; impressive solar winds and worrying rumbling soundquakes put our nerves through serious ordeals, especially if volume is more than soft. This music worms through your guard like something destined to do damage, bearing a sense of inexorability, alerting too late about something we won’t be able to escape from. It’s without a doubt one of the most intense and beautiful Antifrost releases, too.
ANLA COURTIS / SEIICHI YAMAMOTO / YOSHIMI – Live at Kanadian (Public Eyesore)
Being the sleeve devoid of any useful info, I trawled the web to discover that the companions of Anla Courtis in this exhibition have to do with important Japanese realities such as Boredoms (of which, believe it or not, this aging non-critic never heard a thing) and that the musicians acted in different duo and trio combinations. Not that it makes any difference as the record is engaging enough the whole time that it lasts – a full hour. The most visible constituents are fairly anarchic guitar sounds, mainly distorted or just saturated, decomposed and triturated, asking for our auricular membranes to be sacrificed in their name. But the result is more effective when unbelievably strange processed vocals join in: the amalgamation of pitch-transposed wailing and wall-of-fuzz growls that at times light up the room are unusually energizing, and downright funny in an appreciable lo-fi dressing. The successions of actions, although inconstant, possess an inner logic distancing them from sheer noodling (which, alas, is often the menu du jour with many Japanese improvisers who seem to privilege raw instinct to functional concepts – not always an acceptable artistic choice). Overall, this CD offers exactly what expected, at least from this side. Good, if unexceptional.
LOL COXHILL – More together than alone (Emanem)
Relentlessly anarchic eruptions, pulverizing overtones and lyophilized reflections by the great Lol Coxhill, captured live between 2000 and 2005, are now offered as a constant reminder of how unnecessary (stupid, indeed) words can sound to describe freedom at large – and free music in the specific. This disc contains four duos and a solo that depict intimacies and contrasts resplending in unique lights, Coxhill’s four partners being the late Hugh Davies (invented instruments), John Russell (guitar), Henry Lowther (trumpet) and Pat Thomas (piano, samples etc.). The track with Russell is particularly impressive, the musicians acting on parallel ways that somehow lead to the same place, like two cars traveling side to side with the drivers intent in making gestures to each other while holding the wheel with their pinkies, barely avoiding obstacles and other vehicles. Russell’s sharp acousticity sparkles and tinkles, while the reedist seems to mock his companion’s polyphonic dexterity via repeated spurts and hiccups. Underlined by the outside traffic noise, “Alone at the Vortex” demonstrates Coxhill’s monstrous technique and the reinless fantasy that makes him one of the few soloists able to sustain lengthy improvisations without repeating a nanosecond of what already played, in a piece mixing timbral excursions against the laws of physics and blackbird-like garrulous visions. The Davies and Lowther duets are shorter, essentially constituting a different occasion for the musicians to interact according to methods ranging from the almost traditional to the previously unheard, while the correspondence with Thomas benefits from the latter’s mixture of irony and unpredictability, which paired to Coxhill’s genius generates a splendid mayhem, like a crazed radio station with partying aliens and an ecstatic saxophonist tattooing their skins with turntable needles.
LOL COXHILL / TORSTEN MULLER / PAUL RUTHERFORD – Milwaukee 2002 (Emanem)
Documenting solo, duo and trio settings this CD captures three of the most accomplished improvisers during exchanges and fluxes, each one – as usual – masterful in showing his capacities without sounding pretentious. Though not without lighter moments, I found the general atmosphere of this recording pretty inward-looking; Coxhill’s usual flutter is more down-to-earth as he tries to explore unknown aspects of his torrent of ideas. Paul Rutherford is really one in a million innovator; he comes out as the most fantasy gifted during the CD, his countless melodic ways always fascinating and inquisitive. Müller plays double bass with technique galore, his best moments when he arcoes his way through slow mournings, like sad considerations about world decadence. More a document than a real project, “Milwaukee” is nevertheless a high quality representation of different personalities trying to get some juice out of a somehow difficult context.
LOL COXHILL / JOHN EDWARDS / STEVE NOBLE – The early years (Ping Pong)
Lol Coxhill is 75 this year but his unstoppable creative fantasy seems to know no limit. This collection – recorded in 2004 – shows him in customary great shape, eradicating smugness from improvisational settings with the same ease of a carrot-picking farmer. With typical unyoked-from-everything dexterity – which many decades of activity didn’t manage to transform in an overweight acquiescence to the obnoxiousness of formulaic nonsense – Coxhill chirps, tweets and sings with inexhaustible joy to satisfy a quest and the listener alike. John Edwards and Steve Noble are happy to facilitate their partner’s glorification of unusual melody. The bassist utilizes arco and pizzicato sapience to sustain and enhance a riptide of inventiveness, always finding the correct entrance point to guarantee both a high level of workmanship and the occasional genial coup. The drummer confirms a well-deserved reputation by sparkling engaging scraps with commonplace via acute rhythmic interchangeability, his routes through the development of the pieces full of detours, bumps and outpouring nervousness resulting in a uniquely unrepentant percussive personality. And for good measure, the guys can riff as hell, if they feel like doing so. Misconceptions and insubstantiality do not belong here: this is important material from three protagonists of the evolutional anarchy of English free music, of which “The early years” constitutes yet another superb chapter. If you need classifications or definitions, go somewhere else.
CRAWLING WITH TARTS – Ochre land, blue blue skies/Grand surface noise opera nr.7 (Pogus)
I had a hard time trying to remember a more devastating composition than “Grand surface noise opera nr.7″, an incredibly fastidious delirium of cross-eyed muzak including highlights such as “Cielito lindo” and “Stille nacht”, vinyl crackle, language lessons and long minutes of dissonant clangour. The evil pleasure of submitting your family members and pets to this overwhelming dissonant disaster made of sinister radio/TV voices, skipping records and autistic melodies a la Moondog on dope is repaid by a sudden realization of being totally out of your mind when you discover that you are actually enjoying the process. A conceptual effort which will divide audiences in the classic love/hate dichotomy, but at the same time a great text/music opus that only Pogus could release these days. Still difficult, if a little easier on the ears, “Ochre land, blue blue skies” is mostly grounded on Michael Gendreau’s self-built motorized gizmos producing a vast range of aural stimulation: small percussive noises and hissing circles coalesce into bigger mechanical jangling and faraway metallic breaths similar to wrecked trains going down an invisible ravine. Then you wake up and watch your alarm clock’s springs covered with grease.
CREMASTER – Flysch (G3G)
Working with “objects on electric guitar” and feedback mixing board, Alfredo Costa Monteiro and Ferran Fages released their first CD as Cremaster and almost immediately went pretty high in my consideration as far as new improvised soundscapes are concerned. Their sound looks towards the areas involving Keith Rowe/AMM and maybe some of the Japanese “silent noises” (Nakamura, Sugimoto etc.) but surely they mantain a peculiar trait, as “Flysch” starts almost impalpably, verging on small treated sounds but slowly evolving to moving masses of electricity and hums that evoke dark clouds’ masses before a storm. Although this record does not break new grounds, it has a constitutional character separing it from a lot of “wannabes”: Ferran and Alfredo are two serious experimenters.
CREMASTER – 23 November 2002 (Sound 323)
The Monteiro/Fages duo shows once again – this time in little more than 20 minutes – they are a concretely positive force in the new music area of today. Taken from a live concert at Sound 323 gallery, this 3 inch CD presents the two musicians igniting some serious sparks with an eye on the verge between the utter silence and the “well educated” noisy approach. The stuff coming out of Alfredo’s guitar is something going from emptying a trash box full of ripped sheets of paper to a remembering of some Luc Ferrari’s snapshot; on his side, Ferran’s prowess on his mixing board will caress and sting your membranes, letting you remember that a no-input line will always be more dangerous than a distorted power chord.
CREMASTER – Infra (Antifrost)
In a music world full of terms and definitions that must be somehow used, even if they mean virtually nothing – like “ambient”, “electroacoustics”, “post-industrial”, “neo-minimalism” and so on, how do you explain to the average listener what Cremaster do with a simple mixer with pick ups and some “object” on electric guitar? I’ll try, at least with this “Infra”, to say that – first of all – this is maybe Ferran and Alfredo’s best record until 2003. Then I’ll proceed to describe what I perceived as crunching white noise, percussive tapping on the pick ups, frequencies so high they could call a thousand bats right here outside my front door, feedback you could not absolutely control…unless you’re named Ferran Fages, contorting sounds over guitar strings seemingly treated with some kind of lethal acid. At the end of the record, I’ve decided I created another useful but useless cathegory: Cremaster are the current leaders in the “Audiometrics” field… and otorhinolaryngologists be damned (keep your headphones’ volume not SO high, though – and I’m not kidding now).
CREMASTER – 32,41 n/m2 (Absurd)
Don’t you ever think about leaving Ferran Fages and Alfredo Costa Monteiro alone at your home when you’re away! This “nice guys duo” of sonic terrorists are the equivalent of those hyperactive children capable of destroying an apartment in ten minutes. Presented in a hard sandpaper sheet, this CD sounds a little bit like that – words springing to mind are “strident rust”, “scratching needles”, “broken nails on a malfunctioning electric circuit”, “ear-stinging”. The guys work calmly through their aural nightmares finding out that perfect spot of tranquillity that somehow must be filled with screaming white noise and tweeter-crunching distortion. This music leaves a mark, even in those almost silent moments where you’re not at ease anyway because you KNOW something’s lurking around the corner; remaining unaffected is next to impossible. Cremaster are fossil extractors working with compressed air to pulverize and bottle old avantgarde skeletons. Me? I’m always receptive to their spectrum – with neighbours like these, who needs nuclear power?
NOAH CRESHEVSKY – Hyperrealism (Mutable)
“Hyperrealism” marks my first meeting with Noah Creshevsky’s music, which more or less is entirely made with juxtapositions of samples of pre-existing material, in particular operatic vocals and classic instruments but also exotic timbres, an example being the initial “Canto di Malavita” where, the Italian title notwithstanding, sitar scales are fundamental in the piece’s construction. Most of the tracks are full of absolutely improbable chorales, often verging on craziness; the record’s best is “Jacob’s ladder” where the voices mix perfectly with alien chamber parts. At the end of the day, how to name this kind of art? Let’s just say this composer has a knack for good sounding patchworks; maybe his music is not deep as, say, the untouchable (by ANYONE) minutiae of John Oswald’s plunderphonic but surely it’s aesthetically pleasing and – in some instances – quite surprising. It’s good to have a chance to enjoy these obscurities brought out of hidden vaults.
NOAH CRESHEVSKY – To know and not to know (Tzadik)
Noah Creshevsky (1945) studied with Nadia Boulanger and Luciano Berio before becoming himself an important teacher specialized in computer music. Still, should one thing be told about his art, is that it certainly doesn’t sound as serious as it could be expected given the above mentioned background. Yet it is serious; Creshevsky is a master of the audio-collage, but he does it without the aid of treatments. Most of this stuff is born from human elements – voices, regular instruments – edited in myriads of different combinations and successions, the only perceptible modifications being accelerations and slowdowns, maybe some pitch transposing. The outcome is, for lack of a better word, natural and rather unpretentious despite the many intersections between the parts, a strange cross of irony and unpredictability that might challenge reflex-lacking listeners, sometimes abruptly. This particular collection presents a peculiar alternance of sacred and profane: one moment we find ourselves surrounded by whirling amalgamations of orchestral sounds, Japanese rituals (i.e. the title track) and microscopic instrumental tornadoes, the next we’re welcomed by Latin-sung reformulations with names such as “Psalmus XXIII” and “Jubilate”, the former interspersed with utterances by Beth Griffith that, at times, appear of sexual-related nature, the latter characterized by Thomas Buckner’s unmistakable baritone. Other guests include Zach Kurth-Nelson, Martha Cluver, Monique Buzzarté, Chris Mann, Al Margolis, the last three being featured in the great closure “Free speech”, probably the perfect calling card to better understand the complex yet accessible world of this unsung composer.
THELMO CRISTOVAM – Paisagens sonoras em Õstrõ Hyija (Triple Bath)
The curriculum vitae of this young composer (1975) from Brazil looks interesting: studies in physics and mathematics, participations in miscellaneous improvisation and EAI local projects, interests in singular techniques on wind instruments, field recordings and electronics. At present, Cristovam is “investigating radio art, sound poetry and Brazilian indigenous music”. The four tracks in “Paisagens sonoras” are presented in chronological arrangement from 2003 to 2006, the music’s worth growing accordingly. “Aço” deals with heavily treated acoustic guitar, and it’s indeed more noise than accurate testing, not exceedingly appealing in my opinion. Things get better from “Os jardins eletromagnéticos of Ur”, where a C-melody saxophone and amplified objects are so disfigured that what we hear is roughly equivalent to an inner-city guerilla in between electrically charged fences, powerful whirrs and shrapnel-like discharges assaulting our focus amidst digital griminess of any kind. “Pradarias inversas” is a superb pseudo-static piece, pregnant of implications despite a pretty simple configuration, mostly based on the parallelism of next-to-ultrasound high frequencies and the mumble of processed environmental sounds. “Construções em barro, vidro e plasma” concludes the CD in style, utilizing the walls, floors and windows of an edifice to inculcate a feeling of insecurity in the listener via hostile drones, harsh waterfalls and sudden silences. It evokes a fragrance of wariness identical to that pervading the whole record, at the same time representing its most engrossing trait.
CRITIKAL – Graphorrhea (Kvitnu/Nexsound/Zeromoon)
A while back Jeff Surak, Andrey Kiritchenko and Jonas Lindgren founded Critikal, a project where one of the members uses materials produced by the others to construct a new work. After Lindgren’s departure, Tobias Astrom and Dmytro Fedorenko joined, the latter being the organizer of the ideas that came to result as “Graphorrea”. The piece is a disquieting tapestry of just anything that can be put on tape, including what Astrom fascinatingly calls “manipulated recordings of long lost cities/memories”. It really sounds like nothing else, never staying in one place; we’re simply not allowed to take a breath. Asymmetrical drum-and-electronic patterns and earth loop-based pulse break the news about the complete loss of logic of “composed” music. Everything is reduced to a succession of acrid particles, bitter realities and hyper-flexible structures, extremely noisy more often than not, still approachable via a condition of mind detachment and, apparently, even connected to a superior scheme of things in determinate spots. A record that requires full concentration, your only chance of catching the revealing particulars, the vital signs of an organism moved by the worms of a dead harmony. That continuous swarming does indeed appear as the energy allowing the quartet to look towards the light at the top of their self-excavated hole, although these premonitions do not foresee any good in that sense. Paradoxically, there seems to be life beyond the post-industrial and dark ambient fences.
FREDERIK CROENE / ESTHER VENROOY – Hout (Roborecords)
Croene and Venrooy depict mysterious images through combinations of piano and digital processing, their personality quite attuned with the uncertainties of the borderline area of “comprovisation”, where every sound is used as a source of spontaneous combustion in pieces ranging from the accumulation of echoing and percussive intrigues – sometimes interrupted by snippets of taped conversation – and Feldmanesque permutations reverberating in the light of a gestural schism. Demonstrating an excellent command of dynamics during repeated interrelationships between spacial analysis and textural rarefaction, these artists gather peculiar rhythms and timbres with easy – but not shallow – musicianship, building linear structures and simple figurations whose main quality is their captivating finesse, which in “Sugar maple” evolves into a potent insight of those sensations that only a deeply resonant mantle of harmonics is capable of eliciting.
MILTON CROSS – Light in the West (Self release)
A comprehensive showcase of the multi-faceted abilities of Milton Cross, who we recently met while reviewing “Santo Subito” on Accretions. “Light in the West” was recorded in 2005 using violin, harmonium, guitar and very discreet but effective field recordings, often perceptible only listening by headphones, case in point being the wonderful opening “It’s been almost a year”. Every track is a focused exploration of simple sources set into a mechanism of slow evolution, even when the sonic information remains quite basic (the guitar drowning in water sounds in “Slow footsteps kept me whole” and the metal – glass? – touches of “Passeriformes” come to mind). Violin and harmonium are treated and inserted into long looping circuits, in those instances nearing the music to Peter Wright’s drifting clouds of indetermination, while in “Old latitudes” an initial disaster of harsh guitars is finally silenced by a breathtaking humming drone. “Future ghost” ends this meticulous album with a gorgeous juxtaposition of bird calls, distant police alarms, human breath and a repeated suspended chord as beautiful as all the rest.
CTRL – 23.11 (Creative Sources)
One of those items that I find difficult to detail, as it touches so many facets of improvisation while not actually carving something definitive out of the wood of truly personal expression. But, at the same time, a very well played and recorded disc (the latter courtesy of Christoph Amann, in my opinion the “studio master” as far as capturing this genre’s nuances is concerned). Hailing from Austria, CTRL consist of Gloria Damijan (piano), Bernd Klug (double bass), Meike Melinz (flute), Bernhard Schoeberl (guitar) and Gabi Teufner (flute). The flutes are pretty venomous, excellent technique bathed in stinging modernism (not abundant in clichés for our good luck). Echoes of early Frith in Schoeberl’s style, metal scraping and string bouncing at the basis of most everything he plays on the instrument, be it acoustic or electric. The low-frequency office’s keys are handed to Damijian and Klug, whose expertise applied to the bass regions allows the music to shift towards droning territories quite often. In general, this work breaths and moves without giving particular signs of malaise, despite a not excessive quantity of innovation on the horizon. The short duration of both the single tracks and the whole CD is an intelligent choice: as soon as we’re ready to shout “OK, I’ve received the message”, a new plot is unveiled. Interesting group, on average with the huge roster of the Portuguese label; I’d like to hear them again in future occasions.
CURLEW – Mercury (Cuneiform)
The new release by George Cartwright’s assassins hits you suddenly while you think everything’s under control, just like a heatstroke. Curlew place hearts and fingers into that contoured area where creativity needs no definition – Rock? Jazz? Free? Insert your own voice, only to be disillusioned because you failed to correctly spell the cathegory to which this exceptional New York group belongs. Members may vary (we have a new raging guitarist, Dean Granros, in place of Davey Williams here) but the “Curlew spirit” is always the same since their very first days. George Cartwright blows your socks off with everything he decides to bring to the table, be it one of his fabulous fractured themes or a full-fledge roar during a “liberal” improvisation; meanwhile, comrades Chalenor, Parker and Golden push the music to the highest energy level, deserving customary kudos from those who know. When you think you’re suffering from artistic desiccation, put this superb record in your player and start spastic-dancing, even if you’re right back from the office with your tie still on.
ALVIN CURRAN / CENK ERGÜN – The art of the fluke (Tear)
If you are interested in sampladelia, cut’n’paste and plunderphonics – or simply in cleverly designed computer music – then you wouldn’t want to miss this obscure gem. Alvin Curran is one of those composers who find themselves at ease in all settings, perennially in search of new expressive methods while remaining at the forefront of anything avant-garde. Cenk Ergün is a Turkish composer and laptop performer currently based in San Francisco and a frequent collaborator of luminaries such as Fred Frith, Pauline Oliveros, William Winant and Joan Jeanrenaud. “The art of fluke” is presented as “an artful survival through a sequence of coincidences, accidents, unknowns and impossibles”. In other words, this is a complex flow of electroacoustic data, multitudes of episodic manifestations, extemporaneous occurrences, snippets of reality and alluring traits which include most everything that listeners can fantasize (if they’re not exactly normal), collected from a huge assortment of samples masterfully exploited by the duo. Curran and Ergün did a great assemblage of contrasting atmospheres and morphing ambiences, alternating heterogeneous obsessions with mechanical appliances and assorted animalisms. Not only schizophrenia, though, as we’re often furnished with precious instants of reflection (lasting more or less two seconds). Then it’s back to an underworld where composite monsters made of electronic loops, Hip-Hop and a string quartet, and whose rhythmical walk is slanted as a single-legged man, fence us into territories where losing one’s reason would be considered acceptable. Altered pitches, sped-up repetitions and amorphous patchworks of hard core movies, slaughtered lambs, yodel, Sardinian chants and martial choirs might convince that Dante’s Inferno sounds just like that. An excellent, highly stimulating record; those who loved Forch’s “Spin networks” (on Evan Parker’s Psi) will probably appreciate this, too.
PETER CUSACK – Baikal ice (Spring 2003) (Rer Megacorp)
I will promptly admit that I’ve always been partial to Peter Cusack and his tremendous work with environmental recordings; “Baikal ice” could well be his chef d’oeuvre, such is the fascinating beauty of these unrefined sounds. Of course, melting ice is the prime mover of this record: Cusack managed to capture every conceivable gradation of the magic potion originated by icicles and water currents, in a fantastic resurgence of tangible elemental untaintedness. In other noteworthy segments, children play with a loudspeaker in the quiet village while a bird sings, the Trans Siberian railway stamps its reverberant dominance over the silence, a local telephone engineer falls into the lake through a thin ice hole (then, we are told, he offered tea to Cusack while drying himself in his van) and a little girl sings her innocence on a train. All the sounds on this CD can infuse our lives with intriguing perspectives about the transfiguration of our way of listening to events that – normal as they are for someone – become instead a charming mutiny against the very banality of our daily mental numbness.
CYMBL – String & Drone Sketches & Phases (Arcolepsy)
Richard Baker’s music, released under the Cymbl pseudonym, is very intense and beautiful even if built upon pretty simple elements. The main goal of Baker is creating undulating superimposing droning soundscapes, mostly via pre-existing material, be it a string chord, a low frequency vibration, an harmonic slow change. This lets you drown in a blissing state, waiting for a change that never comes – and in the end you’re happy it doesn’t. You can use Cymbl’s music both as active listening, in headphones or sitting in front of monitors, or as ambient music at low volume: the result is excellent in both settings. Several parts of this material evoked memories of the most repetitive Zoviet France fragments and also certain aspects of Christoph Heemann’s solo albums; lovers of those areas of sound exploration will surely appreciate Baker’s panoramas.
DACHISE – Twin braids (The Locus of Assemblage)
Paul D.Knowles uses noise in an uncommon way, flirting with the radical fringes of aural assaulters, introducing cut-ups and looping, sometimes also giving an eye to more hallucinatory perspectives like when he crumbles sacred chants in mangling distortive manipulation. In Dachise there’s hand to hand fighting between expression and destructive force; one’s liable to get a little bit displaced at first, then the music starts indicating its own path halfway through lewdness and lyrical. Engaging and disturbing at the same time, “Twin braids” does not quibble but it’s just like you hear it: a salutary shower of anger and, yes, reflection.
DADAPHON – Dadaphon (Le Souffleur)
This is a nice 10″ vinyl artifact by Raymond Dijkstra, according to whom the “Dadaphon” moniker identifies a group…even if this music sounds like a studio creature made by a single entity. The two sides are both very interesting and pretty unpredictable: mostly made of electronic/concrete, sound/noise collages, they remind yours truly of a cross between the older, radical Mnemonists albums and MB (Maurizio Bianchi) in his “industrial” era, but with a distinct mitteleuropean flavour separating this production from the mass of wannabes we’re full of these days. I also loved the “old style” vinyl label – everything helps to make things not easily foreseeable before putting the record on. Looking forward to new works!
WERNER DAFELDECKER / CHRISTOF KURZMANN meet DRUMM / ERIKM / DIEB 13 / NOETINGER (Charizma)
I have to find a way to describe a meeting of computers and regular instruments (bass and clarinet) sounding like the history of improvisation through the screen of a laptop. Not an easy task indeed; the general aspect is more “electro” than “acoustic” of course, even if Kurzmann’s blowing comes like a strange creature from ancient times whenever we hear it (not frequently, though). Mostly made of humming lows, clicking rhythms and long silences broken by random eruptions of powerbook talk – plus synthesizers and creative turntablism – this CD reveals musicians in a great shape, forces active listeners to a lot of ear opening and is certainly characterized by a careful research for the unexpected detail. Contrarily to more “pyrotechnic-spectacular” releases in the same field, this one’s almost stark naked but pretty effective.
WERNER DAFELDECKER / KLAUS LANG – Lichtgeschwindigkeit (Grob)
A journey through the realm of the lower throbs of your body, a noteworthy essay about instrumental frequencies and – on top of everything – a minimalist record in the truest sense. Exploring that extremely impenetrable no-man’s territory where pure sound mixes with the pre-conception of a composer/performer, Dafeldecker and Lang start a process where the attentive listener can get the tiniest particle, that ever so inaudible imagination stretch where the movement of energy from nerves to a key or a string is captured; in a word, sound generation and its almost instantaneous fracture and decomposition. Sometimes this music is very near to silence; somewhere else a beating drone superimposition brings a Niblockian reminiscence, just a glimpse. Indeed, what emerges from this work is seriousness; Werner and Klaus listen to the air surrounding their instruments when it starts moving, while forcing us to be more perceptive than before.
ANDERS DAHL – Hundloka, flockblomstriga 1 (Häpna)
Named after a Scandinavian meadow flower, “Hundloka” points its finger to that electroacoustic region that’s been visited in the past by Jim O’Rourke (circa “Happy days”) and – in some occasions – by the sadly deceased Mirror. Yet this three-movement album has an acid edge which, not too much surprisingly, is also its most distinctive trait, elevating Dahl to a superior status as opposed to being a simple “influenced by…” entity. The first segment behaves quite gently for long minutes, then the bowed strings (Dahl plays guitar, bouzouki and violin) create a gradually harsher frozenness, furtherly blemished by interference and hiss. In the second part, a percussive element appears to slap our senses but soon gets engulfed by manipulated fragments combining Hans Reichel and a punk version of AMM as heard from an out of tune radio. The final movement concludes what was previously started, introducing clarinet, recorder and computer to bring the music to that area which the composer defines, not without reason, “between the wild and the cultivated”. A landscape which I loved walking through, and the sheep on the cover just add to the genuine pleasure experienced.
DARUIN – Fake professor of Japanese pipe (The Locus of Assemblage)
This short project by Daruin is made of three impressive pieces; the first, “Scum ‘n’ database”, is a metallic cavity resonance exploration with a distinct cybernetic flavour. “You always tell a lie” states its direction violently, submerging the space with vapors of venom, white noise and industrial vagueness bordering on the almost static sound of a turbocharged mechanism. “Please retire” gurgles the end of this 3-inch with a very nice touch of class. It’s another classic case of one hoping for a full treatment after just a short glimpse…
DAS SYNTHETISCHE MISCHGEWEBE – The escape of the electrified dermatologist epitomises his dissent with the compromising juxtapositions of the smell and the sound of a pair of wings injured in subdued romance (Monochrome Vision)
Having awarded the prize for the longest-ever title reviewed in Touching Extremes, let me also explain this double CD a little bit. Das Synthetische Mischgewebe is a continuously mutating collective of electroacoustic composers and aural scientists, active in projects that preferrably deal with cognitive sciences and neurological research. Among the most peculiar creations they realized, particularly meaningful are their collaboration with the hospital of Bordeaux (“very isolated everyday sounds for deaf patients who had just received a cochlea implant”) and the “development of virtual reality systems addressed to training patients with social phobias”. Utterly fascinating topics for yours truly. The involved names include Michael Northam, John Grzinich, ERG, Isabelle Chemin, Guido Hübner, Jörg Thomasius, Slavek Kwi, Artificial Memory Trace, Yasutoshi Yoshida, M.S.B.R., Government Alpha, Peter John, The Oval Language, Thomas Beck. As you can see, a nice congregation of illustrious sound artists, post-industrial entities and (at least to me) perfect strangers. Over the course of about two hours, we’re subjected to extreme stimulations of our auditive and intellective mechanisms. The first disc sounds a little more “acousmatic” (Northam and Grzinich’s “Moving masses” is a great piece indeed) with the tiniest details expertly manipulated and fused with impressive dynamic shifts in a series of (at times devastatingly) intense soundscapes, which should not delude those who lock themselves in their bedroom and listen to Hafler Trio all night long. Very cerebral, but hugely rewarding. The second disc is more vocally oriented but, believe me, it scathes. The adjective “vocal” is largely to be considered in the “strangled utterance” meaning here, and there are moments – especially in “Ephemera” – in which the schizophrenic cut’n'paste of abraded vowels, spitting syllables, gurgles and coughs becomes almost unbearable. Still, there are at least three compositions (“Situacta”, “Et quand, malgré tout” and “Un sifflement lointain”) that stand right there with the best studio-conceived visionariness heard in the last decade. I don’t like dividing the artists’ merits in such an instance; the whole set is absolutely gorgeous, and this Russian label shows how things should be done when trying to rekindle the flame characterizing the best expressions in these zones of sonic “entertainment”. For strong-nerved, mentally fine-tuned, inquisitive specimens.
NEIL DAVIDSON – Grain (Creative Sources)
Davidson belongs to the small phalanx of explorers of the acoustic guitar’s resonant power. Except for a more improvisational track, “Grain” is for its large part made of scarce mobility – but one that’s full of rust and corrosiveness, even if the effect of these sounds often causes Alvin Lucieresque bendings of the auricular membrane. Fermented harmonics are born from a continuous oscillations of the strings, which the guitarist obtains most probably through an eBow or other mechanical devices. Some of the rugged vibrations elicited by Davidson have a refreshingly intoxicating quality that gains an immediate grip on the skull, as if a progressively stronger clutch established a dominance by canceling any extraneous observation in order to introduce a pleasurable pain within the surrounding mass of hypnotic recurrences. We can also perceive the genuineness of the wood, which throbs sympathetically with the rest, contributing to the whole sonority with disguised shades that will be mostly appreciated by those who are more familiar with cuddling the same instrument (the pulse coming out of an acoustic guitar pressed against the chest is indeed akin to an erotic experience). In its spartan constitution, “Grain” offers several intense moments in about 41 minutes of seriously focused experimentation.
ANGHARAD DAVIES / TISHA MUKARJI – Endspace (Another Timbre)
Angharad Davies is one of the finest contemporary explorers of the violin, endowed as she is with a compound of academic training and freedom of mind, while mysterious inside pianist Tisha Mukarji is the mother of an excellent CD on Creative Sources – “D is for din” – but, apart from that, I never heard anything else from her. This album shows that modesty can go a long way, for it’s nothing short than a 37-minute masterpiece. States of balance and quietness are the ones preferred by the duo, as both artists’ sensitiveness appears aligned with an inner quest for the barest available emission from their tools, in search of the deepest possible attraction to silence. Yet silence it ain’t: there’s always a presence from an invisible background, a frail breath or a close-eyed transcendence which shatters the sonic components into smithereens – without noise. The approach, perceived as timid acquaintance with something previously unimaginable; the instantaneous acknowledgement of the physiology of the music, apparently “weak”, possessing instead a gradual force explicated via the different parts of the instruments, through percussive caressing, more appreciable bumps and plucks, almost inaudible suspiria. Every note seems to materialize from nowhere, letting us glimpse at some sort of skeletal harmonic content only to fade to the black of misunderstanding. There is indeed no way to distinguish a “shape” or a “sequence”. What this couple deals with is the efficient stimulation of perceptive alertness; sounds that, curiously, excavate in our consciousness deeply enough to deliver us from the will of analyzing them, tranquilized as we are in knowing that the matter is there even if its substance can’t really be determined. Fireflies in a summer night indeed. Piano and violin liberated from tonal constrictions once and for all, refreshed functional gestures, seemingly infinite cycles and self-generated timbral interactions reassuring the listeners about the possibility of going forward and looking inward at once. A precious record, gifted with inimitable feminine profoundness and beauty to spare, which is going to reveal new layers of charm each time you’ll return to it.
HUGH DAVIES – Tapestries (Ants)
As it (too often) happens, death comes creeping through to snatch geniuses from the fingers of our enjoyment. A case in point is the late Hugh Davies, composer, instrument builder and improviser whose extremely fanciful electronic music is finely represented by this welcome release, containing five compositions where evocative force is often inversely proportional to the scarcity of means committed to and manipulated on tape, especially in the extraordinary “Natural images”, a tale of plastic breadbins and doll squeakers becoming whale songs and snarling wolves, a piece putting Davies right there with the Henrys and the Ferraris of the world: try to listen to it with a modicum of external noise, just to understand this composer’s deep relationship with “environmental awareness”, probably his main feature as a sound artist. Don’t overlook the efficiency of the remaining documents, though, as they include experimentations with the Fairlight and synthesizer-cum-digital delay soundscapes (the otherwordly “Vision”, where at times one believes to hear a belltower in a full-speed washing machine). As David Toop rightly says in the excellent booklet, too bad that Davies is not here anymore to help new generations of sound artists with his experience; for them – and for every serious listener – this outstanding collection comes highly recommended.
RHODRI DAVIES – Over shadows (Confront)
“Over shadows” – title courtesy Redell Olsen’s “Secure portable space” book – is a single track, 36 minutes long, for harp and eBow. Rhodri Davies, whose presence on the EAI scene has been fundamental since the very beginning, for once abandoned the drastic variety of his instrumental approach (at the basis of a method that usually tends to remain in proximity of the timbral extremities) to mindfully scrutinize the harmonic tissue of string vibration. A step that, at this point in the Welshman’s career, recalls a bit his comrade Mark Wastell’s choice to leave the cello and focus on the more static aspects of gong reverberation. The chief reference name in this composition would obviously appear to be Alvin Lucier, as Davies’ subtle juxtaposition of resonant overtones elicits the typical effects of beating between frequencies on the one hand, of marvellous saturation of the auditive channels on the other, especially when one listens to the music via headphones: moments of stunning loss of balance await, and it’s just wonderful. But, needless to say, eBowed strings need the corners of a room like an old man needs a morning walk to keep himself alive and functional. The essential beauty of this piece comes out when we let it spread from the speakers throughout our space, either concentrating on the ever-changing quivering taking advantage of Davies’s attentive adjacences – morphing clouds of upper partials moving in a weak sunrise of almost immobile polychromy – or by walking around installation-style. With “Over shadows” Davies fully accomplished what other composers – Cor Fuhler’s “Stengam” on Potlatch comes to mind – managed to achieve only to some extent: the full exploitation of a complex body of oscillations whose wavering G-spot asks for a 110% sensitiveness by the player to release its gratifying secrets. A lovely effort worthy of a wide, knowledgeable audience.
RHODRI DAVIES / KO ISHIKAWA – Compositions for harp and sho (Hibari)
The fact that we have by now grown used to what we once defined “reductionism” should not detract from the pleasure that we still can experience by listening to fine examples of such kind of music. Davies and Ishikawa tackle four composers (Taku Sugimoto, Masahiko Okura, Antoine Beuger and Toshiya Tsunoda) who, one way or another, allow for a lot of space between the “notes”, which the players produce either respecting the properties of their instruments or, in the case of Rhodri Davies, approaching them with eBows and similar devices to elicit sustained vibrations of the strings. The absorption of the linear components of pieces like Sugimoto’s “Aka to Ao” comes quite easily, as by depauperating the music of gestural abundance and excess of movement we’re left to enjoy transparent relationships founded on the comprehension of the basic sonic essence per se, often including what leaks through the recording during the long periods of instrumental inactivity (the distant hum of outside cars during the splendid Beuger track being just an example). The only digression from the general canon of this disc is Tsunoda’s piece, which juxtaposes sinewaves to the sounds of harp and sho, the whole filtered by a gate device that transforms the composition into a sequence of hiccuping alien phenomena and prolonged dissonant ejections which, if played at a high volume, cause uncommon interactions of the ears with the environment, depending on the position we’re in. Essential in its logic and played with connected concentration, this record is a serious proposition by two authorized explorers of the untold.
RHODRI DAVIES / ROBIN HAYWARD / JULIA ECKHARDT / LUCIO CAPECE – Amber (Creative Sources)
The surefooted – if barely perceptible – liberalization of a sexless perfidiousness crawling around this quartet’s sonic prospects represents the passage from the unembodied contiguities of groups like AMM to the long-headed analyses of electroacoustic foeta that not even the involved musicians can predict the future of. Resonant strings – Davies’ harp or Eckhardt’s viola – suddenly raise clouds of blemished imagery in squawking telepathy, while Hayward and Capece prepare a full drainage of malfunctioning lungs transforming their fatigue in a miniature power plant. The sum of the parts consists of a worm-eaten geometry of loopholes from disciplined obstinateness, rich in ample morphing and bitty statements of intent. This music has the same dangerous behaviour of a stricken serpent who is not dead yet: touch it barehanded and you’re done.
RHODRI DAVIES / MATT DAVIS / SAMANTHA REBELLO / BECHIR SAADE – Hum (Another Timbre)
“Hum” was recorded at London’s Red Rose in June 2007 and re-launches the quest for new expressive methods in that area of EAI which mainly deals with constituents such as air, saliva, friction. The instrumentation – harp & objects, trumpet & electronics, flute and bass clarinet – makes for some pretty damn fine moments of fascinating interaction, with Matt Davis’ electronics often constituting an element of menacing doubt amidst a detailed suspension characterized by various types of overtones that peep first, clash later, look for a meeting point somewhere in the middle. “Two” wears the timbral components down to frazzles, giving the music a far-reaching anxiousness standing miles away from self-indulgence, on the contrary taking advantage of the whole dynamic range to explant any hope from whoever expects vibrations of peace and love to edulcorate an improvisation. It’s virtually impossible to quantify the single contributions to the body of the performance, despite the extreme clarity of the recording (courtesy of Graham Halliwell’s sapient microphone placing). While breath is obviously a common denominator – although fragmented to minuscule crumbles, oppressive exhalations and guttural snaps – it is when Davies’ harp resonates vigorously that the music assumes a totally different weight, transforming the seducing, if somehow acrid gracility of Rebello and Saade’s microscopic elaboration into a muscular buzzing torso that David Jackman would almost envy. Tracks like “One” and “Four” bring us back, for long instants, to the golden era of reductionism but the tendencies to silence are soon removed in favour of gentle droning and mechanical tampering in between piercing shrieks and malevolent low-tone resurgences. A distinct urban cloud underlines the seagull-like harmonics heard at the beginning of “Five”, scraped strings and scattered noises dematerializing pigmentations and suggestions down to a combustible absence of meaning.
MATT DAVIGNON – Bwoo (Edgetone)
I can only remember another record made with drum machines as a single source, namely the pretty uninteresting “Quorum” by Mikel Rouse; but “Bwoo” is different, both in the compositional methods (see the CD booklet to understand how Davignon develops his sound) and in the final outcome, which in this particular case is certainly excellent. Using arrhythmia as the basis of his work, Matt creates biotic sounds that keep being entangled in hampered mirages where juxtapositions of greyish perspectives become spouse to fragments of noise and underskin boiling. Waiving any hope of commonly intended harmony, the receiver is surrounded by all sorts of microactivity, spreading around like worms on a corpse in the sun and transforming pretty solid sketches in an utter mush that must be gulped while clinching your fists. Intelligent, innovative and quite disorientating.
MATT DAVIGNON – SoftWetFish (Edgetone)
Davignon is back with his pseudo-marine structures, which he obtains through processed drum machines manipulated in such a stimulating fashion that the results are both stunningly multi-faceted and totally mind altering. I enjoyed “SoftWetFish” in several settings, noticing an increase in Matt’s use of saturation. Not that you’re going to hear Hendrix-like fuzz, mind you; I’m only referring to the capacity of his sounds to completely fill the gap between silence and those undifferentiated masses of events that might appear disorganized but instead reveal various layers of “programmed anarchy”. This means being first subjected to tiny frequencies and irregular, almost spastic rhythmic emissions that prepare to something stronger, which inevitably arrives under the guise of subsonic bumps, synthetic tides and interrelations of biochemical composites whose movement is similar to the bubbles in a mad scientist’s alembic. The fun starts when you realize that this transformation of elements, which one could also associate to some kind of volcanic activity, is indeed pretty relaxing: the brain receives a rubbing in the “right” way, abandoning the search for the complex and the minute detail, all the while favouring a process of “conscious void” that is more caressing than quarrelsome. It’s an addictive kind of music, whose psychological effects are huge when we manage to separate its configuration from what’s commonly anticipated when we deal with the “drum machine” concept. Like its predecessor “Bwoo”, this album is worthy of many attentive (or even not so attentive) listenings; your vital organs could even benefit from them.
GREG DAVIS – Mort aux vaches (Staalplaat)
Davis cuts and pastes Macintosh-produced sounds plus environmental recordings, manipulation and reorganization being the core of this work. A sort of primordial magma thickens, developing into a swelling flux of simplicity pointed by electronic rhythms and guitar lines sounding like children’s lullabies; all this gets promptly massacred after a little while, when our hearts had started to be joyous. This stuff simmers and changes continuously, never remaining standing still, always showing its silverware. Then, a song in the middle of nowhere brings the listening to the end. Never threatening, always extremely accessible and pleasant, this is undisguised brilliant music to be enjoyed without any kind of prejudice and handed down to your best friends. Greg Davis could get to overturn several rules in this land of releases that come out like carrots.
GREG DAVIS – Somnia (Kranky)
There are records that are just fit for a momentary personal disposition, finding their perfect function in a context of colours, spaces and casual states of mind. “Somnia” belongs right there: it brings peaceful moments and exquisite sounds for its whole length, thanks to Davis’ masterful reduction of useless features. Various instruments, conveniently filtered and extended in the range and duration of their unique voice, give birth to a series of tonic frequencies hovering all over the house, forming a structure of perfect membranes for restraining any kind of wrong thought or anxious expectancy. It is simply beautiful, effective music, distant from any pretentious straining and – at low volume – certainly acting as a wonderful “anti-ambient” illusion of a better present.
GREG DAVIS / SEBASTIEN ROUX – Paquet surprise (Carpark)
In this surprise packet the combination of concrete, electronic and found sounds with strange structures of fragmentary “songs” yields fresh perspectives, alimented by semi-formal pulse constructions that bring quite a few nice moments with some unexpected detour. Davis and Roux manipulated lots of instruments doing a great assemblage work in the studio, so that “Paquet surprise” is so various – but at the same time concentrated – that it often sounds like a lyophilized cross between Jim O’Rourke’s more melody-oriented records and a snapshot album which includes acoustic repetitions, sudden explosions, distorted computer sputtering and environmental recordings, all meshed in perfect balance and well calculated doses. It’s not one of those memorable keepers, yet it surely owns skill and heart in abundance and that’s more than enough.
GREG DAVIS / STEVEN HESS – Decisions (Longbox)
Strangely enough, while listening to this concise work I was more than once reminded of that kind of involuntary microactivity caused by the wind blowing on the remnants of an autumn storm, meaning the rustling of dead leaves and branch fragments that are an unique experience for the ears, especially in the silence of a wood. In several parts of “Decisions” a fac-simile of this reality can be appreciated in a series of interlocking organic patterns that counterbalance the electronic weight of the remaining sections, where Hess’ extrapolations of percussive gestures are eaten and reshaped by Davis’ laptop generating repetition, feedback and hovering clouds of claustrophobic manifestations. Hesitation and imperfection become the platform from which this music leaves to reach an uncertain stasis, where all the musicians’ efforts fuse in flashes of multi-language billows.
TERRY DAY – Interruptions (Emanem)
A multi-instrumentalist wizard if ever one existed, Terry Day was one of the founders of People Band (check out their CD on this same label). These recordings, captured on tape between 1978 and 1981, reveal him as a spirited improviser able to get the maximum from every source, a true force of nature whose unprecedented fantasy pushed him well beyond the walls of “musical logic”, up to those altitudes where sounds exist only to be seized and re-transmitted by artists that are more “aerials” than “players”. Thanks to multitrack recording, Day created duos, trios and group settings playing against himself, sometimes in a total frenzy (“Drums/Altos/Balloons” and the exhilarating “Toy ensemble”), often in thoughtful pseudo-exotic wonders (“Oriental theme”, “Theme continued”). His solo flights on saxophones are astonishing, the mandolin and the piano pieces sound like Eugene Chadbourne with Tourette. There are also three funny “punk” songs where Peter Cusack and Davey Payne conspire on guitar, drum machine and sax with Terry singing, while “Crackle box & Altos” is a deranged ritual whose soul wets the nose of La Monte Young. I can’t stress enough the naive, enthusiastic purity and the absolute freedom from clichés of this great, great music. Grab a copy of “Interruptions” – one of the all-time best by Emanem in my opinion – and tell your friend who’s saving money to go to Berklee that he’ll never be able to play like this anyway.
TERRY DAY – 2006 duos (Emanem)
Blame his health if you will, but the fact that only now I’m able to declare my unconditioned love for Terry Day’s music is an indication of how much the world of improvisation has missed during his long absence, and also – in general – of how many musical treasures remain unretrieved due to ignorance or misfortune. After the fantastic “Interruptions” on this very label, Day is here featured in five live recordings, each with a different partner; all tracks were recorded at London’s Red Rose during various festivals. Terry plays bamboo pipes, a toy amplifier with echo and a shaken plastic bottle of water besides his voice. The duet with Charlotte Hug (viola, voice) reports about a feverish research for the raggle-taggle states and moods caused by the absence of a scheme. Hug pants, sighs and shouts abruptly in between his stringed jawbreakers, while Day macerates his pipes’ timbre with the intensity of a protester even in those instances in which different parameters are expected to be set, also finding a way to recite his words with granny’s voice before turning himself into a mechanical siren, and both artists into baboons at the end. Rhodri Davies’ prepared harp is the second guest in “Framed”; in the liners, Day observes that Davies is a robust plucker and, in truth, one fears for his fingertips at various points when listening to the metallic rattles and involuntarily detuned reverberations that he beckons, in addition to various harsher “electric attacks” brought with small motors and other assorted gadgets. Day’s response is quite adaptive, his reeds portraying muezzins and ducks imitating a drunk Ned Rothenberg clone, then answering his companion’s questions with fierce fancies dipped in multiphonic sauce. Phil Minton needs no introduction; his role in “A little Charver” is basically to confuse our ideas about who’s singing and who’s playing. Day’s bamboos follow him around, inviting him to join a two-way predigestion of notes that were swallowed before having a chance of being really formed. But they sure keep kicking those bellies from within, crying their innocence. “Rumblings” sees Day paired with cellist Hannah Marshall – my first meeting with her – in a slightly more reasonable intermingling of unadulterated imaginations that hint to a bleached skeletal counterpoint, although not devoid of emotional (and percussive) contents. The CD ends with the Terry Day vs John Russell match, a coalescence of delicate sparkle-and-pick accompaniments to Day’s most reflective (but ever-unpredictable) linear illustrations, which swiftly turns into a amorphous creature where contrapted rasgueados and superfluid tweets seem to co-exist like nowhere else. Day blathers and yelps at various points, but make no mistake: this is great stuff all the way. But not for everyone.
DAY & TAXI – Out (Percaso)
This incarnation of Day & Taxi, the ongoing project of Swiss saxophonist Christoph Gallio, welcomes the playing talents of double bassist Christian Weber and drummer Marco Käppeli, together with vocalist Sara Maurer who appears as a guest in two tracks. The smart choice of dividing the record in many segments – some of them lasting a little more than 30 seconds – highlights the extreme variety and the polyhedric culture of these artists, who tackle the music with the right attitude. We hear modifications of jazz formats, rock vamps, ironic swing that gets obliterated in favour of instant calypso recollections. And, what’s most important, everything sounds absolutely un-sugarcoated and highly digestible – even if at the end of the CD you won’t probably remember a single line or theme. One never experiences a seething feeling while listening to “Out”, not even in the most complex pieces: the absence of excessive contrapuntal knots, mixed with a lucid interpretation of the spur-of-the-moment intuition that animates most of these tracks, and the musicians’ notable technical fecundity yield an energizing album that fuses composition and improvisation into a whole that – as very rarely happens in new jazz – is both lighthearted and donative in terms of aural gratification.
DBLD – Initiation of the pulse (Unicorn Mountain)
Improvisation-meets-acid riffing-meets-Hendrix-meets-a little bit of disorganization. There’s still a handful of energizing moments in this CD, which features the work of a trio constituted by Josh Beyer, Owl Barns and David Bernabo, occasionally helped by Jack Wilson, Susanna Meyer and Jack Kunz. No pretense of high-class artistry here: it’s all about dissonant, repetitive chords, rattling acridness, de-structured (destructive?) shapes and free electricity discharged in heavy doses, with a couple of tracks featuring spoken word (by Wilson) and pre-recorded environmental oddities, such as amusingly jiggling children and the likes. The most attractive shards are born from the powerful combinations of groovy bass and overdriven jangle characterizing the more lysergic sections. There are times in which this natural autonomy literally causes the players to go rather astray, then miraculously the reins get somehow tightened up and the flow starts again. The parts where things slide towards the rarefied side are less interesting but – overall – this is not really one for the trash bin, at least containing stuff to be played loud when you’re not particularly willing of committing to anything.
DEAD EYE – A lick is good for the soul (Evelyn)
Essential, almost subliminal, at times subterranean, Dead Eye’s music gathers little – if any – harmonic information, working on a semi-conscious level through drifting gentle noise and electronics. Constructed with minimal means, “A lick is good for the soul” throbs of warm pressure slowly unfolding through filtered arcane chorales, well-rounded pseudo-mantric junctions and stretching segments of organic pulsations whose distance from Zoviet France is not enormous. Like in a stream, we can observe myriads of rippling undercurrents where invisible creatures establish their communication codes through an imperceptible vibration; the sound becomes progressively tinged of claustrophobia, yet it carries a strange coagulated quietness that facilitates concentration. One gets used to this presence, to the point of repeating the spinning of this worthy disc again and again.
DEAD LETTERS SPELL OUT DEAD WORDS – A line : Align (Mystery Sea)
As it happens in projects dealing with dark ambient and esoteric galaxies, a single human entity is the mover of the big machine. In the case of DLSODW, his name is Thomas Ekelund, hailing from Gothenburg, Sweden. Cold Meat Industry, anybody? That could be the question for many after hearing the obsessive, repetitive, really “industrial” chug’n’clatter of the first track, sustained by drones whose power grows with any successive frame. This is anticipated – or complemented – by a series of environmental sounds that Ekelund recorded walking around the city; the same occurs in the remaining tracks. This alternance between something that feels natural (even if we hear cars, they do sound “natural” nowadays, don’t they?) and the threat of cancerous growth by those mesmerizing lows is the winning feature of the album. In various instances, listeners receive notice of under-skin heartbeats amidst the damp, cloudy masses characterizing the general imagery, like a body whose life is slowly yet steadily fading away, the flesh consumed by acrid gaseous matters. Then again: noise of shoes on the terrain, electrostatics, maybe shortwave radios. Is all this any different from hundreds of similar albums in this genre? In part, yes. For starters, the overall architecture is more developed than the norm, showing no trace of that dilettantism-drenched presumptuousness that brings pseudo-artists to slap whatever lies behind a pitch-transposed bass note on CD and declare “I’m an alternative composer”. This music is characterized instead by a positively cinematic quality and a fresh attitude, transmitting good energy in lieu of the customary head-scratching perplexity. And the electroacoustic obscurity defining “At Keiller’s Park (Fall 2007)” is downright gorgeous. Translation: a must for the fanatics of these atmospheres – and if I myself deem it an interesting release, knowing how little love is left in my heart for the genre, you do the maths. Headphones recommended.
MARIA DE ALVEAR – Fuerzas (OgreOgress)
A Spanish composer living in Germany, student of Mauricio Kagel, allied in performance with people like Jaki Liebezeit. Peculiar brew, isn’t it? Maria De Alvear’s compositions are usually notated in atypical ways (no staves, only note heads) and without pre-fixed rhythms. She has written works for her own voice and orchestra, often directly dealing with sex-related topics, and spends a lot of time with natives from various parts of the globe, including Indian American and Siberian tribes, in order to search for the purest sources of musical inspiration. That’s enough already for causing some trouble; as a matter of fact, De Alvear’s work is still pretty much unknown and more or less pushed away from Europe’s academic circles. Given the immaterial aura that “Fuerzas” possesses, this is not surprising at all. This version, scored for viola, is interpreted with graceful touch and heartwarming passion by Christina Fong, whose instrument emits tones mixing dejection, awareness and level-headedness at once. This is no show-off stuff, nothing useful for the commonly intended “virtuoso”; yet it takes one to execute the score in such a positively radiant manner, every passage enlightened by an extraordinary quest for spiritual achievement, its brilliance equalling the refracted light of rain drops hit by tangential sun rays on a window after the storm. A piece that will harvest your attention extensively, charming and delicately pensive, excellent for mind-relaxing purposes and, in that sense, confirming the “healing qualities” for which this woman strives.
DEATH AMBIENT – Drunken forest (Tzadik)
Upon reading the credits, those who ignore the trio’s history would almost call this a solo project by Kato Hideki, who’s playing a large quantity of instruments. Yet an immediate perception of substantial contrapuntal sapience is observed whenever Fred Frith and Ikue Mori – here on electric guitar and laptop exclusively – appear and make themselves recognizable. Percussionist Jim Pugliese guests on four tracks, also on trumpet in “Qianwei sky”. “Drunken forest” is probably Death Ambient’s most beautiful offer to date, eleven pictures whose intrinsic musicality and detailed orchestration transform the juxtaposition of electronic and acoustic weapons into something that often causes serious goosebumps. We feel entitled to enjoy an album of such a crystalline clarity just every now and then, a place where single constituents are perfectly visible despite the overall sonic meteorology remaining as obscure as a far-reaching divination. The contrasts occurring between sources as diverse as banjo and synthetic transmissions are solved by cascades of bouncing balls on metal; a guitar’s sparse elegy delivers the mind from the oppression caused by a jumble of noises of uncertain origin. Fabulous crescendos end in a bowl full of liquid, our bee-like thirst punished by remaining stuck in the molasses of a beguiling chordal modulation that, in turn, hides compositional perils and less-than-inviting intrusions. The celestial jangle of Frith’s axe at the beginning of “Thermohaline” is one of those instances in which the soul manages to localize that damned link leading to those famously puzzling self-asked questions, which people believe to answer by justifying any unbalance and injustice with some sort of omni-comprehensive entity – the obvious, easiest, cheapest way out. But there’s a different harmonic connection, indeed. While listening to the fantastic cross of slow melody and perturbed suffering of the title track, once more realizing that sounds arrive where tentative explanations can’t, one instantly knows that there is indeed too much to learn for the many vacuous plink-and-twiddle rejects who still think they “create”. Death Ambient are veritably creative, inherently advanced, owners of three among the best pairs of ears around. Well-versed listeners will be able to perceive hidden nuances and shades – both aural and visual – when approaching “Drunken forest”. Have these scents diffused by your heartbeat throughout the body.
DECISION DREAM – Steamroom variations (Red Toucan)
“Steamroom variations” takes its name from the East London studio where Anthony Bianco (drums) Magnus Alexanderson (guitar) and Jair-Rohm Parker Wells (double bass) recorded this ode to sensual overload. In the wake of precursors like Last Exit, Decoding Society and the whole harmolodic wave generated by Ornette Coleman, these musicians release their strength with controlled fervour, alternating transformation and stasis, looking themselves in the eye within a unique visual that discards blind fury to channel a still raging power into interesting harmonic contingencies, unpronounceable rhythmic decompositions, confluences of electric prayers. After a nervous look for transitional passages, the music becomes a whole new experience in which the single instrumental voices emerge from a static yet boiling water, as their resonant extremities point to directions which – unknown as they are – reveal many exciting discoveries.
ARRINGTON DE DIONYSO – Breath of fire (K)
I’m very impressed by this artist, one of those unclassifiable entities which seem to be gifted with the ability of establishing an instant connection between their act and a world of visions and interpretations of signals. Arrington De Dionyso recorded this collection of improvisations with no overdubs, exclusively using voice, bass clarinet, copper kettle, newspaper and Siberian khomuz (a sort of Jew’s harp). Deeply involved in vocal experimentation and Tuvan throat singing – which he’s mastered with stupendous dexterity – De Dionyso becomes an energetical conduit through which outside forces find their way to a total coherence masked as innovative shamanism. In “White fire on black fire” this man truly sounds like an analog synthesizer’s oscillator – unbelievable stuff, not to mention his more than exciting work with the khomuz, whose metallic resonance is bent and reshaped by Arrington’s oral modifications. He plays a mean clarinet, too, his lines echoing Asian and East European spirits bathing in the blood of thorough knowledge. A serious debut by an accomplished seeker of the unknown.
DEEP LISTENING BAND / JOE MCPHEE QUARTET – Unquenchable fire (Deep Listening)
The contrast between two musical approaches, such as in this case, can result in a fragmentary concoction but also give birth to new forms of artistic life; “Unquenchable fire”, based on a novel by Rachel Pollack (who reads sections here), is a perfect example of balance among the flowing currents. Carefully mixing electronics, drones, complex phrasing, mantric streams and the “open ear” feeling that always characterizes Deep Listening releases, Oliveros, Dempster and Gamper weave their beautiful sound and draw small architectures where accordion, trombone, flute, didjeridoo and keyboards are wandering in a desert of shadows; at the same time, the three old companions make sure to leave doors wide open to the magnificent interplay of Joe McPhee and Joe Giardullo, whose jazz roots literally appear and vanish, forgetting any notion of “influence” to pursue a sudden vision while the beautiful cello of Monica Wilson keeps writing on uncharted maps and the percussives of Karen Jurgens underline and boil. High standard contemporary music, indeed.
DEFLAG HAEMORRHAGE / HAIEN KONTRA – Luxury (w.m.o/r)
Under these peculiar monikers hide percussionist (and yeller) ” ” [sic] Goldie and Mattin, working intently in a “Borbetomagus meets Morphogenesis” nihilist sonic assault through an array of instruments including percussion, guitar, chains, bird whistle plus electricity and feedback. This is one of those records belonging to the love/hate category, as Goldie literally rapes drums with devastating rage while Mattin provides most of the scorching-burning-piercing-corrosive materials, destroying any notion of conventional guitar playing while leaving ground noises and feedback to dictate their own law. All tracks are a no-overdub collage from live improvisations and the audience response – when audible – is pretty enthusiastic. Amidst a bliss of distortion and furious acrimony, sometimes a silent or more tranquil fraction appears unexpected, reinforcing the shocking power of the duo’s eruptions. Like it or not – I did – there’s no question that these guys are for real.
ANTONIO DELLA MARINA – Fades (I Dischi di Angelica)
“Non-human” music can still reveal new vistas when a few logical concepts are applied and thoroughly followed. Such is the case of this CD by Antonio Della Marina, who specializes in sound installations and has collaborated with the likes of Jgrzinich and Paulo Raposo. Born from a computer-generated series of loops fluttering within a just intonation context, “Fades” could be described as a single chord undergoing a constant morphing process or – from an exactly opposite point of view – as a translucent architecture made of continuous alternances of chiaroscuro-like harmonic modulations that never find a resolution, at the same time introducing many of those frequency-beating contiguities which composers like Alvin Lucier built most of their art upon. Della Marina remains in “lighter” territories, though (except for the huge subsonic hum, showing up at about 45 minutes into the piece, that put the wooden parts of my room in impressive vibrational mode), but he has managed to produce a pain-killing means of renouncement to what’s commonly defined a “structure”, even if “Fades” certainly has one.
SAM DELLARIA / ADAM SONDERBERG – Fold your arms and the world will stop (Absurd)
Music that fills the space in an unobtrusive manner, without too much of a movement but with continuous morphological variations. Built upon electronic drones, “Fold your arms” aims to a responsive transcendence where figures and pictures materialize only to be cancelled right away by new electroacoustic sights. A few minor disturbances – clicks, whirring noise – actually enhance a sort of evaporation of the sonic matter, putting the whole thing in a context that’s exactly halfway through “serious” composition and home-made experimentation, far from any mainstream manifestation anyway. Dellaria and Sonderberg seem to be observing us from a distance, quite sure about the freshness and the unassuming intelligence of their creation.
MATHIAS DELPLANQUE – L’inondation (Mystery Sea)
Like many artists operating in this area, Mathias Delplanque (of France and Burkina Faso roots) uses different names according to the fields investigated. In this occasion he chose to remain visible, having fathered a 47-minute piece that doesn’t actually put forward new crucial answers in the shadowy world of rumbles, roars, cavernous rivers and remote echoes but, overall, sounds quite impressive to these ears. In case it wasn’t noticed, you just read the ordinary modus operandi for this kind of submission; yet I did welcome “L’inondation”, as the reviewer’s objectiveness still manages to prevail on the urge of throwing everything away when the building blocks employed are too comfortable for factual improvement. What the composer features as a winning card is called “sound placement”: Delplanque is a man who has studied music seriously, and it shows. The imposing growth of those waves from the underground provides a feel of cataleptic bliss meshed with a sense of ineluctability disclosing a noticeable quantity of compositional awareness, usually not likely to be found in these regions. Also to be valued are the manifest contrasts between the domineering accumulation of aquatic frequencies and hissing fumes, and the high-frequency emissions approximating bionic crickets that emerge from the mix. In short, this is a classic example of non-pioneering but brilliantly conceived record deserving a dutiful analysis to individuate its strong points. There are several.
OLIVER DEMAND / MORITZ VON WOELLWARTH / SASCHA DEMAND / RALF KLEINEMAS / THOMAS WINGER – Beside the cage (Creative Sources)
The lineup features two trombones (Oliver Demand and Von Woellwarth), two drum sets (Kleinemas and Winger) and “e-guitar & e-table-guitar” (Sascha Demand). Incombustible materials lay on a pavement, waiting for the musicians to scatter them around. Each one has its own smell and density, all of them are handled with no care for a “structure”. Instruments that seem gathered in foisonless small groups penetrate a silent churchyard made of inchoate dialogues and perplexing rendezvous. A few insufflations by the trombones are enough for the drums to start an almost imperceptible infighting. Sascha Demand is the only one who can maintain his possessions for a longer time, thanks to his eBow infiltrations.The musical cells aggregate and instantly decompose, in an irregular series of short flashes; it rarely happens that a “group” materializes, but it’s soon cut short by a sort of productive incoherence. A sense of tranquillity permeates everything, also in the most explorative sections; human presence is felt every once in a while – someone whistles, claps hands or grunts – but the instruments are the discreet protagonists of a silent, tremulant conversation that highlights the uselessness of a lexicon.
SASCHA DEMAND – Plakation (Creative Sources)
While the CD cover is adorned with intriguing drawings by the artist, halfway through hieroglyphical writing and complex mathematical formulas, the musical matter of “Plakation” is a series of short improvised studies on the resonance of electric guitar, which Demand plucks and strikes with hands or sticks to raise minuscule tempests of harmonics, humming grumbles, pretty elegant buzzes and distortions. Each idea is tackled by repeating it two/three times, usually amidst a complete silence rarely enhanced by the cable and/or pickup hiss. This boney minimalism spans through many fields of similarity – Oren Ambarchi, Fred Frith, Arek Gulbenkoglu are three names that came to my mind; also, Robert Hampson’s ghost is evoked in the most spellbinding moments – yet the electric ripples and volume swells generated by Sascha’s instrument tell a few stories of solitary experimentation whose incubative intensity does not require shouting or making noise to be conveniently adapted to our rational needs.
SASCHA DEMAND / HANNES WIENERT – Sirenen & Blüten (Creative Sources)
Eighteen epigrammatic sketches by a pair of German improvisers gifted with quite interesting curricula, accurately reported in the CD leaflet. Demand is a guitarist who exalts the inspiring side of string resonance, the sound of his prepared machine at times analogous to the reverberation of Asian gongs, elsewhere focusing on the hardly edible core of the matter with shrieking secretions whose acridness is on a par with the effluences of an infecting industrial unit. Wienert plays a number of instruments, at this juncture including soprano sax, trumpet, trumpsax, sheng and tubes. The option of keeping things short and sweet, so to speak, is a winning choice: one catches glimpses of abnormal attractiveness underlying metallic energies, rhythmic out-of-shape-ness, emotionless pulses and weirdly resonating parabolas of didjeridoo-like insufflations, yet we can’t actually get used to anything as the pieces end almost instantly, all too quickly in a coitus interruptus of sorts. A cross between the sonic snapshots of two researchers at work in their laboratory and the commentary for a modern theatre act, “Sirenen & Bluten” is positively a good outing – and the evidence that half a hour is an adequate amount of time when ideas abound. When the disc’s over we would love to go on and find out if there’s more in the artists’ vault.
JIM DENLEY – Through fire, crevice + The hidden valley (Split)
Saxophonist and label owner Jim Denley allowed himself an experience that many would want to share, and many more won’t ever think of even trying. He walked for two weeks in the National Park in the Australian Budawang mountains, alone with his instrument and a recorder, in a perfect man/environment interrelation. No problem with the weather, no second thoughts about any eventual danger. The result is a beautiful album, mixing timbral exploration, chirping birds, insistent rain and causing the customary wish by yours truly of being instantly catapulted in some other place rather than the cheap parody of a nation from where this blathering mouth writes. You know, with the advent of portable digital recorders there is a fair chance for a number of releases to sound alike: water and birds are becoming a trademark stamp in a lot of different settings indeed. But ask yourselves a question: are we happier when hearing this kind of aural art – especially when corroborated by a series of splendid reed emissions which seem to integrate effortlessly with the surrounding nature – or when we happen to listen to the same song all over the places or, worse, to yet another jazz standard, or – gasp – to something like Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”, which is not even good for elevators anymore? Exactly. Then it becomes perfectly understandable why, despite the absence of veritable newness in this release, it’s the fourth time in a few days that I’m spinning it. If one can’t get some silence, this music approximates inner quietness very well. Nice touch by Denley, who shows talent and fine-tuned ears in abundant quantities. And courage, yes.
JIM DENLEY & SCOTT SINCLAIR – Gleanings (Split / Half/theory)
“Gleanings” consists of nine improvisations – or “exhibits”, as their originators call them – where Jim Denley (sax, voice) and Scott Sinclair (guitar, objects) try to find a meeting point between a sedated version of Borbetomagus and Keith Rowe’s orbital presence while remaining faithful to their aesthetic sense, apparently based on a genuinely visceral approach to the borderline techniques of blowing air into conduits and various methods of eliciting sparkle, hum and click from the stringed object that once used to be played standing and, in this and other instances, is now exploited through an horizontal procedure. Hell-bent on their use of influences that other people would discard as if hand-burning, the companions alternate situations that call for different levels of tranquillity: one moment suffocated blobs and plangent jangle leave the environment moderately peaceful with just a modicum of lurking violence, one track later we’re welcomed by sinister emissions and guttural nastiness forcing a careful dosage of the volume while listening through headphones. It should be noted that Denley and Sinclair have a unique way of curbing the destructive potential of their instruments, managing a talkative combustion while remaining chained to the most implosive aspects of improvisation. Even what sounds more vivacious leaves many clear details to appreciate, preparing us better for the menacing segments that constitute the cream of the album. The exquisite cover art is just the icing on the cake. Good stuff.
FRANK DENYER – Music for shakuhachi (Another Timbre)
Only in recent times the name of this English maverick is receiving a well deserved wider attention. Born in 1943, currently a Professor of Composition at the Dartington College of Arts in Devon, Frank Denyer – who has been into deepening the sonic structures of non-Western materials for many years – uses both regular instruments and modified media to create music whose character is largely microtonal. This CD presents four pieces for shakuhachi – solo and with percussion – masterfully interpreted by Yoshikazu Iwamoto, an artistic collaborator and friend of Denyer since 1974. Percussions, when present, are played by the creator himself and Paul Hiley. A major point of interest for the composer (whose love for the shakuhachi was sparkled, as a student, by a Goro Yamaguchi LP on Nonesuch) resided in finding new solutions and alternative approaches to the “melodic obsession” that he developed in the 70s. Denyer mostly focuses on micro-pitch control, highlighting a performer’s ability of rendering the “subtle nuances” that his imagination envisions in single-line melodies, something this instrument lends itself perfectly to. Iwamoto was able to get into the flesh of Denyer’s scores, infusing them with passion, impressive technical wizardry and rigour. What transpires avoids sterile reproduction and insignificant bows to Japanese traditions and rituals, despite obvious hints to that kind of expression. On the contrary, this music makes great use of silence and space as foundations of a virtuosity that explicates through incredibly precise designs and extremely complex evolutions happening amidst continuous variations of intensity and dynamics. The worn out concept of “total command” definitely applies to the performer’s style, the over 70 minutes elapsing in thorough aural gratification. For an (almost) mono-timbral collection, a noteworthy result.
BERTRAND DENZLER / JEAN-LUC GUIONNET / KAZUSHIGE KINOSHITA / TAKU UNAMI – Vasistas (Creative Sources)
Silence is ruptured by clandestine segments of enthralling timbral lies; when I open my window, they’re soon clipped together with fabulous varieties of birds’ chirps and the passionless yet evocative rumble of cars in the distance. Harmonics meet the rusty consistency of imbalance between percussive clattering and deflowered breathing in gradual processes of premeditated counteractions. There is no actual tone, just a photosynthesis of undetermined jumpiness which leads – you would not say that – to long moments of scissored calm. The lapidary quality of these snapping statements is spouse to hole-and-corner inspections of hidden domiciles where mute intercourses and recycled intelligence meet. The musicians keep peeking towards an external, incoercible force permeating a sound that’s deceptively pellucid and absolutely frugal, Creative Sources style. Listen to it repeatedly.
BERTRAND DENZLER / AXEL DÖRNER / DANIEL ERDMANN / MICHAEL GRIENER / GUNTER MULLER – Stralau (Creative Sources)
There is a fascinating sense of restrained disorder in certain sections of Stralau where every component of the sound struggles for disengagement, yet all of these potential forms of freedom are somehow coerced into a single oscillation of powerful clusters that are even more oppressive than the silent reproaches of heartless guardians. The musicians do what’s in their possibility to subvert the status quo, finding new contact points in imaginary intercourses where spiritual fusion remains just a dream, shattered by the radiations of a futureless claustrophoby; no source remains recognizable, as winds and electronic activities try restoring a communication link with an unlikely ground control whose windows are shut up since years. After many uncomfortable moments, an almost unpregnable silence is broken by the slow breathing of someone entering the room with measuring instruments: suddenly the low frequency blob stands and walks again, restoring the monstrous order of massive vibrational dominions where no chance of seeing even the faintest light is allowed. In its obscure questioning, this is one of those improvisations deserving repeated listening to fully appreciate its message; it’s also the darkest sounding Creative Sources release.
GUILLAUME DERO – Otomo Yoshihide’s Music(s) (La Huit)
For those who are not familiar with their productions, La Huit is a Paris-based distribution firm whose catalog of DVDs includes documentaries about central figures of free music and contemporary jazz, featuring names such as ICP Orchestra, Aki Takase, Wadada Leo Smith, Marc Ribot, Sainkho Namtchylak. “Otomo Yoshihide’s music(s)” is not really a proper revelation of this unassuming border-crosser’s creative doctrine (the elucidation of which is restricted to a couple of intrusions in broken English where, more or less, all he says is that improvisation and composition – or noise and tranquillity if you will – are impossible to tell apart for him, as they’re just diverse colours of a same palette to choose from). Yet the movie does possess something that characterizes it as particularly important, as this is the only available official video document of the activities of ONJE (Otomo New Jazz Ensemble), here captured in extracts from a 2005 performance in Paris presented in alternance with segments of solo sets on prepared turntable and guitar. The lineup for this particular event consisted of the leader plus Alfred Harth, Kenta Tsugami, Kumiko Takara, Hiroaki Mizutani, Yasuhiro Yoshigaki and Sachiko M. Five pieces are executed, comprising original compositions and covers of Charles Mingus, Eric Dolphy and Jim O’Rourke. For starters, it’s probably a good thing that no vocalists were featured in the documentary, as keeping the focus on the instrumental energies of this group is made easier without the distraction of a sing-along. The front row features Harth and Tsugami’s intertwined saxophones, each gifted with an individual approach to the music: technically refined and rather elegant the Japanese, customarily unpredictable between fury and sweetness the German, both meeting halfway through ballad-tinged cuteness and enraged blowout like in the final “Eureka”, an O’Rourke piece that somehow has become a traditional, devastating goodbye in ONJE and ONJO’s concerts. Another almost invisible but decidedly effective presence is Sachiko M, her sinewave activity discreetly invading and persuasive for the viewers/listeners, attributing to the whole extravaganza a quality of inquisitive, if a tad glacial connection with the unknown forces of collective synchronicity, the latter perhaps the most evident trait of Otomo’s recent projects, which inevitably tend to a synthesis of early jazz influences and onkyo. The main character is neither an ostentatious performer nor a terrific guitarist, his figure perhaps a little more iconic while manipulating a modified-for-guerilla turntable to obtain mind-altering sonic substances. This notwithstanding, he shows a peculiar ability as a silent director, aptly highlighted by Dero’s sapient shots of his picking hand and grimacing expressions which seem to keep the combo galloping without even the need of a glance to the other musicians. Suggestive nocturnal panoramic views of the city are interspersed with the live action, and the use of slow-motion is applied to beautiful effect, especially on the percussionists’ side: the performances by vibraphonist Takara and drummer Yoshigaki (who doubles on trumpet in “Eureka”) are often a joy to watch, while the double bass towering on the little-but-heavy-handed Mizutani is yet another element of visual pleasure. The whole represents an experience that isn’t likely to add anything new to the memory of the lucky ones who were able to see the band in the flesh; for the remaining majority, it constitutes as an essential addition to their DVD collection as any from this French imprint. Needless to say, anyone interested in this fascinating facet of Otomo’s artistic career should treat this item as a necessary requisite.
MARCELLE DESCHÊNES – Petits Big Bangs (Empreintes DIGITALes)
Although Canadian pianist and composer Deschênes has been active for decades in various areas of new music, having undergone training with the likes of Pierre Schaeffer, Pierre Henry and Guy Reibel and founding CEC (Canadian Electroacoustic Community), besides being a main presence in many other collaborations and exhibitions, “Petits Big Bangs” is her first official recording to date, and it’s all the more perplexing that this artist’s expression still hasn’t been duly diffused on a worldwide scale, like it happens for many less deserving but probably better connected entities. In the five pieces comprised by this DVD we experience both the technical mastery and, dare I say, the attitude of a woman that marks her own territory in different sonic regions with a blend of visionary elasticity and historical perspective. As a matter of fact, Deschênes uses many references – often liberally borrowing snippets of material from her colleagues’ output – to generate sound worlds that contain unpredictable expansions, infinite meanings and interpretations of a sensorial attack that often moves on the verge of schizophrenia, yet is dramatically charged with intense beauty, that kind of pleasure deriving from the sheer force of the elements, being them natural or studio-generated. Deschênes is able to exploit the multitude of shades of her electroacoustic palette by not limiting herself to theatricality (although human voice is often utilized to daze and confuse into further interconnections) and also by sapiently fusing actual instruments and tapework, like in “Moll, opéra lilliput pour six roches molles” in which clarinet, trombone and percussion contribute to a “transposition of children’s dreams of sea” with mind-altering results. Not an easy listen, for sure spiritually remunerative, “Petits Big Bangs” is one of those sleepers that should instead be jet-propelled to a wider attention, as it belongs in the highest rank of contemporary acousmatics.
DESTRUCTO SWARMBOTS – Clear light (Public Guilt)
Two things immediately captured my attention while I was intent in spinning this record for the first time: the deus ex machina’s name Mike Mare (Italian for “sea”) and the involvement – if only in the mastering chair – of James Plotkin, whom I regard very highly to this day (ever heard of “Mosquito Dream” on Kranky, with Brent Gutzeit? Run, don’t walk, to get a copy). That said, DS declare themselves to be a “rotating lineup”, helping hands coming at times by James O’Brien and Bianca ala Muerte – I love these names indeed. But “Clear light” was recorded by Mare all alone, and sure enough is a very potent, growling, rumbling album of saturated guitars, cavernous reverberations, distant jangles and hollow echoes, an undetermined jumble of murky notes, uncertain loops and perennial feedback that’s likely to fill your head with oppressive thoughts and, in succession, with the unstoppable will of abandoning any physical activity to exploit the “standstill” option for long moments. Better still if, like it happened here, the music accompanies an ugly, greyish day with looming plumbeous clouds and a pretty violent wind which, windows opened, meshes its hiss with this infernal concoction. No faux pas of sorts for Mare, then: “Clear light” is a nicely gloomy CD which fans of Nadja, Plotkin himself (the most acid version) and the likes should thoroughly enjoy.
TAYLOR DEUPREE – Northern (12k)
It’s virtually impossible not to appreciate the gentle movements, kissed by faint colours and timid resonances, which “Northern” is made of. Inspired by its creator’s recent move from Brooklyn to upstate New York, in a more direct contact with natural elements and far from urban chaos, this music – conceived on electric piano, melodica, guitar and field recordings – reflects Deupree’s impression of what surrounds him now, his being connected with something too profound to be expressed by mere words. Shifting, looping organizations of spurious melodies try to move a basic inertia where what seems fixed is instead undergoing a process of tranquil decomposition – or changing its state, if you will – just like a snowman under the sun, his body progressively giving, becoming shorter and hunched while his button eyes and carrot nose remain with the same smiling expression until everything’s over. Nostalgically elegant, this is probably Deupree’s most personal statement, a record imbued in delicate sadness.
TAYLOR DEUPREE – Landing (Room40)
“Landing” is a short disc – less than 20 minutes – that brings Deupree’s music back to a more tactile aspect, a vision rich of full colours rather than light shades. Three tracks that gently move through the realms of non-complex electronica, attempting to transmit a clear message through slightly perturbed consonance and gradual deployment of acceptable codes. It’s like looking at a person that you know very well, waving from afar, smiling at you, giving the confidence in proceeding with your approach, just like a dad waiting for a toddler trying the first stuttering steps. The music flows at a high rate of fluidity, washes of warm details finding their place in a perfect picture where everything stands where it’s supposed to be. It’s not heartbreaking like in some of Deupree’s past outings, but nevertheless remains an enrichment for everyone’s mind, constituting both a tranquilizing experience and a perfect textural ambience for moments in which the encumbrances of life seem to be far away, and we want them to stay there.
TAYLOR DEUPREE / CHRISTOPHER WILLITS – Mujo (Plop)
By cutting, pasting and processing pretty simple sketches and recontextualizing them into a hypnotic neo-surrealism, Deupree and Willits’ association brings a highly listenable, yet not easy form of ecstatic mood excursions standing halfway through pseudo-minimalist schemes and complex insights towards less intelligible subtleties. The well functioning relationship between “regular” instruments and computers provides several handfuls of electroacoustic codes sounding extremely brilliant; intense vibrations and deeply resonant buzzes mix with sequences of sophisticated coagulations and triggered electronics in a mini-maelstrom of sampled outbursts and delicate chimes. It doesn’t take long to be hooked – and when it all ends, you feel alone.
TAYLOR DEUPREE + CHRISTOPHER WILLITS – Listening garden (Line)
Let me get straight to the point: “Listening garden” is one of the best ambient music releases of the last decade. Not only because it truly respects the basic principle of what “ambient music” means, but especially in consideration of its functional stimulation of that sense of “one-in-a-million moment” that many of its gradually morphing combinations will elicit in the most sensitive listeners. That’s all the more noteworthy if we think that the CD lasts only 33 minutes (that’s right, infinite repeat is a must) and was entirely made with altered snippets of location recordings that Deupree and Willits realized during their stay at Yamaguchi’s Center for Arts and Media in 2004. There, an installation consisting of two indoor/outdoor tea spaces was prepared, the artists willing to build a “sonic bridge between the digital world of sound and the audiosphere of nature”. Sparse clouds of electronic-enhanced guitars appear and disappear like superimpositions of different states of mind; concrete sounds (announcements, children, walk-around visitors) and illusory modulations lift our being towards those rare luminous spots where a resonant chord of indefinable nature and a five-second absence of air in the lungs let us glimpse at what will happen in every single frame of our future existence, without allowing a true comprehension. I’m used to listen to this kind of material in the early hours of the afternoon, with a modicum of distant human activity penetrating my room from outside. In the right moments, even for a lone instant, one quietly vibrates in a way that can only be described as heartbreaking. Not only Deupree and Willits have managed to achieve their goal of “enhance the experience of simply sitting and enjoying one’s place in time”, they also know the way to extend that fragment of life to infinite without succumbing to the desperation of knowing that the real world doesn’t look or sound like this wonderful place at all.
TAYLOR DEUPREE / KENNETH KIRSCHNER / TOMAS KORBER / STEINBRUCHEL / AARON XIMM – May 6, 2001 (And/OAR)
The strange coincidence between the intentions of Kenneth Kirschner, who on May 6, 2001 recorded sounds from the Financial District of Manhattan to start a new documentary work about New York, and the disguised organizations that decided that this particular area would become a symbol of destructive political greed masked as “war of religions”, is what gives this work its ominous complexion. All the involved composers designed their tracks by working on the same sources, most of them with stunningly engrossing results and – above all – keeping their own artistic personality intact and recognizable. Kirschner’s field recordings – here presented in an abridged version, the full one being available for downloading at the label’s website – privilege obscure imagery of pulsating nocturnal energies, whirring loops of distant noise, traffic and subterranean hiss as disquieting presences scrutinizing us from behind. Steinbrüchel and Ximm are at the extreme opposites of the sonic range: the Swiss artist offers an almost immutable, low-frequency electronic drone while Ximm seems to depict the movement of inhuman entities from the underground in what’s the most active track in terms of scansion. Taylor Deupree’s is probably the most “musical” contribution, his short track mixing interlocking circular patterns of harmonic semi-degradation with what sounds like heavily processed “concrete” sounds. Finally, total silence and, possibly, solitude are necessary to appreciate the dynamic range of Tomas Korber’s piece, clocking at 22’04″ and, for this reason, the one track that touches all the different sensations – silence, menace, human and urban activity – that the whole record means to let us experience, and that become reasons for more and more anxiousness with each new listening, thus determining the complete success of this conceptual, yet emotional project.
ANDREW DEUTSCH – The sun (And/Oar)
Recording in natural settings has recently become a sort of “can’t miss” experience for many multi-talented composers, yet I can’t seem to remember anyone – other than Andrew Deutsch – having the idea of recording ocean waves (in this occasion, New Hampshire’s) and put them through a processing apparatus in order to let us discover “the voice of the sea”. This happens courtesy of a tone generator which recognizes certain frequencies in the waves and responds accordingly; the sublime result is a collection of six deeply touching static pieces that Deutsch defines “image drones/sounds for drawing” as they should facilitate this kind of application. What was directly experienced by yours truly is being conducted into a suspended state of torpor, where the resonance game of the shimmering pseudo choirs emitted by the ocean dissolves any kind of tension, delivering our system both from expectation and fear, finally wrapping us in a womb-like atmosphere of security which could be sustained forever.
GUSTAV DEUTSCH / HANNES LOESCHEL & VELVET LOUNGE – Film ist. Musik (Loewenhertz)
This magnificent CD is so particularly captivating and full of details and elements I could not really define it. Hannes Loeschel has its peculiar way of mixing musical elements in any setting he works in; he’s gradually achieving what most people look for in their entire career, namely having a distinct artistic personality of his own. Gustav Deutsch is credited with “soundtrack” (whatever it means) and Velvet Lounge are beautiful instrumentalists adding every possible shadow to the faint electronic lights coming out of your speakers. No definition, as I told before: violins, bass and guitars appear among pulsars and bleeps; low humming and light orchestral counterpoint go together, while composed and/or electronic loops turn your attention on any minute. In a sense, this music speaks of perfect strangers and solitude – so I felt while listening – but who really knows what the musicians had in mind. At the same time distressing and serene, this is deep-impacting… and I’m including Hannes in my updated gallery of contemporary greats. You read it here first.
FRANS DE WAARD – Vijf profielen (Alluvial)
This 32-minute work was made in the occasion of an exhibition held in the Dutch city of Vlissingen. De Waard recorded all the sources on location at the Zware Plaat Werkerij, a building that – according to the liners – is now in disuse; everything was later worked into an acousmatic opus by the composer, with good results. The applied strategy is one of exploration of ample spaces, but from the point of view of a single observer. The feel is similar to wandering around several production lines of a desolated, deserted factory. At first, more concrete cycles and noisy propositions influence the listeners, who perceive the whole as sheer field recording. By listening carefully, we become aware of the presence of a compositional scheme that attributes a heavier significance to the repetitive structures upon which the soundscape is based. The final minutes engulf everything in an oppressive if highly evocative hum, almost to represent the closure of a part of the building’s life; creaking doors and assorted clangours that were heard at the beginning are all but disappeared, while we assist to the gradual extinction of sound. A very well conceived and sturdily built piece, not necessarily innovative but which sustains the weight of reiterated tries.
FRANCIS DHOMONT – Jalons (Empreintes DIGITALes)
It’s not easy reviewing a record by one of the very fathers of acousmatic music: any word is useless in front of sound juxtapositions that cross boundaries through heart, brain and studio mastery, reaching for a pure beauty that’s just visible in front of you, almost tangible. Such is the case of “Jalons”, the newest collection of Francis Dhomont who – at 77 years of age – can still compete and dominate among the electroacoustic composers of our time. This work is made of tracks from various years, going all the way from concrete sounds to pure electronics (“Droles d’oiseaux”). I particularly love Dhomont’s use of animal voices amidst the orchestral samples, for example the dog bark coupled with a string with arco in a marvellous piece – maybe the top of the CD – called “Un autre Printemps”. The whole release is full of splendid moments and catching audio images; in a time where any young turk with a buzzing laptop is labelled “genius” I’m honoured to listen to Francis Dhomont and watch wonderful sunlight refractions through the diamond that’s his art.
FRANCIS DHOMONT – …et autres utopies (Empreintes DIGITALes)
The alteration of sound is also the alteration of our perception, and no one better than Francis Dhomont can explain this parallelism while obtaining the most astonishing artistic results from it. The extremes of a studio manipulation have never sounded more effective: Dhomont’s ability to transform inorganic materials in something that sounds biotic – even natural, like in the virtual marine elements of “Je te salute, viéil ocean!” – is the basis of his greatness. The five compositions of this CD present, in the composer’s words, structures that “attempt to avoid traditional music codes, disregarding their imperatives”. The subtle transformations and sudden changes of dynamics related to the sonic continuum of a piece like “Chronicles de la lumière” – almost half an hour of evolutions that range from the vague presence of aural symptoms to the imaginary representations of astral bodies – are enough to keep our fascination at full steam, just like kids left with their mouths agape when meeting something unexpected and wonderful. In that sense, the mechanism that links Dhomont’s music to our physical response is one that explores a system working through very simple principles, and for that very reason achieving the most important conclusions. These soundscapes satisfy both an aesthetic canon and the need of moving forward and finding new life in the creative dismemberment of a source which, at 81, this man still does with the cultural and scientific enthusiasm of a young student. Music with a high rate of emotional value in one of the best acousmatic releases of 2007.
DIAMONDHEAD – Dirty realism (Eh?)
I’ve come to the conclusion that records born from low quality tapes are better enjoyed via speakers. In fact, the worst we can do is detecting all kinds of fault instead of capturing the essence of what’s good in the disc. Diamondhead (L. Eugene Methe, R.J. Reynolds, Derek Rogers) are a perfect model in that logic. The antithesis of virtuosity, their instruments recurrently – and dangerously – bordering on the detuned (how voluntarily, one wonders), at times they sound like the dwarf version of the Jimi Hendrix Experience, often noodling hypnotically, sometimes striking gold with combinations of minimal repetitions and entrancing chords. There are no notes on the sleeve but I believe that guitars, keyboards, bass and drums are used (plus flute, by Becky Lilly). Well, listen to this disc leisurely and get a little contentment, as that uneven sense of tuning works fine within the environment and the lo-fi gusto of these guys lets us disregard the bloopers. The mishmash of clashing overtones is indeed pleasurable when the groove is right. And the pieces are short – no aggravating suites, no fourth-hand Grateful Dead. Play it in the shuffle mode too. Amusing stuff, absolutely no charade.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE – Ernesto Diaz-Infante (Pax Recordings)
The fifth solo release by Diaz-Infante is mostly made of ambient sounds, a few touches of instrumental colour, low-humming voice and an emotional description of the almost silent atmosphere that a person experiences when wandering in open spaces, far from cities and people, where there’s not much more than the environmental breath of life. Absolutely not classifiable, these sounds contain a transcendental beauty in themselves; there’s no need to compare them to anything else, even if I’m quite sure that lovers of extreme minimal-sounding composers like Bernhard Günter or Steve Roden will find here more than a few moments appealing to their taste. For sure, Ernesto Diaz-Infante keeps his search for the unknown well functioning: I’m glad of the results and believe that something more’s lurking…
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / BOB MARSH – Rags and stones (Public Eyesore)
Prepared guitar, violin and cello are the sources in this satisfying presentation by Diaz-Infante and Marsh, a constant presence on the scene of free improvisation and radical instrumental music. I am actually discovering how particular this kind of stuff is at a low listening level; while it’s true that one gets the “subtle” nuances through headphones or at medium/high volume, on the contrary I listened to “Rags and stones” differently and it seemed that drops, scratches and strange animal voices were coming from the outside through my monitors. This happens because these guys know how to use space and silence, which I believe it’s quintessential in this field. To me, records like this help develop a “taste” for everyday life sounds.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / CHRIS FORSYTH – March (Pax Recordings)
“March” is a very mature piece of music; here, Diaz-Infante and Forsyth explore every kind of detail and nuance with careful love for timbral research and extreme respect of silence and space. It’s one of the best Pax Recordings releases, as it shifts its balance from pure electroacoustics and gently noisy settings to improvisations akin to the last wave of “Feldmanesque” guitar players, such as Taku Sugimoto or Burkhard Stangl. This CD stands in a class of its own and it’s recommended to any aficionado of the genre: listen to it at “ambient” volume and be delighted, or through headphones so that you’ll discover a lot of strange things happening that you didn’t get at first.
DIAZ-INFANTE / ST. CHAOS / BOHOL – The long await between collapsed lungs (Pax Recordings)
This nice mantric droning artifact is without question another Pax jewel. Entirely based on guitars (both prepared and straight) plus “stoned” vocals somewhere in the middle of the hypnotic trance, it has a genre-transcending quality that spells excellence after just a few minutes of spinning in my player. Like a Syd Barrett piece that had been looped and pasted, a single harmonic foundation is layered and filtered through tremolo, reverb and probably more pedal effects, to achieve a nebulous sound sending me back to a lot of distant memories, and accompanying about a hour of my afternoon with great pleasure on my behalf. If St.Chaos and Bohol are new names for yours truly, they still deserve maximum attention after hearing this disc; Diaz-Infante is by now to be considered one of the most attentive, ear-opening, brain-splitting creatives in the new music scene.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / CHRIS FORSYTH – As is stated…before known (Evolving Ear)
Certainly Diaz-Infante and Forsyth are not in a hurry. They moan, pluck and pick, catching and releasing glimpses of rusty yet angelic guitar chorales, always leaving lots of open roads for your mind to roam. Rarely guitar music sounded so transcendental and with no elemental definition; the two hit their stringed arsenal with any possible technique, accompanying drones and repetitive strumming on dissonant open tunings with random pickup noise/hum and sudden electrocutions. It makes for a beautifully desolated audio painting, perfect soundtrack for scenes placed in unknown desert towns, or maybe better suited to those segments of life where one needs no more than just sitting and remaining totally silent. Lovers of Branca, Chatham and Moore/Ranaldo are invited too, as far as they don’t expect powerfalls and noisy rock. Thumbs up in the sea wind, this is a great record.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / MATT HANNAFIN – All the state between (Pax Recordings)
Conceived for and recorded on 4-track cassette machines, this work is another fine example of that godforsaken yet exciting area of experimental music that – more often than not – yields the best results in terms of low-budget creativity. Diaz-Infante and Hannafin sent each other their work via mail, carefully inserting every species of “open-to-everything” recording in a complex quilt of electroacoustic sources including environmental sounds, noise humming as a starting foundation, all sorts of percussion and various TV sounds, even sticking a Shure microphone to a screen. The music, even if pretty leisured, maintains a modicum of high-tension rattling, modelling itself around the space, leaving no time to think about alternative routes; it just stands like you hear it, never imposing its presence but resisting to changing conditions, even in your own mood.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / CHRIS FORSYTH / LARS SCHERZBERG – A barren place of overwhelming simplicity (Public Eyesore)
Most of the aural spectrum of this three-way subdued exchange of small noises and peripheral notes is centred around percussive attacks, electric dirt and discarded phrase fragments. Diaz-Infante, Forsyth and Scherzberg extrapolate particles of interferent yet nicely calibrated stray sounds, enjoying a leisure time made of many interrogations and few answers. While acoustic and electric guitars often nod to each other, revealing a not-so-obvious connection to the overall structure, the purring/scraping tone of Scherzberg’s alto sax is a very reliable glue to keep things under a quite strict confinement. Though certainly not solar, this music hides a lot of knots that, once untied, make our fascination with it much stronger; its solidification happens right in front of us.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / ROBERT MONTOYA / MARCOS FERNANDES / RENT ROMUS – Reverberations from spring past (Pax Recordings)
In the very welcome tradition of today’s West Coast improvisating population, “Reverberations from spring past” fuses four of the best local talents to produce a rather calm, bittersweet album which mostly revolves around Diaz-Infante loosely strummed detuned guitar generating a flux of dissonant transcendence polluted by Montoya and Fernandes’ sonic debris, electronic and percussion utilized as complementary incidental background “presence” rather than self-indulgent protagonism. Amidst this relaxed (but not too much) mess, Rent Romus lends his saxophone according to his deserved reputation, his (mostly) gentle phrasing underlining a potential, yet still non-existent rebellion while transmuting the predominant tides into deformed film-noirish soundtracks, with rain pouring down on the trash amassed in dark alleys. The record ends with a live segment from a 2004 concert at the Spring Reverb, in which the quartet accelerates their pulse quite a bit to end matters with a flux of energetic discharges.
ERNESTO DIAZ-INFANTE / MIKE KHOURY – Hymns for new fathers (Detroit Improvisation)
A 20-minute 3-inch CD containing twelve improvisations recorded “via correspondence” in 2004 by Diaz-Infante on guitar and Khoury on violin. It’s rather beautiful, at times hauntingly mantric music, strokes of absent-minded creativity manifesting under the economic electroacousticity of six strings sparkling in slimy waters and the plucking-and-lamenting style of a fiddle that doesn’t want to know to be strangled by academic rules (despite Khoury being an academically trained artist). The prominent quality of these short tracks is their imperturbable tranquillity, which no reverberating dissonance or un-submissive melodic line can alter. We’re put in condition of enjoying small yet juicy fruits of brilliant playing that the musicians are not afraid to subject to the laws of studio perturbation, if only to see what happens when technique, its destructive alter ego and daydreaming sit at the same table.
WHIT DICKEY QUARTET – Coalescence (Clean Feed)
Too often jazz quartets give the impression of a free-for-all where musicians appear to be more interested in their own phrasing rather than putting on a cohesive effort. The exact opposite can be said of “Coalescence”: drummer Whit Dickey narrates rather than imposing his will, helped by Roy Campbell Jr (trumpet), Rob Brown (alto sax, flute) and Joe Morris (double bass) in a medium/brisk-pace music that’s constantly engaging, never shortsighted, always perfectly balanced in thematic freedom and explorative sparkling. Every detail is well proportioned while soloists never exceed their due time; Campbell is exemplary in this sense, playing with economy while discovering new suggestions. Brown escapes easy Coltranisms, looking for more interesting melodies all the time; Morris’ style on bass is almost shamanic, repetitive yet energizing. The leader’s intelligible mechanisms constitute a perfect platform for most of this music to gain a distinct trait of brilliance.
WHIT DICKEY – In a heartbeat (Clean Feed)
Drummer and composer Dickey leads his quintet with technical command and plenty of passion to give; he wrote all the pieces except the opening tune, “Calls” by Carla Bley. The constant drive by Dickey and Chris Lightcap’s bass builds a foundation over which Roy Campbell Jr. (trumpet, pocket trumpet and flugelhorn) and Rob Brown (alto saxophone) throw handfuls of wild calls and small stones to each other, like if they wanted to check the direction of a highly energizing wind; their instrumental prowess is corroborated by a volcanic flux of emergency which leads them to a focused detachment from abstract (and concrete) logic. Joe Morris – who returns to guitar duties after playing bass in the previous “Coalescence” – is silently authoritative, his contrapted arpeggios and inquisitive chordal work a reassuring presence. But the whole quintet is a cohesive force pushing towards the rewarding pleasures of emancipation.
WHIT DICKEY – Sacred ground (Clean Feed)
Whit Dickey’s “Sacred ground” is the assertion of his will to compose starting from the voice, something that Dickey usually doesn’t do, as he writes his music on the piano; and, of course, he stands among the finest jazz drummers around, his kaleidoscopic technique never departing from a careful analysis and decomposition of the groove (there you have it, as far as being a complete musician is concerned). This album is sweet, concise, full of genial quirks, gifted with a peevish joy which characterizes the overall discursiveness of the tracks, ranging from effectively dissonant quasi-song frameworks to old-fashioned free-for-all blarings where the musicians look for new ways to improve the listeners’ aural abilities by playing ever-comprehensible lines amidst enthusiast mayhem. Rob Brown on alto sax and Roy Campbell jr. on trumpet represent a fulgent example of athletic lyricism embued of visionary innuendo, their instruments exchanging disembodied phrases while also generating sudden scintillations in a continuous reciprocal feedback that does not detract from their unique voice as a soloists. Joe Morris’ work on double bass consolidates the cohesion and breaks potential barriers while remaining a focal point in the cognitive process of this quartet’s magnificent interplay. “Sacred ground” is yet another welcome addition in Clean Feed’s excellent discography and also one of the most easily digestible, its complex constitution notwithstanding – which makes it even more appreciable.
NICK DIDKOVSKY – Tube Mouth Bow String (Pogus)
A great album by Nick Didkovsky, who confirms year after year that he deserves to be ranked among the finest contemporary American composers besides being the “angular bad man” of modern guitar. “Tube Mouth Bow String” features him together with the Sirius String Quartet (well known to Doctor Nerve fans for their participation in “Ereia”) and Barbara Benary, financing our needs of complex if intelligible music with four jewels. “She closes her sister with heavy bones” is a gracious elegy for strings and clean-tone guitar, somehow reminiscent of Fred Frith’s work but with a slightly diverse harmonic tissue that renders the piece absolutely magnetic. This flows into “Machine core”, where Didkovsky’s six-stringed emissions are modified by a computer that beats them to a pulp of looped and mangled distorted utterances. The title track is the highest emotional point of the whole CD, being scored for string quartet, talk boxes and harmonizer pedals: it’s an awe-inspiring tapestry of anguishing glissandos and vocally modified slow progressions, sort of a kinder version of Tony Conrad meeting a horde of Tuva singers that try to perform while listening to Roland Kayn, Christoph Heemann and Gloria Coates in their walkmans. A stunningly beautiful piece, one of the best that I’ve heard in years. The same radiance is to be found in “What sheep herd” for string quartet and computer, which in its 21 minutes introduces a good degree of freedom in its loop-based simultaneousness; to these ears, its sounds like a meeting of Carl Stone (circa “Mom’s”) and La Monte Young on a huge seesaw, soundtracked by genetically modified string players executing a raga in front of a placid sea during a moon eclipse; but, as always with Didkovsky, some of the lines, especially in the low register, alter the general stability in surreptitious manners. This and the previous piece are alone worth the effort of grabbing a copy of this disc, which is closed by “Just a voice that bothered him”, originally written for the Fred Frith Guitar Quartet and, in this version for string quartet, sounding like the final moments of an angelic creature’s life, frail harmonics and gasping notes as the last weak exhalations of a fading energy.
NICK DIDKOVSKY / PAUL ROGERS / KEVIN NORTON – The bright lights – The big time (FMR)
After appreciating the results of a concert in New York in 2004, this trio decided to record in a studio “to capture all the details of the sound we can make” (words by Norton). Armed with childish curiosity, improvising courage and imaginative technique, Didkovsky (guitar, laptop) Rogers (A.L.L., double bass) and Norton (drums, vibes and percussion) start from tiny sound scraps in restricted areas where their conversation is initially on the verge of audibility, to gradually transform their creature in a multiform, intense charge against the walls of Consonance Castle, giving birth to an abundant hour of aggressive genderless music where deceptive intersections, misbehaved clashes and structured mayhem always manage to create ear abrasion, following a logic which can be surprisingly revealing. It’s the expected outcome of a truly collective effort, the musicians coming out as a single entity rather than three different voices; such is the case when intelligence prevails over easy showcases of useless chops. Those who love rocking improvisation won’t be deluded – then again, the names speak for themselves.
DIEB 13 / PURE / SIEWERT – Just in case you are bored. So are we. (dOc)
Some of the analogue material (subject to electronic/computer treatments) contained at the beginning of the second track left me wondering aloud, for just a few seconds, if I had broken my monitors. Luckily, that was not the case, but the fact remains that this is such a beautifully unpredictable mass of electroacoustic marvels, you just have to lull yourself into hypnotic dancing with a nonentity. While we all know by now that Pure is a genius of looping drones and sound carving through laptop and devices, here the perfect mixture of Martin Siewert’s guitar with all the rest can’t be missed even in the places where it gets unrecognizable; some beautiful moments have a strangely similar aura to the best Robert Hampson (Main) pieces, but to me this is a plus. The voyage into the dark skies keeps going.
DIEB 13 / TOMAS KORBER / JASON KAHN – Zirkadia ((1.8)sec.)
Two laptops – Dieb 13 and Kahn – plus Korber on guitar and electronics; the outcome can be appreciated in this incisive recording, which carries an essential integrity in its subsonic complexion pinpointed by stinging frequencies (the overacute range is literally ear-cleaning) and dirtier noise, halfway through boiling waters and digital mud spreading all over an abandoned radio station. There is not much room for emotional meltdowns here, as we observe a substantial coldness in a chain of processes whose chemistry allows the single parts to be isolated and analyzed separately, if so desired; on the other hand, the extremely precise subdivision of the aural space brings an aura of inviolability that wraps the music like a milk-white tissue or – if you will – looks like a luminescent halo surrounding an irregularly shaped body. The artists’ acumen does the rest, at last putting us in an anaesthetized state of non-belonging.
DIEB 13 / TOMAS KORBER / ERIKM – Condenser (Absurd)
A short but extremely meaningful set by three most accomplished names in the field of “semi-low budget” electronic improvisation. It all starts with tiny membrane-splitting frequencies coming from silence, which gradually establish their presence together with rhythmical pulses and invasive microsounds (Korber is a master of the “unrecognizable guitar”) that are inexorably flanked by growing noise, scorching distortion and crazily deranged vinyl manipulation courtesy of Dieb 13. We rapidly become addicted to a progressive augmentation of sonic events and our senses start running at full speed, until everything stops abruptly after about 17 minutes. Short and sweet – more, please.
DIELECTRIC DRONE ALL-STARS – Dr.One (Dielectric)
The “All-Star team” is formed by Karen Stackpole (symphonic gong), Bill Noertker (double bass), Garth Klippert (accordion), Tony Cross (violin), Ben Hayes (didgeridoo), Die Elektrischen/Drew Webster (electric train). They fill almost 90 minutes worth of a double CD with instrumental mantras, dronescapes and static improvisations. The music is surprisingly beautiful and well rounded, flying around the realms inhabited by “parallel composers”: the press release suggests Organum among others, I respond with Al Margolis/If, Bwana (ever heard “Clara Nostra” or “Breathing”?) and also a bit of Lights in a Fat City. At the limit of my memory, “Dr.One” sounds like a homage to the often forgotten Third Ear Band, minus the tablas. Don’t think this music as just a derivative affair, though; I’ve already listened to it several times with great pleasure. If it borders on the “Om” side just that little, that’s not a defect; on the contrary, its esoteric touch is well accepted by this stone-hearted writer and – Mr.Hayes – you’re indeed a fine didgeridoo player. And if you just can’t live without sonic deconstruction, straight on to the final track “SOTE’s camouflage”, where the sacrality gets fractured quite a bit.
DIELECTRIC FIELD RECORDING ALL-STARS – RE:record (Dielectric)
The “All-Stars” projects by Drew Webster’s label are the ones preferred by yours truly, and this is probably the best after earlier ones dedicated to drones and minimalism (in their own special way). The participants in this case were Jen Boyd, Leticia Castaneda, Cria Cuervos, Drew Webster, Mark Griswold, Will Mitchell, Maggi Payne, Toby Paddock, Rudy Trubitt and Aaron Ximm, all contributing with – guess what – field recordings, but also submitting original compositions (Ximm’s “Rainmaking”, based on water sounds and superimposed motor airplane glissandos, is the favourite here). The sources were…well, just everything, from the noise made by someone munching an apple (amidst grunting pigs, of all things) to the voices of the Space Shuttle’s team. And then, traffic lights, Paris buskers playing a gorgeous Bach, dogs barking at rattlesnakes, radio stations from everywhere, restaurants, children, a protest march…You get (a part of) the picture. The basic materials were partially re-edited by Die Elektrischen (Webster himself), but more often than not they possess unique features that make them acceptable as they are. The recording quality is excellent throughout; a few tracks really rock, while others throw in a catatonic state. But you’re never left indifferent, not an easy result to achieve, for anyone. After a couple of hiccuping releases, Dielectric have returned at pretty high standards – now, that’s the great news.
DIE RESONANZ – Edelbrand (No Man’s Land)
Another good one from the group also known as “Die Resonanz Stanonczi” after “Live at Jazzit” on this same label. Like that one, “Edelbrand” should be warmly welcomed by who’s familiar with this kind of projects, especially when they involve Amy Denio (sax, clarinet, accordion), the other members being Johannes Steiner (diatonic harmonica), Norbert Arsen (clarinet, sax, chalumeau) and Robert Kainar (percussion, drums, trombone), everybody also singing. One expects a liking by fans of Lars Hollmer, Bratko Bibic, Die Knödel and others that will remain nameless, but supposedly the picture is now clear. I’m not saying that it is a masterpiece, not at all, yet it’s for sure one of those records that can put a couple of smiles on the face at the right moment. You have by now guessed at least a bit of the orientation of this music: a garden party in the East of Europe would probably constitute a fitting description. Happiness and cheer, with a few (very few) reflective moments and a lot (a real lot) of composed metres and unpredictable rhythms. The tracks fluctuate more on less on the same level: technically advanced easiness and relaxing vibes abound, with a pair of diversions – most notably the beautiful vocal chorale of the title track and the alien cross of Christmas carol and Irish reel which “Hopeful Id” represents. Everything impeccably played and sung in an unblemished, if not unforgettable release.
DIE RESONANZ STANONCZI – Live at Jazzit (No Man’s Land)
A quartet formed by Johannes Steiner (diatonic harmonica), Amy Denio (sax, clarinet, voice), Norbert Asen (clarinet, chalumeau) and Robert Kainar (percussion, drums), DRS play beautiful spoolings of imaginative Balkan-influenced pranks that should sound delightful to the ears of lovers of RIO symbols such as Zamla Mammaz Manna or Etron Fou LeLoublan (…or Fred Frith circa “Gravity”, for that matter). Steiner’s harmonica constitutes the foundation for most of the tracks, mainly characterized by a contagious joyous effervescence that never trespasses the borders of indiscipline. The group’s footloose aesthetic allows for repeated raids through the typically challenging festival of fractured metres and scorching changes, yet the music is absolutely not difficult to digest, maintaining its core intonation well within the realms of a systematic give-and-take with the audience. This gleeful complexion permeates the whole release, which finds its bigger success in this ruffling of understandable concepts and decorations embellished by magnificent contrapuntal tapestries (check the quasi-Bachian progression of “Ostseel”) and excellent soloism, both instrumental and vocal. Neighbourly and stimulating at one and the same time, “Stanonczi” will keep you good company for those moments in life when introspection is not a must.
RAYMOND DIJKSTRA – La philosophie des chiottes (Le Souffleur)
The saga of the strange vinyl oddities from Netherlands’ Dijkstra (see also ASRA and Dadaphon reviews for reference) keeps going on. This time, we face a familiarly creepy atmosphere on the first side of the LP: a dissonant-organ chordal ostinato packages a series of electronic noises and buzzes mixed with feedback variations and earth loop noise modifications; it’s like making a trip into the circuits of a mad scientist’s brain, without any clue about how to exit but enjoying the crazy eruptions and intense colours of this disintegrated head’s innards. The surprise comes when I get up to flip the album, realizing there is no side B… Short and strange – I like this guy.
RAYMOND DIJKSTRA – Die Sonne / Die Wille (Le Souffleur)
Raymond Dijkstra calls himself a “sculptor, painter, drawer and composer of acoustic music”. We already met him several times through the years, both with solo releases and under the Dadaphon alias. He clearly prefers vinyl to make his sounds heard, and in this particular case the two albums are interesting items as artistic objects in themselves, contained as they are in a linen hardcover box with debossed gold print on total black. The music, in both records, is made of a few elements, and apparently is totally improvised. The most evident sound is a shrieking, frictional rubbing of strings and/or metals – like a wrecked violin or a creaking door’s noise, but not quite. It’s incessant, uneasy, anarchic and unclassifiable. At times, the source is treated with echo and other effects but just so slightly, in order for the whole to be “spaced out” a bit. In the background, something like an electric organ or a harmonium continuously arpeggiates in unpredictable ways, similar to a crazed sequencer. But its volume in the mix is so low that one just feels that presence. Both albums feature a pretty long first side and a very short second side, in a sort of symmetry. On “Die Sonne” we read “In memoriam Jacoba Francisca Josephine Dijkstra-Nettekoven”; this seems to be the only real difference in these practically twin records. With Raymond Dijkstra, you get exactly what you see and hear; that’s not bad amidst a lot of people whose hollow words hide a total absence of anything meaningful.
DISTORTER – In Quatrains Obscure (Serbsky Institute)
One of the many incarnations of Australia-based Bryan W.Bird, Distorter is loop-based music and quite probably the very best I heard from the man. There’s a warm feeling of ingenuity in these sounds that I instantly loved; this record made me feel the same melancholic stupor that one can get while watching far in the distance from the top of a hill in a grey, hazy day. These loops derive from “plundered movie sounds and stolen music”; one perfect example is the disc’s conclusion, with the classical guitar theme of “Concierto de Aranjuez” finding its oblique, tortured way in a maelstrom of tolling bells and hypnotic sounds. But the whole CD is on a very high level indeed, so I don’t need to say more: those who love this kind of stuff must probably add a new name to their address books.
TOM DJLL – Bellerophone (Soul On Rice)
Trumpet and preparations, yes, but it’s not so easy. Tom Djll plays driven by a different quest, which leads him to seek enlightenment through the beatitude of deformation; as a matter of fact, his instrument dares peeping in those rooms where most people don’t even touch the door handle, finding the corners of a theoretical timbral “pejoration” that – just like the proverbial black swan – is instead his magnificently unique voice, characterized by truncated harmonics, radical distortions and substantial “it’s-damp-here-in-the-tube” winds of anarchy. He doesn’t need to raise the volume too much, as silence is an integral part of most of these pieces, a collection of counterfeit serenades and deceitful reflections that are indeed the smithereens of an authenticity that no one really wants to experience anymore. But Djll is right there to show that there’s beauty in awkwardness, too. Although clearly a disbeliever in anything predictable, he also produces a nice version of the standard “Brother, can you spare a dime?”, making his instrument akin to a man singing with a sock full of holes in his mouth. But the very best moments come when we’re forced to find an apparent framework in what sounds like a series of subdued messages coming from the distressed intimacy of an unrepentant dissenter who also happens to be a very intelligent person. Therefore, don’t expect just another “experimental solo trumpet record” here: it’s only a small conduit through which a man expresses his total distrust to musical etiquettes.
TOM DJLL – Smudge (Soul On Rice)
“Smudge” presents both a recent and a more dated version of Tom Djll’s work with trumpet, analog synthesis (a Serge, for the record) and digital processing. It’s a delightful collection of mostly spacious ambiences whose adaptation to the context of your listening setting comes pretty easy, yet it’s absolutely far from minimal electronica, as the most static parts are interspersed with multiform emissions and variegated shapes, more evident in the pieces dating from 1988-91, where the synthetic guerillas of tracks like “Exfoliate” nod to the most complex “serious” computer music, a la James Dashow; but Djll’s compositions sound simply more beautiful. Throughout the listening process one can’t help noticing the composer’s modesty, also explicated by the noticeable frequent absence of his main instrument, which is featured only as a sonic shade or to strengthen a juxtaposition of timbres – just another colour in a perennially puzzling anti-tonal rainbow – but almost never in its regular tone. But when you listen to the fantastic changes of scenario of “Split” and to the sting-and-caress alternance of “Patina”, the trumpet is there, ready to transform malformations into reminiscences of a celestial liquefaction.
DJ OLIVE – Sleep (Room40)
“This is a sleeping pill. Please listen to it quietly”. You’d better follow the advice of Gregor Asch, aka DJ Olive, if you want to enjoy a very nice album of oneiric ambient music which – in its total absence of surprising elements – is just perfect for its noble goal, namely adapting sounds to the different courses of our sleep. Well behaved cycles of underwater mournings and slowly pulsing textures elicit an absolutely positive calmness, their momentum never exceeding the limits of a controlled transcendence. Barely visible melodic lights flicker in the darkness of the mind, like distant memories of songs and forgotten lullabies whose disembodied contours come back to visit us during our most heartwarming dreams. The shape of these involuntary recollections is gently polished by our very breathing, which becomes regular as a summer night’s sea wave going forwards and backwards on the shore. Fans of Brian Eno, you’re gonna love this one.
DOCTOR BOB – Dark times (Edgetone)
Doctor Bob is the alien-wailing duo of Bob Marsh (cello, vocals) and David Michalak (lap steel guitar), with Karen Stackpole offering her percussive shoulder in six tracks. “Dark times” seems to be the perfect soundtrack to highlight the wrecked neuronal circuits of many people’s cerebrum in this age of total absence of values. Marsh treats both his instrument and voice with heavy doses of pitch shifting and other assorted effects, which renders the “songs” even more absurd, but wholly gorgeous as a psychedelic experience. Liquescent lights and qualmish chordal wavering are generated by a seesaw-like oscillation between Marsh’s strolling manipulations and Michalak’s roasting reminiscences, launching the music towards galactic dark alleys that smell like rotten fish, inhabited by strange characters who tell their stories with angelic voice that morphs into a distorted rasp or fuses with the processed strings. After a while, our being is literally screaming for some measure of relief amidst all this harmonic instability – but isn’t life more meaningful when there are difficult problems to solve? Collision seems to be the key word here, the music reaching levels of acceptability that, for the casual listener, could approach the absolute zero. It’s certainly the zaniest thing that I’ve heard in 2007 and one of those records that one should always keep handy to end unnecessary relationships and destroy any concept of negotiation with neighbours (“Tell your kids to shut the fuck up or I’ll play Doctor Bob all night long!”).
DOCTOR QUIRKEY’S GOOD TIME EMPORIUM BAND – A6 (TwoThousandAnd)
Daniel Beban (guitar) and Chris O’Connor (drums) are two musicians from New Zealand, here joining forces in an evocation of the ghost of a forbidden ideology which puts free music, shamanism and cohesive forces of resonance all on the same level – and the good news is that it works great. As a matter of fact, I’ve never heard anything similar before: Beban plays guitar like a percussion, pointing sticks and fingers in the same “chordal aura” over and over – sort of a cross between James Blood Ulmer and Glenn Branca, minus the hair-raising volume. O’Connor wraps his comrade beautifully, working the drumset in every conceivable way to bring out the essence of the single parts; he plays at one and the same time with bionic swing and link-free, extremely intelligent disjointedness, giving the music a relaxed fragmentation which, fused with Beban’s peculiar ways, defines it like a total unity formed by hundreds of different cells.
PAUL DOLDEN – Seuil de silences (Empreintes DIGITALes)
One of the most talented acousmatic composers on today’s scene, Canadian Paul Dolden shows his assembling skills in this collection of new and reworked pieces where hundreds of tracks are painstakingly crafted to form castles of imposingly powerful modulations, droning substrata of nuclear fissions and strange concoctions of melody and soundquaking strokes. Dolden pulls all his strings with almost maniacal attention to the completion of every movement until its full development, thereby coasting the shores of contemporary computer music while mixing the whole with bits of irony a la Zappa/Synclavier era, only with a little more redundance – which is probably what he wanted in the first place. Imaginary giant orchestras are thus able to shake buildings and ears – yet the best moments are the ones where slow spirals of oblique undertows cut a slice of perfection off the picture, bringing that necessary sense of undistinguishable anxiety that’s the moving force of the record.
EVELINA DOMNITCH + DMITRY GELFAND + VARIOUS ARTISTS – Camera lucida (Line)
Sonoluminescence. A phenomenon in which “a gas-infused liquid is irradiated by high-frequency sound waves that are directly transformed into emissions of light”, and that Domnitch and Gelfand – interested in the creation of “sensory immersion environments that merge physics, chemistry and computer science with uncanny philosophical practices” – studied, filmed and edited into nine short movies whose soundtrack was obtained via the manipulation of “ordinarily inaudible acoustic phenomena” relative to this sonochemical process, captured by a hydrophone, “a microphone submerged in a liquid that is sensitive to high frequencies”. Sorry for all these literal quotes from the liners, but this DVD is of such an outstanding quality – both in its visual and aural components – that I would never want to risk writing something unclear about its contents. Translating theory into concrete descriptions in similar cases is almost ridiculous, but I’ll give it a try. The video materials show a mostly black-and-blueish liquid swarmed by perennially fluctuating lines and shapes, whose movement is obviously highlighted by the sounds. If one concentrates hard enough, our retinae influenced by the uncatchable sequences of spirals, fumes and bubbles appearing in front of us, strange things are generated by the brain, just like when hearing imaginary notes while entranced by minimalist music. An underwater pearl necklace, a medusa, the night traffic, synchronized swimming, spermatozoa, groups of alien dancers. Whatever your fantasy elicits is there, born from reactions that cause temperatures equalling the sun’s. The music is for its large part very rewarding, in a way divided into two different kinds; “gaseous” or “interfering” is how I’d define them. The most beautiful, for what my taste is worth, comes with the tracks composed by Alva Noto, Asmus Tietchens, Matmos and Carter Tutti; other researchers were Taylor Deupree & Richard Chartier, Alexander Kaline, Kenneth Kirschner, Coh and the videomakers themselves. Establishing a scale of values or underlining something as opposed to something else is not recommended in any case. “Camera lucida” is one of those items that can change your most radical convictions in the space of a few minutes, an experience that must be enjoyed in its totality without caring about what happens outside your room in that moment. Domnitch and Gelfand’s advice of watching it in a darkened space with high monitor brightness is a clear indication of what to expect. Pain-killing immateriality at elite level.
MICHEL DONEDA – Solo Las Planques (Sillon)
Doneda is one of the most creative saxophonists on the scene and there is nothing on this album contrasting this view. Recorded at La Chapelle de Las Planques in the French town of Tanus, these improvisations exploit the site’s natural reverberation at the maximum level, showing us complicated circuits and transparent soliloquies whose inspiration seems to come from the air, intended as the only means of transmission of sound, itself a carrier of all the necessary life particles. Michel plays like lost in a healthy wind, his soprano mutating its voice in a chirping bird one moment, contracting in uncompromising apoplexy in other instances. Yet, the overall feeling is one of composure, almost like if the sacred surrounding constituted a fundamental parameter for these sounds to librate in the breeze and light the narrow corridors leading to the abandon of an instrumental body which – in this artist’s mind – is nothing more than a conceptual abstraction.
DONKEY – Stone (Accretions)
Donkey is a duo formed by Hans Fjellestad and Damon Holzborn, who started playing together in 1991 as a guitar/piano improvising unit then, as years went by, shifted their focus on the abstractions born from the use of analog machinery, processors and homemade hardware and software. After a five-year hiatus following the two Accretions CDs “Show” and “Big Sur”, Donkey decided that the moment had come for another try, thus they secluded themselves in a Mexican ranch and came up with the basic materials for a freeform structure that was performed live at The Stone in Manhattan, in 2006. Fjellestad, a classically trained pianist, has traded synthetic amenities with a lot of like-minded artists, and Holzborn is “currently pursuing his doctoral degree in composition”; this is immediately evident when one listens to the five tracks (fused into a 50-minute aggregate) of “Stone” which, although maintaining the mightiness of a scintillating anarchy, is one of the most coherent improvisational efforts involving “irregular” synthesis and low-budget electronics. The music is abrasive, unpredictable, luminescent, alluringly repetitive, never insolent, always fascinating, a perfect cross of evocation and momentum which lets the listeners thoroughly enjoy every single moment of its life. We’re reminded of the pioneering experiments of Tod Dockstader, but also get thrown in a time capsule populated with freaky creatures whose skin bubbles and fumes. What starts like a fuzz-tone guitar becomes a syrupy magma, and there’s no trace of a “melody” if we look with a lantern. Harmonically gratifying buzzes stand up in the mix every once in a while, but should your dentist try something similar when you’re lying on his chair, expect big trouble. Great stuff, with no exceptions.
A_DONTIGNY – Geisteswissenschaften (No Type)
Aimé Dontigny (1975) is a Canadian composer, also a contributor to projects such as Napalm Jazz and Ensemble Camp. This is his first solo release, and despite not presenting anything really unexpected it sounds interesting for its large part, with a quantity of selected emotional moments as a bonus. Dontigny figures that this work would achieve maximum potential “in the margins of electroacoustic music, electronica and audio art”. It must be said that nowadays the no man’s land comprised by these definitions can accept loads of elemental artistries that aren’t always worthy of consideration, often just made of pre-existing snippets. AD avoids the typical annoyances of the “overly intellectual”, in primis by keeping things short and concise (all tracks last a few minutes or less), then enclosing parameters from distinct worlds and styles, sometimes in full-mix mode, somewhere else deepening a single concept. Thus, some parts of this record might recall a “more accessible” John Oswald, while other sections – perhaps we should call them the most lyrical ones – could be associated to a kind of nostalgic turntablism in the vein of Philip Jeck. Still, “Geisteswissenschaften” remains a pretty personal statement sounding like a hundred different snapshots – lo-fi and hi-fi, convulse yet linear, physically tolling and coldly digital at once. An apparent gathering of contradictions whose balance is exactly the necessary key to penetrate the creator’s vision. For sure one listen is not enough, and I’d also suggest beginning with an attentive scrutiny, then trying this blend as a stimulating alternative ambient. Those momentary presences and interferences will mesh with life’s soundtrack without a problem.
AXEL DÖRNER / LEONEL KAPLAN / DIEGO CHAMY – Absence (Creative Sources)
Ferreous spots of swiftness in contrast with rusted kitchenware smelling of gunpowder; silence lurking amidst the gurgles of tonal renegation, while stretching harmonics and patches of instrumental encroachment agitate the sleep of an already resigned mechanical soul. Speculating about the undesirable parts of what once we called an instrumental lexicon, Dörner and Kaplan keep their valves in constant dire trouble, plunderers of hot air to be resold as gaseous tightroping. Chamy oversees these hobbling conversations while trying to be kind and smiling – only, his percussion array has no front teeth to flash, which makes his metallic sibilance even more specific. This peculiar association of silent skeptics falsifies the banknotes of pally improvisation, evidencing once again that joining someone does not necessarily mean that you must wear a fancy dress.
AXEL DÖRNER / LUCIO CAPECE – Axel Dörner / Lucio Capece (L’innomable)
OK, so reductionism is not dead after all. Looking at the names that give birth to this duo, one should have known better. Two long improvisations for trumpet, soprano saxophone and clarinet: air, air and again air, whistling, whispering, even singing, with, without, within a structure. Furthermore – get this – there are “real” notes, too: long, sibilant notes emitting crackles, nurturing their components, accompanying their own harmonics until they are confused with the flux of our mental activity – which gets often interrupted by a respectful silence. Dörner’s trumpet irradiates arrhythmical gaseous clouds, at times falling in slow descending glissandos like a sunset over a marine horizon; Capece believes that the clarinet is an animal, feeding it with filthy energies and repressed fury but also doing his best to make it sound like a dozen racing cars driven by wild boars. A lot of information is contained by an involucre that, on a superficial look, sounds poor in terms of colour and timbre. Raise your aerials, because there are hundreds of nuances in there: about three/four minutes into the second track one feels like having parked, the engine still on, smack-dab in the middle of a car wash. After that, you’ll probably go looking into the drain hole because of the gurgling spirals coming from the back of your head. And when the end approaches, the hiss, the drone and the burble shake their hands, deciding that war is not a healthy method to determine the end of sonic intolerance. Pseudo desert winds blow, droplets are heard; a purring metalanguage is proposed. On a second thought – reductionism? Who cares if the results are interesting enough.
AXEL DÖRNER / DIEGO CHAMY – What matters to Ali (C3R)
A fascinating recording, this 45-minute track for trumpet, percussion and spoken word. The cover captures the attention right away: we see the close-up of a wide-eyed wonderful kid staring at the camera with the facial attitude typical of children who are half scared, half curious of what appears in front of them. The piece begins with the pairing of rustling emissions – generated by Chamy on the drum skin – and pensively detached, peculiarly billowing exhalations by Dörner who sparingly uses a mute. In the background, the percussionist reads a text that goes on for quite a while, then the music is left naked and wordless until the end. It is immediately evident that the guys have no hurry or nervousness to spare, the margin between the sounds ample and welcoming. It’s neither reductionism nor free-flow improvisation, recalling instead two painters in a tranquil open air setting, confronting the results of their work as hues and layers are progressively added. Then it cuts to new tone comparisons, the trumpet slightly agitated in burbling slimy waters or in search of acute overtones while sparse hits of resonant bells attribute a ritualistic charm to the procedures. The most memorable occurrence of the whole CD starts around the halfway mark: after a soundless pause, Chamy elicits impressive mumbles from the bass drum, stunningly beautiful gentle drones upon which Dörner glues additional steamy protuberances and grayish hisses in a thorough dissection of his instrument. The adjacent elongated lamentations heard around the 30th minute, who somehow made me think “Alvin Lucier”, are just fantastic. Although entirely shaped by timbral constituents that have been used time and again in recent years, there’s not a single moment in this album that doesn’t contain a wealth of significance.
BOB DOWNES OPEN MUSIC TRIO – Diversions (Vocalion)
This is the first time that I meet a recording by flutist Bob Downes (…surprised? Just think that your writer knows nothing by The Doors except their opera prima, and never listened to Jefferson Airplane in his life – proudly). Flanked by Barry Guy on bass and Denis Smith on drums – with single participations by Jeff Clyne and Laurie Baker – Downes released this music in 1972 on his own Openian imprint. The opening track “Spanish plain” is built on a typical “corrida” cadenza which leaves room to a central improvised section, only to return to the initial vamp at the end. From there on the scenario changes quite abruptly, the leader’s chirping-and-whistling protuberance obviously ever present either in solo pieces (with a surprising-for-the-era abundant use of silence, as in “Naked forest”) or in quasi Jethro Tullian clothes (the beginning of the conclusive Maya” and especially “Sea shore”). The boss doesn’t limit himself to flute, though: in “Seventh wave” he’s featured on tenor saxophone, and his voice parallels the main instrument in several occasions as in a drugged ritual (the above mentioned “Maya”). Note that this material was used for performances by Robert Cohan’s London Contemporary Dance Theatre, which were held while the musicians played live on a different stage level, yet another snapshot of the almost naïve enthusiasm that characterized those years, when producing and releasing art with no fear of being categorized was easier and new genres started on a daily basis. It is also interesting to see where great names like Guy were at that moment in relation to what they went on to realize later on. So many fascinating aspects in this stuff, but then again the label specializes in this kind of retro-tinged creativity, always welcome and highly appreciated within these walls.
ROGER DOYLE – The ninth set (Die Stadt)
In its perennially forward-looking history – which has by now surpassed the important mark of 100 releases – Die Stadt had never published something like this, a serious acousmatic work for electronics and transformed female voice (courtesy of Mary Costelloe) whose two conclusive parts were awarded the illustrious Magisterium Prize at the Bourge International Electro-Acoustic Music Competition. Irish composer Roger Doyle, of whom I like to remember the 5-CD “Babel” and the great “Oizzo No”, was also one of the contributors to the unmissable Fovea Hex trilogy. “The ninth set” is the third volume of the Passades series, the previous two having been released by BV Haast. It’s a rather overbearing piece, its overall character introducing dramatic states of tension especially exalted by breathtaking sections where continuous “walls” of sampled orchestral sounds and electronics generate a marvellous harmonic suspension. Camouflaged into that at first, Costelloe’s superimposed processed notes and shrieks come forth in the mix, only to be scientifically mutilated by a computer treatment which renders them similar to the request for help by a robotic creature who wants to become human. Indeed there are frequent occasions in which these fragments of unreal “singing” are perceived as a delicate kind of expression, alimented by the splendidly inscrutable backgrounds that Doyle managed to assemble. Absurd as it may sound, these are not the most evident constituents of parts 4 and 5 (the prize-winning ones) which, at least in my judgement, are a tad more predictable in their succession of contrasts and eventual recurrences, causing the music to lose just a modicum of steam in the last third of the opus. But a magnificent album it does remain, worthy of repeated attentive listens.
DREPUNG TEHOR KHANGTSEN – Tour 2000 prayers (OgreOgress)
Listening to these chants is like observing an etching where something is pictured rising without having no conformation or shape of its own. Conjugating the mystique of ancient traditions with a new approach to the ritual aspect, these singers use their voices to help people understanding the concept of respect and humbleness, qualities that are pretty much lost today – even in music, if you will. Sustaining long prayers seems to be what these monks were brought to the world for, as these revolving forms of expression always carry the power to change a fallow ground into a festival of beautiful herbs and flowers. These foresighted people can teach a lesson or two to egotists all over the world; we remain entangled in sincerity and introspection and feel exceptionally good, at least until stupid material facts come back to harass our existence.
MARK DRESSER – Unveil (Clean Feed)
“Unveil” confirms and strengthens the perception of Mark Dresser as an uncontaminated paver of magnificent roads leading to the metamorphosis of an instrument – his double bass – into a riveting prodigy of celestial harmonics, hard-hitting non-observance of the rules, unannounced deviations from conventional codes and – above all – in what is probably the most unpredictable apparatus for corporeal resonance: try listening to the fourth track “Undula”, then tell me you didn’t experience a sort of inner transfiguration. Through his uncessant research in the physics of wood and pickup detection, using arco and fingers in his own splendid neologizing indeterminism, this artist elicits a priceless upheaval in the crusty surface of solo playing, tackling the unknown with the same courage of a renowned combatant. My unconditioned admiration for musicians of such a calibre is great, since we owe people like Mark our hope of making progress in sound perception.
MARK DRESSER / ED HARKINS / STEVEN SCHICK – House of mirrors (Clean Feed)
The pedagogical book of rhythms written by new music-trained trumpeter Ed Harkins is the starting point for what’s found in “House of mirrors”, a venture started in 1999 with a long-distance exchange between himself and Mark Dresser, a musician who – not satisfied with having reinvented the lexicon of the double bass time and again – here plays one enhanced by a “surrealist pick-up system” designed by Kent McLagan, which allows him to highlight the sweet and sour spots of an instrument that, for its very nature, is frequently comparable to a bear that must be tamed with both sweetness and heavy manners. Initially the pair worked separately on the material, generated by the bassist’s attribution of pitches to the rhythmic specimens; but when Dresser joined Harkins in 2004 at the University of California in San Diego they were able to push the limits of their research even further by including percussionist Steven Schick (of Bang On A Can All-Stars renown), thus concocting a matchless blend of improvisation and structured exploration of angular melodic matter adding up as a remedy against the depressing feel of insincere irrelevance typical of many projects fusing jazz and contemporary idioms. Indeed the metrical designs upon which these scores were assembled are something to regard highly: forget about regular cadences or, heaven forbid, swing and prepare the ears to the continuous alterations of an unstable molecularity, despite the warm tone of the trumpets (whose array comprises piccolo, reed, 2-bell, slide and modular versions, plus a mellophone), representing a reassuring presence of sorts amidst curious circumstances and sudden disappearances. Music that does possess an involuntary sense of dry humour, alternating mathematical precision and an apparently illogical convertibility to peculiar kinds of relaxed moods, the whole immersed in first-rate methodological mastery.
DR. MINT – Visions and nightmares (pfMENTUM)
A quintet formed by Daniel Rosenboom (trumpet and piccolo trumpet), Gavin Templeton (alto sax), Alex Noice (electric guitar and voice sampling), Sam Minaie (electric bass and effect loops) and Caleb Dolister (drums), Dr. Mint recorded this music in two consecutive takes at the very first meeting, August 2007. “This album is unabridged, uncut and unedited”, the group declares on the sleeve; they are right in telling us so, as there is a serious risk of disbelief when one listens to the solid riffs, enthusiastic interplay and rocky junctions met over the course of the CD. Indeed some of the combinations sound all but rehearsed, and maybe here lie both the strength and the weakness of this record, in that the technical level of the performers is definitely noteworthy (following the traditions of the label from Ventura, which has established important trademarks through difficult-to-execute music and cerebral improvisations) yet – only from time to time for our good luck – there’s a slight sense of déjà-vu in determinate sections (echoes of 70s Miles, shades of jazz-rock from the same decade) that comes sincerely unexpected after the strong start. I do prefer seeing the glass as half-full, though: these men introduce copious quantities of vital energy in their playing, rendering the pastiche tasty even during the more predictable passages, their keenness in performing using muscle and soul undeniable. That’s enough to pass the test of sustained attention in this house.
JAMIE DROUIN / LANCE OLSEN – Snowfield + Remix (Dragon’s Eye)
Coming in a DVD slim case, this is the reissue of a 2003 CDR-only edition by soundscapers Drouin and Olsen, a recorded sample of a 4-channel installation whose sources derive from a field of snow in British Columbia, approximately the same size of the exhibition space where the couple played back the fruit of their effort. This particular version comprises two CDs: the first is the original’s reproduction, the second contains five pieces – created by the two principals with additional contributions by Yann Novak and Tomas Jirku – who expand, rework and sometimes completely change the primary concept. On a pure level of aural gratification, the latter disc is obviously the most satisfactory one; we face various approaches to the treatment of the sonic qualities of the snow, resulting in different views of ambient and electronica that focus both on the very content of both low and high frequencies and the most evidently rhythmic, quasi-techno character of the composition. In terms of purity, CD #1 shows more of the unprocessed sound of the basic materials: the crunch, the friable noise of the white matter might recall a dirty, scratched vinyl, instantly making us think to Christian Marclay’s “Footsteps”. At times barely there, but often sustaining the whole environment, a droning undertow also derived from the same source reinforces the overall structure of the work; loops were also implemented. If one avoids looking for disguised messages, just enjoying the “installation” attributes of this material, then it can be considered as a good outing.
KEVIN DRUMM & DANIEL MENCHE – Gauntlet (Editions Mego)
Just 29 minutes??? Wait, you can’t be serious. But “Gauntlet” is indeed what it is, less than half an hour – well spent anyway – to represent the outcome of the meeting between two important grey eminences of disastrous droning. For this close encounter, Kevin Drumm played guitar, Daniel Menche organ. Apart from a few seconds at the beginning, where a distorted odd-metered riff introduce the first of various phases of mayhem, there’s not a single moment of this music that will allow you to recognize the original sources. Which indeed is one of the main characteristics of this kind of stuff, so why should we complain when the effect is the usual incessant electric-chair shock on the brain that leaves us out on our feet at the end? Dredged with the acrid power of abnormal saturation, “Gauntlet” contains all that you want from people who have turned a Futurist concept – the art of noise – into reality. The massive stream of everlasting chords and superimposed clusters that constitutes the flesh of this monster is only partially modified by the different adjacencies amidst the tones (tones??), often generators of something nearing a rhythmic pulse. In the last moments of the piece a lone, but devastatingly cold organ (?) emission followed by crunchy-sounding manipulations remain there, as to remind us that the most overwhelming clamour is born from small elements.
ANDREW DRURY – Renditions (Creative Sources)
Despite a by now pretty important resume and hundreds of different situations in which he was (or is) involved, I’m still very much ignorant about Andrew Drury’s recorded output, which is a shame. A prototypical improvising artist, travelling all over the globe to perform both in concerts and installations, teaching, meeting people with whom he joins creative forces and energies, the man is specialized in what’s defined as “junk percussion”, whose meaning is readily understandable. “Renditions” presents eleven examples of this artist’s post-desolation poetic, improvisations that fully exploit the inherent qualities of selected bits and pieces of a huge quantity of seemingly useless objects. It’s an implausible world of scraping, clanging, shrieking and shrilling sounds, decomposed yet still intriguing, apparently disorganized but in reality gifted with a merciless raw charm. To give a faint idea of what we’re dealing with, I could compare some of these semi-educated noises to parts of the arsenal of David Jackman/Organum (here we go again) minus the droning factor. Although the music might appear a little disheartening to untrained ears and easily exchanged for one of those “oh, just a lot of mayhem” kind of albums, do not fall into the trap. Drury possesses musicality in copious doses and this helps defining this CD a worthy episode in its mildly threatening, or harmonically cloistered if you will, scarce accessibility. In any case, an album deserving of repeated tries before giving up comprehending.
ANDREW DRURY / SEBASTIEN CIROTTEAU / WADE MATTHEWS – Bszent Hun (Creative Sources)
I wonder if we have reached a point in which one can define a “Creative Sources sound”, despite the fact that every CD released by the Portuguese imprint – whether you like it or not – is gifted with something that differentiates it from other (vaguely) similar outings. One of the most frequent shades according to this view is the wheezing voice of a toneless wind instrument, in this case Cirotteau’s trumpet, which could easily become a commonplace and in certain instances it has indeed. Not in this disc, though, as its presence remains discreet even when the timbre becomes more substantial, if this makes any sense; but does any description have a meaning in improvisation-based albums? Still questioning myself on this matter. Drury’s floor tom growls and rolls, joining the party with the intent of becoming a major attraction, while Matthews’s synthetic software generates spurious steam, intermittent waves of abnormality and bleeping niceties. Three completely different methods, three singular voices that manage to develop an instant jargon which – you guessed right – sounds typically Creative Sources. A stance is needed here, and mine has been clear since years: I keep appreciating the unconstraint that these “strange noises” transmit, with a single advice to Ernesto “The Boss” Rodrigues: always maintain the level this high, without giving access to people who use the label for being acknowledged in the free music world, yet couldn’t play a fart to save their lives. “Bszent Hun” is excellent stuff all the way, showing several of the necessary attributes to be a part of this family.
DUAL – Tocsin (Mystery Sea)
I don’t know the exact reason, but it looks to me that British people working in the area of dark ambient own a couple of additional gears compared to the ever-growing mass of “buy-me-a-synth-become-a-musician” using the first Korg preset two octaves down to make sounds of “obscure waters” and the second Roland preset to evoke “the sacred ooooohs and aaaahs” while sitting on their sofa looking at the sport results. This helps them (the British, I mean) in transforming a “normal” album (and, let’s face it, most of this stuff sounds exactly the same whoever releases it) in something worthy of being considerated more carefully. Such is the case of Dual (Colin Bradley) who, in “Tocsin”, sails through the perilous waters of loopscaping and “eternal-torment” droning without causing my yawns to suffocate me, even giving me some very nice suggestions in various points of his disc. Bradley’s forte is his use of overwhelming low frequencies that strike like an earthquake at unexpected moments; but he’s also a good hand in creating hazardous environments of elemental pseudo-tribalism, which often flows into oppressive atmospheres that once we could have called (still wondering why, by the way) “postindustrial”, especially when an essential pulse is brought forth in the mix. The recipe is enriched by sparse and intelligently placed processed field recordings, the overall result being very good for at least three quarters of the disc, as Dual avoids remaining on a subject for too long, immediately shifting his camera somewhere else. The final movement is the most anguishing one, echoes of mutilated entities seemingly accompanying with their lamentations a body in its predecease process in what’s a disquieting, effective final touch.
BENJAMIN DUBOC / EDWARD PERRAUD – Etau (Creative Sources)
More than a duo of double bass and percussion, “Etau” resembles a soundtrack to an avantgarde theatre piece. One can figure a series of gestural pictures, imagine a sort of sonic tai-chi where the artists create textures of extroverted enthusiasm shadowed by a potential fear, all the while moving large quantities of energy. The well detailed recording captures every tiny noise, every single nuance: we can almost feel the air shifted by Duboc and Perraud around our body. This is music made of two solitudes in constant conversation trying to find a common ground for their embodiment, at first hesitant to let everybody know what they’re made of, yet both positive about their final destination which instead remains unknown to the rest of us. We stand in awe, in front of a huge contradiction – brushed strings against drum blasts, silence maintained against silence blatantly ruptured. But we also manage to finally understand these doubtful tentatives of subverting the code of reductionism, which the players do by giving a soul to what is commonly perceived as noise, crackle, hiss, thump; all of the above sounds beautifully “alive” throughout the duration of this creation, born to be played loud and even louder.
QUENTIN DUBOST / WADE MATTHEWS / STEPHANE RIVES / INGAR ZACH – Dining room music (Creative Sources)
As the title suggests, this quartet has been recorded in the dining room of Maison Bustros in Beirut. Their music basically moves in spurts, surrounded by a large ambience which makes it akin to a field recording and – for the same reason – it is one of those canvases containing the most disparate verisimilitudes with a “regular” listening setting, being perfectly integrated with everyday’s options. The casual conversations and sheer kneadings of the first two sections reach for AMM-derived territories, only with less restriction as everything remains undetermined in a pretty impassible reciprocal observation; yet the final movement is beatifully intense, with Matthews’ bass clarinet and Rives’ soprano patiently breathing in a disclosure of intentions which find their definitive affirmation in the very last minutes, where electricity and air finally find their point of junction in intuitive spinosities.
AARON DUGAN + JEFF ARNAL – Dog day (C3R)
Thanks to the diverse backgrounds of these musicians even a sheer guitar/drums duo – as dissonant as it may be – becomes an exciting trip through a multitude of virgin lands. The guitarist (Aaron Dugan) is an acquired New Yorker hailing from Philadelphia; he has played with a who’s who of contemporary greats, including Bill Laswell, John Zorn, Susie Ibarra and Ikue Mori besides leading projects with names such as Jungulungularity and Senor Salty Balls (I never heard these, but certainly I’d be curious to). Jeff Arnal is by now a regular in these ears: born in Georgia but currently living in Brooklyn, he studied percussion with Michael Cebulski, Jonathan Haas and Milford Graves, works as a dance accompanist (his wife being choreographer Estelle Woodward) while also collaborating with a growing number of improvisers over the course of a stimulating career. “Dog day” leaves aside good manners to instantly throw the listener into the trash-talking of the purest form of no-rule improvisation, yet ever since the first minutes of the disc one can tell that these guys are technically very solid, and it shows throughout. Eye-opening, semi-distorted, zigzagging lines and amorphous scintillating scrapes ride along rhythms that range from the most extreme flexibility through an accurate doubling of what the comrade decides to offer, the best example being “Collision”, one of the many energizing exchanges of this CD. The music is a cross of joy and rage, a sinless recanalization of those instincts that musicians would always love to extrovert when their conscience suggests otherwise. On top of that, Dugan and Arnal make sure that this rebellious separatism sound, er, nice, thus raising the aesthetical level of the album up a few notches. Concise, never boring sketches tackled with a mix of abandon and concentration, definitely recommended.
ANDREW DUKE / AKUMU – Organic/Structures (Cohort)
I always appreciate Cohort’s will to present non-commercial electronic music from all over the world, even at the price of a few minor releases. But the good ones are REALLY good, and this is one of them. Andrew Duke, who is a renowned composer active in many different media, is here represented by a series of relatively dark tracks which feature quite a lot of spontaneous instrumental generation, in addition to Andrew’s obvious technical skills. Deceitful patterns and clashing reverberations release inexhaustible, mind-dislocating clouds of frequencies that contrast – or get married to – hypnotic vicious circles in an unpredictable kinship with hypothetical altered states of mind. Headphones are recommended to catch every minute detail, as Duke works at the margins of the audio spectrum to deliver his brand of electronica from any preconceived interpretation, virtualizing events with the equidistant calm of a neutral observer. Dean Hughes (Akumu) is even more obscure, entrancing and – contrarily to what the titles might suggest – organic. His three tracks are long explorations of the psyche through a mass of extremely resonant low drones that suggest no other behavior than a total relinquishment of our will to penetrate their structure (no pun intended). For my own taste, this is the best half of this split album, bringing memories of current masters of the genre (Frans De Waard’s Shifts and Freiband projects come to mind) through a masterful modulation of our sensitive apparata. But the whole CD is excellent, and it would be unjust on my behalf dividing the artists’ merits.
JOHN DUNCAN – Phantom broadcast (Allquestions)
At one point in an artist’s life there’s a sort of revelation, something telling him all the routes took so far have finally fused in a single course, lightened by a “north star” indicating all his next choices and moves. In John Duncan’s case, I feel his continuing exploration of frequencies’ manifestations has lately yielded a music that reaches a calm detachment, even when emotionally charged at its most. Now, what do I hear in the 47 minutes of “Phantom broadcast”? The answer is: powerful harmony (both in musical and “inner self” sense), shifting orchestral chordal streams, a stretching tubular bell sound, male and female voices, a trembling cello in the realm of low notes, a couple of jet engines during a slow transit towards somewhere I could not figure out, a pumping, massive breathing by all human beings remaining alive despite ongoing tragedies; all in all, I felt wrapped in sound and protected. Were all these things really there? Of course not, as this record was made with modestly treated shortwaves only – just like that, but it’s maybe one of the best, if not THE best among Duncan’s “static” releases. I’m afraid I’m forever trapped in your radio frequency, John – but please don’t show me the way out.
JOHN DUNCAN – Infrasound-Tidal (Allquestions)
By now, talking about Duncan’s music is like trying to describe a natural phenomenon; this is particularly true in “Infrasound-Tidal”, where John uses Australian Densil Cabrera’s sources of sound as basic material, according to principles better explained in the liner notes of this release. Divided into four basic movements, you first listen to the “sound files” of compressed tidal recordings, then to the ones reproducing earth moving and rumbling, finally to a sonic transposition of barometric pressure. The “Tidal” section is fantastic: an Eliane Radigue-like changing drone hovering around your ears and gently caressing the nerves, almost until a semi-conscious level is reached. Several soft pops and a subterranean explosion characterize the beginning of “Seismic” – and what I find peculiar here is the fact that the sound of the earth is represented with a continuous washing hiss that I’d tend to associate to the sea, instead. The hypnotic quality of sound finds its perfect definition in the final minutes, where the “Barometric” manifestation grows out of nowhere and pumps low frequencies through your feet, up to your stomach and lungs, to be finally comprehended – in a way – from your head. This is musical science at its deepest depth, confirming John Duncan’s place among the electroacoustic elite; we can’t help but looking forward to what the man will have to capture, transform and show all of us in the future.
JOHN DUNCAN – The keening towers (Allquestions)
The concept behind this music is so high, it could possibly be over many people’s heads if not caught appropriately. Soundtrack to an installation made in Gothenburg, Sweden in 2003 and well described in the CD booklet, “The keening towers” is John Duncan’s way to approach the hard-to-talk-about topic of infant abuse. Using exclusively children’s voices as a source, John created a soundscape which people can rack their brain on, trying unsuccessfully to find something similar in avantgarde music’s recent history; Ligeti’s “Lux Aeterna” could be a sonic comparison – just to give a faint idea. Children’s voices mill around without a fixed place, like in a subterranean yet airy chorale; treated vocal components bring clucking, breathing and moaning upon a constantly changing wall of notes, at times sounding like a takeoff or a brainstorm, broken twice by several minutes of a screaming kid into a “repeat” delay, the result like a crazed flock of seagulls. When confronted with this almost primal scream, we desperately try to get a grip on our stricken nerves but it’s just clutching at straws: we have to face the hard reality of not being able to do nothing. Freezing emotions out of the being doesn’t work, as one is submerged by them and comes out as if baptized in their own silent sorrow. As far as the composition is concerned, nary a moment in this piece finds us stopping and thinking about the process: the listener’s just overwhelmed and nailed to the seat by John’s vision, so strong that he never looks like jumping tracks to catch the air, instead using a single element to its maximum effect: the economy of means becomes a fundamentally rich sound environment. All of a sudden, the idea of a full-fledged ongoing quest for a radical departure from the ordinary materializes, to achieve extraordinary results: in the land of “a-dime-a-dozen” button-pushing dronescapers whose music races to stand still, being a witness to the constant evolution of John Duncan’s parable is like encountering that one rare person you could find an affinity to; there’s the strong urge to tell it around – nevertheless it’s probably best kept into your heart.
JOHN DUNCAN – Da sich die machtgier… (Die Stadt)
Duncan reports the first contacts between him and Asmus Tietchens (whose processed voice, reading sentences by E.M.Cioran, is this work’s only sound source) happened many years ago, but just now the two finally materialize their collaboration with four strong pieces. Apart from the third track, the short “Das ich macht…” where Tietchens’ speaking is intelligible in the superimposition work by John, the sounds coming out of this record are often virtually unrecognizable. “Freih zein hoern macht…” brings us back to Duncan’s past: the intensity is high almost to the point of violence, lodging tensions apparently not wanting to be completely released. “Tauf sind mit anderenamen” is maybe the best point of the CD, as its protracted, elongated alien phoneme speaks directly to the stomach, providing a much welcomed meditative area following the initial assault. After the interlude of the third track, the work travels to its final with the long “Aber…”, where Asmus’ voice is deconstructed (for the listener’s unbelief…) through a pulsating/looping evolution where no vowel or consonant appears to be present: it just sounds like channeled air, or a very distant war chant by a multitude of primitives, or – again – the noise of factories heard from far away when standing in proximity of an industrial area. This record is full of intelligent strategies, approachable difficulties and customary “Duncan depth”; it looks no one in the face before revealing its enormous power, placing itself among the most important works by this artist, whose sonic explorations’ results are always nothing short of impressive.
JOHN DUNCAN / FRANCISCO LOPEZ – NAV (Allquestions/Absolute)
A double CD by John Duncan and Francisco Lopez, masters of the audio spectra. There’s not a single release by these two not worth of good criticism, as they continuously put themselves in discussion with more and more stimulating creations. The first record, NAV-gate, must be probably heard through headphones to catch every minimal detail of the vibrating phenomena, which bring dark views and far rumblings; the NAV-FLEX CD is a sort of “chordal vivisection”, since everything starts from a single harmonic shimmering cluster to be transported, altered, analyzed and assorbed by you – the listener. Few will understand what all this means, but the ones who remain will get a serious psycho-acoustic baptism towards their personal black holes.
JOHN DUNCAN / ZEITKRATZER – Fresh (Allquestions)
Zeitkratzer are an excellent group specialyzing in modern-day composers (Phill Niblock to Elliott Sharp, Lou Reed to Jim O’Rourke) in which one finds some of the best musicians today – Uli Krieger and Reinhold Friedl among others. Given my ancient passion for John Duncan’s sound, I was very happy about this work; it’s not easy translating the highly concentrated bursts of energy and the extremely variable dynamics of his creations but the ensemble (conducted by John himself) succeeded and delivered “NAV-FLEX” and “Trinity” like they were not only reworked, but brand new compositions as well. The former transforms its original character, from an electronic flow to an ebullient, subterranean, organic magma. The latter resembles more the “real” Duncan: crescendos, low-to-high frequencies, changing pitches, quasi-silences. For sure this is an important document of the meeting between two intelligent – if completely different – entities and it couldn’t possibly turn better.
JOHN DUNCAN / CM VON HAUSSWOLFF – Stun shelter (Nicola Fornello/Allquestions)
First of all, take any idea of wearing headphones out of the equation: the best – the ONLY – way to penetrate this work is leaving its powerful frequency stream fill your listening space. Walk around the room, like you were a visitor of the installation; the distant sexual sighs – taken from Duncan’s erotic videos – and the distorted and elongated Japanese phrases pronounced by John himself, almost akin to a mechanical sound, will also constitute a basic element in the timbral aspect of “Stun shelter”. All this contributes to that body/mind function vacancy that seems to be one of the constant results of both Duncan and Von Hausswolff’s long history of experiments. After listening several times I consider this work as a sort of reflection by its originators, like if they wanted to put a summary of their vision together, opening a door for many people who were left way back years ago and now willing to deepen their knowledge of John and Carl Michael’s art. The music of “Stun shelter” will be a pleasant reminder for the ones who were there more than a new path to follow; that said, the quality of this release remains well high in the “too-easy-to-enter” area of trance/drone music linked with video and psychoacoustic phenomena.
JOHN DUNCAN / PETER FLEUR – The scattering (Edition)
Data files and shortwave, that’s all it takes for John Duncan and Peter Fleur to instantly incinerate whoever tries to open the creaky door to their electroacoustic secrets. “The scattering” alternates acid textures with a subterranean low pulse projecting the music directly to the crossing of your conscient/altered states, often violently surprising with long silent pauses followed by sudden discharges. The rumble of a thousand bottled thunderstorms opens Fleur’s “Aggregate”, only to transform itself into an evil factory producing ultra-high frequencies and metallic laminates of scorching abrasiveness (curiously, all of the above seems to attract birds around my place; it’s not the first time they start chirping loud while I listen to particular recordings). Duncan’s “Threshold” closes this work starting from silence itself, slowly bringing up rippling currents of almost imperceptible shortwave emissions that inexorably affirm their power in the desolate border area where a concentrate state of shock, aural electrocution and yet again that incredible sense of belonging to nowhere meet. Mind you, this record is not useful for mass appreciation and its impact on nerves is potent; to me, it’s an essential page of modern art.
JOHN DUNCAN / ELLIOTT SHARP – Tongue (Allquestions)
As Joan LaBarbara titled her ancient LP, “Voice is the original instrument” – so what happens when you open that instrument bringing out its components? This question is answered by Duncan and Sharp in “Tongue”: using voices as source plus shortwave and processing as coagulant, John and Elliott hallmark your listening space with plumbeous halos of slowed harmonics and intense confluences of spectral deflagrations. The tracks where the vocals are evidently recognizable are absolutely spectacular in their power – imagine enormous Tuva singers bursting out in a hell of rotors; on the other hand, shortwave and treatments often bring a complete timbral deforestation, rearranging ears’ domain according to unpredictable leaderships and patterns. Again, gurgling guttural beast utterances get modified, losing their identity through artificial leakages while the strength of tampered low frequencies makes way to the total reassertion of a stationary, fearful status quo. Mind-boggingly innovative, this music is going to resist the hard test of passing time: it must be considered an important stepping stone in both artists’ history.
JOHN DUNCAN / EDVARD GRAHAM LEWIS – Presence (Allquestions)
When you listen to a form of music crossing a giant disruptive discharge and an oppressive mantra of modifying stases, there’s a good chance of John Duncan’s involvement. Continuing his work on vocal treatment and shortwave – see his releases with Elliott Sharp and Asmus Tietchens for reference – this time Duncan pairs his effort with E.G. Lewis’ voice and field recordings. “Fall” finds the couple in a febrile state during a morass of cosmic radiowave boost joined by sepulchral stabilizating choirs from urban ruins. In “Cycle”, a long-sighted image of dark incandescence shakes ears to the point of hopelessness, while you’re looking for a solution to all this perception derangement. “Purpose stimulated” and “Step” present Lewis reciting his lyrics, mangled by Duncan’s processing or whispered in a large hall setting. This is high-gauge sound art, where lapidary glances and forsaken imaginary landscapes macerate the remnants of our illusions. Yet, right then, our purification from recycled intelligence begins: cheap ideals and borrowed philosophies don’t belong here.
JOHN DUNCAN / MIKA VAINIO / ILPO VAISANEN – Nine suggestions (Allquestions)
Applying their personal logic codes to a vast range of timbral permutations, the team of Duncan, Vainio and Vaisanen transforms shortwaves and oscillators in a detailed musculature of anxious murmurs, primal electronics, chiaroscuro subsonics whose placental liquids are sprayed around according to a scheme where the decontextualization of the electroacoustic event is fundamental. Everything originates from impulses which are developed and gradually disfigured in a series of frictional refractions whose origin can’t be seen, not even from a million observation angles; common glitches and crackles are put under the magnifying lens of our emotional principles, thanks to a gorgeous processing which changes the listening perspective right in the moment of a hard-earned semi-comprehension of the initial nucleus of vibrational matter. When the brain has finally reached the saturation point, the lingering silhouettes of incubated misunderstanding suddenly dissolve: all becomes an intuition per se, rationalizations remaining out of the equation.
JOHN DUNCAN & CARL MICHAEL VON HAUSSWOLFF – Our telluric conversation (23Five)
By now universally recognized for their work at the margin of description and significance, Duncan and Von Hausswolff once again fused their backgrounds and artistic conceptions for this album, quite difficult to penetrate and enriched by a substantial booklet where the protagonists exchange explanations, opinions and stories related to their respective actions and careers. The three tracks, about 63 minutes of sounds and words, are question marks that remain planted in our mind even after several consecutive listens. “…Like a lizard”, preceded by over ten minutes of scarcely captivating repetitive signals soon establishing their ill-tempered racket, is a 2004 novel narrated via whispered voice. I usually tend not to focus on the reading in cases like this, preferring instead to receive the piece as a text-sound composition (which works much better for me, and yes, this time too). Both “Entry (enhanced)” and “Yet another (very) abridged and linear interpretation of the history of our planet as we know it” are scientifically charged experiences in that zone where the brain is certain of hearing a transmitted message moments before this effectively happens. Mixing shortwaves and electronics, Duncan and Von Hausswolff build intense crescendos from nothingness to a very noisy zenith and back to utter silence again, depriving us of space-time coordinates for long minutes after the record’s over. Your tenacity will transform this sickly fascinating CD from disturbing to significant.
JOHN DUNCAN / KONTAKT DER JÜNGLINGE / C.M. VON HAUSSWOLFF – Untitled (Die Stadt)
Yet another celebrative limited edition by Die Stadt, this 3-part split CD was released in parallel with a “label night” at Argos in Brussels, October 2007. Naturally, it’s a must for the supporters of this great German artistic enterprise and, obviously, of the three entities who gave these previously unreleased recordings to Jochen Schwarz and, transitively, to the lucky 500 that will be shrewd enough to act fast. As expected, Duncan’s track – captured in San Francisco on July 2007 – is very variegated as far as dynamic contrasts are concerned, ranging from minuscule subsonic emissions and overtones from hell to tense states akin to a pre-cataclysm’s growing anxiousness. Asmus Tietchens and Thomas Köner’s wonderful piece (taped live in Montreal, 2003) is the most riveting in terms of pure membrane fulfilment, small sounds and microscopic disturbances trying in vain to distract our concentration from a snow storm of radioactive currents and infinite suspensions, the ground crumbling under the weight of our body without the will of moving a muscle off the original stance we had taken. You won’t get the hissing of summer lawns from Von Hausswolff; his segment – a performance from 2005 at the All Tomorrows Parties festival in London – is in fact the enigma of the entire disc, beginning with an Alvin Lucier speech, then focusing on cyclical treated squeaks and shrieks by sampled birds (at least I think so) sustained by increasingly discernible frequencies, both humming and frictional, the whole amidst audience chit-chat. With the passage of time, we’re trapped in the ropes of stolid incomprehension but remain convinced that the substance is there, just like it always happens in every episode by this one-of-a-kind sonic experimenter.
PAUL DUNMALL OCTET – Bridging (Clean Feed)
The fighting spirit of great English jazz ensembles like Brotherhood of Breath and Centipede stands and counters the attacks of mainstream rubbish thanks – above all – to entities like Paul Dunmall’s octet, captured here in Lisbon in the summer of 2002. A band including Keith Tippett, Paul Rutherford and Paul Rogers among the involved masters really should need no explanation, because everyone knows what lies ahead before the music starts. Control and rage are balanced in some sort of elegant hemorrhage, like when the breakneck phrasing by Dunmall himself (often coupled with Simon Picard’s tenor in breathless exchanges) is flanked by the pensive soliloquies of Paul Rutherford and Malcolm Griffiths, their trombones merrily mercurial to say the least, and by the knowledge brought by old pal Tippett, his digital dexterity never prone to useless trips. Gethin Liddington’s charging parts establish him as a serious forward but, to your reviewer, the highest point of the whole has to be Paul Rogers’ delicate and hair-rising playing, particularly evident during his wonderful solo moments. After listening to this record you’ll need to rest a little bit, but this music’s energy is totally rewarding.
PAUL DUNMALL / PAUL ROGERS – Awareness response (Emanem)
Three long improvisations carrying a heavy bag full of heart, intelligence, sense of purpose and lots of techniques bordering on the incredible. Dunmall uses a different voice for each piece; while he’s always exciting on tenor and soprano sax in a continuous exudation of apparently incessant melodic roasting and reflective instancy, it’s his bagpipe work that leaves mouths agape: potentially overwhelming, his phrasing on this instrument is rollercoasting to say the least. Paul Rogers is probably my personal favorite as far as bassists are concerned in the New Music department, a choice made easier by his wonderful instrument – the A.L.L. bass, with additional resonant strings. Rogers confirms his stature with each new work, not resting on (well deserved) laurels, instead questioning himself in search of that genial loophole that keeps him distant from quibblers and pretenders. The pair makes for three highly enjoyable discussions where the ears are constantly rewarded and not a single note gets lost in indifference.
PAUL DUNMALL MOKSHA BIG BAND – I wish you peace (Cuneiform)
Being a minority leader is not bad sometimes; Paul Dunmall’s different projects and lineups receive a welcome addition with the Moksha Big Band, a real who’s who of British jazz soloists captured here in an essential stance. The sapient melange among the sections is this music’s best feature: meditative moments, often similar to the beginning of an Indian raga, are followed by the musicians apparently milling around, waiting for the inner suggestion to start their soulful engines. When the parts get summed, what sounded like a pensive stasis becomes a catharsis of gung-ho improvising, the significance of which sticks out like a sore thumb if compared to the mainstream quicksand we all risk drowning into if we accept the establishment’s suggestions. The instinct and the fury showed by Dunmall and his companions during the blowouts is such an energetic shock, I’m not sure everyone will be able to sustain it. Surely this energy won’t go to waste, instead it will point the lights up to the sky, to a heaven where many heads will nod approvingly.
PAUL DUNMALL / PAUL LYTTON / STEVIE WISHART – In your shell like (Emanem)
Well developed musical personalities build no hedges, tending instead to reciprocal knowledge like animals do when sniffing each other. “In your shell like” conjugates the almost confounding bravura – of course minus any ostentation – of Paul Dunmall’s elegant whiplashing with Paul Lytton’s prosperous world of fractal-based squalls and deforested regularities; the third of this perfect pair, Stevie Wishart, appears in three of the five tracks playing a masterfully evocative hurdy-gurdy. Various permutations of sonic ideologies come to confrontation, with the players showing large doses of respect and a rude will to establish some sort of personal opinion; yet, the brilliance of the performances shows that only highly skilled musicians can subvert apparence, neutralizing any creeping difference to investigate new ways of sounding “global” in the strictest sense. Even if the whole CD is full of delicious interchanges of acoustic riddlings, the bagpipes coupled with the hurdy-gurdy’s drone is something enough to leave you contemplating – and with the addition of Lytton’s soft rumbles (check “The ears have it”) all takes you right to an educated ecstasy.
PAUL DUNMALL / NICK STEPHENS / TONY MARSH – All said & Dun (Loose Torque)
A hour of cohesive interplay, defined by three minds working in parallel with generous hearts. It’s improvisation, jazz, maybe it is only the will of sharing a common vision between gifted artists – and the audience is the element that profits from this kind of game. Dunmall (saxophones), Stephens (double bass) and Marsh (drums) play over four tracks without ready-to-memorize themes or predetermined progressions. They just launch themselves into exploring the subtleties of a single phrase or a series of figurations, their combinations and contiguities, how everything works together until a climax is reached. Then the trio shifts towards something different, each and every time avoiding glittering lights and glamour in favour of a cross of noir-ish whispers and discreet presentiments. The recording captures the instruments in an apparently large room, the collective sound well balanced, almost peak-less in a way. While Dunmall is obviously the prominent soloist, his tone representing the hearty presence of the most simple beauty that a saxophone can yield, Stephens portraits the unconditioned liberties of an autonomous-minded bassist, alternating arco and fingers with elegant nonchalance. Marsh listens attentively, putting small pinches of percussive sapience in, playing with sensitive delicacy that never transcends the dynamic equilibrium which this pleasing album is based upon. One is able to detect class even in such a tranquil setting; within “All said & dun”, discovering it is an easy task.
DAVID DUNN – Four electroacoustic compositions (Pogus)
Assistant to Harry Partch during his youth, and a pupil of Kenneth Gaburo (to which the first track of the CD is dedicated), David Dunn privileges chips and self-explanatory sounds to any kind of romanticism and paper work. If a piece like “Wildflowers” will make you think about “old fashioned” computer music, just much funnier sounding, “Simulation 1: Sonic Mirror” is an incredible feature of a mountain ambient recreated through complex sampling circuits, so that you can almost guess chirping birds and water drops translated into electronic sounds with a pulse of their own. But – “dulcis in fundo” – the best music I heard here must be the show closing “Ennoia 2″; ten minutes of gradually shifting droning resonances that caught me in frozen standstill during the listening, the perfect ending to a very interesting release.
WERNER DURAND – The art of buzzing (Excuse the delay, vol.1) (Edition RZ)
This magnificent effort was completely conceived and played on PVC clarinets with buzzing resonators plus an Iranian ney on one track. Superimposing the droning of these self-mades, Durand created a world of his own in which the educated listener can detect many traces of life, wherever he turns his head (maximum effect is reached playing the record pretty high in a large room and walking around; I tried it and it was an incredibly colourful voyage). Echoes of Phill Niblock somewhere, but Werner’s music is a little more “experimental”, giving an impression of some kind of biological order even in its harshest parts, like the vibrating and VERY involving “Honey”. Masterful showing from an excellent artist.
WERNER DURAND – Remnants from paradise (Absurd)
Dedicated to the memory of artist Michaela Koelmel (1956-2007), “Remnants from paradise” brings us back Werner Durand’s army of self-built and exotic instruments with a vengeance. This music was conceived between 2001 and 2005, except for a 1986 Persian ney part on “Floating”, the longest and probably most anguishing piece. We know that Durand has been active for decades with this kind of experimentation, the owner of an absolutely personal style highlighted both by a scarce solo work and alternative projects (does anybody remember The 13th Tribe’s “Ping Pong Anthropology”? That’s really a great disc). The three tracks featured here follow more or less a compatible scheme, with subsequent variations: born from silence, they grow up very slowly amidst all types of drones and superimposed repetitions (WD uses “prepared resonators” together with electronics and delays), forming a textural patchwork that absorbs the mind while at times becoming almost scary, especially when the sliding PVC neys and clarinets take centre stage, doing what is expected from them – slide. The gradual glissando coming out of this process is breathtaking to say the least. This effect reaches its deepest meaning in the last track, the above mentioned “Floating”, which ends the album with an ocean of lamentations and moans, only not from human voices. No problem: when the sound touches deeply, that’s all you need. A highly enjoyable release, better enjoyed through speakers due to the peculiar vocal character of Durand’s wonderful plastic animals. Their refractions on the room’s walls work wonders on the psyche.
DOMINIC DUVAL / JAY ROSEN / MARK WHITECAGE – No respect (Acoustics)
There’s wallpaper music and “major league” stuff; “No respect” belongs without the slightest doubt to the latter cathegory. This is a recording that should cut a lot of so-called “giants” down to size; right here you’ll find a kind of adventurous playing never falling short of the highest level of creativity. Even if channeled through “regular” tunes (or so it could appear) Mark Whitecage’s controlled rage is well evident throughout the record, only to be contrasted by his serene, if extremely angular phrasing during explorations of standards such as “Round midnight”, which closes this set. The rhythm section formed by Duval and Rosen is one of the best I’ve listened to in years: Dominic’s bass is a great protagonist of several of the best moments of this CD, through an absolutely appreciable sober virtuosity; on his side, Jay’s drumming will teach a thing or two to many players, thanks to its spacey architecture and continuously changing dynamics. Perish the thought this is “easy” jazz: it ain’t. (Note: this Extremely Limited Edition CD is available through selected distributors such as Jazz Loft, Bop Shop, DMG in the U.S; Improjazz in France. Please contact Acoustics following the above link to get more info).
DOMINIC DUVAL / MARK WHITECAGE – Rules of engagement, Vol.1 (Drimala)
A duo who will irradiate your listening space, Duval and Whitecage talk a highly personal lingo on bass, clarinet and sax, totally free from jazz cliches and absolutely liberated from nicotinic formulas. Like two nightbirds entertaining a conversation, the artists are fully conscious of the ongoing process yet they’re gifted with a fantastic sense of improvisation on the melody, creating a cohesive pellicle which empties the music of all the useless air bubbles, going straight to the deepest core of interplay and seaming their lookalike souls into an indivisible unity. Under the guise of simple forms always lies a bag of multiple concepts that only ask to be carried to perfection. The two are certainly up to the task, as each of the tracks contained in “Rules of engagement” is part of a whole that translates into an excellent record in both musicians’ career and this label’s consistent output.
DOMINIC DUVAL / JOE MCPHEE – Rules of engagement, Vol.2 (Drimala)
There are various instances in jazz where opulence prevails, saturating us with meaningless optimism and submissive corporate immovability. Duval and McPhee are far away from all this: their heartfelt exchange of sapiently paced, thoughtful melodies sounds like there’s still hope for all of us to carve a personal niche in life, just to gain a few minutes to think hard. McPhee’s soprano has a rubicund tone that only decades of total commitment to playing can develop; nevertheless, he’s able to fire a few serious body shots when necessary. Duval’s mastery is reinforced by his capacity of transforming convolutions and spirals into cool-headed, soul stirring exaltations of acoustic spaces while gracing his fretless board with aleatory fingerings and quarter-tone momentariness. Once again, “The art of the duet” is shown in all its spread, a good antidote against ear pollution.
(D)YNAMIC (B)ROWN (H)IPS – Wave the old wave (Eh?)
An improvising septet including sax, percussion, trumpets, slide trombone, violin, recorder and upright bass. The album was recorded to a one-track tape, and it shows. Distortion creeping everywhere, especially when the music gets loud. And believe your old curmudgeon, it does pretty frequently. The photograph of schizophrenia: subdued mumbling elucubrations, then all of a sudden – pow! Blasted horns, yelping traffic jamming, loaded trips to incurable dissonance. Vociferous mess to reach the narrow door of some sort of significance, most everybody going head-on and promptly being splattered against the wall. Did I understand correctly? A prison performance? Well, the inmates applaud at the end. For sure this sounds better than echoing hollering amidst the clatter of heavy gates. Responsibility should not be accepted for damaging relationships with your psychiatrist, definitely not prepared to accept this kind of maudlin expressiveness. Unambiguous stuff, hardly eliciting a second try yet alive and kicking. Probably funnier to play than to listen to it, but not a complete joke. Better still, it is not a joke full stop. I don’t really know what it is. Slanted aural excitement that won’t make you addicted.
